Fire.

Fire and pain and blood.

Fire in her biceps, in her back, in her neck. Pain in her hands, she could feel the callouses peeling off her palms with every pull.

Blood in her mouth, metallic and bitter, and in her ears, hard and pounding.

How many pullups was this? Ninety something, she was sure. She had never done this much PT. She had never been this angry before. This upset. This distraught.

She let her arms descend from the pullup bar, and dangled there, two feet off the ground. She breathed, heavy and hard. No more. She couldn't. No more. She didn't have it in her. Then it came to her.

Connecticut.

The mere thought of the word and all it entailed filled her with black bilious anger. She pulled, it felt like her biceps were about to rip in half. She felt herself raise up, felt her back tighten, her grip pull, and then her neck extend. She was up. She let go and fell.

Luz was agile enough to handle a mere two foot fall backwards. Or normally she would be. But today she fell right on her ass. She tumble backwards as her back spasmed, she arched, thrusting her hips forward to give some relief to her back. It relaxed, and Luz let out a hissing, "Fuck," as she laid limp on the sand of the exercise yard.

She laid there, and grimaced, holding back tears. Tears of pain, and of the hurt not physical. She felt the rejection, the loneliness well up again. But it was too much, she couldn't hold it back, she was too tired.

Hot tears fell from Luz's face, they traced arcs in her sand strewn face.

There is a phrase passed around the Marine Corps. A phrase all boots fear, "Pound Sand."

Pound Sand. It meant to exercise. To do pushups, and situps, and bicycle kicks and whatever hell your DI could think to beat you with until the sand was pounded firm and flat like concrete.

With every ounce of will power she could muster Luz rolled over onto all fours,

"Pound sand," she whispered. She lifted a numb weak arm, and feebly slap at the sand.

"Pound sand," she said. She wheeled back punched the sand. It hurt, the coarse North Carolina granules tearing at her knuckles.

"Pound sand!" she hissed through gritted teeth. She punched it. Again, and again, and again.

She cried as she did.

It was hours later before Luz found herself at home. She didn't remember the walk over. She didn't think anyone had seen her. It was late. Twilight. She opened the front door and walked in.

"Jesus Christ, Luz, where the hell have you been?" Manuel asked from the kitchen table. There was a glass of amber liquid. It was probably tea. But Luz couldn't help but think it was something else. Something to ease the pain of having her as a daughter.

"Out," Luz said weakly.

"You look awful. What've you been doing?" Manuel's face moved from fatherly anger, to parental concern.

"PT, tired, going to bed," Luz said. Luz moved toward the hallway, zombie like.

"Luz-" Manuel said but she was gone. "It is for the best." He finished it under his breathe. To her? To himself? He couldn't say.

Luz showered, staying there under the steaming hot water, washing away the dirt and grime of her day in the pit. She felt it go from hot, to lukewarm, to ice cold. She stayed there for she didn't know how long. She turned it off and stood there, naked, cold, feeling the water dry just by the air.

Eventually she dried herself. A simple t-shirt and boxers, and collapsed into bed.

Exhausted and worn she drifted into sleep soon.

But it was a restless sleep. She dreamed, dreamed that she was being chased, chased by something, dark and unknown. An animal or maybe a man, or a man so much like an animal it meant nothing at all. She woke up in a sweat in the wee hours of the morning. She remember horns, like those of the deer or elk she would hunt with her uncles but nothing besides the never ending feeling of anxiety. It persisted still. She felt drained, more tired then when she went to bed.

Luz got up and found that it was already 0600 hours. Manuel had already gone into work. Early PT, then to the office. Luz was alone in the house. More alone then she had ever felt. Manuel wanted to send her to Connecticut.

Fucking Connecticut!

To some prep school or whatever it was. She hated the sound of it, Wittebane. Sounded like some religious school. Luz hated religion. It interfered with the warrior spirit she had cultivated. Manual took them to Mass on holidays and during feast days, but that was about it. Luz was unimpressed with what she saw.

She couldn't stand it. Her mind drifted to the dream she had. The dream of running. Of running from something. Maybe that's what she should do. Run from it. Luz was good at running.

She was very good at running, she thought. And she was good at living off the land, like her uncles had taught her. It wouldn't be forever. Just for a bit, just to show dad that he needed her.

Camp Lejeune was mostly forest, and the forest expanded past the gates. The fences, she heard, didn't even surround the whole thing.

Into the forest, find a road, track it, find a fence, hug it, avoid patrols. Easy.

Easy.

Just a few days. Maybe she'd find one of the abandoned stations, camp there.

Yeah. Just a few days.

Luz went to her room.

Three hours later and Luz was already deep into the jungle of North Carolina. She trudged through the brush, making sure to move in a nonlinear form, one that would confuse trackers, and hunters. She had a pack with her, with supplies, and sleeping gear. When night came, she would find an alcove or dig a pit, a "grave" and sleep in it. Just for a bit, then move at night if the moon was right. No lights couldn't risk it, to easy to be seen.

It was another five hours, and about four miles before Luz hit a snag in her plans. She was going through a slight ravine area, a minor egress in the ground and found her foot snag on something, She caught herself, and pulled on her foot, but it was caught tight. She moved to see her foot sinking into the earth, centimeter by centimeter.

Quicksand. Shit. If she wasn't careful, she'd get stuck, and if she panicked, she could die.

Unlike myth Luz knew that quicksand didn't suck you in unless you hit a particularly unfortunate air pocket. She breathed calmly and moved to see if she could get some kind of leverage to pull herself out. Shouldn't be too hard, there was vines everywhere. Luz grabbed onto one of the vines and pulled hard. No give, she was stuck tight.

Alright. Minor hiccup. No problem. Then she felt a pull and she stepped back to regain balance as her foot sunk deeper. Great now two feet were in the pit. Luz groaned. Now it was complicated. Still far from a death sentence. Then there was another pull, something hard on both feet. She sunk into the pit to her knees. Ok now it was time to panic, just a bit.

Luz yelled, calling for help. Patrols went through the woods all the time, and Marines would illegally hunt all the time. Someone would hear. Another pull, up to her waist.

No time to wait on others, Luz looked around desperately as she found a root jutting out of the ground nearby. Luz reached and grasped the root as another tug sent her up to her pits in the dirt.

I will not die here. I will not die here. Luz repeated the mantra in her head. She pulled but her hands kept slipping on the root. "Fucking useless thing," Luz said as she was sucked up to her neck.

No panic. Don't panic. If she was perfectly skill and breathed easily she could hover right at the edge.

Luz felt her face be covered in dirt as she went under.

Then she was clear.

Luz was on the ground. On the ground of a forest, a different one than what she thought was right. It was airy. Reminded her of one of her Uncle's places in Montana. Fair, light, crisp air. Autumn like. She looked around. Something else wasn't right. The trees.

The trees were purple.