Mike's Choice

He heard the now familiar sound the arrows made as they sliced the air. Dropping to the ground and rolling over onto his back, Mike tried to see where they were coming from and where they were stopping. He could determine neither. He'd managed to track a couple of the arrows right to the point of impact where he would quickly but carefully make his way to collect them. With no weapons to defend himself against an unseen assailant, Mike needed anything he could get his hands on.
Then, a terrifying thought flashed through his mind.

Where was she? Where was Sandy?



The couple had been hiking through the thick wooded area behind their summer cottage for a few hours when the growth surrounding them became much more dense. Michael was getting impatient because he just wanted to explore. The dense woods were only half the reason it was difficult. His back pack, while full of necessary items, was continuously getting caught on branch after branch, bush after bush. Frankly, it was starting to tick him off.

"I swear," he said as another branch seemed to take hold of his pack, "when did it start getting heavier in here?"

"I know you swear. All to often I might add." Sandy was grinning, "and who are you calling heavy?"

"What? No! My backpack," a pause, "my backpack is getting on my nerves," another angry pause as Mike tried to make his way through a particularly dense section of over growth, "my backpack is making it hard to enjoy this little excursion of yours."

"Mine? What was that again? My excursion?" she was grinning even more now. She could feel the red in her cheeks rising and the corners of her mouth begin to turn upwards. "I believe it was you who said 'hey, let's go hiking!". She tried to keep the amusement out of her voice.

"What are you talking about, woman?" Mike was amused at her memory loss on the matter. "The note. In your handwriting. On the table..." he said as he turned, looked over his shoulder at her and caught the grin. "Nice! You're busting my chops, right?"

"What? No!" her statement and her face were loaded with sarcasm.

Mike matched her grin with one of his own, turned his back on her, nose in the air and made a sound of disgust as he pushed forward through the brush. Neither expected what was coming and neither would be the same.



An arrow struck a tree at eye level just in front of him. Having remembered that Sandy was with him and now, wasn't with him was making it hard to concentrate on where the arrows were coming from. He just started to dodge, like in the movies. Run left, run right and always with a forward intention. Just as he was about to get to the next tree, another arrow blew past him and stuck in the tree. Mike was trying to gather as many of the arrows as he could. He figured that, if he survived being a moving target, at best he could give them to the authorities as evidence of the crime that he was at the forefront of. At worst, he could use them as weapons if the person shooting them at him became less cowardly and showed his face. Mike had some questions. Especially one about Sandy and where she was and what had been done to her. Alright, that was three questions actually. But who had time to count.

Mike reached for the arrow and stopped short. He stepped to the left and craned his neck so he could better see what he thought he was seeing. Wrapped around the shaft of the arrow was paper. Three pieces of tape held the paper to itself keeping it closed and attached to the arrow. As he slowly raised it to the arrow, Mike noticed that his hand was shaking. He licked his lips which he suddenly found to be very dry, took hold of the arrow and pulled. It was stuck a deeper than he'd expected. He pulled harder, made a 'pumping for water from the well' motion and the arrow came free. Gently peeling the three pieces of tape away from the paper and sliding it off the arrow, Mike found himself trembling.

"Get a hold of yourself," the sound of his own voice startled him. " Sandy is out here, somewhere. Get a grip. See what's on this paper and get moving again."

Trying not to handle the note too much, Mike unrolled it. All the colour ran out of his face as he unrolled it further and further. The absolute seriousness of the situation hit him full bore, his knees weakend and he fell with a thud at the base of the tree. His eyeballs moved about in their sockets, back and forth over the paper, left to right, top to bottom and back again for another read. He just couldn't believe what he was reading.

KEEP RUNNING.
MAYBE SHE'LL LIVE.

Mike was sick. He couldn't believe this was happening. He was trying to process what was going on and why running would help Sandy. How did he know if he was running in the right direction? Where was he trying to get to? Was he supposed to be running towards something specific? How did he know that she wasn't already dead? There were no answers in the note. He decided that to try getting through the situation and trying to analyze the situation at the same time was too much. Right now, it was time to run. Time to survive and, as odd as it sounded echoing in his head, time to trust that running, as he'd been instructed to do, would help Sandy.

Wherever she was.

Another arrow came in his general direction but missed & landed 30 feet away on his right. He jumped through the brush to where he thought the arrow had landed. Mike dove into the thicket before another arrow flew by and found what he was looking for. The arrow... and another note. He didn't take quite as long to open this one as he had the first. He tore it open and read through it as quickly as he could.

