Colin considered hanging them somewhere for Taron to find, but he ultimately decided against it. Whatever motives Taron had had for taking him in the first place shouldn’t matter. He’d still been abducted and shouldn’t feel responsibility toward the man guilty of causing his fear and suffering.
The forest was vaster than he could comprehend, and in this rain—with the wind carrying leaves, small branches and bending trees until they cried in pain—the landscape turned into a coffee spill, uneven and impossible to read. But he couldn’t give up because of a bit of bad weather. The single road leading to civilisation was on the other side of the homestead, and if he tried to get there, he risked running into Taron, so the river was his best bet.
Colin sped up, knowing that if he wanted to cross the waters safely, he needed to do so before the storm became even worse. A sudden gust of wind shoved at his back so hard he had to grab a nearby tree for support, but when he was about to let go and run to the artery that would lead him away from captivity, the world creaked, and a branch fell only a few steps away, squashing the undergrowth beneath it.
Colin’s knees softened. The piece of wood was thick and long like the arm of a giant, but even it had been unable to withstand the force of the tempest. Despite the downpour, he raised his chin until the drops started drizzling under his hood to dampen his dry flesh and clothes. They were icier than rain should have been in the spring, but Colin couldn’t worry about something so trivial when he stared at the place where the branch had been brutally ripped from the trunk, leaving behind a ragged wound of wood and bark.
Had Colin been moving faster, this could have been the moment of his death. How ironic would it have been if he’d escaped abduction only to get himself killed by a falling tree?
He gave a barking laugh and tried to move despite his legs not wanting to cooperate and already growing roots in the damp ground. With wind so forceful, getting struck by another branch, or by lightning for that matter, was not out of the realm of possibilities. But this was his chance. His one chance to get his life back, and he needed to force down his fear.
Once he let go of the tree and moved farther down the uneven path, he no longer took his time thinking. Closer to the river, the trees and bushes weren’t as dense, so when the damp moss gave under his weight like soaked sponge, he could practically smell the gasoline and asphalt already. But the moment Colin stepped out of the forest and saw the rapid stream, the real world stopped being an achievable reality.
The waters which, while brisk, had always been calm enough to cross by walking over rocks sticking out over the surface, were now overflowing and spilled into the woods beyond the river banks. They were foaming, like a rabid dog guarding a gateway Colin needed to cross.
The rain kept slapping Colin’s face with the hard droplets until his skin was numb, but he didn’t hesitate and followed the stream in hope of finding a bridge, a place where something allowed him to make the crossing. Or perhaps he could just run along the bank until he saw a trace of human presence? All he needed was to keep focused on the ground under his feet and walk, walk, walk until he was out of those woods. The constant rapping of raindrops against his hood muted him to most other noises, and he could hardly see the world around him, so when he first sped up, a terrible thought invaded his brain and spread like wildfire.
This could be a test.
For all he knew, Taron might have been following him all this time, way more familiar with the terrain and adept at tracking. Just like that, Colin couldn’t shake off the sense of being watched, and he made a rapid spin, seeking the familiar form in the gray-and-black woods. Seconds passed, and he broke into a run, speeding along the riverbank. His heart beat in his chest in warning, but like a horse in blinders, he could only see ahead.
If Taron had been following him, then he already knew of Colin’s plans, so Colin might as well try to outrun the man who may, or may not be there.
The wind shoved him forward over and over again, as if the forest had had enough of him and wanted him to leave for the city, where he belonged. At a desk. In the sterile spaces of a hospital. In his room at his parents’ home where he pretended to fall asleep early so that he wouldn’t have to continue their endless, uncomfortable conversations, which always touched upon the same topics.