Untraceable

Survival Skill #49

“You should be.” Al points his pistol and fires.

Dad jerks his arm out of my hand and before I can stop him, he steps in front of me acting like a human shield. The bullet must connect, because he yells and slumps to the ground.

I scream. “No!” Before I can help him, another bullet grazes my shoulder. Pain shoots through my arm, and I tumble to the ground. Dad tries to get up but collapses against a tree. I can’t do anything except writhe in pain as Al converges on us.

He stands over me. “Damn. Kinda wanted a good challenge. Thought you’d be tougher than that. Your old man was too easy. I told Carl we should’ve killed him months ago, but Carl didn’t have the balls.”

The comment pisses me off. I didn’t come this far to give up now. Holding my arm to keep from bleeding out, I stagger to my feet and take a defensive stance between Al and Dad. “Get away from him.”

Al faces me and sneers, revealing bloody teeth. “Didn’t think I’d let you get away, did yah?” Then he points the gun at my head.

Wyn always teases me about having nine lives. Last I counted, I didn’t have any left.

My brain recalls every survival move I’ve ever learned with ease. I decide to distract him. “Too bad I hit your leg. I was aiming for your heart.”

Al laughs. “What are you talking about? You didn’t shoot me.”

“If you say so.” I smile, even though my legs quiver. The whole time I’m only focusing on one thing. Knocking that gun out of his hand.

He steps forward and extends his arm. Now, the gun is only a few inches from my head. Just a few more steps. “You’re lying.”

I shift on my feet and slide on forward. “What? You got something against being shot by a girl? Doesn’t make you much of a man, does it?”

Al leans in and hollers right in my face. “Shut up!”

The fact he’s so close proves how much he underestimates me. I take the opportunity to head butt him right in the nose. His nasal cavity crushes and starts to bleed. But he doesn’t seem to notice because he wraps his large hands around my throat like a steel vise.

My vision blurs as oxygen is depleted from my lungs. I sag to the ground under his force and try hard to remain conscious by breathing shallow, but my refusing to pass out only encourages him to squeeze harder. A black veil slowly wipes over the image of Al’s face.

Before my vision totally disappears, Dad’s face pops up over Al’s shoulder. He barks an order. “Get the hell off her!” Before Al can react, Dad slams a log down across his back.

Al tumbles over and lies on the ground, whining. When he pushes up to on fours, Dad hammers on him again. This time in the back of the head. Al flops over on his side.

My shoulder’s on fire, but I manage to crawl over to Dad who’s slumped against a log. “Nice shot.”

His breath seems labored. “Those stupid golf lessons your mom got me finally came in handy.”

That’s when I spot the blood. At first I think it’s Al’s or mine, then I notice Dad’s side. “Dad, you’re bleeding.”

He closes his eyes and mumbles a little Monty Python, “Nonsense. It’s just a flesh wound.”

“I gotta get you outta here.”

Jumping up, I stand at a safe distance and nudge Al with my shoe. He doesn’t move, but I can see he’s still breathing. Out cold. I uncurl some twine from my backpack and bind his ankles and wrists, using a double reef knot so it holds. My hands work feverishly as I expect him to sit up and grab me like in a horror movie.

When he’s finally secure, I remove the green bandana hanging out of his pocket and shove it into his mouth. I mumble under my breath, “Jerk,” and give him one extra kick in the butt. I look at Dad. “Sorry. I couldn’t help myself.”

“Don’t apologize to me. I don’t blame you.” Dad coughs as I run over and help him to his feet.

We head off the path and crash through the underbrush. With each step, Dad grows weaker and weaker.

Behind us, voices grow louder, reminding me they are still after us. I search for a quick place to hide as my vision goes in and out. I almost pass out but somehow hold it together. Every time Dad collapses from exhaustion, I push through fogged vision and pain to support him.

Up ahead, I spot a small chance at safety.

I drag Dad into a small opening in the rocky hillside. Working quickly, I lay him down and pull a few logs in front of the entrance, hoping to conceal us from the path. Panting, I crawl in and collapse next to him. My heart is pumping so hard; I can almost see the outline of it pushing against my chest bone. The crunching of the men’s boots along the pebbled path outside makes me hold my breath. They sound so close. Any minute, I expect them to bust through the flimsy barrier like they did before.

I grip my knife and stare at the opening, waiting.