THEY'LL KILL ME IF YOU DON'T KEEP RUNNING

There was a wave of goosebumps running up his back. He could feel his stomach swell as fear like he'd never known gripped him. Before he realized what was happening he was up and running. The notes said run so, he ran. He didn't know what he was running from, or to for that matter, and he didn't care. He just wanted to help Sandy. He didn't know how other than following the instructions that he'd been given. It was something though. Something that didn't require much thought and that was something that he was thankful for. He couldn't process what was happening. How could he be expected to under the circumstances. It wasn't reasonable to expect that he could and so, he let himself off the hook. He wouldn't think about it right now. Instead, he would run. And trust that it was going to do some good.



Mike tried to help Sandy up the steep slope of the mountain but with little success. Neither of them had much grip on the ground with their shoes and trying to crawl up had also failed. They were much further from their cottage than they had ever been and they were beginning to lose the light. After protests from Sandy, Mike made a command decision to hike to the next plateau, wherever it may be, and camp for the night. Neither one of them had packed for a hike this long but he didn't see that they had any other choices.

Sandy wanted to go back but Mike was not really listening to her. He just kept going and now they found themselves fighting againt sundown to get to a plateau so they could stop, dig in and wait out the night. At least they would be together. Fighting most likely but together.

"You're sure we should keep going and stay out here tonight?" Sandy's question stopped Mike in his tracks to turn around and look right at her. Up until that point, she had been talking to his butt.

"For the last time, Sandy, yes. We are going to keep going until we find someplace suitable for us to sleep. Then we're going to make due with what we have for food and water and we'll just have to keep each other warm until the sun comes up. Then we'll go back down this mountain to the cottage and that will be that. Okay?" he was only a little frustrated with her then but he was frustrated just the same.

"Alright. Alright we'll keep going Mon Capitain!" Sandy smiled and kept following. She was thinking that they should be turning around so they could find the warmth and confort of their own room in their own cottage tonight but that was not going to be since the mighty adventurer had decided their evening plans.

Once they finally reached a cleared area much further up than Mike had expected each of them put on the pants and sweaters they had in their packs. Next was to build a small fire. Only to keep them warm. They had sandwiches and water packed. Nothing that needed warming.

After another conversation about whether they should have kept going or turned around in the first place, Mike and Sandy made themselves as comfortable as possible. Sandy had brought a small blanket with her but it was meant for them to sit on while they ate their lunch, which turned out to be their dinner. It was not meant to cover two people lying down to sleep for the night. The two hikers now snuggled together for warmth and tried to fall asleep.



Mike was running. Running because that is what he'd been told to do. Running because that is what she told him to do. In the last note, Sandy was telling him to keep running or they would kill her. He couldn't help but think back to the decision that he'd made for them to keep going rather than going back.In retrospect it would have been far easier to go back than continuing forward. It would also have had the benefit of preventing this problem that he was facing. It would have meant that Sandy was with him, busting his chops. But she would be safe.

She wasn't with him, though. She was somewhere else. Somewhere bad. And he couldn't keep his imagination from conjering some horrible images.

He didn't notice that he'd been deep in thought and had stopped paying attention to the arrows. He shook his head to clear it of the cobwebs, looked around to get his bearings and got up to keep moving.

KEEP RUNNING.
MAYBE SHE'LL LIVE.

Then, the familiar sound. There was an arrow moving in his direction with deadly speed and he couldn't see it. He didn't know where it was coming from!

Mike fell to the ground again. His face was buried in the leaves blanketing the ground. The smell was fresh and familiar. He wanted to stay right where he was but the words made him move. The words that he heard in his head now. It was her voice. Repeating. Over and over.

KEEP RUNNING.
MAYBE SHE'LL LIVE.

Panic tried to take hold of him but he knew this was not the time. He'd managed to stay alive despite the best efforts of the archer, and now it was time to get up and keep moving. Mike put his hands on the ground, one on either side of himself and pushed up.

And then he felt it.

His body hit the ground with a deep thud as the pain took over. What was it? What had he done to himself? He tried to roll over but found that it was a little more difficult than it had been before. Mike looked over his shoulder as well as he could without moving too much. And there it was. The long shaft of an arrow jutting through his right leg just above his knee.

His mouth dropped open at the sight of a two foot shaft protruding from his thigh. Mike froze in an attempt to keep the pain at bay. He found that if he didn't move, there was little or no pain. But there it was. Two thirds of the arrow stuck out the front of his leg while the remaining third was sticking out the back side. The tip of the arrow was shaped like a cross; four equal razor sharp blades tapering off to a point. The shaft was green but only where there was no blood. And there was blood. Mike wondered if the arrow had cut an artery. The patch of blood around the wound on the front of his leg was slowly growing.

