The Purple 18-Wheeler – Part 2

She slowly came to, the disembodied voice still resonating in her mind somewhere “…purple 18-wheeler…armed and dangerous…do not approach…”

She grunted as she realised that she was lying on her stomach her left arm painfully caught under her, her twisted pose pushing her face into the dirt. The dirt smelt of sweet almond tart.

“Breathe…take deep breaths, you can still breathe,” she repeated over and over again lest she lose consciousness again.

After what seemed like hours, she painfully rolled over onto her back and blinked at the brightness of the the sun directly overhead.

“It’s midday,” she thought, “I’ve been out for hours, they must think I’ve defected.” She scrambled, panicked, to her feet, slipping and sliding in the dirt until she could stand groggily looking around her, “at least there’s nothing broken.”

Whatever she was in was taller than her. Looking up again at the top of the stalks she realised that she was in the middle of a cornfield. She listened for sounds.  None came. She was in the middle of nowhere, unsure if she was in some kind of limbo or Jungian dreamworld.

Slowly she started remembering the details. The chase, the purple 18-wheeler, the flash disk still secure in her pocket. Realising her friends at The Hide wouldn’t be looking for her she sat in the dirt again and put her head in her hands.

She knew the rules – out of contact for more than a day and you’re presumed defected, or taken, or dead. She was all alone now. With a flash disk in her pocket that could restore sanity to an insane world.

*******

She’d been running for hours and still hadn’t reached the end of the cornfield. She’d slipped and fallen many times, the knees of her jeans non-existent, the grazes stinging and stiff making it difficult to run faster.

It was still daylight but she couldn’t see the sun anymore. It would soon become dark and cold and the wolflings would come out, howling at the 2 red moons in the sky, perpetually full. She needed to find shelter for the night.

Questions played over and over in her mind. Where were they? Why hadn’t they followed her into the field? Where was her car? Why was she still alive?

Continuing on from the 1st part - the Purple 18-Wheeler, if you're liking this story...where would you like it to go? What questions should I be asking...and answering? Let me know and let's write Part 3 together. What fun it can be!

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