Page 3 of Handcuffed By the Bounty Hunters

“Sacramento.”

“Cool.” He passes over my change and dumps my groceries into a paper bag.

I hustle outside before he can ask me anything else. But through the grimy window, past a poster advertising a sale on already-cheap beer, I see him pull out his phone and start tapping fast at the screen.

Then he holds his phone out like he’s taking a picture—in my direction.

Fuck. I whirl around and rush down the street.

Am I paranoid? It can’t be paranoia when people really are out to get me, right?

I’ve walked for maybe five minutes when a sedan about three decades past its prime motors up the quiet street. It slows when it approaches me.

I can’t do this. I should’ve let that old man drive me straight to Las Vegas where I could get lost in the crowds. This tiny little town is too quiet, too empty.

“Hey,” a man says from the car.

I don’t turn to face him. No eye contact.

“I’m talking to you, sweetheart,” he says.

Fuck no.

Straight ahead—more of the same tiny street, exposed. Nobody else is out, nobody would hear me scream or see me struggle. I could keep walking and hope this likely predator leaves me alone. Unlikely.

To my right is a dark forest, trees going for miles probably.

Out here, I’m easy pickings. In the woods, I could get lost—on purpose. And I’d finally feel safe.

I have food. I have a hoodie layered over a long-sleeved shirt. Decent tennis shoes, socks. I won’t freeze, even though it does look like rain. I’m just going to get really fucking wet.

“Hey,” he says. Louder, more insistent.

Wet it is. Without a look behind me, I haul ass to the woods, my backpack banging against my spine, my shoes cutting into the damp soil, the man’s shouts echoing in my ears.

From the protection of the trees, I risk a look back to the road. The sedan doesn’t move for a long moment. Is he going to jump out and chase me? I have a head start, but I’m not a runner. I back away while keeping an eye on the car.

After a long two minutes, he finally drives off.

I can’t go back out there. No freaking way. I’ll just keep the road in sight and wander through the woods until I find a motel or something farther up the street.

I walk for hours. Darkness falls. I lose sight of the road. Is that because I’ve walked too far from it, or just that it got dark? I can’t tell.

Stupid. I never should have gone into the woods. I thought I knew what I was doing—it looks so easy on TV shows.

Worse, it starts to rain.

So when a half-collapsed cabin appears in front of me like some witch in a fairy tale planted it there, I rush toward it.

3

Penny

The cabin looks like it hasn’t been inhabited for a few years at least. There is a door. When I try it, it swings right open.

Someone has ransacked the place, maybe looking for food or something, I don’t know. I step inside, grateful to get out of the rain. I close the door behind me. The lock is completely broken, so I find a big dresser across the room and painstakingly inch it over to block the door.

A cot sits in the corner of the room, and a work table. There’s trash all over the floor, collected in little heaps. I shove it to the side with my feet and wonder where I’m going to sleep.

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