He decided that there was no time to worry about it right now. He tore the arm off his shirt and wrapped it around his leg in a makeshift tourniquet. He gnashed his teeth when he pulled it tight but kept tying anyway. If he was going to save Sandy, he'd have to stay concious long enough.

Once satisfied with his field dressing Mike tried to stand. He was light headed and so decided to stand as slowly as possible. There was still someone out there trying to kill him. Now that he was wounded, he wouldn't be able to move as quickly to evade the deadly arrows but he was going to try, damn it.

Mike pushed himself to a sitting position. It was an excruciating ordeal that, to him, lasted hours. It had only been ten minutes. He inched his way back and to his left towards the nearest tree knowing that he would need to lean against it in order to be able to get up. Trying to keep his right leg straight, he pushed himself against the tree using his left leg to heave. Inch by inch, Mike made his way upright. He wiped his drenched brow with his remaining sleeve and keeping himself from falling over using his free hand. Nothing would be easy from now on.


Mike woke up slowly. It was still dark. Morning was taking it's sweet time coming. He was cold and cranky and to top it off it seemed that Sandy had taken the blanket again. She had a habit of rolling over with it around her which left Mike with little or no blanket left. At home he would have just reached to the floor and picked up the fleece blanket that he kept there for just that reason. Here, on the cold, clamy ground however, there were no other blankets to use. The one they had was the one they had. Nothing more; nothing less. Plenty for her and, apparently, none for him.

Mike reached out for her since it was too dark to see anything. The fire that they'd built for warmth had gone out long ago. There were tiny embers in the bottom of the makeshift pit but nothing that would give him much light right now. Besides, he was tired. All he wanted to do was fall asleep long enough for the sun to come up so he and his wife could make their way back to the cottage. He wanted a nice hot shower, a hot cup of coffee, heck, he'd eat a hot tamale if it meant that he would be warm.

His fingers found nothing at first. He reached further but found nothing but air. Sandy wasn't where she'd been when they'd fallen asleep. Mike put his hands on the ground to feel around for something other than dirt. He found the blanket. But Sandy wasn't wrapped in it.

Just then he heard footsteps and rustling in the underbrush. Just a step or two but nothing more.

"She's up to use the bathroom," he said loud enough for her to hear him. Sandy was often up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom. What he found amazing about it was that she could get up to use the bathroom and then just climb back into bed, snuggle around a bit for the warm spot her body had left when she'd gotten up and be back sound asleep fifteen seconds later. If he woke up with a need to use the bathroom he'd gauge the necessesity for it before going anywhere. He would debate with himself about whether he should bother to get up, he would calculate the time he had left to sleep and how much of it would be lost if he got up to go and if he didn't then he wouldn't be able to get into a deep enough sleep to enjoy it. "Hurry up will ya? I'm cold over here ya know. If you hurry, maybe we could fool around a bit out here under the stars in the freezing cold. At least we would be warm."

No answer.

There was more rustling of underbrush. It sounded as though Sandy was moving a little further away.

"Ah," the word came out louder than he'd expected creating a small echo, "number two. Good call babe; as far away as you can go without getting lost would be much appreciated."

Mike found the blanket again, pulled it over himself and waited for Sandy to come back and take it from him and roll over with it wrapped around her.


Now standing with his back against the tree Mike was fighting to stay concious. He was losing blood a little more slowly now but he was still losing it. He blinked hard a few times trying to clear up his vision, trying to get his bearings so he could keep moving. He knew that there was no chance that the next note would tell him to 'keep hobbling' or 'have a seat, relax a while'. He knew that the next note would be taunting. It would make the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

And it would be from closer.

Like the archer had read his mind, an arrow made it's way towards him. He tried to take a step and found that he wasn't going to be able to hobble let alone run. He did the best he could and slid down the tree. For nothing it turned out as the arrow that he'd thought was going to strike very close, perhaps even impale him to the tree, actually landed some fifteen feet away from him.

He let out breath that he didn't realize he was holding and felt a twinge of pain in his leg. Mike was thankful that it was only a twinge and not an agonizing crunch of pain. He knew that later, it would be.

Mike thought that he could make it to the arrow without too much trouble from the archer and little trouble from his leg. He figured that in order to be able to move around a little better he should get rid of as much of the arrow as he could for now. From his back pocket he retrieved his multi-tool; it had cutters on it. They weren't great but at least it was something. Mike picked up a stick, put it in his mouth and reached for the section of arrow that was sticking out of the front of his leg. He held the tool in his right hand and with his left gently steadied the arrow. The mouth of the tool opened and closed a couple of times as though it was stretching or preparing for the next step.

