Part One

My mother sold me to hunters for $40,000. Reached the road by sundown, they warned. I turned the tables and survived. The police took mom away. My mother charged wealthy men $40,000 to hunt me through the woods with weapons. I was 12 when she first drove me out to the ranch. She claimed we were going camping, but I should have known something was a miss when she forced me to change into ripped clothes and removed my shoes. “You’re going to run through those trees until the nice man catches you,” she continued, pointing to a gentleman with a crossbow. If you make it to the road before sundown, we get paid. If you don’t run fast enough, we don’t get paid. Understand? I thought it was a cruel joke until she shoved me towards the tree and the man began counting down from nine. That first hunt, I simply sprinted blind through branches that tore my feet apart as arrows whizzed by my head. I hid in a hollow log for 5 hours, listening to him stomp around and call me little rabbit till the timer rang. Mom received her dollars and told me I did well. But next time, I should make it more entertaining by giving them a true chase. Make them feel like they deserve it. On the way home, she stopped at McDonald’s as if we had just returned from soccer practice rather than me nearly being murdered for sport.

The hunts became monthly events. Different men with different weapons and laws. Some had firearms, some had bows, and some had just knives and their bare hands. Mom would prepare me like a trainer, instructing me to zigzag and double back, how to utilize mud for disguise, and how to manage my breathing so I didn’t gasp and reveal myself. She purchased books on military evasive methods and made me memorize them. “You’re worth nothing to me, dead,” she’d remark, tracing escape routes on maps. “So don’t screw up and die.” I tried running away after the fifth hunt, but she had thought of that. She showed me images she’d shot of me changing clothes that had been cropped to look indecent. I tell police you’re a runaway who’s been selling yourself. And guess where you end up? Right back here. But with no more hunts, just straight to the highest bidder. I attempted to tell a teacher once, but mom had already informed everyone I was a pathological liar with violent fantasies. She had even arranged for me to see a therapist who documented my fantasies of being hunted. No one believed the true story because the covert tale was so well written.

By hunt number seven, I’d gotten adept at surviving. I knew which trees were easiest to climb, where the ground was soft enough to leave no tracks, and how to use creek water to hide my scent. I fractured a man’s ankle by guiding him into a bear trap that I had discovered and fixed. Another one had managed to shoot himself in the foot by circling back on my own track. Mom began charging more for experienced prey and marketed me as a real challenge. She purchased night vision cameras so they could conduct midnight hunts. Hunt number nine almost killed me. The client was a qualified military officer who apprehended me inside the first hour. After he choked me senseless, I acted dead, which was the only way I survived. Hunt was an elderly banker with a heart ailment. It should have been simple, but he had brought his own rules. He did not want to catch me. He intended to injure me and watch me attempt to crawl to safety. I still have the scar from his arrow passing through my leg. After that quest, I informed Mom I was finished and that she could terminate me herself if she chose. She chuckled and showed me the reservation she had previously made. Next month will be exceptional, baby. A collective hunt. There are four males with various weapons with the final girl standing. She had found another female to hunt with me. Either you both get out or neither of you does. They are paying for blood this time. She showed me the other girl’s photograph. She appeared to be around 12 years old, definitely trafficked. Mom had joined with worse individuals and the business was growing.

I began planning immediately. During supply runs, I stole items: rope, fishing line, and box cutter blades. I investigated the land for new hiding areas and evaluated which plants produced the most poison when crushed and rubbed against sharp edges. I was not going to merely run anymore. On the morning of hunt 12, Mom drove me out early to walk the course. Instead, I set traps. I hung fishing line at neck height between trees and sharpened branches into small sticks. Mom was too busy counting money on her phone to realize what I was actually doing. The other girl came at sunset shivering and crying while her manager bargained with her mother. I tried to get her attention, but she was too afraid to look at anyone. Mom made us strip and change into matching white dresses to increase visibility before lining us up for the hunter’s examination. Four men with four different weapons, passing a bottle of alcohol and betting on who’d get which women first. The one with the compound bow kept licking his lips and looking at the younger female. I memorized every face and weapon. As mom approached the end of her countdown, I took the other girl’s hand and murmured, “Follow me if you want to live.”

