Susan the up and coming divorce lawyer, slotted for death by a vengeful man has been kidnapped by an assassin. Her unnamed captor and potential murderer has decided to spare her. The reasons for his strange behavior aren't clear.
The reader can assume they are the product of accumulated factors that have been building for some time. What exactly these factors may be are like an amorphous cloud obscuring his reason. They are at least an increased sensitivity regarding the helpless circumstances of a woman he find himself attracted to. This attraction hasn't ameliorated an insensitivity that also has been the cumulative result of years of mayhem. He likes his victim, but is unable to communicate his sincere reluctance to do her harm. His attempts to influence her to resist escape through fear have backfired. His latest effort to discourage flight resulted in open defiance. Of course her defiance through flight is nothing more than her desperation in the face of what she sees as her absolute destruction.
Susan, refusing to sign blank documents authorizing body modifications, has run. She has no idea where she's going. She only knows she cannot survive in the current environment.
She ran from the monster's office, out the door, into the yard, and fell on a metal stake used when the men pitched horseshoes. It hurt but didn't stop her. She sped down the grassy knoll to the nearest clump of trees. Into the trees she ran. Though in excellent shape her latest tribulations had taken their toll, it wasn't long before she was exhausted. Still she pressed on, deeper into the forest.
At first the path was wide and easy to follow. However, the further she ran the less well defined the trail became. More and more she found herself dodging small holes and roots. The trees at first were wide apart, then as they closed in they offered welcomed shade, but further along their branches began to impinge on her travel. Tough low hanging limbs slapped at her face and arms. Brambles and briers replaced open trail, and the sharp barbs of prickly stickers stung and scraped her legs.
Shortly the path disappeared altogether. She was pushing into the habitat of small creatures, squirrels, rabbits, mice and innumerable insects. An occasional tree frog announced her passing. Once in a while a turtle retreated into its shell. A garter snake whisked by. She wasn't deterred. Susan pushed on. Her dead run was replaced by a rapid trot, then to a brisk gait, last to a tired walk, but still she kept moving. Somewhere up ahead she was sure she'd find a road, perhaps a house. She'd escape, get help, come back and get even.
She had no idea how long she'd been moving. She headed due east into the morning sun. She knew she was moving away from her torturer, moving toward freedom. She heard no sounds, saw not sights. Everything was a dark green interrupted only by the dark brown of oak, maple, and the occasional walnut tree.
Her legs were tired, tormented by constant motion and the omnipresent thorns and stickers that scratched and tore her soft flesh without mercy. Her arms and face had been abused with equal ardor. Her clothing, the thin short sleeved blouse and filmy mini-skirt offered no protection. Her slippery leather shoes and short white socks offered no defense against the rocky root scarred soil.
Susan had no idea how long she'd been trudging along through the low brush and weeds that were always over shadowed by thick vine covered branches. She recognized most of the vines were harmless Virginia creeper, but every now and then she had to move to avoid the threatening strands of Poison Ivy. She knew she was probably covered in it, but that didn't deter her. She had to push on.
As well as she could tell, though the sun was high in the sky, she was still moving east. In order to maintain her easterly march she decided to find a place to rest. Later she'd continue east with the sun at her back. She was tired and sore, and her mouth was dry.
In the distance she thought she heard moving water. Perhaps there was a stream? If that was the case she'd be able to slake her thirst and use some of the cooling water to wipe away the grime. She moved toward the sound. It was much closer than she thought. A broad fast moving little brook, perhaps fifteen to twenty feet wide, and in places it looked to maybe four feet deep. Deep and clean, just what she needed. But the banks were high and steep. It was going to take ingenuity to get to the water.
Using a surface root from a large maple she slowly slid down to the water's edge. She washed her hands and cooled her feet in the wonderful liquid. Cupping her hands like she'd seen explorers do in the movies she drank her fill. It was cold, clean, and deliciously refreshing. A little further down there were numerous flattened rocks. It was just what she needed to rest her weary feet. She could sit on one of the dryer rocks and allow the restorative qualities of the swiftly flowing water to re-energize her aching muscles.
She clawed and crawled her way to the rocky outcropping. She sat and rested while the sun continued to drift further west.
She must have dozed off, for when she next noticed the sun was a weak sentinel on the western horizon. She got up and started to the other side of the stream. Her plan was to climb the further bank and continue her eastward journey. She stepped gingerly across the rocks to the other side. It was slippery, but she managed the climb the eastern slope. Off she went on her eastward trek.
