Val - As Fast As You Can

Five minutes.

He only gave me five minutes.

That's foreplay to whatever kind of fucked-up game he thinks this is, I don't wait to find out what happens after five.

I bolt.

No hesitation, half a plan, pure animal instinct firing in my blood like gunpowder. I sprint down the hallway like a woman on fire, boots slapping against cool stone, every door a blur, every shadow a threat. Past the breakfast nook, past the room with the stupid paintings, past a mirror I catch half a glance of myself in; wild eyes, tangled hair, panic etched deep into every muscle.

Cute.

The outside door I saw earlier appears ahead and I crash through it, shoulders banging into carved wood, wind slapping me full in the face as I stumble out into open air.

Go, Go, GO.

I tear down the side of the house, pushing my legs harder, faster. There's no one here, i've not seen anyone but the two picks since he dragged me here, no staff, no witnesses, me and the towering hedges and the endless sprawl of meadow ahead. I aim for the vines.

That tree. That weird-ass tree with the figure-eight spiral of vines wrapping up the trunk like nature's own neon sign. That's my anchor, my breadcrumb, if I hit that, I hit the trail, if I hit the trail, I hit the door.

If I hit the door, I'm free.

My lungs are already burning, the breath scraping in and out of me like I'm breathing glass, my legs ache, stomach roiling from whatever sleep-dust or mind-fuckery he put in that breakfast. The colors are still wrong, everything too bright, too alive, I'm running through a hallucination that wants to love me to death.

I see it. That tree.

Just ahead, rising out the edge of the meadow waiting for me.

I scream without sound, tears streaming, and throw my whole body at it, shoulder first, hip slamming against bark, feet skidding in the grass as I stumble onto the narrow trail.

Don't stop. Don't think. Just move.

Every step is agony. Every beat of my heart is a countdown. My ears are ringing now, a deep whine threading higher and higher until it's a shriek in my skull. My bones vibrate, something ancient and awful rising in the back of my mind, a memory I can't quite name.

And then—

The door. The one I came through. The veil. The shimmer. The exit.

Please don't be locked. Please, please, please.

I throw myself at it, shoulder screaming as I ram into the wood, both hands catching the handles, yanking like my life depends on it, because it does.

The whole thing gives. I crash through, falling forward into a rush of cold air and shadow, the colors behind me bleeding away like a dream that knew it wasn't welcome anymore.

The floor hits me hard. Knees, palms, cheek.

I lie there, panting, shaking, tears streaming, the scream in my ears dies.

And for just a second, everything is quiet.

He gave me five minutes, I give myself five seconds.

Five. To feel everything.

The panic. The failure. The blood in my mouth and the sting in my knees and the raw, clawing grief that maybe this was it. That maybe there’s no outrunning a monster with a kingdom and a promise you never wanted.

Four.

The burn of betrayal. The shame of being dragged under by something you thought you could play.

Three.

The sound of your own breathing, jagged and wild and not yours anymore, just borrowed from the moment.

Two.

The grief. The rage. The fucking hope that still won’t die no matter how many times I bury it.

One.

Move.

I launch to my feet like I’ve been set on fire. My body screams in protest, limbs weak and sluggish, but I force them forward. There’s no room for grace, no thought of stealth. I am pure motion. Pure survival. I round the creepy front facade of the old house I landed beside, its windows black-eyed and watching, and find the gravel driveway.

I remember the gate, huge, black iron bars. It must be a quarter mile down the drive, flanked by trees and endless stone walls. Past that, past that is forest. Past that is maybe safety.

Past that is anything but here.

I don’t stop to think. I run.

Faster than before, harder than my legs want to allow, my breath a war cry in my throat, vision tunneling down to that distant shimmer of the gate, heat rippling off the gravel beneath me, every step agony as sharp stones slice into my soles. But I don’t care, I’ll crawl if I have to.

I don’t see the figure.

Not until it’s too late, not until a heavy black boot snakes out from the tree line, low and swift, perfectly placed.

My foot snags, body doesn’t follow.

I fly.

The air punches from my lungs as I go airborne, then slam back to earth, gravel shredding my skin, face scraping raw stone, bone slamming into the ground with a sickening, wet thud. Pain explodes behind my eyes, blooming outward in a haze of white-hot static.

Everything slows.

Muffled voices. Footsteps.

“Shit, did you kill her?”

“No,” someone says, calm, bored. “She’s breathing.”

Hands grab me as I try to move, but my limbs are jelly, brain knocking around inside my skull trying to escape. Something slips over my head, canvas, rough, a hood, and darkness swallows everything.

Then the world tilts and I’m dropped, shoved, into something tight, confining. A crate maybe, a trunk. The metallic slam of hinges. A click. A lock.

Then movement.

An engine.

The vibration of wheels over earth.

Until nothing.

I slip under into black absence.