The horn sounded and we rushed into the darkness. Behind us, there was the sound of weapons loading and men yelling like they were on safari. Ahead were two square kilm of woodland that I was intimately familiar with. For the first time in 12 hunts, I was no longer the prey. I was on the Bria welcome committee. The horn boom was still reverberating as I squeezed Emily’s hand three times. She jerked as if I had stunned her, but followed when I turned left toward the creek. Her palm was sweaty and kept slipping from mine. Behind us, boots crunched through the leaves and someone crept around. I yanked her behind a large oak and we pressed against the bark. My heart was beating so quickly that I believed they’d hear it. My first trap was 18 yards ahead and we needed to get there before they spread. I counted to three in my brain before pulling Emily into a sprint. She stumbled along a path, but I lifted her up without stopping. The fishing line I had placed between two trees was undetectable in the dark. I went to my knees and yanked Emily down hard as footsteps echoed behind us. The hunter struck the line at full speed, and it grabbed him right in the throat. He slid down, vomiting and shouting as his rifle clattered into the leaves. We scrambled on our hands and knees toward the creek bank as he choked behind us. The mud along the creek edge was cold and thick. I grabbed it up with both hands and began smearing it all over Emily’s white dress. She was shivering so much that her teeth were clicking together. The muck had covered the bright cloth and I rubbed it on her arms and face. Her palms were already bleeding from where I had pushed her down. I cut strips from my dress’s hem and wrapped them as swiftly as I could. Three rules, I whispered into her ear. Stay low. Breathe through your nose. Follow exactly where I step.

She nodded, but I could tell she was too afraid to comprehend. A voice emerged from the trees, one I recognized from observing the hunters earlier. David was shouting out grid coordinates to the others, calm and professional, as if this were a routine job. He had a compound bow and knew how to hunt, unlike these intoxicated fools who only wanted to shoot at children. His voice grew closer from the east. We crawled along the creek bank, keeping low in the mud. My hands discovered the first camera’s metal pole, so I raised up just enough to grasp it. The mount was already loose from my early preparations. I angled the entire thing toward the sky and smeared muck all over the lens. This would create a blind spot toward the hollow log where I had stored supplies. We’d have to loop back for it, but the cameras couldn’t follow us there. Emily took my arm and pointed behind us. Flashlight lights were sweeping through the foliage approximately 45 yards away. We needed to go faster. I drew her into the shallow portion of the creek and we waited upstream. After around 90 yards, I discovered the fallen oak with the X I had cut into its bark.

Part Two

The hollow stump was directly behind it, covered in dead leaves. Inside was everything I’d stolen in the previous weeks. Three box cutter blades affixed to wooden handles, rope gauze from mom’s first aid kit, and plastic wrapped matches. I placed one of the fake knives in Emily’s hand. “Hold it like this,” I instructed her, keeping the blade pointed out and downward. “Only if someone grabs you.” She was crying now, but trying to keep it low. Snot was flowing down her face and mixed with the mud. A scream echoed through the trees from the south. Not a battle cry, but genuine pain. Someone had discovered my tiny pit. The pointy branches weren’t deep enough to kill, but they’d pierced through a boot and into the foot and leg. The yelling continued, and I could hear additional voices coming toward it. “What the!” Somebody yelled. The little pie set traps. They realized I wasn’t just running. Mom’s voice echoed over the treetops. She used the same business tone for everything. She was on the phone discussing timing and bonuses if they finished within an hour. Yes, both packages are in play, she confirmed. Premium rates apply for completion before midnight. My stomach burned with wrath so intense that I nearly vomited. She was negotiating our deaths as if they were pizza deliveries. I wanted to yell at her, but Emily needed me to be wise.

The creek curved ahead, and I recognized each boulder from my practice runs. “Step exactly where I step,” I instructed Emily. The first rock was solid, but the second would shift if you hit it incorrectly. Third rock, skip the fourth, land on the fifth with your left foot. Emily followed precisely, even though she was shaking. The water muffled the sound of our breathing and eliminated our aroma. The maintenance shed was located approximately 150 yards upstream. We could make it if we remained in the water. Behind us, there was more shouting, and I could hear David’s voice through it all. Shut up and listen, he instructed. They’re smart enough to use the water. How did mom discover people willing to pay to hunt children? The way she trained her own child as a survival expert while marketing these hunts is so bizarre. I wonder if she acquired these strategies elsewhere or worked them out on her own to generate extra money. You two take the north bank, we’ll take the south.” His voice was so calm that it terrified me more than the shouting.

