“Girl, this is the sheriff,” Zeke said, motioning toward the uniformed man near the front door.

“So I can see,” I said. “My name is-“

“Makayla,” The sheriff said. “They told me all about you, nappin’ in the woods like you owned the place. They’re gonna love you down at CPS, or whatever is it they’re callin’ themselves these days.”

“They change their name again?” Shelby said, shaking her head as she glanced up from her magazine at the kitchen table.

“Mayor keeps insisting they change it,” The sheriff said snidely. I could quickly tell that he was no fan of the mayor.

“Garron needs to mind his business,” Zeke said curtly. “’fore he stick his hand somewhere it don’t belong.”

“Probably already has,” The sheriff spat. “Alright young lady, you ready to head up yonder? Daylight’s burnin’.”

“I just need my-“

“Backpack,” Shelby said, finishing my sentence for me. She stepped from the table and passed me the pink backpack that had my name stitched on the rear pocket. No, that wasn’t my name. My name was Michael. I think. I needed to remember that. I wasn’t Makayla, I was Michael. Wasn’t I? I took it in my hand and slung it over my shoulder, taking one last look at the kitchen before I walked toward the sheriff who was already ushering me out onto the porch.

“You take care now!” Shelby called out after me. “Hope to never see you again!”

“Hope so too,” I muttered. I hoped to never see this place again period. I needed to get home. I needed to figure out how to get back to Ohio, and getting out of this hole in the wall was the only way I could do that. I passed through the threshold onto the rickety old porch, the planks flexed and creaked beneath my feet as I made my way forward, past the old peeling swing and down the brief steps leading to a patchy, dying lawn. The sheriff’s car was parked in the driveway, catching the morning sun and reflecting it back in a blinding manner. It was like walking toward the sun and as I came closer I noticed that it was an older car, a Dodge Polero I think, one of those cars that you’d see cops driving around in the 70’s. The second thing I noticed was how clean it was. The exterior had been waxed recently, light glinted off of the chrome mirrors and apart from some mud on the tires, it looked perfectly new. If I’d been thinking clearly, then I probably would have realized just how strange that was for a small town.

“In you go,” The sheriff said as he approached me from behind. With his right hand he indicated the passenger side of the car. My tattered shoes crunched against pea gravel while I crossed the makeshift driveway and pulled the car door open. My backside connected with a hot leather seat and I laid the backpack across my legs. I could still feel the phone in my pocket. The useless, dead phone. God I just needed it to work, I needed to know WHY I was here.

The driver side door clicked open and the sheriff sat down, twisting the key in the ignition, bringing the engine to life with a roar. He was a middle-aged man, medium build with back hair, combed back and slicked. He popped his jaw a lot, I noticed that.

“Where are we going?” I asked while the car was put into gear with the switch of a shifter and we began to roll forward, down the gravel driveway and toward the treeline.

“County’s full up,” He said to me, keeping his eyes front and turning left, off of the gravel road and onto a paved, but very old looking back road. “Got a foster for you at Sunnyside Park until we find your parents.”

“You haven’t found them yet?” I asked, focusing on a pill bottle sat on the dash. The prescription label said “Miratran” in bold lettering. The shadows of leaves and light in between could be seen lightly reflected on the glass windshield. The car’s poor suspension barely absorbed the jolting of numerous potholes as we tore down the country road toward and unknown destination.

“Far as I hear,” He said. “You don’t know much more’n we do, waking up in the woods and all. Best you get settled for the long haul while we try to work it out.”

“How long will that take?” Not that it mattered, they could drop me off anywhere and I was just going to find a way back to Ohio. How hard could it be?

“Takes as long as it takes,” He shot back lazily. “Resources ain’t exactly runnin’ like milk and honey. This is Bartville. Maybe you shoulda landed in Lexington or Cumberland. At least they have money to work with. Nah I think we’ll do the best we can but you shouldn’t expect much unless you suddenly remember somethin’.”

I nodded. He had a point.

“So then who am I staying with?”

“Woman named Miriam and her daughter,” He explained to me. “They help out in situations like this. You’ll be just fine with them.”

I don’t know why but I felt more at ease, knowing that I would be staying with two women. I guess it beat the alternative. I closed my eyes for a moment to shut out the repetitive woodland scenery that seemed to go on into infinity. Exhaling again, I opened my eyes and noticed the slightest beginnings of a headache forming just behind my brow and the roar of the road beneath the car chassis wasn’t helping.

