Fugitive

• Celeste Burns, Grade 9, Home Schooled - NSW
• Short Story
• 2011

Excellence Award in the 'Step Write Up 2011' competition

I ran. Away from the camp. Away from the guards who constantly prowled the compound like dogs prowl at night.
I had only one thought in my mind; to run until they couldn’t catch me. I ran erratically, sliding down a steep bank that was thickly wooded with trees, like the rest of the forest was. I tripped on a protruding root, and clumsily tumbled down the rest of the way. Picking myself up at the bottom, I kept running.
Behind me I could hear the shouts of the guards as they chased me; their voices called to one another whenever they saw any trace of me. Not that it was hard to track me; I was making no effort to hide my trail.
All I could think of was to get away.
My foot hit something sharp hidden under the leaves that littered the ground. I stumbled and fell. Glancing at my foot, I took in a sharp intake of breath. My foot had a gash down the sole, and it was bleeding heavily. Blood oozed onto the ground, a red river quickly spreading. With it, spread the pain. It was sharp, and my whole foot felt like it was burning. I couldn’t look at it anymore; the sight of the open, bloodied flesh made me sick. I gasped, trying to keep in the tears that threatened. Then I screamed. The sound carried through the tree tops, chilling and desperate. I didn’t care if they heard me; I was going to be caught anyway. And when I was taken back, I knew I would be locked in the room where all the girls who had tried, but failed, to escape were locked. I had never seen anyone come out of that room. I was angry, angrier than I had ever been. I started to sob. Angry, gut wrenching sobs that hurt my already sore body even more, making me gasp for breath.
The thud of running feet vibrated through the ground. Three guards closed in on me, like a pack of wolves over a helpless animal. One of them grabbed me roughly by my arm, and started dragging me back the way they had come. The other guards followed, occasionally giving me a poke with the metal rods that they carried. Leaves and dirt were sticking to my cut, making the wound sting. I couldn’t keep up with the guard’s long strides, so I had to let myself be dragged.
We reached the camp, and I was dragged to the main building. Other girls stopped what they were doing and watched on in silence as I was dragged, leaving clumps of bloodied leaves in my wake. We stopped outside a door marked ‘Manager’. One of the guards knocked on the door. We all waited in silence as we heard slow, deliberate footsteps coming towards us from inside.
Then the door opened, and I was pushed forward into the small, dark room.