Chapter 8

Mila kept running, struggling to put her clothes onto her wet body as she went. Finally she stopped, out of breath, her garments in disarray, her hair clinging pathetically to her head, and looked around. She had no real idea of where she was. Only that she was probably at the edge of the Hawke’s property. The orchard had thinned out and become a mass of wild growth, and she hadn’t seen anyone in ages.

She took a deep, shuddering breath. ShayAnne was very upset with her; why? Something was wrong. Mila pulled at her dark hair with her hands. Something was so very wrong. Something was always wrong with her. She sank down to the dirt and began to sob. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know where to go. She couldn’t go home again, and she couldn’t go back to ShayAnne’s. She couldn’t go back to the motel, and she couldn’t go back in town. She had to leave. She had to get out of here. She had some money still. It would have to be enough for now. Not for the first time in her life, Mila wished so much that her brother was there to help her. She felt impossibly alone and worse off now than when she had first run away from her mother’s house.

She covered her ears with her hands and tried to drown out the echoes in her mind of ShayAnne’s voice screaming at her. Mila got up again and forced herself to start walking. It didn’t matter where she went. She would be a misfit no matter where she was. And if she walked until she died, no one would miss her.

To the left lay a path toward the river, to the right the borderline of the Hawke Ranch. She started toward the river, wishing she had somewhere to go. She scaled the side of the short ravine and trekked down along the riverbank. Her feet sank in the black mud as she walked, but she kept going. She walked and walked for hours, until her feet and her back began to ache, her tongue like a dry sponge in need of water. She drank from the dirty river, tasting the mud as she did, and returned to her quest. She walked until the sun went down, and as luck would have it, she reached the highway just when the light failed her.

She stood on the side of the road watching the cars pass without taking notice of her. She considered which way to walk, finally deciding it was best to go north, to avoid having to go back through town. Her feet were full of blisters; she could feel them sprouting inside her shoes, but she had to keep pushing ahead. A horn sounded behind her and Mila turned to see the bright lights of an oncoming truck headed squarely for her. Frightened, she stood frozen to the spot even as the vehicle careened toward her and smashed into her skinny body.

The driver was instantly killed when he passed through the windshield, subsequently breaking his neck; Mila was not so lucky.