Omen

Naked, exhausted, and bloody, I ran. Nearby, an owl hooted. I grimaced and pumped my legs faster. Owls were an omen. Harbingers of death. I changed direction and jerked to a halt behind a large pine tree. My lungs burned and I tried to swallow ragged breaths, begging my body to quiet itself. I listened intently to the woods around me. Wind whispered through branches and rattled the dying leaves. A branch snapped in the distance. I could feel my pulse in the cuts on my bare feet. Blood dripped slowly down the shallow gash in my hip. The sweat was already evaporating off of my bare skin, leaving me sticky and cold. I gripped my wound, as if the hunters could find me by scent alone. I was lucky the bullet had only grazed me. The woman running next to me had not been so lucky.

A beam of light cut through the trees, casting ominous shadows around me. I stayed where I was, silently praying to any god who would listen.

The crack of a pistol echoed through the trees. My body tensed. I stifled the instinct to run. They’d flushed me out this way once before, but I was learning. The men, dressed in reflective yellow hunting vests, jogged past my hiding spot. Their lights waved erratically as they hurried forward, whistling and calling out. They looked more like they were searching for a lost dog than butchering women. I held my breath and silently urged them not to look back.

They disappeared into the woods. The whooping and whistling grew faint. It felt so much darker now without the spotlights searching for me. A burst of air and high pitched screech startled me out of my daze. I looked around, frantic, only to find a brown barn owl glaring up at me. It had finally caught its prey. Bright yellow orbs stared at me, accusingly. I’m sure my midnight run had scared off its dinner more than once tonight. As if satisfied that I had been properly chastised, the owl flew off to enjoy its mouse.

Clenching my teeth, I limped back the way I came. The men had given us a head start to make the hunt more “exciting”. I easily found the path that I’d taken to get this far. It had been stupid to stay on the path, but we’d hoped to find help. It had only made us easier prey. I rubbed my arms, shivering. I was more careful to avoid the roots and rocks this time. I couldn’t afford a twisted ankle if I wanted to make it out of here.

It could have taken an hour to reach the cabin again. It could have been ten minutes. It felt like an eternity. Time isn’t real in nightmares.

I shivered and let myself feel my aches and injuries for a moment. I mourned my losses and pitied myself for a few seconds before I gathered my resolve and I pulled at the heavy back door. I worried for a split second that they’d thought to lock it and sighed with relief when it swung outward. Warm air rushed out at me, smelling of wood polish and roasted meat. I peaked around the corner. As I suspected, there was no one left behind. None of these men would miss out on the thrill of the hunt to babysit an empty house.

The cabin was well-furnished. Leather couches, polished wooden tables and beautiful crystal light fixtures surrounded me. There were framed photos of important men shaking hands. Our captors with judges and mayors. Kissing babies and cutting ribbons. The elegance and prestige seemed ghoulish next to the hunting trophies that lined the crimson walls. Deer heads and stuffed birds stared soullessly back at me from their perches.

I noted the 80 inch flatscreen hanging on the wall by the phone. I reached for the corded phone, outdated compared to the rest of the lodge. The dial tone beeped at me. I hesitated and put it back in its cradle.

These men were rich and powerful. Alibis could be bought, police reports lost, witnesses could disappear. Missing women near a big city was barely newsworthy these days. If we made it out alive, who would believe us? How many trials and interrogations and character assassinations would we have to endure for these men to get a slap on the wrist?

Instead, I padded down the stairs to the basement. The stench hit me. The now familiar scent of unwashed bodies and human waste rolled over me.

Dog kennels, barely big enough for German shepherds, lined the walls. There were six women, all naked and half starved, curled up within. I grabbed the keys from the ring on the wall and started opening doors. They’d kept the keys where we could see them. The little sparks of hope kept us alive long enough for slaughter. Just another twist of cruelty to keep them entertained.

The whimpering around me grew louder and a few voices whispered hopeful pleas as I made my way down the line with the keys. I knew them well. Some of these women were journalists and activists, and some, like me, were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Women that knew too much.

I, myself, had taken the path less traveled and paid dearly for it. I’d wanted to be alone in nature, a quiet day of hiking trails and birdwatching. But then I’d stumbled upon a crying woman and woken up here, caged like a dog.

I found our clothes in a biohazard bag, probably destined for the incinerator. I picked through and found my hiking gear. Wordlessly, we dressed ourselves, grasping modicum of dignity. A few of the women rummaged in the kitchen for steak knives. They searched desperately for car keys, but none could be found. One noted that the phone line had been cut. I nodded towards the gun safe, left unlocked by hunters who weren’t afraid of their prey.

I turned off the lights and we waited. An owl hooted from the tree by the window and I smiled. Maybe it was a harbinger of death, but tonight, it wouldn’t be mine.