I came to a stop at the fork in the creek. The left way was faster and I knew every hiding place. The correct path was longer but provided better shelter. Emily’s hand and mine felt so little and frigid. She trusted me totally despite the fact that she knew nothing about me. The decision was easy. We stayed together no matter what because I refused to let go of her hand. We took the right fork and moved slowly and cautiously through the frigid water. Emily’s cold caused her to stumble on a sharp rock, slicing her knee open badly. Blood mixed with creek water as I dragged her behind a large boulder where the bank bent. I grabbed the gauze from my pocket and wrapped it tightly around the cut, quickly teaching her our signals. A single squeeze indicated the end. Two indicated danger. Three means run like hell. She squeezed back again to emphasize that she understood. The incision was shallow, but it was bleeding enough to leave a trail if we weren’t cautious.

I cupped my hands and made the whistling sound mom had taught me to make hunts more interesting. The voice echoed off the rocks and trees to the west of our current location. Two of the hunters began arguing at each other over which direction it had come from. Their voices bounced about, making it difficult to determine where they were, but I knew they’d waste time checking the wrong location. We kept heading upstream until I noticed something trapped in a tree trunk about head height. An arrow is still buzzing slightly from impact. David’s art for sure narrowly missed us when we passed by earlier. I worked it loose, taking care not to snap the shaft, because an arrow is a weapon, and weapons make things more equal. The carbon fiber arrow was costly and had a razor-sharp rod head tip. Now, it was mine.

Through the woods, I could hear the quiet hum of the generator, which I had recalled on our morning walk. It powered all of the cameras and lights that mom had put over the years. The sound helped me figure out where we were in the dark and how to go to the power hub. If I could disconnect the main connection, we’d have a lot more space to travel without being tracked. We climbed out of the creek and I led Emily through the thick undergrowth to the electrical box. My hands were numb from the cold, but I was able to get the box cutter blade out and begin sawing into the thick cable feeding the eastern camera bank. The rubber coating was thick and my cold fingers kept slipping, but eventually the blade pierced through the copper. Sparks flew and five camera lights blinked out at once, forming the black passage required to reach the northern fence. The hunters were shouting at each other now without even trying to remain quiet. They hadn’t expected any opposition, and their communication was clumsy due to impatience and possibly too much liquor. I heard three distinct voices, which meant one was being silent or circling wide to cut us off. This frightened me more than the loud ones.

Behind a fallen oak tree, I noticed one of mom’s trail cameras, which she had set low to record us crawling or hiding. The SD card was still there, and I quickly pocketed it along with two others I discovered nearby. Evidence for later, assuming we survived. Emily tugged on my sleeve and muttered her first words to me since we began jogging. “My sister,” she murmured so gently that I nearly missed it. “He’ll hurt my little sister if I don’t make him money.” The weight of defending more than just us hit me like cold water in the chest. Her handler wielded power exactly like mom did with me. We weren’t just fleeing for our lives, but for children we’d never met. I squeezed her hand three times, but this time it meant something else. It indicated that I understood.

The large pine tree I had taught myself to climb on search number five was just ahead. Its branches began low and grew closer together, making it ideal for climbing quickly, especially in the dark. I lifted Emily first, then followed the rough bark, scraping my palms raw. From 18 ft above, I could see flashlight lights cutting through the foliage. Three hunters were disputing near the main track, while a fourth light traveled in a larger pattern. David was trying to hurt us as if we were deer, but I knew these forests better than anyone, and his plan had a major flaw. I took out the burner phone I found in mom’s car on a supply run a few weeks ago. She had hidden it under the driver’s seat, most likely for emergencies or side dealings. The battery symbol was red, practically dead, but I was able to send a text to 911 with our coordinates. The screen turned blank immediately after I pushed send, but perhaps someone would notice it in time.

