A Place to Run Free by Michael LaReaux

Author:Michael LaReaux
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Stormbird Press
Published: 2022-11-09T04:06:07+00:00

Chapter Twenty

Jake ran.

Behind him and above him came the calls of his pursuers. Spence urged them on, and his deep, throaty whoops pushed Jake to run even faster, dodging this way and that through the labyrinth of tree trunks and tall buttress roots. Jake had no idea which direction he was heading; the only thought that his mind could conjure up was away, and the foliage slipped by him in a blur. From the canopy, he heard the rattle of branches. He tried to push himself harder, to run faster, but the trees blocked his path and kept him from reaching a full sprint. He glanced off one trunk to his right and scraped his ankle against a large one on the left, and all the while came the sound of his pursuers, leaping from branch to branch above his head, calling out to one another as they came on.

Jake could not tell how many. Four? Ten? Twenty? One hundred? The forest erupted in a tempest of rattles and howls as the others made a move to encircle him. Jake’s pace lagged, not with fatigue but with hopelessness. He was just one boy; he couldn’t fight his way out, and running to safety was looking more unlikely with each passing moment. He thought briefly of surrender, but he pushed that thought out of his mind. There was no way he was going to back into the fetid darkness voluntarily.

He cast about for some solution, but nothing presented itself. Only the trees and their endless maze of tall buttress roots filled the landscape. With his attention diverted, he missed a root directly in front of him, and Jake struck it painfully with his toes and his shin. The world spun around, and Jake landed hard against a tree trunk, the wind driven from his body. Behind him the rattle and chatter of his pursuers grew ever louder; they were almost upon him, and Jake could do nothing but fight for breath. He lay on his side against the trunk of a tree, sucking air into uncooperative lungs and dreading the inevitable. He had given his best effort, but Spence would have him again. Even as his breath returned to normal, he couldn’t bring himself to run. He stayed beneath the tree, his breath stirring up bits of red soil, and waited for Spence to collect him.

The soil was damp and loose and warm between his fingers. Idly, he lifted his hand, peering through the gloom at the red patina the soil left behind. The orangutan’s calls came louder. He looked at his hands again. A thin hope, perhaps, but better than no hope at all. Jake reached down and scooped an armful of dirt across his legs and up over his belly, as if he were drawing a sheet over himself on a cool summer night. He pushed a handful of dirt over his face and through his hair and then lay completely still.

Dead and buried, he thought. Finally.

Above him, muffled by the dirt in his ears, came the sounds of his pursuers.

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