She screams his name into the radio twice. But all she gets for a response is static.
She has to physically slow down, her mind assaulted by adrenaline, fear, possibilities, and their implications, all at once. And she tries to sift through all of them in one bound, to condense them in a singular, structured thought. But it is impractical; the overriding voice in her head tells her there's no time for this.
----
No time to count.
"I'm going back for him."
"You know as well as I do that if you go back for him, you die."
"I won't leave him."
----
No time for guilt.
"He means that much to you, eh?"
Only stares.
"Look, Freckles, if you have a plan, then I'm all for it. If you don't, I suggest you keep those dainty feet of yours running."
----
No time to lie.
"You know I don't have a plan. But that doesn't justify us leaving him here."
"Doc's made his decision, Freckles. Best to honor it."
----
No time to argue.
"Well, I've made mine."
----
In retrospect, one can say that every decision she's made, she has done on a whim, with no real concern for its repercussions, only with what she had to gain. She'd broken a vase once. To escape her mother's wrath, she lied to her teeth. To cover up the bruises and the questions, she wore long-sleeved shirts. To avoid the bruises and the questions altogether, she blew up her dad. To save herself, she killed the man she loved. To be free, she ran away.
When she turns the other direction and starts to run, it doesn't surprise her. It really isn't much of a choice than a whim. The impulse has won, instinct has taken over: she has to see him. For the moment, she can't be bothered with what that could ultimately mean.
But what she does know well are the immediate consequences. Lives, including hers, are on the balance. It just so happens that, right this minute, it was Jack's that mattered.
So she runs. Long, swift and deliberate strides through the clearing.
To save him, she has to chase fear.