We climbed down slowly and quietly, Emily following my exact hand and foot placement. The hunters were approaching closer, and I smelled cigarette smoke, indicating that they had halted to reorganize. Mom’s voice echoed through the trees, not scared, but irritated, as if we were making her late for something important. She was still treating this as a business deal while we bled and froze in the dark. The arrow in my palm seemed solid, as if it could make a difference. I showed Emily how to hold it with the pointing out just in case. Her hands shook violently from cold and terror, but she grasped them tightly. We had around 3 hours before sunrise, assuming we could last that long. three hours to keep ahead of four guys who wanted us dead and one woman who saw us as commodities to be sold. The odds were stacked against me, but I dealt with worse. The difference this time was that I was not alone.

I turned off the phone to save what was left of the battery and pointed to the culvert beneath the old logging road approximately 0.5 mi north. The concrete tube would hide us from the cameras and allow us to move without being noticed. Emily nodded and we began moving into the underbrush, crouching low and utilizing the thick ferns as protection. My feet knew every root and rock on this walk since mom had made me practice roots in the daylight.

Part Three

We were about 45 yards from the culvert when I heard branches breaking to our left too close and rapidly. A hunter wielding a knife came from the trees just in front of us. His face was crimson from sprinting and he breathed in big breaths. I grabbed up a handful of moist muck and hurled it directly into his eyes before he could respond. He cursed and stumbled away, attempting to wipe his face clean as I shoved him hard toward the punch field I’d set up that morning. His weight drew him back, and he collapsed against the sharpened sticks with a scream that ripped through the darkness. The stakes penetrated his leg and shoulder, but did not strike anything that would kill him immediately. Blood began to seep through his jeans and jacket, yet he continued to breathe and move. I grabbed Emily’s wrist and pushed her closer to examine his skin tone and breathing rhythm. His face was turning pale and his breathing was too rapid and shallow. Sein’s mom taught me to look for when the banker suffered a heart attack during hunt seven. I demonstrated to Emily how to feel for a pulse in his neck, making sure she knew what shock looked like so she could tell if someone was dying or simply hurt. We left him breathing but stuck. His knife had dropped someplace in the leaves out of reach.

My foot got hooked on a root buried behind the moist leaves and my ankle rolled sharply to the side. Pain raced up my leg like a hot poker. I tried putting weight on it and could still walk, but jogging was going to hurt really bad now. I ripped extra shreds from the bottom of the white garment and wrapped my ankle as tightly as I could stand. The pressure helped, but each stride still caused intense pain in my knee. I took out the rope from my waistband and began wrapping it around the arrow I had retrieved from the tree earlier. The rope was wound tightly around the shaft about a foot from the point. Then I tied it off and tested its weight. It wasn’t nice, but I now had something with reach to keep anyone from getting too close. The arrow tip remained sharp, and that was all that mattered for anything we might have to accomplish.

A siren broke through the night somewhere in the distance, perhaps a mile or two away. It might be a fire, a medical emergency, or even the cops if someone spotted my text. My chest tightened with both hope and worry because even if aid was on the way, it might not arrive quickly enough. The sound didn’t go closer or farther away. It merely remained constant, as if whatever it was had halted somewhere else. Mom’s air horn sounded three small blasts followed by two long ones. I recognized the pattern from all of her training sessions where she utilized various signals to get me to change direction. Three short and two long indicated a shift toward the eastern boundary where the barrier was lowest. Instead, we moved west, taking advantage of her own system and moving further into the thickest section of the woods. She’d want us to follow her cues as I always had.

I ripped another piece of white dress and discovered a low branch in direct view of where I knew David loved to set up. He always chose high ground with clear sight lines. Thinking like a true hunter rather than just a guy with a rifle, I draped the fabric such that it would catch light and move in the breeze. Less than 15 seconds later, an arrow struck the tree just where the fabric was hanging. David cursed through the trees as he realized he’d wasted a shot on nothing. I counted in my thoughts using the quiver I’d seen him carry earlier. Five arrows were the standard for compound bow hunting, and this was his third shot of the night. If he hadn’t brought extra arrows, which most hunters didn’t because they expected easy targets, he’d only have three left. His voice grew louder and angrier, calling us insults that I will not repeat. While stomping around seeking for his squandered arrow, he noticed something peculiar about the whole situation. The mother employs air horn signals, but she expects her kid to obey them after years of practice. The fact that he knows exactly where David prefers to place himself tells me that this is not at all random.

