Madison Neal

The Bank

If she could see me right now, see where I've landed myself, would she be disappointed? The answer is unclear to me, and the barking of the tracking dogs makes it even harder to think. I'm currently huddled behind a large rock, too small to be called a boulder but big enough to hide my form. I'm too afraid to peek over the edge of the rock for fear of being shot at again. My right hand reaches up to brush the bullet graze I received just minutes prior. I feel my body shiver involuntarily at the memory: both the sound of the shot and subsequent tearing of my jacket were enough to send me flying behind cover. It's far too cold, rainy, and damp to risk a hole in my coat. Recollecting myself, my hands move all over my body in a patting motion to make sure everything is still attached. I made a foolish decision by leaving my pack and tent behind, but the gunshot didn't give me much time. All I have now is the locket she had given me; small, silver, and heart-shaped, she told me it would lead me to "the cure for all this calamity." She always was a wordy one. I recall when I first opened the damn thing: all that was inside was a built-in electronic chip and coordinates carved into the front piece.