Part 3

Victoria also ran east.  She moved slowly though, because she was wearing wedges with four inch heels.  As her class’s valedictorian she had given a farewell speech at graduation that afternoon and needed the extra height just to see over the podium.  She measured in at a compact 5’1 (if she cheated by standing a little on her tiptoes) but people always told her that she was “perfectly proportional.”  Everything about her was small.  She wore a size 5 shoe, a size 00 pant, and a size 4.5 ring.  Her demeanor was small too.  She always looked down in the school hallways, spoke quietly, and avoided conflict at all costs.  She would normally have avoided any sort of party because of the loud noises and huge crowds, but the excitement of graduation lead her to give it one chance.  She had never been to a single party, so she figured that she could check of the “attend high school party” checkbox by making an appearance at this one.  

She had driven up in her tiny, two-seat, white BMW and almost ran over her crush making out with some fake blonde.  A great way to start the night, she thought as she rolled her eyes, honked her horn, and watched the two lovebirds scurry off.  She had parked her car, and floated around the party for an hour or so.  She exchanged meaningless, awkward hugs with people she knew she’d never see again, and made empty promises to hang out over the summer.  She had decided that one hour of social interaction was quite enough for one night and was heading back to her car when the gunshots went off.  In the frenzy, a huge, sweaty, drunken football player had slammed into her, knocking her to the ground.  When she stood up, all the trees looked the same, and realized that she had no clue where she had parked.  As she stood in the open clearing trying to orient herself, she heard a string of automatic gunfire closeby and decided to choose a direction and run.  

So, here she was in her high-heeled shoes struggling to stay upright amidst the many tree roots and logs.  Suddenly, she heard an eerie mix of laughter and moaning coming from behind her.  She spun around to see that what she thought was a log was actually a dark-clothed body lying against a tree stump.  

Thinking the body to be a wounded student, Victoria approached the twitching lump only to find that it was not a student.

It was a middle-aged woman with beads of sweat collecting on her sun-damaged, wrinkled face.  Her unpleasant face was surrounded by puffy, grey, unkempt hair that fell into her lap and was wet with fresh blood.  There was a rusty machete protruding from the woman’s upper belly that went all the way through her skeleton-like body and penetrated into the bark of the tree behind her.  Victoria grimaced as she realized that the machete was actually pinning the woman to the tree.  

The woman’s eyes were glazing over and her breathing slowing down, but she still mustered the energy to try to dislodge the machete from the tree and her gut.  All to no avail, though.  She would yank on the rusty handle while gritting her rotten, yellow teeth until she had tired herself.  Then, she would let her arms fall limp to her side and look at the sky while her body shook with the most pathetically hopeless laugh.  Victoria watched the desperate creature attempt this half a dozen times before finally accepting her fate. The woman used her last ounce of energy to raise a hand and point a shaking finger in Victoria’s direction.  She held the wrinkled finger there for what felt like hours and finally let the arm fall limp at her side.  Her dead eyes were staring right into Victoria’s soul.

Victoria was completely still and probably would have stayed still forever if her lungs had not started burning from oxygen deprivation.  She had been holding her breath for over a minute now and had not even realized it.  

She was just about to flee this miserable scene, when she caught a glimpse of something small and silver peaking out of the corpse’s waistline.  Upon closer examination, Victoria made out the shape of a small revolver.  Desperate times call for desperate measures; Victoria reached into the waistline of the corpse.  Victoria could still feel the fleeting warmth of life on the body as her hand brushed by the corpse’s hip. Once she was actually holding the weapon in her hand, she immediately felt awkward.  What did she really think she was going to do with a gun?  She wasn’t going to kill anyone tonight.  She was only seventeen years old.  Seventeen year olds don’t kill people.   She took the small gun in her left hand and aimed it into the darkness of the forest, focusing her vision on one particular tree about fifty feet away.  If she can shoot a tree, she’d be able to shoot a gunman, she thought to herself.  Her vision tunnelled in so that she no longer saw the forest.  The only two things in her line of sight were the dark outline of the tree and the shaking blur of the revolver in her hand.  She was about to pull back on the trigger, when someone she recognized entered her line of sight.  It was Dean Hanson.  The name popped up in her mind, and she racked her brain for the reason that she recognized this boy all so suddenly.  He didn’t see her, but she could tell by the way he hobbled and staggered that he was drunk.  All of a sudden his dark outline fell to the ground and within seconds a masked figure with a machete was on top of Dean.   

She panicked.  She looked at the gun in her shaking hand.  Seventeen year olds don’t kill people, she thought to herself.  She’s not the type of girl who shoots people in the forest.  A matter of hours ago she had been named valedictorian of her class.  Valedictorians don’t kill people.  But in that moment Victoria felt invincible.  

She planted her feet in the dirt and lifted the gun up to eye level.  She pointed the shaking gun, as best she could, at the ominous, dark figure on top of Dean.

Bang.

The sounds of the revolver going off was surprisingly loud and sharp for such a small weapon.  The kick back of the gun also surprised her, and she stumbled backwards barely keeping herself upright.  

