Page 118 of Runaways

I pull myself to my feet and scream until all the air leaves my lungs. And then I attempt to climb out of this tomb.

Grasping the cold, wet earth in my hands, I futilely attempt to climb the wall, slipping and sliding down before I even get much of a start. And that mud in my fists? It just comes apart in my hands, and I fall back into the watery grave.

Again…and again.

I try the other side. I try the corners. Once, I even get close enough to grip the edge of the hole with one hand, and when I fell back that time, it hurt even worse.

Not in the pain way—in the soul-crushingway.

My arms are so tired, my body so cold, and to make it worse, I look up and realize one of my boots slipped off and stayed stuck in the wall of mud. Not that it really matters with my feet now unfeeling bricks of frozen flesh. And I'm the almost-dead girl in a fucking hole in the woods.

I wonder if they'll figure out who I am once they find my corpse and how they'll react. Jodie, Mason, and Zoey…they'll probably be disgusted, like Tate said. Everything I touched will suddenly seem dirty in a way they won't be able to get clean. Will they worry there's something wrong with them because they didn't see it?

They'll probably blame me for the finger.

But fuck, thatwasme, wasn't it?

I stay there at the bottom of the hole, staring at the boot. I don't even feel cold anymore; I feel nothing. I remember reading that shivering is something your body does to keep your core temperature up in the cold.

I've stopped doing that, too.

I lean back against the wall of my dirt crypt. If my body has stopped trying, maybe it's time for me to stop, too.

As the heavy rain slows, the sound of it against the water is almost calming. I'm calming. Sitting in the otherwise silent darkness, I begin hearing the beat to "Born To Die" by Lana Del Rey in the pattern of the falling rain and sing along before noticing I'm doing it, sobbing through the words before I get to the chorus.

And then once the entire song has played through, before I can start over again, I stare at that boot near the far corner ofmy watery grave. Still stuck. Still taunting me with how close I got.

Wait.

I scramble to my feet and pull off the other boot. Then I grip it hard by the heel, pull it back behind me, and scream, gritting my teeth as I drive it into the muddy wall about a foot higher than the other one with as much force as I can get behind it.

It sticks. I hammer it further into the wall with numb fists and then do the same with the other—just to make sure.

"Okay," I say aloud, swallowing a lump in my throat. "Here we go."

This is it. I know if this doesn't work, then…this unmarked grave will be my own.

I grip the higher boot in my muddy palm and use it to hoist myself onto the other, but I feel it sliding under the weight of me. I scream and push off my feet, reaching for that ledge, and once I have it in my grasp, I attempt to shift my weight onto the upper boot. As I kick off, the bottom one slips from under me and falls into the water.

But I made it. My god, I made it. My chin hits the grass and I risk moving one of my arms, stretching it forward and digging my fingers into the dirt. Then I move the other arm forward, and I get my elbows up onto the surface just as the other shoe slips from the mud and into the water below.

But it's enough. I have enough leverage to shift the weight of my upper body onto the ground and then I dig my toes into the earth, pulling myself out inch by inch.Stay calm,I caution myself.Slow, deliberate movements. That's how I'll get out of here.

I'm not sure how long it takes, but I get through another round of "Born To Die" in my head. And once I'm out—once I'm flat on my stomach on the cold, wet earth—I scramble on all fours away from the hole, as if it would suck me back in if I didn't. I don't stop until I'm up against another headstone.

I roll over onto my back and catch my breath.

And then…I just get up and start walking home. I don't look back at the hole in the ground.

I have no idea what time it is; I don't know how long I was in that hole, but once I get back to the main road, it looks like the bars are letting out. There's a bigger crowd than usual, many dressed in costumes even though Halloween isn't until tomorrow. Fresh out of a grave and still numb to my core, I probably look like an extra onThe Walking Dead. If anyone even looks at me twice, I don't notice it, my focus on getting inside and dry. I drag myself across the street and then through the café parking lot to the stairs leading up to my studio apartment.

And Jodie's lights are on. Both her car and her boyfriend's truck are in the driveway. She's just fine.

Slowly, painfully, I make my way up the staircase and push open the door.

It's always kind of cold in here, and I'm always kind of cold because of my health issues, but when I step inside, it's like walking into an inferno. The air burns my ice-cold skin. After closing the door, I instantly start stripping down, hoping for some relief once I get the wet clothes off of me.

Even my underwear and bra are muddy. Before I remove them, I hear a voice coming from the other side of the room, startling me.

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