Summer 2018

Aurelio Ainsworth’s half-sister Elda leaped over the railing of the stairwell and onto the ground floor, leaving a swirl of concrete dust where she landed. She heard the clang of a metal stairway door closing somewhere above her, and footsteps started rapidly descending. She hurried to move outside where she had more room to maneuver. She dashed through the front door and ran in an evasion pattern, hunched over and low to the ground, across the long open expanse of field. He’s sure to get me before I can reach safety. The long grasses and ruts conspired to take her down. She stumbled and bobbed her way across. A shot rang out behind her, but it missed. She scrunched her body as low as she could while still remaining upright. With a sigh of relief, she disappeared into the dense forest beyond. They were now in her habitat.

Elda ran through the woods, gripping her rifle tightly. A shot hit the tree next to her. Her heart leaped and pounded against the walls of her chest. Damn, that was too close. She changed her running pattern and zigzagged to reach her goal. Branches cracked under her steel-tipped combat boots. Her mouth was dry and her breathing ragged, echoing loudly in her ears. With all this noise, a child could track her. She’d trained to be better than this.

She ran behind a large tree, threw herself to the ground, and rolled away to change direction. Her brown and green camouflage blended into her surroundings. If she could only reach her destination, she’d be safe. This would not be the week she’d die.

She slathered her face with mud and obscured her protective head covering with leaves to hide her from air surveillance. She listened for the sounds of vehicles and was met with silence. Good. Her tracker was on foot. Looking through her gun scope, she quickly surveyed the surrounding area for her attacker.

A red-tailed hawk flew out of a tree and onto a branch farther into the woods. Something had spooked that bird. Elda calculated a line of direction using the bird’s path and ran perpendicular to it. She stopped again and lowered herself to the ground, slithering to get distance between herself and the shooter. She heard faint sounds of movement. He didn’t seem any closer, but he was still moving. She mapped out his locations thus far in her head, trying to triangulate his positions.

Another shot rang out. Where was he? She picked up a rock and flung it at the tree on her right to flutter the lower branches. Another shot. There! She had his location. Elda took three deep breaths and slowed her breathing and heart rate down to make less noise. Now to get him before he shoots me. A shot hit a nearby tree, scattering leaves down. Too close! But she needed to ensure she moved to within range. She quietly and slowly mud crawled through the trees toward the shooter. She spied a swatch of black-and-white camouflage about twenty feet up in a fir tree. Aha! There you are. Sighting carefully, she aimed and fired and was rewarded by a curse. Got you!

A lanky, paint-covered man scrambled down out of the tree. “Damn ya, Elder. Yah got me again.”

“Sorry, Jim,” Elda replied insincerely, removing her helmet and shaking debris out of her short, brown-and-gray hair. She switched her paint-gun rifle to her other arm and reached out to take Jim Martin’s proffered hand. “You nearly got me this time.”

“Aye-yup. you wait until next week. Ah will get you good.”

Elda smiled at her down east neighbor and old friend. “One of these days you will. You learned a lot during your tour in Vietnam, and you’ve kept them up nicely. You know I only train with the best.”

“Aye-yup.”

Elda watched as her old friend loped away to return his gun, and she sighed heavily. She resented her promise to stay at home. She missed the action of being in the field.