Diary Entry 9

Date: October 18
Time: 5:45 p.m.
Location: Hitchhiking to God-knows-where

If you didn't read my location, then I should start off by saying that I am safely away from the allegedly evil people that I couldn't allow to take me. I'm now sitting in the back seat of a minivan, crammed between two large suitcases, with a couple of owl-eyed kids staring at me from the seat in front of me.
The moment I lift my eyes from the page, they quickly turn around. The Dad in the front seat is always glancing furtively my way. I don't know why. I wouldn't hurt these people unless they gave me reason to.
"So where you headed?" He asks me more than once.
I only shrug. "Fair distance from where I came from."
Apparently, neither he or his wife were good at translating my 'cryptic' phrases.
The car jolts, making my page tear. I sigh. Yet long after the car settles into its smooth roll across the road, I find that my hands are still shaking.
That hasn't stopped since this morning.
More on that later.
They tell me that they're headed towards a place called 'Wings City'. Like the poorly unimaginative thing I am, I automatically think of the feathered appendages common to birds and angels and Red-Bull.
I tell them that's cool. Sounds like a safer place than 'John Hopkins Center for Research and Development'.
I'm glad these people don't know where I was from. I'm glad they aren't asking too many questions. If they dug too deep, I'm not so sure I'd be able to answer them.
So, earlier. . .ugh.
I didn't ask too many questions when they came to get me. I stayed quiet, grabbed my books, and followed after the woman in front of me. There was a bigger guy behind me, which I had anticipated. They led me outside, which I had also anticipated.
There were more men standing around, making a wide aisle to a larger white van. Apparently, my attempted escape they had also anticipated.
Not one of them had a gun, which surprised me. I was just an emaciated, lanky teen after all.
I got close to the van. The woman stepped off to the side, and the big guy behind me put his hand on my shoulder.
That was when something really weird happened.
The moment his hand touched me, he went rigid and jerky, like he had stuck his hand into a live socket. I swiftly turned around, shocked when I watched him fall to the ground. The men around me got tense. Tasers were removed from hidden pockets. I swallowed.
I started throwing my books with surprising accuracy, striking those closest to me right between the eyes with the hard volumes. The woman off to my side had scrambled back from me, afraid of contact. This, I thought, was just fine.
Instead of climbing into the van like a good girl, I grabbed the top edge and kicked off the floor of the car, flip-turning and landing on top of the vehicle.
I felt a sharp prick in my leg. Looking down, I saw the first Taser prod sticking into my skin, the live blue electricity sparking against my skin. I felt nothing.
When they saw that this wouldn't bring me down, they started to climb after me. One guy came running from the building with an actual gun. First man grabbed me. I kicked him hard in the face. His nose crunched beneath my shoe, blood staining the roof of the car and his nice shirt as he fell back into his friends.
I turned, jumping off the roof of the car and running as fast as my legs could carry me. We were in a busy commercial area, with lots of people and buildings and fast-moving cars. It wasn't going to take me long to lose them, and it certainly didn't. In fifteen minutes I had lost all sight of my pursuers.
I spent the better part of the day sneaking to the outskirts of this city, towards the busy highways that came in and out. Only occasionally I would emerge from some hiding spot and stick my thumb out. Within two hours I had myself a ride.
After the adrenaline had settled, I felt that all-encompassing ache start creeping at the edge of my system. Now, sitting in the back of the van, I was glad I hadn't forgotten my vial.
I sipped it now, replacing it in my pocket. I stare for a long time at my hands, flexing the fingers, wondering at myself.
Why hadn't the Tasers affected me? What had made that man go rigid?
I rest my head against the suitcases on my left. The light is fading. I think I see the mile-marker for Wings City
150 miles. Beautiful. The farther, the better.
With that thought in mind, I close my eyes and try to sleep.