"Just do it and let's find Sandy," Mike whispered to himself. He was afraid that his voice would break with fear if he spoke any louder, "just start."

He gently opened the mouth of the tool and placed it around the shaft of the arrow. Three breaths in and out. A fourth in and held. Mike squeezed the multi-tool as hard as he could which moved the shaft. His scream echoed through the woods long after he'd stopped the initial sound.

His breathing was inconsistent as he tried to hold off the pain. He would take a breath and then hold it all the while writhing in pain. It seemed there was nothing that he could do to get the pain, and now, the blood flow, to stop. Things were not going well for him. He knew that this problem was probably going to mean his death and, since he was not going to be able to follow the instructions layed out by his attackers, Sandy's death as well. Mike would have started to panic. If he'd had the strength.

And then he heard the sound again but before he could move the arrow had struck the tree that he was leaning on. And then the sound and again. This arrow was stuck in the tree too. And then another. And another.

All four had notes attached to them. Mike was unsure of whether he wanted to know what was written on them or not. He felt hopeless. He felt alone. He felt weak. And, most of all, he felt useless. What could he really do for her now?. What was he going to be able to do even if he found her alive somewhere? He had no answers to those questions.

But there were answers, wrapped around the arrows stuck in the tree truck that he leaned against. They were sticking out just over his head so he reached out for the first one. It was within reach enough that he wasn't in too much pain so he grasped it, pulled it towards himself and it came free. He held it in his hands for a moment or two, trying to remember what had possed him to keep them moving away from their home the previous night. Pondering that issue would last for the rest of his life.

He unwrapped the note from the shaft of the arrow and then tossed the arrow aside. All the arrows that he'd been collecting for evidence or for use had gone missing anyway. Probably when he'd been speared through the leg. Mike unrolled the note and found only two words:

ARE YOU

That was it. There was nothing else on the page. He turned it over hoping to find something more than just 'are you' but there was nothing. Then he looked above up. Three more arrows sticking out of the tree; the first one closest to his head, the second just above that and the third right above the second.

"There's the rest of it," he said aloud, now just to hear something other than the rustling of trees and the pounding in his head.

He reached for the arrow closest to him but it was just at his fingertips. He couldn't curl his fingers around the shaft at all so he couldn't put any pressure on it to get it to come free. Pushing himself against the tree, using his good leg to push with, he managed to get himself just high enough to grab the arrow. It was only when his good leg slipped in the leaves that it came free though. It was stuck in the tree more aggressively than the first arrow had been but with the force of his little fall, it came free. He unwrapped and read the next chapter.

GOING TO

Going to what? It was just torture. There seemed to be no reason for it all least of all a reason that Mike could pin point. He felt a bit of a second wind and besides that second wind he needed to know the end to the story. There were two more chapters right above his head impaled in the tree. It did cross his mind that maybe it was a ploy to get him standing in front of the tree for a clear shot but that was not enough or a deterant to make him stop. In fact, it just made him decide to get both remaining arrows at the same time.

Again, using his good leg he pushed himself against the tree. The pain in his leg began to make itself more clearly known as he inched upwards towards the final arrows.

"I have to get both. I have to..." a shot of pain and burning, "get both."

Mike was almost standing completely straight with the arrows easily within his reach. He tried to look around and grasped blindly for the arrows. Someone was out there. Someone was watching him at that very moment. Whoever 'they' were, they'd been watching him the whole time. As far back as when he and Sandy had found a place to sleep for the night. As far back as when they had actually been enjoying their hike. He thought perhaps even as far back as when they had packed their lunches and gear for the hike in the first place.

Someone had watched him. Someone was watching him now. But someone had also not killed him yet. There had been four arrows, shot one right after the other, into the tree and above his head in the desired order. That meant that this person had some skill with a bow. 'Someone' could have killed him by now if that had been the goal. Obviously, it was the goal. At least, not the primary goal. Perhaps at some point in the near future, after reading the two notes that he held in his hand, the goal would be to kill him. For now he was alive. "Barely," he though aloud.

Rather than slide down the tree, which is what he wanted to do, Mike steadied himself against the tree and unwrapped the second last note. He was so depleted physically and emotionally that he just broke down. The words on this last page were as piercing as the remnants of the arrow in his leg.

LET HER DIE?

Mike's tears rolled freely down his cheeks and fell onto the paper. So many tears that there was a puddle in the crease. This note made it sound as though he had a choice in the matter. Hadn't someone else been in control this whole time? Mike couldn't keep the panic at bay any longer. Panic was a mild word to describe how he was feeling. Freaking out was a better word.

