Like a startled deer, I bolted.
Was it smart of me to leave my shoes and the flashlight? No. Actually, it was incredibly moronic. But when the fight or flight instinct kicks in, you don't contemplate. You just go.
I ran the quickest route I knew back to the gravel parking lot. When my feet were bloody from thistles and rocks and weeds and the journey was taking three times as long as it ought to have taken, I stopped. I knew my way out. I should have been out by then.
That first night was only the very beginning, the tip of the iceberg. See, no matter what route I took, everything led me in circles.
I spent the first two weeks running futilely, even in daylight. I did what I could to survive; I knew how to find water, and the food I could get was enough to scrape by. Every couple days I would let myself sleep, a dark and nightmarish sleep, in a tree. But I was too afraid to stay in any one place for long. It all seemed so surreal, like I might wake up at any moment in my bed.
Home felt like a far-off fantasy.
Occasionally I would see a faint silhouette watching me, usually at quite a distance. When I saw this, I didn't thinkāI just ran.
Had I only known what was to come, I might not have bothered running.
