praying, feet don't fail me now
Beth's feet carried her for longer than she'd ever thought they could. She made it out of the woods after a couple of hours, then followed the small strip of highway while staying out of sight until she found the road she knew led to Woolsey. She kept within sight of it, but remained in the shadows of the trees, away from any streetlights or the occasional passing headlights of cars. She walked for miles, her pace still reasonably quick and her body mostly running on adrenaline. She kept glancing over her shoulder, expecting a cop car to appear any moment, or the helicopter to show up again, spotlight exposing her to everyone. But the road was mostly deserted and quiet, and she was alone except for a deer every so often. Coyotes cried in the distance but she felt no fear of them.
She knew there were some houses scattered along the road out here, and Woolsey was already small, mostly made up of a plantation and minimal residences, it would be easy to pass through unnoticed. Although broad daylight might prove to be another factor, she still didn't expect to run into many people. She needed to find a truck stop or a public restroom where she could assume a disguise in safety. But she couldn't risk being seen by anyone who could report her whereabouts, or being caught on security cameras. The police were bound to be checking every surrounding town's footage to search for any sign of which direction she headed in. She had to stay completely under the radar.
Where was she headed, anyway? Past avoiding Atlanta, she hadn't put any thought into it. She'd planned on following Maggie, letting her decide where they'd be safe to go and how to get there. But now it was up to her completely.
Should I turn around and head for Mexico? The only place I'm really safe is outside of the country, but how could I get across the border without getting caught? And what would I do once I got there? I'd be carrying around a bag full of money in a country that's infamous for drug cartels, she thought to herself, racking her brain as she walked. But where the hell is there to go in this direction? Washington? That city's dangerous, too. But it is big… Maybe I should go all the way to Canada? But again, crossing the border… Should I try to find the biggest city far away and blend in until they stop searching for me? I've barely even been outside of Georgia. I never got a fake passport like Maggie, I can't fly anywhere outside of the country.
A million solutions were bouncing around in her head, and she wished more than anything that Maggie were here with a suggestion. The sky above her was beginning to lighten up and the sunrise was threatening to break over the horizon before long. Cars were passing by gradually more often as people began commuting to work and school from their country homes. Beth drifted farther into the shadows of the trees, still wary of every vehicle that vaguely appeared to have lights atop it. But she hadn't seen a single police car pass by. Maybe the guy in the helicopter was bluffing. She was sure they'd had the woods surrounded, and when she emerged from inside them, she half-expected an ambush. But there was none. Just the silence of pre-dawn and the thump of her own heartbeat.
She continued walking under cover as the sun slowly broke the horizon and rose into the sky, casting bright morning sunlight all across the road and fields. Houses began to come into view, at first only one or two off in the distance, but as she passed by them and their empty backyards, the sight of the small town up ahead was visible. It was still quiet and Beth noticed that most of the houses looked empty for the day.
She passed by a handful more houses, some of which had laundry hanging from a clothesline in the backyard, others where she could see faint outlines of people inside getting up and ready for the day. She remained cautious and hidden amongst trees and shadows, trekking through grass and weeds as sweat soaked through her clothes in the rising morning heat. Late summer was definitely one of the worst times for her to be on the run, and she had barely a few sips of water left. She finally came upon the last house within sight before she'd have to enter the town, and she decided it was worth the risk to at least check it out. She knew from experience that most people around these parts weren't in the habit of locking their doors unless they had something to hide like her family had.
She emerged from the safety of her cover and darted across the open field until she reached the fenced-in backyard of the small, single-story home. The paint on the outside of it was chipped and old, and there was no car anywhere around it. One of the smaller windows was left open, but it was far too small to fit a human body through. The fence proved to be no obstacle as Beth hoisted herself up and over it, hopping down onto the ground on the other side and looking around cautiously. It was still quiet and desolate around her, and there was no one within distance to have spotted her. She dashed across the backyard and to the worn, wooden backdoor of the small house. She peered into the window first, assuring herself the house was quiet and empty. She turned the doorknob and, to her delight, it wasn't locked.
