Page 1 of Ensnared

Chapter1

Eden

Survivaltip #51

Carrotsaren’t worth your life.

Brancheswhip my cheeks asIrun, slicing through dirt-caked tears.Mylungs burn with each labored breath.

Can’tstop.Don’tstop.

Mybare feet slap the earth—Iabandoned my flimsy shoes hours ago when the strap gave out.I’vebarely stopped to eat, andIcertainly haven’t slept.Ipush my glasses back up the bridge of my nose and risk a glance over my shoulder asIdart through the trees, butIcan’t see them.Theshrub is too thick, and they’re far more used to hunting thanIam to running.

“Almostgot you, slut!”

Theshout echoes through the forest, andIcan’t tell how close they are.I’dthoughtIhad a good fifteen minutes on them, maybe more.

Butit sounds like it’s a lot less.

Panicclaws at me, andIpush faster through the undergrowth.

Forfour years,Iavoided attention.Withmy lonely cave and my little vegetable garden,Iwas getting by.

ButthenIheard voices.

Howheady, how purely intoxicating to hear people after so long.Icouldn’t stop myself from creeping out for a look.Justalook,I’mnot an idiot.IthoughtIwas subtle.Sneaky.But, clearly,Idid something to draw their attention.

MaybeI’mwrong.MaybeIam an idiot.

WhenIcame back after checking my traps,Ifound my garden uprooted, my meager belongings raided and scattered... and two men waited by the mouth of my cave, tearing into my carefully grown carrots.Itshouldn’t have hurt, not so much.Itwas just a place, after all.Theynever mean anything.ButIwas so startled—sofurious—thatIjust stood there, staring.

Andthey saw me.

Oneglance at the hunger in their rough faces, the predatory glints in their eyes, was enough to convince me that these were not menIwanted to be better acquainted with.

SoIran, and they chased.

Moremen quickly joined the first two.They’repart of a large group, the kindIalways avoid because they’re drone bait.Forthe first time since theFinalWarbegan,I’veactually prayed to see one of those deadly machines carving the sky, to watch it drop another devastating explosion on the mass of heat signatures behind me.

ButIhaven’t seen a drone for years, andIcan’t expect a miracle.

SoIkeep running.

“Comeon, baby, this is getting boooring!”

Thatone sounds closer.Ishe closer?

Iscramble over a fallen tree, grazing my palms and knees on the bark.Haveto keep moving.

Twonights ago,IthoughtI’descaped them.Ilaid two false trails and hid up a tree, trembling as the twenty or so heavily armed men stalked beneath me.Ittook all my courage to climb down after they left and find a new hiding place.Icried in relief that night.Istarted making plans for a new cave and fretted over the veggie seedsI’dleft behind in my flight.

Butthey found me, curled under my silly bush that suddenly seemed like no protection at all when their leader—Sam—dragged me from it.Hestank like filthy thoughts and sour sweat, but he was so distracted calling for the others that his grip slipped, andIbolted.Iescaped.

Youhaven’t escaped yet,Iremind myself, fighting down the sick fear that claws at my belly.Myarm is bloody and hot and sore where a bullet grazed me;I’veseen worse, but it needs attention.

Howlsand catcalls chase me.Myglasses bounce off my nose, and the attached chain around my neck threatens to strangle me asIduck under a branch.It’sanother miracle altogether thatIhaven’t lost them in my flight.

Runningwater sloshes and babbles somewhere close.Makinga quick decision,Iround a tree and dart off the pathI’vebeen following.Ineed water.Desperately.I’vebeen sweating and bleeding and running, andI’veonly had whatIcould quickly scoop in my palms from the tiny brooks that crossed my path.

---