Four Years Ago

I was cold.

I was lost.

My clothes were a mess. My vest was ripped and the sleeve was sliding down my shoulder. My jeans were covered in mud. My converse were wet and kept making squelching noises ever step I took. I didn't know where I was heading but there was one thing I did know.

I knew what I was leaving. After my parents told me the truth all I could think to do was run. So I did. I ran as fast as I could. I found myself running through a park when it started to rain. I ran through puddles and mud and into a small forest. Now I didn't know where I was. I'd ran for miles without stopping. My breathing was uneven, my face red and blotchy. How could they do this?

All the training was for this.

Just to recruit me.

I was walking now through the trees. The sun was starting to set and I couldn't see where I had come from and where to get out of the forest. I could hear cars passing by so I wasn't far from a road so I followed the noise. I emerged from the forest on a small road. Not many cars going past. I started walking. It didn't matter what direction anymore as long as it wasn't back where I came.

I can't believe it. My parents are - God I cant even say it. They're terrorists! How had I not known. Today is my sixteenth birthday. Apparently recruiting age. They had me take self defence classes in different fighting styles, classes in hacking, classes in how to survive with nothing and those pavement artist classes. Plus teaching me how to speak seven different languages. All just to recruit me.

I could barely see. My tears wouldn't stop. They were silent tears now as I thought back to everything that had happened. How they casually turned to me and asked me to join them. Like I should have been happy to become a terrorist. They didn't care. They never cared. I was just an investment to them. My feet were moving on their own now. It was getting colder now and all I had on was a vest top and jeans.

I saw a bench and sat down staring mindlessly at cars that passed by me. A bus pulled up in front of me. That's when I realised that I was sat at a bus stop. I stood up and asked where the bus was heading.

"New York bus terminal" the driver had said monotone. He looked at me questioningly, seeing if I was going to get on the bus or not. I hopped on and pulled out my phone. Thankful that I kept emergency cash in my case. I paid and found that I had ran further than I thought. The terminal being only a few stops away. From my house it took forty-five minutes to drive to the bus terminal.

I was running on auto pilot now. All I had was my phone and one hundred dollars in cash give or take a couple of bucks. I'd lived in New York for half my life. I was born in Miami and my family relocated for my dads job. Or so I thought. I wet to high school here. Made a life here. And they had torn it all apart.

They were the leaders of the COC. The biggest terrorist group known in America. Everything that had been on the news was because of them. They had authorised it.

Soon I was getting off the bus and walking into the terminal. I pulled my phone out and saw a few messages from my dad. I sighed. I didn't know what to do. All I knew was that I couldn't go back now.

I wouldn't go back now.

I walked into the bathroom at the station. Looking at my reflection I realised how much of a mess I really looked. I walked back out and spotted a small tourist shop. I picked up a hairbrush, make up wipes and found some 'I love NYC' t-shirts and pants. They looked awful but sadly they would be better than what I had on. I grabbed some more toiletries like a toothbrush and toothpaste and went and paid.

Back in the bathroom I changed and tamed my hair and cleaned my face. I looked better. More presentable. The pants I had bought tight around my thighs and the shirt was baggy. It would do. I grabbed everything and headed back into the terminal. No one was looking at me no more. I felt better already. I don't know why.

I sat down on one of the benches and just stared out of the window. I didn't know what to do. But at the same time I did. It was like all that training my parents put me through was kicking in. The irony. I bet they never thought that I would use it against them. They had me trained to be the perfect terrorists daughter. More fool them.

Finally everything became clear to me.

My phone buzzed again. It was from my dad. I decided to open the messages. I couldn't even bother wasting energy being shocked anymore. All my crying had drained me.

'You better get home now'

'Where are you?'

'If you don't come back we will come looking for you'

'Cameron you better get home now or we will hunt you down and destroy you'

The last one almost had the waterworks start again. Instead I did what I had been taught to do and that was to run and hide. To stay hidden until you have a plan of action. And that is exactly what I am going to do. I pulled my battery and sim card out of my phone before snapping it in half and binning it. I only had a few dollars left now after my new clothes. I had to get out of New York.

Present Day

I've lost track of how long I've been running for. I tired. All I want is to have my life back. I'm twenty years old and all I have done with my life is run and hide. It's about time I take back my control. I've had a few close calls were they have caught up with me. Thankfully I have always been one step ahead of them. They have bigger worries than me. Their focus is split too many ways. I've used it in my favour.

A few months back I was researching their organisation. It seems to grow everyday, but I found the smoking gun I was looking for. The thing that could help me escape and stop running.

My Uncle. Joe Solomon.

I remember him, sort of. I remember him going missing when I was fifteen. Now I know why. He ran. From what I can find online he's been in the same place for longer that I've been running. He used to be the one to train me in being a pavement artist. It was my favourite class my parents had me do. It's helped me more than anything else. You never know who you can trust anymore.

I need to find him and get him to help me. I'm too tired to keep running and hiding from them. They've caught up to me more this past year than they have in the past four years put together. I have nothing to keep me going anymore. I need his help more than anything.

I'm currently in Miami. I've never done well in the sun. I prefer it dark and cloudy, makes it easier to hide and blend. The sun sees everything. Spotting an internet cafe I popped in and ordered a coffee and sat at one of the computers. The easiest way to find someone usually is to just google them. Googling Joe Solomon didn't come up with much.

But it didn't come up with nothing.

Maybe the fourth link down was an award site for a college. When it opened the screen filled with my uncles face.

"Getting sloppy Uncle Joe," I whispered to myself.

Scrolling through the article I found out that he has worked for the college for three years and was awarded for his heroics in saving a group of students from a burning building. I guess I'm gonna get that further education after all. I went back to google and search the college - Roseville community college.

"Here's your coffee," A young girl said setting my drink down next to me. I smiled before turning back to the computer. I enrolled myself and looked through the class sheet and signed up for all of the classes that Joe taught. He taught gym, french and history. No doubt using his past life skills to be able to teach those. Thankfully french was one of the languages I spoke.

My only fear was him not recognising me. It has been a long time. I deleted my search history and finished my coffee. I waited for the girls back to be turned before dashing out of the cafe. Unfortunately, I can't afford coffee. I've survived on pick pocketing business men and women to pay for a bed in a hostel, food, clothes and anything else I might need. But if I can help it I try not to spend it all on non-essentials. It's easier to save it for an emergency and just sneak out of cafe's and restaurants without paying.

I walked to the bus station and purchased a ticket to Virginia with my remaining money. It was time to go to school. The last place my parents would look for me. If they found me I'd be dead. I'd rather postpone that as much as I can. Hopefully Uncle Joe will help me. Let's hope Virginia brings me better luck.