Light rain began dropping through the trees. Cold drips caused our wet garments to stick to our skin. The temperature was rapidly falling, and I could see Emily’s lips going blue and the faint moonlight shining through the clouds. Her entire body was shaking, and it wasn’t simply for terror anymore. If we didn’t locate cover or warmth right away, hypothermia would kill us as quickly as an arrow. Rain made everything slick and difficult to see. But it also generated noise, which obscured our progress. Every storm contained a silver lining. Mom used to say this, but she typically said it while preparing something terrible. I drew Emily against me and made her mimic my moves. Doing silent jumping jacks to get our blood flowing. The motion wounded my ankle, but warm blood was preferable to freezing to death. I placed my arms around Emily and pulled her close to me as we both shivered from the cold and attempted to share the little heat we had left.

The maintenance shed was about 45 yards through the trees, and I knew the latch was broken because I checked it earlier this morning during mom’s prep walk. We walked together through the mud and wet leaves, our bare feet creating soft, squelching noises that the rain mostly obscured. The shed door creaked open, and inside I discovered the box I’d seen earlier, which included backup SD cards for the cameras, as well as an envelope crammed with $250 and small bills that mom must have been using for petty payments. I put them inside what remained of my dress pocket while Emily squeezed against the wall. Through the slats in the wooden wall, I noticed David moving slowly and carefully, his bow drawn, examining the trees and a plan that would take him straight past us. We both held our breath and huddled flat against the rear wall, my heart pounding so hard I felt he might hear it. 30 seconds felt like an eternity, but he finally moved toward the creek.

Outside the shed, I remembered the plant mom had told me about during one of her training sessions. The one with leaves that caused intense itching when touched. I discovered a patch growing beside the pathway and crushed handfuls of the leaves between rocks before spreading the green paste across the narrow path where the hunters like to walk. A mechanical snap rang through the woods, followed by screams that made my stomach turn because I knew it meant someone had discovered the ancient bear trap I’d set near the southern limit. Despite the shouts, I heard something plastic hit the rocks and skitter across them. The inexpensive walkie-talkie had fallen about 15 ft. From where the screaming was coming from, and I grabbed it before anyone else got there.

Mom’s voice could be heard clearly telling someone to pull the SUV around and block the north exit while she coordinated positions as if this were a military operation. And she was only 90 yards away based on how her voice traveled through the trees. I hit the chat button and spoke five words as clearly as I could. Help the kids. Armed men are hunting. I then hurled the radio as hard as I could in the other direction of where we wanted to go, hearing it crash through branches before striking something solid. David’s movements quickly altered course, heading toward where the radio had landed while he alerted the others to the fact that he had heard something. We leveraged his distraction to slip through the opening he’d made in their perimeter, staying low as we moved toward the old logging road. The culvert beneath it was our best chance of getting past their barrier without being spotted, but it was half full with freezing water from the recent rain.

We crawled through on our bellies, scraping our elbows and knees raw against the pavement. And the darkness inside was so intense that I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face. Emily began breathing too quickly and making small gasping sounds, indicating that she was going to lose consciousness. I had to stop us right there in that black tunnel with water seeping through what was left of our garments and count out loud from 1 to 10 slowly and again as she tried to imitate my breathing. Her worry may get us both murdered if she screamed and revealed our location.

Part Four

Despite the fact that my chest felt crushed, I maintained a steady and calm tone of voice. The counting helped and after about a minute, her breathing slowed down enough for us to continue traveling through the pipe. My fingers were numb and I couldn’t feel the pavement, but I kept hauling us ahead through the water and dirt. The other end of the culvert opened into thick undergrowth on the opposite side of the logging road, and we crawled out, drenched in mud and shivering so hard I couldn’t stand. Through the trees, I could see flashlight beams moving back and forth as the hunters attempted to figure out where we had gone. The radio ploy had gained us about 3 minutes, but they’d soon realize we weren’t where the radio had landed. My ankle was throbbing and inflamed from rolling earlier, and every step sent intense pain up my leg, but stopping meant death, so I continued moving. Emily kept right by me, matching my pace. Even though I could tell she was terrified, the rain was pouring down harder now, cleaning the mud off our skin, but also making things slippery and difficult to see.

