Don’t Cry

“It hurts, it really hurts.” I bite my lip, trying to contain the pain. The ground beneath me is damp, the air thick. It’s hard to breathe.

“Don’t cry,” he said, glancing around with eyes wide and alert. “If they hear us, we’re done for.” He gently cups his hand over my mouth; dirt drips down in the creases of his face.

“I won’t cry, don’t worry,” I assure him.

“You mustn’t cry. They’ll find you.” He whispers.

“I know,” I replied.

An owl cries in the distance. He turns to look for it, his dark eyes tell me his fear. 

I pushed myself to a sitting position and looked down at my leg. I was losing a lot of blood. If I didn’t get it taken care of, it wouldn’t matter if I cried. The metal claws were biting deeply into my leg. I thought they’d hit the bone. I leaned down to try and get the trap off, but I couldn’t manage it.

The damp leaves air their earthy scent, reminding us where we are. We hear a crack from a branch nearby. He stands quickly, looking all around. He pulls out his Swiss army knife, his weapon. We can’t get caught.

“Oh damn, this hurts,” I tell him, pleading with my eyes.

He pulls out one tool at a time on his knife. “Here, I think we can use this one. Do you think you can hold this tool tight in the hole here?” He points to the metal entrapment. The owl hoots again, its warning is louder, closer. “I think if you—

I whimper.

He looks at me, his eyes soften, moist with fear and determination, “Don’t cry, just don’t cry. We’ll get out of here, don’t worry.” He brushes my sticky hair off my face. The air is damp, it makes everything ache. “I need your help, though. I need you to push on this while I try to open the trap.”

“It’s burning,” and I yelp. The owl shrieks, a low, guttural sound that echoed through the forest like a mournful dirge—a sound that always seemed to accompany the patrols when they swept the woods.He listens for the sound of the enforcers coming, then turns to me, putting his hand on my shoulder. 

He encourages me with his eyes, his small smile,”I know. Don’t cry, though. They’ll find us.”

“I know, I know. I know. I won’t cry. It hurts, please hurry.” A drizzle falls down on us, we barely notice.

He hands me the knife and guides it into the hole. “Okay, hold tight now, keep pushing,” he says.

I push with all my strength. He takes both his hands with all his strength and might,  and pries the trap open, freeing my leg. Pools of sweat drip down his face, and he wipes it away with his shoulder.

“Okay. Let’s get this off,” he says, “Now pull your legs toward you.”

“Oh, that hurts!” I say, my face wincing, I bite my lip hard.

He looks at me, then rips his shirt off and ties it around my leg to stop the bleeding.The rain drizzles on his bare back. The owl lands on the tree branch above. Its brown and white plumage stained the color of dried blood. Its glowing yellow eyes fixate on them with chilling intensity, its gaze unwavering as if assessing its prey.

He pulls me up to stand, staying calm but quickening his pace. The owl swoops down toward us. 

I scream, he quickly puts his hand over my mouth and shushes me. “Okay, it’s okay. Now let’s get out of here,” he whispers, tightening his grip on me as he watches the owl with wary eyes. “It may be too late, but we can’t let them find us.” Faint voices rise in the distance, streams of light, cut through the trees. He lifts me on his bare back. “We’ll be quicker this way. Are you okay? We have to escape. Whatever happens, don’t cry.”