Run & Hide by Beatrix Hollow
19
Ipaced back and forth in the bathroom, sometimes shooting glances at myself in the dirty mirror above the sink. I looked scared. My arms were wrapped tightly around myself, my nails scratching at my skin as if there was an itch I couldn’t get rid of.
Where was Caspian? What was taking so long? Why did I keep hearing screams?
Who, what, where, when, why. Shit! I was getting more nervous by the moment.
A voice brought me out of my thoughts. It came from right outside the bathroom door. A woman’s voice, low and shaky.
“Help,” she gasped. Shivers went over my arms as I heard the voice etched in terror, sounding close to tears.
“Please help me,” she whined in desperation and I recognized the voice. It was the camp manager. The door to the bathroom rattled as she tried to frantically tug it open. I stepped in front of the door with wide eyes, watching it rattle in place.
“Hello?” I asked in my own shaky voice. The door stopped moving and I heard her shoes shifting on the concrete outside the door.
“Please open the door,” she begged. “Please, they’re going to get me.”
“Who?” I asked, resting one hand on the handle. I hovered my other hand over the lock. Some part of me wanted nothing to do with her. It was an instinctual need to protect myself and not accept additional danger. I swallowed, trying to shake off the feeling of apprehension. Didn’t she have a key to get in though? Maybe she didn’t have time to grab it?
“Please,” she whined, not answering my question. I imagined her hurt, trembling, and scared, standing outside the door begging for my help. I flipped the lock to let her in but before I could tug the door open it was shoved into me. The edge caught my lip, grinding it sharply into my teeth. The door pushed and I lost my footing. My tailbone smacked the hard tile ground, sending a sharp rattle up my spine.
“She’s here,” she bellowed out, sounding pleased and confident. All the terror and shakiness from her voice was gone. Chills ran over the back of my neck. The air felt thick with anticipation of violence.
Suddenly, it felt dire that I got out of this bathroom and ran. Something very, very bad was going to happen if I didn’t. The campground manager stood before me, blocking the entrance. I could jump up and barrel into her and run into the woods.
I never got the chance. A man stepped into the bathroom’s doorway and the campground manager melted away. He was huge, as tall as Caspian but twice as wide with a ball cap hiding his eyes but not the grimy smile stretched across his mouth.
I screamed.
The blood from my split lip was already sticky on my chin. The man reached in and gripped my ankle, tugging me towards him as I clawed at the ground for purchase.
Somehow, somewhere, I’d made a horrible mistake. That knowledge hit me like a swooping gust of wind stealing my breath and crushing my body. I shouldn’t have stayed in the bathroom. I shouldn’t have left the campsite. I shouldn’t have ever come to these fucking woods in the first place and should have listened to my family. Whichever mistake it was, was the type of mistake that could cost me everything.
I jerked around and kicked out. My foot connected with the man’s wrist. My thoughts were scrambling, a wiggling mass of snakes all twisted together. He grunted when my shoe slid on his arm but gripped my ankle tighter, sliding me closer so that he could wretch me up on my feet.
For a moment we were nearly flush and my body convulsed in disgust and shock but then he shoved me away. I fumbled forward, my body connecting with someone else’s. I recoiled, jerking back. All of my movements were jerky, too much adrenaline poisoning my system. I felt like I was choking on it.
The smaller guy attempted to grab me but I fell to the ground and tried to scramble away on my hands and knees.
“Get her!” The big man barked and the scrawny guy leapt on my back. “That’s right, just wrestle her to the ground like a hog.” The guy on my back was young and not that big but his thin arms had strength and he flattened himself on top of me like he’d been doing this for years.
He rode me to the ground and laid me out as I snarled and gasped. He jerked my arms back and my shoulders tightened. The rough, scratchy sensation of rope tightened on my wrists. Panic reared inside me. I squirmed on the ground, screaming, tears mingling with dirt, brittle pine needles sticking to my bloody chin. The rope cinched in place and I was lifted off my back.
“She’s gonna be a handful,” the big guy said with a snort of amusement, smacking the smaller guy on the shoulder in praise for a job well done.
A moment later we were back at camp, the big guy shoving me forward the entire way, my feet stumbling to get under me so I wouldn’t be sprawled out on the dirt. My mind kept screaming “run” as my body shook from unspent adrenaline. I couldn’t run though, I was having trouble just staying upright before the next shove hit my back.