We wanted to locate better cover before they discovered we’d crossed their boundary and began broadening their search radius. The trees grew thicker, giving us more hiding spots, but also making it more difficult to move quickly. I could hear mom on her phone now, complaining about delays and issues, and how the purchasers were growing restless for results. Her business voice as we discussed our deaths made vomit rise in my throat, but I swallowed it and continued to carry Emily forward through the darkness. The fence line finally showed through the foliage, but my heart fell when I noticed the camera installed on the gate post. The red light blinked steadily. This was the only camera I couldn’t get to during my morning preparation since it was too high and visible from mom’s customary parking location. The chain around the gate appeared sturdy, but the fence itself was just standard chain link, which might be easy to get through. I took out the box cutter blades I had taped together earlier and began sawing at one of the metal strands near the ground that we could fit through. Each wire took forever to cut and produced a terrible scratching sound that seemed far too loud in the calm woods. My hands were already hurting from squeezing the makeshift tool so tightly, and blood was trickling down my fingers from where the tape had come loose.

Emily watched as I worked on thread after strand, counting each one as it snapped free. We only needed about nine more cuts to produce a large enough hole when headlights suddenly invaded our location from behind. Mom’s SUV raced down the access road, its spotlight whipping back and forth over the fence line. We landed flat among the damp leaves and began crawling backward into the denser undergrowth as quickly as we could. The flood light shone directly over where we’d been cutting, and I heard mom’s door slam as she went out to inspect the fence. My fingertips discovered the little tin I’d placed beneath a log this morning, and I fumbled with matches from the shed while Emily squeezed against a tree trunk. When I lit the match, the dried pine needles promptly caught fire, but the wet branches I added produced dense gray smoke rather than flames. The smoke floated nearer the fence and mom coughed and backed away while I grabbed Emily’s hand and led her farther into the woods.

We were sliding down a muddy slope when my damaged ankle suddenly gave up and twisted sideways with a nasty popping sensation. I bit down hard on my lip to keep from shouting and tasted blood as the pain swept up my entire leg like fire. Emily tried to pull me up, but she was too small, so we both fell into the ravine at the bottom of the slope. David’s voice sounded from above us, calm and professional, as if he were negotiating a business deal rather than our deaths. He called down, “9,000 extra if you let me make it clean.” There is no agony. Everything is done quickly and efficiently. His voice was completely emotionless, which made it worse than if he had been angry or thrilled about pursuing us. I could hear him moving around the ravine’s edge, looking for a route down as I held the improvised spear I had crafted earlier. Dead branches had fallen over the ravine, causing a natural barrier. And when David leaned over to see through a break, I pushed the arrow point up as hard as I could. The spear caught his leg and penetrated deeply before he jerked back with a stream of curses I’d never heard before. I lowered the weapon and saw his blood on the arrow point, black and real in the low light.

This is when I actually heard the sirens. There were many automobiles, and they were becoming increasingly louder by the second. Through the trees, I could see flashes of red and blue lights coming from the main road, which was about 0.8 mi distant, but quickly approaching. Mom’s voice crackled over the radio, which she must have borrowed from one of the hunters as she spoke quickly about cameras, literature, and coordination. We need our stories straight before they get here, she said. But I grabbed the radio we had discovered earlier and hit the button. We have the SD cards and receipts from your safe, I remarked to it. The silence that followed revealed all about how she had not anticipated me to gather proof while fleeing for my life.

A whoo of heat and light exploded from the slope above us as mom poured something combustible upon the ground and set it on fire. The rain kept the flames from spreading too far, but they were bright enough to illuminate both sides of the ravine like sunshine. Through the orange glow, I saw David limping toward us from the left, dragging his damaged leg, but still holding his bow and an arrow. I’m trying to figure out how she cut through chainlink fence with just box cutter blades taped together. That metal must have been extremely hard to cut. Did she practice it previously or figure it out in the moment? The fire line was attempting to push us toward him and the other hunters who were likely closing in from all sides. Emily was shivering against me and I could feel myself wanting to give up and stop fighting. But the sirens were getting closer. The lights were brighter and all we had to do was hang on for a little longer.