Mike ripped the last note off the shaft of the last arrow, tearing the paper into pieces. His hands were shaking noticeably now. He gathered the few pieces of the note and tried to place them together enough to read the message. He managed to get it together enough to finish the last chapter.

KEEP MOVING AND YOU'LL FIND WHAT YOU NEED TO HELP HER, MICHAEL. WHETHER SHE LIVES OR DIES IS UP TO YOU.

Mike put his head back and rested it against his tree, tears rolling down his cheeks, his breath catching in his nose and throat. There was nothing left for him to do now. He was standing up, and he'd been told that she was near. She was close and her fate was up to him.

Despite the pain screaming in his leg, Mike began to move out into the woods again hoping that she wasn't far. Hoping that she was alive. His pain was trying to stop him, to make him quit but he wouldn't. He just kept moving. Blood running down over the tourniquet.

Just then he heard something moving in the undergrowth. Stopping suddenly and wincing at the sharp, piercing bite he had in his leg, Mike listened. Someone was close by.

He moved slowly towards the noise trying to see what it was that was moving. At first, he saw nothing and then there it was. A racoon rustling around on the porch of a very small stucture similar to a shed. It was old and decrepid. There was a lush green moss reaching up the sides of it, encompassing nearly the entire lower third of the walls. What would was showing had faded to a dead grey from the long exposure to the elements. There was a door but it was hanging by only the lower hinge which was spring loaded. The sping had given up long ago. Deep green leaves hugged the little shack on the back and sides, leaving the front open for guests. Under normal circumstances, Mike would probably have wondered who it belonged to but at the moment, he didn't care at all.

He made his way to the shack, peered inside and found something that he did not expect. Something that should not have been there. Something that evened the playing field a bit. Resting against the wall just inside the door was a bow. A hunting bow with the gears and pulleys and all the bells and whistles of a precise hunting implement. While he did have some experience with a bow it was not to hunt but rather for fun. Shooting targets at the range was about all he'd done with a bow and arrow. This bow was for professionals but he felt that under the circumstances, he would take it and use it, pro or not.

Mike took the bow by the handle and looked it over. It was black. Everything was black on it. It wasn't until he had it in his hand and began admiring it that he realized that he still had the arrow that the last note had arrived on in his other hand. Now, the weapon was complete. He had an arrow and the means to make the arrow do what it was meant to do. Slice through the air and strike a distant target.

Then there was the noise again. Mike looked at the racoon. It wasn't the racoon that was making the sound. Something, or someone, was close and making noise in the bushes some 25 feet away.

He felt a terror rip through him as though it were a cool breeze on wet skin. A shiver went up his spine as he arranged the arrow on the bow and aimed at where he thought the sound was coming from. He squinted as sweat from his forehead ran into his eyes.

Now with blurred vision and a disembodied sound as well as a gimp leg, Mike made his way forward. And he saw something. What it was he couldn't make out. Whatever it was had moved through the bush just 20 feet away. Mike thought to himself that the next time whatever it was moved he would just let the arrow fly and let fate take over.

There was the sound. And then there it was again!

Mike pulled the arrow back and let it fly into the woods where he'd seen the motion. There was the sound of the arrow striking something and a sound that should have been a scream but was dampened by something. Mike knew that he'd connected with something. He didn't know what and he didn't care. All he wanted now was to find Sandy and get home. He needed medical attention and he couldn't bear what Sandy might need.

Mike moved towards where he'd heard the impact of his arrow. He was moving much slower than he had been in the moments just before and he was again aware of the throbbing pain in his leg. Limping into the brush where the arrow had gone, Mike could barely stand anymore.

And then he stopped trying to. He fell to his knees and began to shiver. With his head down and trying to blink and wipe his eyes so he could clearly see what he thought he was seeing, Mike felt his stomach tighten into knots.

He opened his eyes and started to lift his head slowly. He saw what he thought he'd seen. It was real. And he'd done it.

He'd killed her.

There she was, gagged and bound to a tree. A tree much like the one that had held him up after his injury. He couldn't believe that his arrow had flown so straight and so true as to find a mark that he couldn't see so accurately. His arrow had impaled her to the tree that held her captive.

Mike just sat, exhausted on the ground in front of her body gently sobbing at the horrible situation that had befallen them both. And now, he'd taken the life of his one and only. He was weak and thought to himself that he just wanted to lay down and die. Right there on the ground in front of the body of his wife. He couldn't continue now.

And then he heard the now familiar sound the arrows made as they sliced the air. He looked up at his wife and, this time, he made no attempt to move.