An entire group of people stood in our camp—dirty faces and clothes, leering, heavy gazes. The bonfire behind them had died down but still cast their faces in shadows as it crackled behind their backs. My eyes raced over them in a blur as my heart plopped and pounded erratically in my chest.
The big man stepped around me, spitting something from his mouth to the ground beside us. Dark brown gunk soaked into the dirt. He seemed the leader, the rest completely quiet and looking at him for what to do next. He was wearing a pair of jeans, work boots, and a faded gray tee-shirt stretched over his beer gut and thick arms. Despite the story his belly told, his shoulders were the widest I’d ever seen and his thick arms were firm.
I slid my focus around the camp and my gaze stalled on the bass player, slumped and unmoving, blood soaking into the dirt. I reared back, gasping but that had me hitting the leader in the stomach. He shoved me off him. I stumbled forward and fell into the dirt. The copper tang of blood filled my nostrils as I landed in front of the wide, unmoving eyes of the bass player.
Simon, I remembered suddenly. His name was Simon.
It was a subtle but jarring thing seeing a murdered face up close. The type of quiet experience that might silently worm in my mind to haunt me for years. Tears pressed from my eyes, blurring my sight before someone tugged me up. Laughter rolled around the group, a putrid sound of rotten men.
“We’ve been watching,” the leader said behind me. “Watching for a long time and we know what’s out here. You do too, right?” I didn’t respond. I felt shocked, my eyes dragging over to see blonde hair in the dirt. A loud sob broke from my mouth, choking me for a moment. Matthias was laying in the dirt, his face an expression of serene apathy. The bug bites were still on his arms but of course, that didn’t matter anymore.
“Mothman is in these mountains and we're gonna catch him tonight,” the big guy continued, pointing around at his group. Hoots and hollers let out in the group, excitement for blood sport. My eyes swept the crowd for any sign of civility and found none.
“He likes hiding but he came out for you,” the big guy said, poking me in the back. I jerked away from him, giving him my front as I shifted continuously, eyeing the people behind me.
“Mothman!” He barked out abruptly in excitement, making me flinch. His face was wide and happy, a smile stretching wide as he retrieved a tin from his pants. He pinched stringy, brown goo out and hooked it into his cheek.
“He likes you,” the leader said, his mouth spreading into a wide smile. The brown syrup from his chewing tobacco was smeared over his gums and teeth.
“There is no Mothman,” I said, my voice scratchy.
“No ma'am,” he said with a chuckle. “Mothman is one hundred percent real and we’re catching that motherfucker tonight!” His voice grew louder until it ended in a roar. The group began howling like dogs, jerking their arms in the air towards the moon. His tongue rolled around his dirty mouth and then he spat brown liquid on the ground.
“Now that we have the perfect bait we’ll get him,” he said, leaning forward to speak just to me as the others continued to holler in excitement. My eyes slid away from his and in the trees, I saw something. The flash of reflective eyes.
Caspian! They blinked out and I swallowed, scanning the woods for any further sign of him. Another part of me hoped I didn’t see him again, that he was running through the woods to find the ranger station. To find phone service. To get any help he could get.
“Let’s go,” the leader grunted out and I realized Brandon and Grady were here too, being shoved around the same as me. Their arms were bound and Brandon had a blank look that reminded me too much of Matthias’ lifeless face.
“Loren,” one of the men called to the big guy before passing him a glass jug. The big man, their leader Loren, reached out and took it from him. I could smell the scent of alcohol from here. He took a thick swig then eyed me with a smile.
“Open up, precious,” he said with a smirk. He snatched my jaw hard, forcing my mouth open so he could shove the jug in and turn it upside down. Liquid fire ran down my throat and still felt hot and burning by the time it made its way to my belly.
He tugged the jug back and I spewed out what was left in my mouth before hacking. He took another swig then gave a bemused laugh. He was celebrating, in high spirits, stomping past the men he’d murdered without giving them a second thought. My throat felt ragged from screaming and from the burning sensation of something closer to gasoline than liquor.
“Let’s get out of here before that other guy shows up. The long-haired one,” Loren said, eyes swiveling around to the woods.