I assisted Emily in climbing the opposite side of the ravine while David attempted to line up a shot through the smoke and flames. My ankles screamed with every movement, but I kept pushing us ahead toward those lovely flashing lights, hoping that someone was finally arriving to help. The white cloth from my torn dress was still in my pocket, so I took it out and stood up from behind the deadfall, waving it high above my head at the flashing lights. My legs were shaking so badly that I could not stand up, but I kept waving that nasty piece of fabric as if my life depended on it, which it did. Emily took my other hand and clutched it tightly as we stood there exposed, waiting for David or one of the others to shoot an arrow through us before the cops could see what was going on.

The lights brightened and I heard automobile doors slamming, followed by shouting, genuine official voices, not drunk hunters or mom’s business tone, but actual cops asking inquiries. Through the trees, I could see uniforms at the front gate, where mom was already talking quickly in the same calm manner she used with customers about trespassers on her land and damage of her surveillance cameras. Her story was unraveling, however, because her voice kept faltering, and the deputies weren’t nodding along as she expected. One of them was looking behind her at the woods, where smoke was still rising from the fire she’d started, while another was inspecting the SUV, which still had its spotlight focused at the fence. Emily and I continued to move toward them. Our shredded white skirts, bloody feet, and cuts on our arms presenting a different tail than whatever mom was attempting to sell. We arrived at the fence just as one of the deputies noticed us and his entire body stiffened, his hand moving to his radio as he instructed everyone to freeze and down any weapons instantly. The authority in his voice caused my knees to buckle and I had to clutch the fence to keep standing. “We’re kids,” I exclaimed through the chain link. “They’re hunting us with weapons. There’s four of them.”

Part Five

The deputy’s expression transformed from perplexed to concentrated in about half a second, and he was immediately asking for backup while the other one moved toward the gate. Mom attempted to walk in front of him, but he pushed past her and began working on the lock while she spoke about private property and misunderstandings. Two deputies crossed the fence while one remained with us, asking whether we required immediate medical assistance while keeping a watch on the treeine. Within minutes, they had the guy from the bear trap in arrest, his leg wrapped in someone’s shirt to stop the blood while he insisted on seeing a lawyer. When David spotted them approaching, he tried to flee, but his thigh wound from my spear slowed him down, and they captured him before he could get 15 yards away.

The entire scene devolved into controlled chaos with radios crackling and more sirens approaching, hunters being read their rights, and mom standing there with her phone out attempting to reach someone. A separate car drew up and this elderly man in a suit got out navigating the chaos with ease. Detective Parker, as he called himself, was in charge of the scene while the normal cop took a step back. He phoned for ambulances first and then began asking us basic questions about our injuries while taking notes in a little book. Another car arrived and this woman stepped out, younger than mom, but with the same professional demeanor, only her eyes were different, gentler somehow. She introduced herself as Sarah Green from child services and promised to stay with us through whatever happened next. Her hand on my shoulder felt like the first time I’d felt protected in years. Then I started crying for real. Not the fearful tears from earlier, but something completely different.

The ambulance trip was a whirlwind of inquiries, blood pressure cuffs, and someone washing the scrapes on my feet while Emily gripped my hand so tightly that I felt she’d shatter my fingers. At the hospital, they photographed every single injury, documenting the arrow grazes on my shoulder, the sprained ankle, and all the wounds and bruises while meticulously treating each one. Nobody asked why we didn’t report it sooner, how it could have happened, or any of the other questions I’d been fearing for years. They just took care of us, documented everything, and made sure we were okay. I took out the three SD cards I had hidden in my underwear and handed them to Detective Parker along with the cash envelope from the shed. Then I requested for paper and drew him a map of all the cameras locations, marking each one from memory while he stared with an expression I couldn’t interpret. He made a call right there in the hospital room and dispatched a tech crew to retrieve the entire recording equipment before anyone could tinker with it or remove anything.

