Born by Tara Brown Read Free Book Online Page B

behavior forces the thought.
    His hand squeezes mine.
    I hear a cracking noise. My father's face
fades.
I wake and look around but I see
nothing. My eyes are blocked by something. I lift my head to realize I'm face
down in a bushy branch. The smaller branch, I'm resting my weight on, is
breaking. I struggle for a moment and pull myself up but the branch below me
snaps loudly and falls. It hits every other branch on its way down. I cringe,
as each noisy strike fills the air. The rustling of the bushes overtakes the
night.
    I pant loudly, waiting.
    My heartbeat is throbbing throughout my
body.
    I have nowhere to go if anything has
heard my noise. I stay perfectly still, willing my body to calm itself.
    I can't believe how close I came to
falling out of a tree. I never sleep in trees, I always choose underground, but
tonight I have no choice. I have no plan. It's one of my rules to always have a
plan. I feel naked without it.
    I stay in the tree, resting my eyes and
listening to the sounds of the night.
    I climb down before the sun comes up. I
never move much in the day. It's one of my rules but I have no choice. I'm
limited for time.
    I walk quickly, trying not to imagine the
fever that has flushed his cheeks or the pain the leg is causing. His eyes
unnerve me, even in my own mind.
    I see the trees thinning. I am close. My
stomach is a bundle of knots and nerves.
    I walk as close as I can with my weapons.
I grip them close to me as I have my last few seconds with them. I've only been
here once and it scared the shit out of me.
    I tremble and I put them in a hole under
a tree. I stuff the bow to the very back of the hole and my knife. I shiver
from the nakedness of being without them and I cover the hole with branches.
    I walk away, breaking a branch with my
hands every few steps. I leave the snapped ends hanging. It looks like a bear
or another large creature has roamed the woods.
    My father's craziness will live inside of
me forever.
    The first few steps from the woods feel
like wading through the river. My legs ache, but the anxiety of being on an
open road is making them feel like I'm wearing cement boots.
    My breath increases. My peripheral vision
becomes sharper. I see a leaf blowing down the concrete. I see an old brown
stain and force my brain not to hear the ripping and tearing. It feels weird to
walk on a road. It's been so long I can't remember the last time.
    Just when my stomach can't hurt worse, I
hear them.
    They're a ways down the road but they
holler at me. I know it's me they're shouting at.
    My legs break into a run for the gates of
the town, before I dare to glance at them. My muscles push and my bullet hole
stings.
    I run in a way I haven’t in a long time.
No backpack to weigh me down, just a small sack in my hands. No heavy clothes
what with the spring sun popping out. I wearing just a long sleeve t-shirt,
cargo pants and my thick-soled boots I took from the dead. I'm faster than I
remember being. It could be that I'm more scared than I remember being.
    My arms pump as my legs dig. The ground
is passing by me in a blur.
    I see the guards. They won't protect me
unless I reach the town. They'll watch the men tear my clothes from my body and
rape me in the field out front.
    The voices behind me are closing in on
me. They're fast too. They run more than I do.
    "Don't run baby. We'll make it worth
your while."
    I blast through the guard gate and drop
to my knees inside the walls.
    I hear a guard through the blood pounding
inside my ears, "Halt."
    I turn around to see four guards suddenly
there. They stand in front of the gate with huge guns.
    The five men, who have chased me, are
bent over and breathing heavy. I see the smirk of one of the men as his eyes
meet mine.
    He points at me, "See you on the way
out. Maybe we can give you an escort home."
    Shivers travel my spine. His grin scares
me.
    He is seedy and dirty. His smile makes me
want to gag. I move away from the contact of a hand gripping my arm