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George seemed perplexed. “No one will hear you out here. You know that.”

I knew full well that no humans would hear me.

A few seconds later, though, the noises came. Fluttering wings that were kind of like rain on a roof as well as some high-pitched squeaks and chirps.

George stood. “What the …?”

He’d mentioned that the bats had scared him before. I counted on it happening again. The air became black with the flapping of wings as the colony of bats that had somehow heard my plea came from the cave. My father loved them. I wasn’t a fan, but if they helped me I could change my mind. I used them as cover as I made my way up into a stoop and ran into The Wild.

It was ugly and uneven and painful, but I kept going. A few ticks of time later, the sounds of the bats dissipated. They were gone, on the hunt for their nightly fill of insects.

“No!” I heard George yell. “Stop!”

I hadn’t made it far as I fell behind a big saguaro. It was dark enough that he wouldn’t spot me immediately. He would catch up soon enough.

I know this place, I told myself. I can do this.

“Hazel! Hazel! You and your father killed my son!”

Of course we hadn’t, but I understood his anger. I knew the pain of being left, even if I didn’t know what it was like to lose a child. I hoped I never would, but I could imagine that it was unquestionably the worst pain ever. Worse than losing a parent.

The guilt I felt now about leaving the knife out was real, but not enough for me to want to die in payback.

Not only had I just been a kid, but I’d lived in Black Vulture, where everyone carried knives or guns, some sort of weapon. With the continually encroaching wildlife, it was a smart thing to do. This had been the Wild West. In some ways, it still was. Apparently, my mother had carried a barbeque fork. I eyed the cactus. Sharp things were everywhere around here.

I hadn’t left my knife out so someone could use it to hurt someone else. I’d just been a lazy, thoughtless kid.

Wait! Did I?

With my good arm, I reached into the opposite side back pocket of my jeans. George hadn’t looked in my pockets. I had my knife with me now. Earlier I’d missed my hat and my cellphone, but now I knew what was really important. Awkwardly I grabbed it, unfolded it.

I ratcheted my legs back up again and took off toward town. I tried to be quiet, keep my breathing as silent as possible, but I could hear George behind me, probably seeing my shadow moving now. He was gaining.

I took a turn that I thought would eventually take me to a path toward the far side of town. The terrain was unwelcoming at best, deadly at worst, but I could only hope for the best at this point.

My route must have been obvious because George continued to close the space. He’d be on me in just a few seconds. I found a patch of Ocotillo cacti that I might be able to hide behind, so I propelled myself behind it and held my breath as my heart pounded in my ears.

“Hazel, I know exactly where you are. I will catch you. You can’t get away. Let’s just get this over with. It’s only fair.”

I put my hand over my mouth and hoped he didn’t hear my heart beating.

Suddenly, I heard Wilmot’s voice. “Move right, little bit. Right!”

Though confused by where the voice was coming from—was it real or my imagination? I moved to the right.

“Good, now get ready.” It was Wilmot again.

I knew now that I was imagining his voice, but that didn’t mean I would listen any less. No one knew The Wild like my father.

After a strange play of fast and slow time later, George appeared, the orb of a flashlight landing in my eyes and blinding me with bright yellow light.

“There you are.”

The light moved closer. I imagined his knife being held high in the air, ready to take me out. I readied mine.

“Oh, God damn it!” George yelled as his light went flying into the thicket.

I scrambled to stand again and tried to understand what was happening. The light was now on the ground but aimed toward George who was on his back, grabbing his leg.