“Hey-“ I started to say, but I didn’t get to finish the sentence. All at once the windshield ahead of us spiderwebbed and the sheriff’s head burst in an explosion of crimson liquid. The car accelerated as his foot slammed against the accelerator in a reflexive death throe. I screamed, or at least I think I screamed as the car lurched forward, tearing through the woods, but eventually succumbing to a sharp turn that it would never make. The front bumper connected with a dirt embankment ahead, and I briefly lost consciousness as my head smashed into the dash ahead. I came back quickly, only to be greeted by a splitting headache and the sigh of blood on the dash. Was it my blood? God there was a lot of it. How was I still alive?

Around me I could hear the roar of the engine as the dearly departed sheriff’s foot bore down on the gas pedal and the wheels outside spun against dirt and pavement. My head still spinning, I happened to glance into the passenger side mirror and could make out the faint outline of someone making their way toward the car. They were a good distance away but I could see the outline of a rifle slung over their shoulder. I cursed and reached for the door handle, I tried but the door itself wouldn’t budge. I pulled again, and again, and again as the man drew closer. As a last ditch effort, I yanked on the handle and threw my shoulder into the door. It gave, but so did I. I tumbled from the car and collapsed into a pile on the asphalt, my backpack dropping on top of me, and the car tires spinning mere feet from my bleeding skull.

I didn’t waste time looking back, I forced myself to my feet and fought the dizziness that was overtaking me, running as fast as I could toward the treeline. With the backpack over my shoulder I crawled hand over hand up the embankment, propelling myself with my feet with the loose dirt constantly giving way beneath them. With a cry, I finally reached the top of the embankment and dragged myself over the edge, working my way through dead leaves and pulling my hair through the soft dirt. The next second I was back on my feet, listening to my shoes pound against the forest floor, through exposed roots, over dead leaves, and dodging the occasional briar patch. I breathed heavily, more and more as I pushed through. I wasn’t in good shape, not in this body. When I’d been Michael I’d been in great shape; an athlete. I’d run track, I’d played football – what the hell had this girl done? Yeah, that was good, I was still remembering who I was. I was Michael, not Makayla. Behind me I heard a crack, a gunshot. The tree trunk closest to me burst into a rain of splinters. Jesus Christ, what was he carrying? In my panic I tripped over a branch and sprawled forward, hurtling across the forest floor and yelping aloud as my wrist folded in on itself. It was sprained. In a panic I used my good hand to raise myself up but I failed, and slammed back on to the ground. It was no good, he was going to catch me. Nevertheless I tried again but my body ached and screamed at me for even daring to use it. All of the adrenaline in the world wasn’t going to save me here. Finally, I flipped over onto my back, staring up at the man who was now mere feet from me. He stared at me with a scarred, dirty face, his body clad in brown coveralls. He towered over me and brought the gun to bear, aiming it carefully at my head. This was it, this was how I died.

“You really thought it would be this easy?” The man said, quietly shaking his head. What would be this easy? What was he talking about? Before I could contemplate that question too much, another gunshot rang out from elsewhere in the forest. The man jerked and stumbled backward once before collapsing to the ground, three thuds. His body, his head, his gun.

“Get up!” A female voice screamed. A new pair of footsteps clamored over to me, I felt a hand wrap around my arm and practically drag me to my feet. In front of me stood a beautiful woman, maybe in her late twenties, perhaps very early thirties. Light brown skin, black hair piled around her shoulders. “Where’s the backpack?”

“What? The backpack?” I stuttered and looked around. It was nowhere to be seen. Had I dropped it somewhere? I must have dropped it.

“God dammit Michael!” She screamed, taking both of my shoulders in her hands. “If you had the backpack this could be over right now! Where is it?! You need to stick to the plan!”

“Plan?!” I screamed back. “What plan?!”

“Jesus fuck you don’t remember anything?!” She stepped back and stared at me, her eyes wide in shock and terror. “Okay, okay, shit. Okay. I need you…I need you to run in that direction. Just keep running, don’t look back. I’m going to find the backpack.”

She practically pushed me in the direction she wanted me to go. I stopped short and stared at her.

“What’s in the backpack?” I demanded. “What’s all this about? Who am I? Where am I?”

“Look Michael, I don’t have long, if I don’t find that backpack in the next five minutes we’re going to have to start over and I don’t know how long it’s going to take. Okay? Just run in that direction, you’ll know where you’re going when you see it!”

“Okay fine,” I said, resigned. “Just…one thing!”

“What?!” She demanded as she surveyed the woods around her, looking for the fallen backpack.

“Who are you? What’s your name? Fuck! Why are you here?”

“My name is…Aleah,” She said. “And I’m here because I picked the wrong side, and now everyone’s paying for it. RUN!”