500: An Anthology of Short Stories
The Girl

The return to consciousness plunges Adrian into an acid vat of pain. He screams like a wild beast, the shout echoing eerily down the ravine.

“Dear God,” he whimpers as he catches sight of his broken left wrist. “I need to get help,” he whispers, carefully clambering out of the overturned panel van. He risks a swift glance back into the interior of the van to see if the girl has been hurt; the inside is empty.

“She was probably flung out on our way down,” Adrian reasons. He rises unsteadily to his feet, relieved that his legs are unharmed. Although he’s still dazed, he can feel his strength returning rapidly.

He’s a bear of a man with broad shoulders, tree-trunk thick arms and a face seemingly cut from granite. His cerulean eyes feverishly scan the vegetation along the sides of the gorge for any sign of the girl as he ascends to the road.

“Where the hell can she be?” he asks himself angrily, his concern causing his impatience to flare. That his wrist is throbbing like a mother doesn’t improve matters in the least.

Pushing the last few branches out of the way with his uninjured hand, Adrian finally reaches the summit. He exhales sharply, then breathes deeply of the crisp midnight air.

Up here, where the view is clear and unobstructed, a crescent moon offers welcome illumination. Adrian glances at the dark splotches on the tarmac where the van had veered off the road and down the canyon.

Swiftly, a memory of the girl lunging at him behind the wheel, forcing him to lose control of the vehicle, flits through his mind like a butterfly on steroids.

“Thank goodness it’s a shallow drop,” he shudders.

The black lane snakes off to disappear around a bend on his right; on his left, Adrian sees a figure limping out of the bushes onto the road.

It’s the girl.

At first, when she catches sight of him, the girl freezes. She’s disheveled, her flimsy jacket hanging from torn threads around her sparse frame. Her hair seems to be matted on the right, probably from an injury, Adrian surmises. When she begins to walk towards a surprised Adrian, he notices her pronounced limp.

“So you survived, did you?” the girl hollers at him, her young voice slicing the silence like a sharp needle scratching a vinyl record. Her slightly increasing pace alarms Adrian. He stands his ground though as she approaches him, her entire demeanor roaring her hostility.

Adrian abruptly feels less sure of himself. Her behavior confuses him; instead of being cowed and attempting to flee, she’s coming straight at him.

“Stop right there!” he barks at her when she’s five paces away.

The girl glares at him with open hatred and revulsion. Too late he sees the claw hammer she has concealed behind her back.

As the weapon descends towards his stupefied face, he stares at the welts on her wrist left by the plastic ties he had used.