As soon as she regained her footing and orientation, she realized that her target had crumpled to the ground.  She had just killed a human being.  Was she a hero? Was she a murderer?  She had no answer.  All she had was a sinking feeling in her stomach and a lump in her throat.  She wanted to be home.  She longed for her soft bed and warm, gentle hugs from her mother. She wished that she could blink her eyes and start that day all over again.  She sure as hell wouldn’t have talked herself into coming to this god-forsaken party.

She noticed that Dean was struggling trying to push the dark lump of bloodied, withered human off of him.  She wiped the tears from her flushed cheeks and the perspiration from her slick forehead and approached Dean.  She cleared her throat as to conceal the fear and anguish behind it and puffed out her chest as to look tough and heroic.  She couldn’t help but think how awkward her tiny, trembling body looked in that moment as she tried to appear as stoic as possible.  As Dean heard the sound of twigs snapping coming from her direction, his deep brown, almost black, eyes met with hers.  She was a relieved to see some fear in Dean’s eyes as well.

“Hey there,” she managed to choke out in a hushed, raspy voice, “I think we should stick together.

“What?” Dean gasped out as he regained his breath.

“I said,” Victoria declared trying to sound as confident as possible, “that we should stick together.”  She realized that her tiny figure and high-pitched voice probably weren’t particularly appealing qualities in an ally, so she held up the revolver for Dean to see.  His eyes got wide, and he sat upright.  “How about now?” she asked.

“Yeah, sure.”  He muttered quickly and got to his feet.  “I say we find somewhere to hide and stay there until the police come,” He paused.  “I should probably call the police.”  He reached into his back pocket to retrieve his cell phone.

“I already tried that, genius,” she put her hands on her hips and rolled her eyes, “there’s no service out here.”  She realized that she hardly even knew this person and quickly readjusted her body as to seem more “welcoming.”  Her parents always accused her of being “a generally unwelcoming human being,” in the words of her mother.

“Damnit!” He grumbled, glancing at the forebodingly blank phone screen in his shaking left hand.  He forcefully shoved the phone back into his pocket and looked at Victoria to see if she approved of his proposition.

“Let’s hide somewhere!” She proposed as if the idea had just now sprung up in her mind.  

“Wow, good idea!” Dean praised sarcastically.  “Did you just think of that one?”

“Oh shut up,”  Victoria returned to her eyes rolled, arms folded position, “I just saved your life.”

“Oh, right.”  The fact had slipped Dean’s mind, and he realized that he was indebted to this elf-ish, bossy girl standing in front of him.  As his eyes adjusted, he recognized her as his class’s valedictorian.  “Thank you,” he paused trying to remember that old-fashioned name the principal had announced during graduation, “Thank you, Victoria.”

“Right.”  Victoria boasted, finally realizing that she was the one in charge.  She was the one holding the gun in her hand.  Whether or not she could actually aim it did not matter because Dean at least thought she could.  

“How many shots do we have left?”  asked Dean.  

Victoria couldn’t help but think how strange “we” was in that question.  She’s the one holding the gun.  The right question is how many shots does she have left.  Then she remembered that she had zero gun knowledge and did not know how to check how many shots she had left.  

“You don’t know how to check it, do you?” A smile creeped across Dean’s face, and he stood up a little taller than before.  “Do you want me to check it?”

Her shoulders sunk down, and without saying anything she handed the revolver to Dean.  He carefully turned the gun around in his hands before popping open a little chamber on the side.

“It holds six, but we’ve only got five shots left.”  Still with a crooked, proud smile, his eyes met with Victoria’s.  

Her heart kind of fluttered, but she brushed aside the feeling.  For god’s sake, she had just killed someone; she couldn’t have been thinking or feeling clearly at that moment.  She was scared and was attaching herself to the only human being within sight.  Nonetheless, her eyes lingered, and so did his.  His eyes were so warm and comforting- something she desperately needed in that moment.

Dean couldn’t help but sense the determination in her hazel eyes- something he needed right now.    

Bang.  

The invisible tension holding their eyes together snapped, and their heads swivelled around looking for the source of the shot.   They stood still listening to the rumble disperse across the forest and return to nothing but the sounds of breeze swirling the fallen leaves.  

    Victoria glanced back up at Dean’s face just in time to see the tree trunk behind his head burst into a spray of bark.  Time seemed to slow down as she watched the stray pieces of bark flying around Dean’s unsuspecting head.  For what seemed like an entire minute, he just stared off in one direction searching for the source of the sound.  Then, very very slowly, his eyes widened with surprise, and his arms shot upward and covered his head.  

Victoria half fell, half shoved Dean backwards and managed to guide them both behind a thick, undamaged tree trunk.  

“He’s reloading,” Dean whispered into Victoria’s ear once they were both shielded by two feet of oak wood.

“What?” Victoria hadn’t heard what Dean said because she was too busy inspecting the surrounding forest in order to plan an escape route.

“I said he’s reloading!” Dean snapped.  “If we’re gonna run, we have to run now!”  

Without waiting for response, Dean grabbed Victoria’s arm and without realizing it placed his body in between the shooter and Victoria as they ran.  It was all kind of just a blur after that.  They held each other up when one of them tripped on a branch or tree root and offered awkward, breathy words of encouragement.