They brought mom in while I was having my ankle x-rayed, but I could hear her through the wall requesting her lawyer and refusing to answer anything. When they walked her by my room in handcuffs, I expected to feel a strong emotion such as victory, relief, or even fury. But basically, I felt empty and exhausted, like if I’d been running for years and could finally rest. The detective returned to inform me that they had enough evidence to hold her without bail and that the other hunters were also in custody. Some are at the hospital receiving treatment while others are at the station. He indicated there will be more inquiries later, but for the time being, we were safe, which was all that mattered.

Jenna stayed with us the entire time, stressing that they would find us a safe place to stay and that we wouldn’t have to return to our previous lives. Carmen took out a folder and began describing how the system worked, showing me documents on emergency placement. Emily sat next to me and gripped my hand. She stated they had to separate us at first for safety, but I pushed back strongly, arguing that Emily needed to know I had not abandoned her. After 15 minutes of back and forth, Jenna made some calls and received consent for supervised visits twice a week. The nurse came in to check my ankle again, and I saw TV vans driving up outside with reporters gathering like vultures. Detective Parker walked out there himself, and I saw him point to the parking lot exit while speaking with the television crews. They relocated their vans back, but their cameras continued to roll from across the street. Jenna stated that our names and faces could not be exposed since we were children, which made me feel a little safer.

Mom’s bond hearing was placed 2 days later, and the court said it at 1.5 million, which was much beyond her ability to pay. That same afternoon, David was pulled up at a clinic where he was attempting to get his leg wound treated without question. The nurse had seen the news and called in. One by one, the other hunters began striking deals with prosecutors, each hoping to save their own skin by ratting out the others. Detective Parker led me to a quiet room at the station where I delivered my entire testimony while Carmen sat by me. I only used facts and times, no thoughts or sentiments to describe what happened when, and where. The investigator kept nodding and taking notes, especially when I detailed the evidence I had gathered. He said the SD cards and my camera location map would take up too much space in the case.

After two months of depositions, meetings, and more statements, Mom’s lawyer persuaded her to accept a plea agreement. 12 years minimum in federal prison with no prospect of ever seeing children again. David received a six-year sentence for assault with a deadly weapon. The others received between 3 and 5 years each, depending on their contracts. My foster family showed out to be an elderly couple who had been doing this for 15 years. They gave me my own room and did not force me to talk about anything. The woman showed me where everything was in the house and told me to help myself to whatever I needed.

Emily ended up in specialist care three counties away, but we had video calls twice a week as promised. She was learning English faster than anyone thought and was always asking when she might meet me in person. Eight months after that night in the woods, I was working on my GED and seeing a therapist who could truly help. Every morning, I ran two miles in actual running shoes down sidewalks where no one was looking for me. The dreams continued to occur most nights, but the therapist taught me how to deal with them without terror. My foster father built me a little workshop in the garage where I could work with my hands when my mind became too active.

I wasn’t instantly better or mended six months later because trauma does not work that way. But I was safe, free, and creating something that resembled a future. Emily and I had planned to meet in person next month at a supervised visitation site halfway between us. Her foster family was teaching her how to cook, and she wanted to prepare something special for me. I’d been accumulating money from odd jobs to buy her art equipment since she first began drawing everything she saw. The prosecutor stated that the trial for the trafficking allegations would take at least another year, but I was not required to testify again unless I chose to. Mom has already lost everything important to her. The house, automobiles, and bank accounts have all been blocked for victim compensation. A reporter attempted to write a book about it, but the judge shut it down quickly.

I continued to run every morning, attend therapy once a week, and complete my studies every day. Why does the detective take command right away without first asking fundamental questions about jurisdiction or how the entire hunting operation works? Everyone blindly accepts these children’s stories. It makes me question what evidence they previously have that we haven’t heard about. Small steps forward, nothing dramatic, simply everyday life events that felt monumental after everything. The therapist explained that healing is not a straight line and that some days would be more difficult than others. She was correct about that. However, the difficult days became easier and the good days became more common. Tomorrow, I had a mock GED test and a job interview at a hardware store. Normal, mundane tasks made me want to cry with relief at times. Emily would call tomorrow night and we’d speak about her new school, my running schedule, and anything but what brought us together. We were creating new stories to tell, better and safer ones, even though we would never forget the old ones entirely.

The End