Hours pass, and I’m still sitting in the bush. I stay there for what seems like forever. The sound of dogs in the distance keep me awake as the sun sets, but I never see anyone. My abdominal clenches, informing me I need to pee, but I don’t dare climb out of my bush at the risk of being spotted. I try to hold it, because I know those dogs will smell it as soon as I go.

Closing my eyes, I think of Warner, hoping he’s hiding in a bush somewhere too, that he’s alive.

The sound of dogs barking gone in the distance. I bring my foot up to inspect it, but it’s too dark to really see. It’s hurt badly though. Something ruffles in a nearby bush and I freeze. It’s big, growling, and I begin to tremble. Is it a bear?

It growls, scratching at the ground, and I’m so scared I pee. It just pours out of me, soaking my shorts.

Shit.

The animal lifts it’s head as if it hears something, turns and runs. Pulling my knees back up to my chest, I rest my head on my legs and cry myself to sleep.

The sun rises the next day, and I wake up freezing. I’m wet from my own piss, and I’m so hungry my stomach sounds like that animal from last night. Climbing out of the bush, my foot smarts, reminding me of it being hurt. Lifting it up there’s a large thorn right in the middle. The skin is discolored, and it’s hard to walk.

Using my nails, I try and pull at the dark thorn stuck inside my foot, and the pain vibrates to the bone.

Biting my lip, I try and stifle my cries, and decide not to pull it out for now. Glancing around, all I see is trees, I have no idea where I am.

“Warner?” I call out, but not loud as I don’t want anyone too far away to hear me. I get nothing back but silence. Sniffling, I run my hand under my nose. I wonder where Huey went?

Stumbling, I continue up the mountain. Reaching for limbs and trees to guide me upwards. It seems to continue on forever, no peak in sight.

I got me and Warner in this. How did I not think we wouldn’t get caught?

Hours pass and sweat begins to trickle down my back as it gets hotter throughout the day. I haven’t seen any water, and I’m so hungry I can’t keep going much longer. I’m dehydrated, hurt, and just to the point of giving up.

Falling to my knees, I lay on the ground. Tears slipping from my eye sockets as I think about Warner, how my heart aches and longs for him. Maybe we will both die out here.

Two large green boots thud into my view on the ground, but I don’t look up. I don’t have the strength. If it’s a cop, just fucking take me already.

Suddenly I’m picked up, the smell of pine strong.

“Stay with me,” a man’s voice whispers as he picks me up. He’s not a cop, and it’s not Warner. Lifting my head, I see a white beard and glasses. A camouflaged jacket.

“Who are you?” I croak.

“Name’s Cricket, and don’t you worry, I got ya,” he informs, his mustache dancing as he talks. I don’t know if I should trust him, but it’s not like I can fight him off right now.

I’m at his mercy.

I’m hauled up some wooden steps, and into a house. He lays me down on a gray plush couch and runs off into another room.

Looking around, I notice wooden walls everywhere, a fireplace with a chair in front of it, and large fishing poles hung on the other wall. It smells like wood in here, fresh.

The man hustles back into the room and kneels next to me with a cup of water.

“Drink up,” he offers. Taking the glass, I gulp it down. The water crisp and clean, I nearly choke drinking it. “I saw you on the TV, you and that boy—”

“Warner? Have you seen him?” I can’t help but ask, maybe he’s already here.

“No, just you so far.”

I frown, handing him back the glass, and I take notice of my fingers smudged with mud and dirt.

“You called the cops, didn’t ya?” I know any minute they will be here and this old man will collect his reward.

“Cops? Hell no. I’m a fan!” He smiles, setting the glass on a nearby table.

“Excuse me?”

He sits on the rocking chair, his left hand twirling his beard.

“You and Warner remind me of me and my late Lucille. We were wild and young, told we didn’t know what love was. We ran away and built this house way back in the day.” His face takes on a sudden sadness, and he looks down. “She died two years ago from a heart attack.” Looking at me with vibrant honeycomb eyes, a smile tugs at his lips. “If she was here, she’d have taken you in though, I know it. Hell, she’d have been out there looking for ya!”

I attempt to smile, but can’t. I feel lost without Warner, scared he’s hurt or captured. It’s not right I’m in here on a couch with water when I don’t know where he or Huey are.

“As far as I know, they haven’t caught your friend,” Cricket informs as if he’s read my mind. My eyes snap to his, and a little hope sprinkles in my chest.

He grabs a remote, and points at a black screen above the fireplace. The news comes on.

“Please be aware that both suspects are still on the run, we have done everything we can into finding these two criminals. If you have any information or see them call your local department!” a large fat man wearing a badge tells a group of people on TV.

“Sir, what do you have to say to all those who are looking at these two kids like they’re heroes, standing up for love?” a reporter asks.

“You don’t have to spill blood to be in love,” the Sheriff snaps before walking away.

I scoff, playing with my torn shirt. If only he knew how hard it was to be in love and being young. He’s probably single, and angry.

Cricket turns the TV off.

“Um, do you know anyone named Pink?” Cricket’s face goes lax. “She has pink hair, a pink dog, I think a pink house?” Cricket shakes his head.

“No, I don’t know any Pink, but I stay on this mountain for the most part,” he informs, standing up.

“Oh,” I murmur.