    “Thanks,” Dean managed to grunt after Victoria had held him up when his pant leg got caught on the point of a log.  There was a pause.

“Yeah, sure.”  Victoria squeaked out in a high-pitched voice.  Another pause.

“You run fast.”  It sounded better in Dean’s head, but the words lingered awkwardly in the air.  

After running for exactly six and a half minutes (what felt more like an hour to the winded teens), they exchanged a couple glances implying that it was time to stop.  Dean almost thought that he was hallucinating when an elevated tree house appeared in his peripheral vision.  His eyes had adjusted quite well to the darkness at this point, and his senses felt heightened.  Once again, without consulting his running partner, he pulled Victoria to the base of a swaying rope ladder.  Without even thinking or asking, Victoria accepted the proposition and climbed.  Dean took one last 360 degree look around, and noticing no movement, climbed up after Victoria.

His body was shaking as his lifted himself into the five foot by five foot treehouse.  It looked bigger from outside, but his claustrophobia started to kick in once he and Victoria were curled up shoulder to shoulder in the small space.  There was no possible point in trying to stand or stretch out.  Half of the treehouse was filled with piled clutter like rusty car parts and camping supplies, and the ceiling rested about a foot above Dean’s head while he was sitting.  It wasn’t much of a ceiling, just long pieces of wood laying across the top of the structure.  

So there sat the two exasperated teens taking in their new surroundings.  The only sound was their heavy breathing, which had kind of synced up.  They looked at each other and gave out a kind of nervous laugh at the fact that their breathing was almost identical.  It really wasn’t funny, but for a second they felt okay.

“Run quickly.”  Victoria slid into the nervous chuckles.

“What?” Dean’s eyebrows rose and he let that crooked smile break across his face.

“While we were running,” Victoria explained with a little extra flirt in her voice, “you said that I run fast.  But I don’t run fast, I run quickly.”

“Huh?” Dean’s face was already red from running, but he could still feel the heat build up in his cheeks as he blushed.

“Yep,” Victoria let out another nervous chuckle, “you’re looking for a word to modify running- a verb- so you need an adverb” She realized now that she was talking quickly and with no breaths in between.  “But fast is an adjective which-”

Dean gently placed a hand on Victoria’s cheek and leaned in for a kiss.  Their lips touched, and neither pulled away.  Dean’s body tingled as he felt the cool, soft inside of Victoria’s lips and tasted her peppermint lip balm.  

Victoria’s eyes were still open in disbelief, but once she realized she was not going to pull away, she let them close shut.  She reached out to touch the first thing she could find which was a blood-splattered white shirt.  She let her fingers glide up to Dean’s adam’s apple, grabbed the collar of his shirt in a wad in her hand, and pulled him towards her.  

Dean liked that, and a tingling sensation shot up his spine.  He could not help but wonder about the inappropriateness of what they were doing right now.  A mere matter of minutes ago, Dean was certain that his life was over.  A mere matter of minutes ago, Victoria had blown a man’s brains out- and onto Dean.  He was scared, but at the same time he felt powerful and a little bit badass.  

In between the wet, sucking sounds of their lips hinging and unhinging, Victoria thought she heard leaves crunching below the treehouse.  She pulled away her lips and lifted her head.  Dean must’ve taken this as a signal to kiss the soft flesh of her neck because that’s exactly what he did.  His moist lips and and stiffened tough navigated the curves of her neck, and she could’ve sworn she felt some nibbling.  It would have been incredibly enjoyable for her if she hadn’t been so concerned with the thought that there might be a crazed killer right beneath them.  

“Dean,” Victoria whispered in between her deep, lengthened breaths, “listen to that.”

He leaned his head back against the wall of the treehouse and listened.  He couldn’t hear much other than his racing heart and quick breathing.  Then he heard it.  It sounded like crying.  Whoever was crying was also walking because he heard leaves snapping under someone’s feet.  

Victoria quietly rolled off of Dean and sat down next to him.  He could feel her body trembling, so he wrapped an arm around her waist.  

Dean could hear the familiar creaking of weight being put on the rope ladder leading up to the treehouse.  Whoever was sniffling and crying was now climbing up into the tiny tree house.  Dean and Victoria huddled together and held their breath as they both stared intently at the opening in the bottom of the tree house.  A small head appeared and peaked into the compact space.  Victoria recognized the fair but sun-kissed cheeks, the big green eyes red and swollen from crying, and the thick mess of wavy black hair.  

“Zoe?!” Victoria whispered at the dark figure pulling itself into the treehouse.  She was glad she said something because she turned to look at Dean and realized that his leg was bent back ready to kick the unknown figure back down the fifteen foot drop.  

Dean’s leg relaxed and fell to the dusty wooden floor.  “You know each other?” he whispered relieved as she moved aside to let Zoe all the way into the tiny space.  

“Yeah, kinda,” Zoe explained with a little sniffle as she curled up in the corner of the treehouse.

Dean and Victoria couldn’t help but notice the broken button on her shorts, the huge tear stretching across the front of her shirt, and the reddish purple bruises forming around her chin and neck.