Red Centre by Ansel Gough Page B

with fear. Chris watched as she
disappeared into the night. Running blind. Shit.
    Chris groped again for the flashlight. He
felt the truck shift, as though someone was rocking it—moving
around in the bed.
    Finally snatching the
flashlight he lit up the back of the truck again through the back
window. A slender figure, one he had never seen before, slipped out
the back of the truck. He could hear it moving on the gravel road
around to the driver’s side. His eyes were drawn to the open
door. Holy shit!
    Chris lunged, grabbing the door, slamming it
shut and hammer-fisting the lock. The movement outside stopped. All
was still. Just the blowing wind and the sound of Chris breathing
hard, lowered in his seat, almost on the floor.
    He tightly gripped the light, shining it
through the driver’s window, his mind racing. He didn’t want to
look, but he had to. He had to know what was really out there. Was
this just some sick, outback, hillbilly practical joke? Did they
know about his son? And if it was a joke, someone was going to get
a serious whoop ass. He could feel his fear turning to rage. He
took two quick breaths. “ARRRGHHH!” he yelled, the scream so loud
it ripped his throat raw.
    He clenched his fist, tucking in all his
fingers, making a tight wrecking ball. “WHERE’S MY SON,
MOTHER—”
    His war cry was dampened by the enclosed
truck and whipping wind.
    Chris kicked open the door, ready for a
fight. Adrenaline replaced fear. His flashlight searched for his
enemy. The truck sat alone on the empty road, its headlights
shining into the sparse trees. Chris spun around. No one was there.
He ran around the truck, shining the light in the back and
underneath. Nothing.
     

Chapter Eight
Isolation

    Lisa exploded through the
trees, smashing branches and twigs, dodging in and out, only the
moonlight to guide her way. Branches struck her body and face like
thousands of tiny whips. Her bare arms and legs absorbing the
punishment. As she pushed forward, a short, razor-sharp twig sliced
her right cheek; adrenaline suppressed the sting. She pressed
on. Gotta get away.
    She glanced over her shoulder, blood
dripping down her cheek. Breathing hard, her lungs craved oxygen.
Her body shook uncontrollably; every part trembled with fear.
    Hard dirt mounds tripped her. Stumbling, she
braced herself as both hands skidded on rocks and sandy dirt.
Wincing in pain she dusted grazed hands, which burned like
fire.
    Summoning her last remaining energy, she
climbed up a small, rocky embankment. Had to find a place to hide.
To hide long enough to make sure it was safe. Her eyes glanced
around in front of her.
    Just the open wilderness.
    She’d always loved nature. Even as a child
she loved animals and the great outdoors. Never fearful of even the
creepy crawlies. Other girls would be terrified by the spiders and
snakes, but she was fascinated. She seemed to have a connection
with them. However, now she found herself running from something
she didn’t understand.
    She stopped to take a breath, get her
bearings.
    Dry leaves crunched on the ground behind
her. Someone walking? Hopefully Chris coming to find her. She spun
to see what was there.
    Nothing.
    Her heart pounded, as if it would give away
her position with its deep thumping. She tried to calm herself,
taking a deep breath. She reminded herself that the adrenaline
surging through her body, shaking her core, was there to help. It
was the only thing she could do to get a grip. It worked, a
bit.
    She reached into her
pocket. A ranger always kept a Swiss army knife on them for all
occasions. She fumbled with the knife, still looking up to scan the
area, while trying to open the three-inch blade. Her shaking
fingers couldn’t get the little blade out. Come on you bitch-of-a-bastard!
    Finally her nail caught the little slit and
folded out the blade. She held the little knife in front, taking a
fighting stance, ready to fight for her life. Her head moved from
side to side, searching, waiting