She snuck almost silently into the house. The inside was all dusty, hardwood floors, and the air was a bit musty and smelled of stale cigarettes and burnt toast. She paused once she'd shut the door behind her and listened for any sounds, but the house was completely quiet. She glanced around to find herself in a small kitchen. She walked across to a hallway and then, to her left, found a bathroom cramped with a bathtub, toilet, and one-person sink. The mirror hanging on the wall was cracked and dirty, and when she flipped the lightswitch on the wall, the light was dim and barely noticeable. But it would have to do.
Trying to move quickly, just in case the occupants decided to come home at any time, Beth took off her bag and unzipped it, pulling out the scissors, hair dye, and makeup. She turned on the water in the sink to full blast and stuck her head beneath it. It was relieving to have the sweat and oil washed from her hair by the cool water. Once her head was soaked, she grabbed a comb that was sitting beside the faucet and ran it through her hair. Then she took the scissors and, as carefully but quickly as she could, began snipping off inches of her hair. She'd never attempted to cut her own hair before, so it was one giant guessing game, but she watched herself closely in the dingy mirror and tried to make the style look intentional. When she was done, her hair barely reached her shoulders, and the back was cut at such an angle that most of the nape of her neck was exposed. She gave a disgusted face before sticking her head back under the running water, rinsing away all the excess hair.
Next, she briefly read over the directions on the cheap box of drug store hair dye and took out all the necessary items. She set to work, dousing her golden blonde hair with the black, sticky substance and massaging it in. Once it covered every hint of blonde, she grabbed a towel hanging nearby and wrapped her hair up in it, resting it atop her head. Now she had to give it a few minutes to set in.
She pulled out her nearly empty water bottle and drained it of the last drops, then walked back out to the kitchen where she filled it up at the sink with fresh tap water. She drank until she wasn't thirsty anymore and then filled it up again. She opened all the cupboards as well as the fridge and freezer, peering inside in search of something quick to eat. Whoever lived here must've lived on the bare minimum, because she couldn't find anything but instant noodles, coffee, old bread, and ketchup. She glanced at the front door curiously then decided to take the time and make some of the instant noodles. She prepared them quickly and popped them into the microwave, setting the timer before going back to the bathroom.
While the noodles cooked in the microwave, she unwrapped her hair and stuck it back under the running water in the sink, running her hands through her shockingly short hair and rinsing away all the extra dye. Once her hair finally felt clean, she lifted her head up and scrubbed the excess water away with the towel, then inspected herself in the mirror. She looked like a different person. She'd never seen herself with different colored hair – her momma had never allowed her to "ruin her beautiful, natural hair color." And now that she was looking at herself in the mirror, she could see the resemblance to Maggie.
She did, however, still have the remains of a dark bruise around her left eye. It had faded considerably over the last few days, and the cut on her lip was still a thick scab that had the potential of scarring, but the black eye stayed prevalent. Both of which were, of course, courtesy of her ex-boyfriend, Jimmy. He was in jail now, facing charges that could send him to prison, but she remembered that her eye had been so swollen, she could barely open it. She was glad to be done with that entire situation. Although she couldn't say she'd traded it for anything better.
She dried her hair a bit more with the towel, unable to stop staring at her reflection as she tried to recognize herself. She tossed the towel to the floor and scooped up the few makeup items she'd set out and began applying them to her face – concealer and powder around her eye to disguise the last of the bruise, and the slightest nude eyeshadow to blend it in and make it look like her natural skin color. When she was done, any discoloration was only noticeable from inches away. It truly felt like the old Beth was dead now. The last few hours' events had completely changed her.
The long beep of the microwave sounded from the kitchen, shaking her from her thoughts. She gathered up all her things and packed them back into her bag – not forgetting to grab a roll of toilet paper from the cabinet, as well - leaving a pile of hair, trash, and black dye splattered all over the sink and staining the towel she'd used. She threw the bag over her shoulders and went back out into the kitchen to fetch her noodles from the microwave.