As she traveled she heard voices not too far off. Perhaps she was approaching some farmhouse, a road, maybe a gas station. She moved more quickly. Help might be just minutes away.
She stopped. The voices were speaking in a foreign tongue, an Asian language. Worse, they had the distinctive sound of people who were searching for someone. Her jailer, her would be vivisectionist must have sent out his henchmen. She decided to move faster but in a more southerly direction. She'd put herself well south of the hunting party, and then slip east again.
The going was easier on the east side of the stream. There were fewer trees, and in places it looked like the low vegetation had been recently cleared. She kept moving. She still heard the voices. They were well to the east.
The sun had nearly set. Susan decided she should keep going through the night, at a slower pace for sure, but it might give her an advantage. She kept moving. The night sky was clear. She adjusted her travels by the light from the North Star.
She had no idea how long or how far she'd gone since the sun had died, but up ahead she saw the glimmer of firelight. Perhaps, she hoped, it was someone out for an evening, someone who might rescue her. She inched her way toward the faint firelight. Before she could distinctly see anyone she heard their voices. It was that same Asian dialect. Her hunters had been way ahead of her, and had made camp directly in her path.
Susan considered the best way to outfox her tormentors was to double back. She'd head back north, and then east. It was very dark. The only sound in the forest was the talking of the men at the camp, and the quiet scuffing sounds of her own haggard body.
Tired to the point of tears, muscles crying out for respite she retreated north until she was out of ear shot, then she veered to her right back to the east.
Later, much later she espied something glistening not far away. She approached it with caution. A man made obstacle, a high and practically new barbed wire fence. It must have been eight feet high, and trimmed at the top with concertina. It was both disheartening and encouraging. Wiring like this was typical of that found on the edges of Interstates. Had she reached a main thoroughfare? That was the good news. The bad news was she foresaw no easy way of overcoming it.
Susan scouted north a few hundred feet and found no break in the fencing. However, there was a small gully. Perhaps she could crawl under the obstruction. She knelt to examine the situation. It didn't seem likely but was worth at least a gamble. She started to crawl under the wire. She squirmed forward slowly, but to her chagrin found the wire extended slightly below the surface. She never imagined that possibility.
Now nearly a quarter of the way through she decided to turn back. Her retreat was more difficult. The unforgiving wire scratched her already much abused skin, and part of the pitiful remains of her blouse was caught. She tugged frantically until she was able to pull herself free. The result was more scratches, a failed crossing, and the torn shreds of her blouse left in a place beyond her reach. She could only hope no one would see the results of her failed efforts.
Susan withdrew deeper into the scrub forest and fell asleep. She hoped to continue her journey at sun up. She was tired, but she knew this. She was free, and nobody was going to cut her body up, nobody would do that to her.
The sun peaked through the trees. She rubbed her weary eyes. At almost the same time Susan heard the voices. They were shouting and they were close by. Susan gauged by their volume they were somewhere near the barbed wire fence that had halted her advance the night before.
They were there, and judging by their tone they might have found where she attempted to cross. Susan didn't have any time to waste. Her easterly effort had to be modified. For the morning she'd keep the sun to her back. She figured she'd move west till noon, and then drop south again. She calculated her pursuers were also on a westward trajectory. She'd keep moving ahead, and as she dropped south they'd bypass her to the north. Somewhere out there, somewhere to the south she'd find help.
This was her second day out. She was exhausted, and driven by thirst. Every step was an act of will. She'd lost a shoe somewhere in the night so she threw the other one into the brush. The soil was hard, but relatively free of stickers. If she stayed on her feet and trusted her instincts she'd make it.
An hour into her westward march she reached the stream again. Her best guess put her somewhere south of her first crossing. The bank was steeper, and the water looked deeper. Holding on to a vine she slid into the water. The cold felt good on her tired sore body, though the many scratches and abrasions she'd sustained shouted out in pain. She stopped and drank some more of the precious fluid. A black snake slithered by.
She decided to follow the stream's southerly passage. That way she'd stay cool, and have easy access to water. Twice she nearly slipped on the slick moss covered rocks. She looked at her clothes. They bore little resemblance to the outfit she had on the day before. Her blouse was in complete tatters, and the skirt was ripped and torn. She'd given up on the socks. The only thing that had held up had been the bra. Twice she'd stopped to pee, and once she had to poop. The second time she'd used the panties to wipe her behind. She'd thrown the panties into the brush confident nobody would find them.
She was pretty sure that soon she'd find help. The stream had broadened significantly, and there were signs of agricultural activity. Somewhere up ahead she'd find a farm, and then a friendly face.
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