Aaron ran through the woods. Fast. He never liked to run. He kept that thought out of his mind. He just ran. Why not run before? He knew why. He liked her. Not as a friend, not even as a lover. He didn't have any feelings either. He just fucked her. And it pissed him off.
He had the image of Mongrel's dead body in his mind. He kept running. Over branches, rocks, and around trees. He had no idea where he was. He knew he was near Canada when he first took the job at the camp. But, the hangover was too strong to remember. But he was sober now. Especially now that he had to run.
He had to go to the house he was squatting in for months. When the house was being shown, he'd clean up and made it look more worn down than before so it would never be sold He had it down to a science. The snow was a great way to rust the pipes for example. Beth didn't know about it nor did she care.
He got to the stream that he dubbed the stream of no return. It was iced over. But it was too warm that day. Was it still sold? Couldn't go around. And time was running out.
****
Aaron took a step. Solid. Took two more. Still solid. The anxiety he had was high enough that his senses were in overdrive. He looked down at the stream. Just white. He took a few more and heard the water. Couldn't see it was running or not.
He was halfway there. A few more steps and he-crack. The ice gave way and one of his legs fell in the ice. He pulled it out quickly.
Aarons right leg was soaked up to his knee. He pulled it up and got across He felt the burn of the cold on his leg. No time for pain. The adrenaline was enough to block it for now.
***
The house was a three-bedroom, two-bathroom, two-story house with a finished basement. It was painted a light blue. It stood on a small hill off of Route 3. It was isolated enough to not get attention. He saw the road. He got to the fence. He stopped. He saw the realtor's car. He ducked. The car pulled out and went down the road.
Aaron climbed over and got to the house. He got to the window he always broke into. The realtor always kept it open. Just a crack but it was enough. The window was six feet off the ground. He took some steps back and jumped up. His fingers jammed on the bottom of the window. Aaron fell on his feet and let out a "Fuck!" He shook out his hands and noticed the sliding basement door. It was cracked. He ran over and slid the door open.
****
The basement looked untouched from the last time he was there. Good sign. He went to the corner near the door. He gently peeled back the fiberglass and insulation. There it was. His bugout bag. It was fire and water proof. It had about $35 in various denominations, a lighter that didn't work, some snacks that he stole from open houses, a handful of extra bullets, and some stolen bandages.
There was a book he had too. He first read it when he was 19. He flipped to the first chapter and saw that famous opening line. He had pens stolen from Beth's cabin in the hiding spot. He took one, crossed the line out and wrote above it:
The desperate vagabond fled through the woods, and the psycho possessed bitch followed.
He went upstairs. Sometimes the realtor left snacks for the people looking at the house. he kept a stash of them near the gun. He looked in the fridge. Nothing. He looked in the living room. It had a fireplace in it.
He looked heard something. He opened the front door. He looked up at the sky. He saw a red orb. Like the one from earlier. Only this time it was shot up like a rocket.
His time was up. Aaron ran through the front door. He paused. He went back, locked the door from the inside, then went out and Squish Aaron looked down. The welcome mat made a slight squishing sound under his feet. His shoes were still wet from the stream. Point of no return indeed.
Another house was gone but it didn't matter now. Plus the orb landed in the roof and made it catch on fire. He had to keep moving.