She found a fork in a drawer and used it to ravenously eat the hot noodles. She hadn't realized how hungry she'd gotten until she was finally able to stop and rest. Within minutes, she'd downed the entire container as well as another half-bottle of water. Finding herself still hungry, she helped herself to a couple slices of bread that turned out not to be too stale to eat. She wandered into the living room as she tore off scraps of bread and stuffed them in her mouth, her hair hanging wet and limp around her face. There was a small television set in the corner of the living room and all the curtains were drawn in the room. She found a remote resting on the coffee table and picked it up, pressing the power button and waiting for a response from the TV. Within seconds, the screen was lit up and the cable had come on, and the speaker was blasting the laughter reel of a sitcom rerun.
She turned the volume down until she could barely hear it, then began flipping the channel through the news networks. National networks were covering major issues and international news, but when she got to the local news out of Atlanta, the images on the screen made her heart drop down to the bottom of her stomach. She dropped the last bit of uneaten bread from her hand.
"And this is… just a few hours ago, right outside of Senoia. Jason, can you tell me what we're looking at here? Is this the farm where the drug operation was being conducted?" A female news anchor was speaking over helicopter footage of a farm – Beth's farm – from just last night, spotlights everywhere, police and DEA and SWAT surrounding the entire property.
She stared as the news broadcasted the house she'd lived in all her life with a big banner at the bottom of the screen that read, "Major Drug Bust At Local Farm – Large-Scale Operation Halted And Seized." The screen zoomed in closer to the ground to focus on a line of officers leading Hershel out of the house in handcuffs, escorting him to a police vehicle with his head hung low.
The voice of a male news anchor piped in as she continued watching her father be dragged away to incarceration. "That's right, Amy, this is the Greene Family Farm where, reportedly, Hershel Greene – a local pastor and retired veterinarian – has been arrested along with his daughter, Maggie Rhee, and her husband, Glenn Rhee. We're still waiting to hear what exactly they're being charged with, but it's safe to assume they're facing some serious prison time. From what we've been able to gather so far, the DEA has been watching this farm for months ever since Hershel Greene's wife and step-son were murdered back in April in, what they believe to be, a drug-related dispute. They sent in two undercover officers just last night to stage a deal, but we're not sure what resulted from this, uh… situation. It's a safe bet, though, that they got their evidence, and this family is about to be doing some hard time, Amy."
The screen changed from footage of the farm back to the anchorwoman in the news studio, a small box beside her head that was still showing the arrests. "Okay, and I recently got word from the police department that – um, is this correct? Well, this is so odd… Apparently, the youngest daughter of Hershel Greene is missing. And wanted. That's right, they were unable to locate her during the bust and now she's missing, possibly on the run, very much dangerous, confirmed to have been highly involved in the operations on the farm. They've told me she may be armed and if you see her, approach with extreme caution and notify authorities immediately. We're waiting to get a photo, but – ah, yes, here it is. She's eighteen years old, blonde, blue eyes, five-foot-four, one-hundred-and-ten pounds. Eyewitnesses say she's wearing blue jeans, brown boots, and a baggy, gray tanktop. Police have mentioned that she may be heading to Mexico, according to the latest news from their sources."
Beth's breath caught in her throat as her picture appeared on the screen and filled the small square of the television. It was her senior photo, where her hair was styled and flowy, her makeup applied perfectly, and a content smile spread across her face. She had to admit, she looked pretty innocent in that photo, and it looked completely out-of-place in the middle of a report on a drug bust. The anchorwoman was understandably confused.
Mexico? What sources do they have? Who would tell them I'm heading to Mexico? She wondered silently, then it dawned on her. Oh my god, Maggie already talked to them – she lied to them for me. She knew I wouldn't head that way. This must mean she thinks I shouldn't go that way either. Thank God, she's still helping me any way that she can, even from police custody!
The smile that had fluttered to her lips quickly disappeared when they returned the full screen to the footage of the farm arrests. As the camera panned in and out from the helicopter view, they shut the car door on Hershel only to show another line of officers leading more people from the broken-down front door of the farmhouse. The crowd of heads cleared until the lowered faces of Maggie and Glenn were visible, their hands held together in cuffs as police held tightly to their arms and led them to separate vehicles.
