The Runner & The Dethroned Chapt. 2

Whether it was the blinding sun or my pulsing ankle that woke me, I’m up way earlier than I was okay with. I sit up with a groan, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. Once my eyes were fully working, I examine my ankle. Overnight, it had swollen nearly to my knee, and was about the size of Mitch's thigh, which is saying a lot. Deciding it would be unwise to put weight on it, I crawl diagonally to a hole in the ground. Pulling out an apple, I start munching on it as I crawl back to my bed. I grab my ripped shirt, propping my foot out as I try to make a cast. Let me emphasize the word try. I wrap and re-wrap and tighten and loosen that cursed piece of fabric for what feels like hours. Finally, I give up, settling with it how it is. Favouring my injury, I slowly stand.



“Okay.” I say. “Nice and easy…”



When I am fully standing, I lightly put my swollen foot down.



“Heh, heh.” I chortle. “That wasn’t so bad.”



Leaning against the old oak tree next to me, I sigh. The only problem was, I’m low on food, have no shirt, and, winter is coming. I’m going to need something heavier than a sheet. And with my bad leg, I won’t be going anywhere until the swelling goes down, and that’s not going to be for at least a week.



Interrupting my griping, a loud rustle comes from outside. Although I know it’s probably just a wild animal, a guy can never be to sure. With much struggle, I manage to climb the tree. Grunting in pain every time I move, I finally make it to a high branch where I can see over my thicket. What I see next almost sends me toppling down the tree. Gripping the branch, I catch my breath. About six guards are poking around the entrance of my hiding place, including Mitch.



Should I stay in the tree in hopes they won’t look up? I don’t see any other options, so wrapping my arms and leg around the branch I’m sitting on, I wait and watch. After a long and drawn out argument between the guards,, a lean, short guard steps up, pushing his way through the thicket, and the rest follow. As soon as they set foot in my house, they start pokin’ around. Mitch walks to the hole, lowers down to a knee, then starts pulling out my stuff.



“Oh this is him alright.” He grumbles. “Lambert, help me get this stuff.”



As they gather my stuff in a bigger bag, the other four poke around in the bushes, looking for me, probably. Just when I think I’m gonna get lucky, almost like a puppet string, the skinny guards head snaps towards me. A smile spreads across his face.



“Hey Steele!” He says.



My mouth drops open and my eyes widen. “Uhh-”



12 eyes are instantly glued on me, making me feel extremely awkward.



“Steele,” Mitch starts, rising up and slowly walking to me.. “Get your fat-”

“Alright, Steele-” The skinny guy interrupts. “I want you to come down from that tree, for your own good. We have guns, and we will shoot if necessary.”



“Okay, I’m coming, I’m coming.” I respond with little laugh. Swinging my leg over so I’m in a sitting position, I slowly slide down the trunk of the tree, keeping weight off my ankle. I hop down, landing on my left foot before resting my right on the ground.



“Hey, just wondering,” I say slowly, leaning against the tree as I look from guard to guard. “When you said ‘we’ had guns, I’m guessing you meant ‘most’ of us had guns, right?” I say, giggling. “Because I’m pretty sure Mitch doesn't have one. I heard he got it taken away for…” I pause, leaning in closer to the guard and lowering my voice.. “For harassing civilians! Can you believe that?”



Before I even finish my story, the guard, I think I heard someone call him Barker, grabs my shoulder and shoves me to my knees. I quickly try to stand back up, but a rough shove keeps me down.



“Stay, down.” He growls. I feel cold metal pressed into the nape of my neck, wincing when I realize it’s a gun. Keeping my head down, I watch a drop of blood drip to the ground, uncertain where and who it came from. My hands are roughly cuffed behind me, and I’m ushered out. Like a parade the seven of us walk through the woods. A knife pressed into the small of my back, and each cuffed arm is connected with a thick chain, which is led by two beefy guards.



“How’d you find me?” I whisper to Barker, who so far is the nicest guard here.



“We tracked your footprints.” He says, keeping his eyes ahead.



I look down, biting my lip when I see obvious footprints imprinted in the dry mud. I look back up at Barker, who shares a glance with me, raises his eyebrows, then looks away.



I groan inwardly when we reach to the borders of town. I have a feeling this isn’t going to be like a nice evening stroll. Giving me a sharp yank, the guards pull me along. We walk through a bazaar, receiving countless stares and gasps. Most people look relieved, but some look scared, as if I’m gonna bust out of my chains and steal everything they have.



They lead to me to a heavily guarded building, which I’m guessing is the prison. The three guards by the door give me a dirty smirk as we enter, one delivering a mock bow.



I wrinkle my nose. “Ugh, what is that smell?”



“Get used to it, pretty boy.” Mitch snaps. “You’ll be spending lots of time in here.”



I roll my eyes as we come upon a cell in the back of the room. Giving me a sharp shove, I stumble in and the door is slammed behind me. I grab the bars, sticking my face up to it.



“Really?” I ask Barker. “Two locks? I’m not a murderer.”



The guard doesn’t answer. He finishes chaining the door up, gives my hand a pat, then leaves.

Letting my hands drop to my side, I exhale and trudge to the wall, sliding down into a sitting position. I hide my face in my knees. And I actually thought I would never get caught. Disgusted with both myself and the guards, I stay in that position, knees to chest, face in knees, for hours.