Page 65 of Behind These Four Walls
She saw more light through the line of trees and ran for it. She burst through the line of trees into a grassy clearing. Her ankle throbbed. She turned in circles, desperate for signs of safety and cover before they shot again. Surely in a clearing she was easier prey. The running feet in the woods behind her sounded closer, like they were going to burst through as well. She’d have to make her stand here. Running would do nothing for her now.
Isla dropped to her knees behind a jutting boulder amid the nearly waist-high grass swaying in the wind. She smashed up against it, trying to make herself small. Her hands groped around the sunburned grass for something she could use to launch at the person when they broke through the line. She grabbed the first thing she came into contact with. A jagged rock, splintered off from the boulder she was using as her cover.
She steadied herself, raising her hand, preparing to brain the bastard as they came up on her. She didn’t want to give away where she was. She’d wait until they came to her. She heard them as they broke through the tree line, coming closer. She braced herself, tightened the grip she had on the rock in her hand. She saw the long barrel of the gun first as it appeared just above her, casting its thin, wavering shadow over her and the ground before her. More of the weapon came into view, then a booted foot, a leg, part of the upper torso and head. It was enough. She leaped up.
“You motherfucker!” she yelled. It was primal. Full of rage and insult at being chased and terrified. Her hand snapped back to smash down the rock before the figure had a chance to swing the gun around on her.
“Isla!” the figure said, his face coming into view just as the rock was about to connect with the side of his head.
She breathed out, her arm freezing in midair, inches from his face. “Myles?”
He was lowering his weapon, but she was still frozen in time. His face had paled, his breathing as labored as hers.
“How’d you get out here?” He looked at her fist and the rock in it. “What—what are you doing?”
His startled expression, equal parts relief, anger, and confusion, disengaged her, and she brought her arm down. It fell to her side like deadweight, the rock still wedged firmly in her hand.
“What are you doing?” he asked again as she stepped away from him, so very confused. She looked at him, frowning, trying to differentiate someone she knew, and who was maybe safe, from the person who’d been chasing her.
He asked, “Where have you been?” Slowly, he placed his weapon on the ground, then came back up just as deliberately, trying not to scare her more than she already was.
Isla tried to clear her confusion, to pick reality from imagination and discern if she was safe or still in danger. “Someone ...” She hyperventilated, her knees going weak. She used her free hand to steady herself, refusing help from Myles when he reached for her rock hand. “Someone was chasing me.”
“What?”
“I swear. They—there were shots. In the woods. Got lost and ... chasing me,” she choked out. She finally looked at him. “I thought ...” Nothing was coming out right. “Where were you?”
And then she buckled, with Myles catching her just in time as more of the group broke through the cluster of trees, heading toward them. He steadied her against the boulder. She was fully hyperventilating now, leaning between her knees to catch her first real, true breath. Myles placed his hand on her back, rubbing ever so softly as she refused to let herself cry. She would focus on breathing.
“You’re safe now,” he said, though his eyes darted toward the tree line and their group, scanning for signs of the danger she spoke of. “I’m here.”
The sounds of the group made Isla flinch. It was the rest of the party, but Isla still didn’t want them to see her. Now that she was safe and the confusion was clearing, embarrassment closely chased it and was taking her over. When Bennett saw her. God, when Victor. What Victor hated the most was weakness, and then she’d have lost everything she’d already worked so hard for.
The majority of the group joined them, the rest trickling behind. Bennett, Victor, Dixon, and Jackson reached them first, weapons with them, their faces grim.
Bennett exploded at her, “What the hell, Isla? You left the group and had us looking everywhere.”
“She’s fine,” Myles said tersely, sending his younger brother a warning glare, a reminder of what Bennett should have asked first.
Bennett faltered. “I mean ... are you?” He looked abashed.
“What happened to you?” Victor asked as he, along with Myles, reached down to help Isla up. Actual worry lined his face as he assessed her appearance. Or perhaps he was calculating just how much this incident was going to cost him. Isla couldn’t help thinking the worst.
She held up her hand to wave them off and give herself space. “I’m okay,” she managed. She looked up at Bennett. “I didn’t wander off,” she said pointedly. “I fell down a hill or something and got separated and lost my bearings. I called for help, but I guess everyone had moved on without me.”
The men exchanged uneasy glances.
“And someone was chasing me. They chased me all the way out here.”
The men grew more uneasy, shifting their feet.
Jackson said, “We heard shots. We thought it was another group out here. Maybe you got turned around and entered the zone, and they mistook you for game or just didn’t see you?”
Victor asked, “You think poachers?”
Isla took in her very bright vest, her fire replacing the embarrassment. “Orange stands out against green,” she retorted. “You think maybe they’re color blind?” It probably wasn’t sensitive to say, but at this current moment, Isla didn’t give a fuck.
“What’s with that?” Bennett asked, pointing to the rock she didn’t realize was still in her tight grip. “You were planning to fight bullets with rocks?”