Apophis by Eliza Lentzski Page A

water.  It was warm.  I stared at the way my hands moved through the water without obstacle, relishing in the way the liquid slipped through my fingers.  I cupped my hands and experimentally brought some to my mouth.  God, it tasted good.  I drank greedily, letting some of the water spill past my lips and down my chin.  It was a luxury I had nearly forgotten.
    My head whipped up when I heard the distinct sound of branches snapping.  Someone was lurking in the woods.
    My dad’s voice filled my head.  A single word. “Run!”
    I immediately scrambled to my feet and took off in the direction where my father had gone.  I took only a moment to look behind me.  Nora and Mr. West were close behind, and following them were several darkly dressed figures.  Bandits.  I didn’t take the time to count the bodies, but I could tell they easily outnumbered us.
    I picked up my knees to trudge more quickly through the uneven terrain and high snow banks, but it had gotten dark and I was moving too haphazardly.  I knew something was wrong the moment my right boot made contact with the ground.  Something shifted beneath my step.  My body went one way and my ankle went the other.  I couldn’t hear the popping sound over the heavy crunch of boots tearing through old snow and the loud noises of being chased, but I could certainly feel it.  I shrieked in pain, but also in surprise as my leg gave out on my unsure footing and I fell hard to the ground.  My knees hit against something that stuck out of the snow-covered ground.  It felt like a tree root, but it might as well have been made out of concrete.
    My dad heard my cry and spun around to come back for me.  But before he could reach me, a head swooped under my armpit and a sturdy arm wrapped tight around my torso.
    “Get up, Sammy,” Nora gritted through clenched teeth as she helped me to my feet.
    My dad appeared satisfied that I was being helped and he turned back around to focus on evading the group pursuing us.
    “Don’t call me Sammy,” I said through gritted teeth.
    I couldn’t put weight on my ankle.  Every step was excruciating.  I couldn’t have been quiet if I’d wanted to.  Every time my right foot touched the ground, I let out a tortured sob.  I began to panic. What if I’d done something serious to injure my foot?  There were no walk-in clinics, no emergency rooms for broken bones and torn tendons. What if I couldn’t walk as before? What if my dad had to leave me behind to survive?
    “Just a little faster,” Nora coaxed in my ear.  The weight of her arm held fast around my waist, but it felt like an anchor.
    “I-I don’t think I can,” came my shaky reply.  I thought I had a high tolerance for pain, but I felt like I might pass out or at least throw up.
    “Forget about using your right foot.  Use me like a crutch,” she urged.
    I nodded and swallowed down another wave of nausea that had been brought on by the pain.
    “Put down the gun!” an unfamiliar voice called out. 
    Nora and I both froze.  Instead of continuing to run away, Nora’s father had produced a handgun.  The people chasing us stopped as well and formed a half circle around our group. Mr. West kept waving the gun around, changing his aim on a new masked figure every few seconds. 
    “We mean you no harm,” one of the men called out to us.
    “Then why the hell do you have guns aimed at us?" Mr. West yelled back.
    The man said something to the other members of his group, but we were too far away to hear his muddled instructions.  Regardless, the others lowered their weapons at his command.  Only when the other group holstered their rifles did Mr. West lower his firearm as well.  He didn’t put it away though; his right hand was still wrapped around the pistol grip, but it hung loosely at his side.
    The man who seemed to be in charge of the darkly dressed group surveyed us. “You look like you could use some assistance.”  His gaze seemed to linger on Nora and