“You want to clean up? I can make you something to eat.” Giving Cricket an off look, I still can’t decide what to think of him. Should I trust him? He’s an old man living in a log cabin on a mountain by himself.

“Yeah.” I nod but stay cautious. Standing on my feet, I limp following him down a long hallway, and into a small bathroom. It’s all wood, even the counter.

“Tub is there, and towels are here,” he points to a cabinet. “And this used to be my wife’s soap, some flower smelling shit.” He grabs a bottle of pink soap from the cabinet, looking it over before handing it to me.

“Thanks,” I whisper. The feeling like I’m invading someone’s private space heavy on my shoulders.

“Yep, So, I guess I’ll leave ya to it.” He gives a tight smile, shutting the door behind him.

Plopping down on the toilet seat, I lean over and start the bath. The pressure on my foot from leaning over causes me to wince. The thorn. Pulling my foot up, I look it over again. My whole foot is purple. Damn.

Opening a drawer, I look for tweezers or something to pull the thorn free. Razors, Q-tips, and I finally spot tweezers!

Rubbing my thumb over the wound, I poke the head of the tweezer into the hole and grasp the thick thorn.

“Shit,” I breathe heavily, knowing this is going to hurt. “One. Two—” I jerk the tweezers, and scream from the intense pain. Dropping the tweezers, I tuck my head to my foot and cry and wail through the pain. I’ve never felt anything like it before. It’s as if fire has impaled itself inside my foot.

“River!” Cricket knocks on the door. “Are you okay?”

Sitting up, I notice the thorn is halfway out, splitting my skin. I can’t pull it all the way out, it hurts. I want to abort.

“I need help,” I cry, my cheeks red from all the tears rushing down at once. Quickly he opens the door and looks the scene over.

“Oh dear.” He kneels, looking my foot over like a caring father. “It’s a big one.”

“It hurts so bad,” I whimper.

“Some of these have poison in them,” he informs, picking up the tweezers. “We got to get it out of there, or it will just get worse.” Holding his hand up, he looks me in the eye. “Hold onto my hand, and I’m going to pull it out. You ready?”

Closing my eyes, I nod and grasp his wrinkled hand. It’s soft and warm.

I feel him dig in after the thorn, and in one swift jerk, he removes it. My eyes widen, and a puff of air wheezes from my sore lungs.

Blood pours from the wound, and it burns so bad I can feel it throughout my whole foot.

He stands, and jogs into the other room, coming back with a needle and thread, and whiskey.

Whiskey. It reminds me of Warner. Is he hurt, where is he?

Cricket pours it over my foot, but I can’t feel anything. It’s like my foot went numb. Darting the needle inside my skin, he sews it shut with blue thread. I sit there in a daze, amazed I can’t feel anything as he closes it up.

“Thank you,” I wheeze.

Clipping the thread with some scissors, he looks his handy work over.

“All done. You clean up, and you can tell me how you got yourself into this mess over some fried fish.” He gives me that grandfatherly smile and leaves me alone again. Maybe he’s crazy, there’s no way I would let a wanted criminal into my house and invite them to dinner.

The tub now filled, I sink into it, making sure to leave my sore foot out. Drowning my head underwater, eyes open I scream in anger. Bubbles pouring out of my mouth. I release my rage, sadness, fear, and regret into the bathtub of warm water. Sitting up, water dripping from my eyelashes, I can’t stop thinking about Warner. I cry. I want to go looking for him, but what if I’m spotted?

“I put a dress outside the door for you, your clothes kind of smelled,” Cricket says from outside the bathroom door, I don’t respond. I pissed myself, I’m sure I smelled terrible.

After bathing, I get out and quickly grab the dress from outside the door. It fits nicely and is purple with sequin ruffles. It looks like something I would pick out and wear. Hopping out of the bathroom I see a picture hanging on the wall. It looks like Cricket but younger, and a woman next to him. She looks like me, a free-spirited young woman. They look so happy and carefree in the picture. He’s looking at her like she’s his whole world, and she’s laughing.

“That’s my girl,” Cricket says, startling me. I didn’t see him standing in the hallway.

“Sorry,” I mutter, feeling like I’m being invasive.

“No need. Come let’s eat, and I’ll show ya where you can sleep.”

Heading into the kitchen, a wooden table sits with fresh fish on a platter.

“While you were bathing, cops showed up looking for yeah,” he tells me casually like he’s talking about the weather.

I freeze, my body halfway in the chair. Should I run?

“I’m good friends with the local chief, told him it’s been quiet here, and he left.” He chuckles, proud of himself for lying to the cops.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I tell him, sitting down in the chair fully. He doesn’t owe me anything, and he’s just putting himself in a mess he doesn’t need to be in.

“I know, but I don’t trust the news anyway. They get shit twisted, they did that shit with me and my girl back in the day. So, that’s why I want you to tell me your story. Keep an old man like me company.” He takes a bite of his fish, looking me over as he chews. I don’t know what to say, or do, so I just stare back.

“Then again if you want to turn yourself in, I can call him back,” he shrugs. “You’re not a prisoner.”

“No,” I snap faster than I can think. If I turn myself in, I’ll never see Warner again.

Grabbing a fork and knife, I cut into my fish and take a deep breath to tell Cricket all about me and my handsome Warner. God I’m so worried about him.