There was Beth's big sister, who she'd looked up to her whole life, who had guided her through more than she could count, going to prison for something Beth caused. Her chest ached as Glenn, the man she'd come to see and love as a brother, was taken away for the same fate, all because the sister of the woman he loved had made a giant, horrible choice. Her eyes teared up and she wondered if she'd ever see her sister again. Would they give her and Glenn a lighter sentence? Even if they got out, would Beth be able to stay free, undetected, and somehow meet them again someday?
"Now, Jason, let me just get this clear, I'm just so baffled by the details that keep coming in," the anchorwoman, Amy, was speaking over the footage as it panned across the farm, showing police busting down doors on sheds and barns, searching the entire property. "This is a pastor, apparently he's very active in the Senoia Baptist Church, and a retired veterinarian. He's well-known and well-liked by the community. But apparently, suspicions arose after the tragic double-murder of his wife and step-son in February. We're still looking into more details on this, but it seems to me like they've been running a pretty big, well-kept secret operation out of their farm, and the whole family is in on it. That's right – this whole family was in on this drug operation! From the son-in-law to the teenaged daughter who literally just graduated high school. I'm-I'm assuming the mother and brother had something to do with it as well, and got caught up in the nastier side of things. So sad… But, my God, what a situation! And don't forget, people, this young, sweet-looking girl is currently wanted by the police, and soon, she'll be moved up to the FBI wanted list if they can't locate her. We think she may be headed to Mexico, but keep an eye out, she could still be in the state of Georgia, possibly even around the Atlanta area. Keep it tuned in right here, we're gonna go to a commercial break and we'll come right back with more updates as they come in – "
Beth pressed the power button on the remote and nearly threw it down on the coffee table. Her palms were sweaty and her skin was clammy. This was bad. Her photo was already on the news – she'd known Maggie was right, but she had no idea it'd get this big, this fast. She could only pray it didn't attract national attention.
Fucking sensationalist news stories and desperate reporters, she thought damningly. But why didn't they mention the murder? I killed an undercover cop – wouldn't that just make everyone want to set out on a witch hunt for me even worse? Why wouldn't they release those details? Unless he didn't die... Maybe he's still alive.
She shook her head, staring around at her surroundings blankly. It was all so much to process, and she hadn't slept in twenty-four hours. That man had seemed extremely dead. Besides, what was she thinking? It didn't matter if he was dead or not – she was still facing a very long prison sentence, and zero sympathy from anyone. They were probably waiting to release the news of his death until they could notify the family or something.
In all her thoughts, she realized she was leaving too much evidence around. Whether it could incriminate her or not, she didn't want anyone knowing she was here or what direction she was heading in. She rushed to the bathroom and began cleaning up her mess, picking up her hair scraps in handfuls and throwing them into the toilet as she flushed desperately. She shoved the trash from the hair dye into the small waste bin next to the toilet. It wouldn't be so bad if she left some inexplicable evidence of her presence behind, she figured, but leaving traceable DNA was a different story. She searched the floor for all the hair she'd cut off and tried to collect it all, flushing the toilet with a bowl full of hair clumps half a dozen times. Once she was satisfied that she hadn't left any behind, she retraced her steps in the house to make sure she hadn't left anything else. She grabbed a towel from the kitchen counter and rubbed roughly at the handle of the doorknob on the backdoor, hoping she hadn't left any fingerprints that could be picked up. The gun still weighed heavy in her waistband.
Once she was done, she used her shirt to open the backdoor and pull it shut again, then crept out into the bright morning sunlight. She looked around to find her surroundings still desolate of any other people, and made the dash back over the fence, through the field, and back to the cover of the woods. Her bag was just a bit lighter now without the other box of hair dye, and her hair was still drying on her head. She silently contemplated on finding a change of clothes just to really throw off the current description of herself that was circulating, but she knew if she did, she'd have to wait for nightfall. And she wanted to be out of Georgia by then.
She started trekking through the woods again, keeping close to the edge with the road in her sight. She decided she'd have to go around Woolsey, and probably the next few towns after it, until she could get farther away from Atlanta and the people who watched their news. Hitchhiking was currently out of the question, but she could still hope for an unsupervised car that she could hotwire. And maybe some more water.
to be continued…