Thistle

Chapter 1: May

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May

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My eyes didn't want to open. Everything in my body ached including my hair. My hope last night, as I shivered in my sleeping bag, was that it was just unusually cold for summer, not that I was developing a fever. This morning, though, there was no fooling myself. The infection in my leg was serious. I forced my aching body to sit up. Bright sunlight seeped through the small attic window, yet I was still freezing.

I was in trouble. There was no way I could stay here any longer. The last few days I had come up with a plan. Well, not a plan as much as the right time to leave. Today was Monday and the end of the 4th of July weekend. The rural highway that normally only carried local traffic would be full of tourists. Campers were on their way home, and it was my best chance to hitch a ride with someone who wouldn't know me.

Doubt crept into my head. Even tourists could see the posters and turn me in. My stomach rolled at the thought. No, I had to take a chance, I couldn't stay here any longer. My brain was sluggish, and I wanted nothing more than to curl back in my sleeping bag, but I needed to leave. I pushed the sleeping bag off and slid my sweatpants down being careful of my upper right leg. Dark red streaks spread out from the half-inch cut on my inner thigh. I cupped my palm over it. It was hard and radiating heat. I didn't need a doctor to tell me it was infected.

After pulling my pants up, I struggled to stand without putting pressure on my injured leg. I bit back a cry as I lost my balance slamming onto the hardwood floor. Wiping at the angry tear sliding down my cheek, I gave a frustrated growl. Crying isn't going to get you out of this mess. Now get up.

I tried again, this time putting much lighter pressure on my right leg. Pain pulsed through my body, but I managed to stand. I didn't have much to pack. My backpack already held most of my stuff. There were some dishes and a toothbrush downstairs, but those would be easy to grab on the way out. I just needed to roll my sleeping bag up, and I could get going. Except my body choose that to time to let me know it had other plans. I needed to pee. Bad. Guess I'll have to roll the sleeping bag up later.

The attic I was sleeping in, while out of the way and hidden, didn't have a bathroom. There were bathrooms on the second floor, but no running water. The first floor had the only working plumbing and with my leg as it was it promised to be a difficult trip. I took care bending down and grabbed my backpack-- slinging it over my shoulder. Then I gathered my sleeping bag and pillow.

I took slow steps toward the narrow stairs that opened to the 2nd floor. The cabin at Thistle Grove Ranch was big enough to be called a mansion and abandoned for as long as I could remember. Sure there were no trespassing signs posted everywhere, but when I was little, my family had camped on the property almost every summer. No one had ever bothered us. Hidden in a private valley, six weeks ago it seemed like the perfect place to hide.

The trip down the stairs was slow going. My infected leg didn't like bending and by the time I made it to the second floor. I really had to pee. Dropping my things at the foot of the stairs, I limped to the bathroom. I had become use to the ever present dimness in the house, but I missed electricity. Never again would I take for granted being able to flip a switch on and having light.

The water was so cold it numbed my hands as I washed them. A few weeks ago I had run out of soap, although I still had toothpaste. Thank God. I took my time brushing my teeth almost as if I scrubbed them long enough I would feel clean all over. It didn't work. Slipping my toothbrush and paste into the pocket of my hoodie, I went back for my stuff. I tried to run my hand through my hair, but it snagged in a snarl. There were beads of perspiration on my forehead, and I felt a little dizzy. I must look like hell. I put my bathroom supplies away and was mentally going through my clean or cleanish clothing options when I heard the sound of a vehicle pulling up.

For a moment, I didn't register what I heard. Then it sunk i-- someone was here. Panic spiked in my chest nailing me to the floor. My heart slammed against my ribs so hard it drowned out everything else. He found me.

Taking several deep breaths, I tried to calm down. Nobody knew I was here. If they had, they would have come weeks ago right? The sound of the vehicle door slamming was unmistakable. Upstairs or back door? Back door was all the way at the other end of the house-- stairs would be faster. I tried to grab all my things, but my sleeping bag and pillow slipped out of my grip. No time to retrieve them. I started up the stairs. Adrenaline seemed to ease much of the pain, but I still had a limp.

Once again, my heartbeat sounded like a drum in my head. I couldn't tell if anyone made it in the house. When I got to the second floor, I didn't pause. I went to the nearest bedroom and headed straight for the closet. Flattening myself against the back corner, I tried to calm down. Think May, think. My legs felt wobbly, and I was so tired, was I sicker than I thought? My leg was screaming at me to get off my feet. I slid my backpack off, careful to not let it make a sound as it touched the floor.

I paused to listen, my heart rate dropped enough that it wasn't roaring in my ears. No footstep so far. Could I chance sitting down? Not, like you are in any shape to outrun someone. I eased onto the floor stretching my leg out in front of me. Maybe nobody was coming in the house. Then I heard the front door open. No such luck.

I let the tears fall¾this was it. I didn't need to imagine what they would do to me when they found me. I would be fortunate if they just killed me on the spot. Please let it be the cops. Prison would be better than if Bobby or his goons found me. Of course, he probably had friends in prison too. I dug my nails into my palms to keep from screaming in frustration. It couldn't be as hopeless as it felt. There had to be a way out of this.

I jumped when a thud came from below. What was that? After a few minutes, the sound repeated. It seemed like a box or something heavy hitting the ground. Then footsteps walking out. Again after a moment, the sound of the footsteps returned, and there was another thud. Twice more the pattern repeated. What could they possibly be doing, Bobby or the cops wouldn't be unpacking boxes? Maybe someone was moving in. No. This place had been empty for over twenty years.

Another thud. Whoever was down there was bringing in lots of something. The minutes passed with muffled sounds of people or maybe just a person--I didn't hear any speaking-- moving around, with the repetitive thump. Just my luck to hide out in a place abandoned for decades, only to have someone move in while I was here. But if it was someone moving in that meant they weren't here for me. For a moment, the relief made me light headed. I took a deep breath. I needed to figure out a way out.

The odds were they would eventually find the sleeping bag and pillow laying on the ground and sooner or later they would be checking out the rooms.

I scrubbed my hands over my face. Think May. My eyelids felt like hot lead. I would only close them for a second. Whoever it was might just think some transients had slept here. The floor felt rock hard and made of ice. I slid further down onto the floor and turned on my side curling my body up as best I could to get warmer. Still fears and questions swirled in my head.

What if they spotted my dad's truck? It was broke down. Had been since the fifth day I azrealized I was never going to get it working. I yawned and tried to keep my body from shivering. There was a slim chance they might not think someone was here. Sneak out tonight May.

I wanted to pull my backpack under my head, but my arms wouldn't uncurl from around my body. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew my window for catching a ride with 4th of July campers was closing. Something really needed to break my way.