The screaming of the fire trucks speeding down the road is slowly fading away as I run from the burning house. I hear the sirens echoing behind me as I re-adjust my overly packed duffle bag on my shoulder, going on at the same sprinting pace from when I had started.

I turn my head to the left and glance back, catching glimpses of the bright burning colors of the orange, red, and yellow flames through the bare trees.

I didn't do it, I swear I didn't do it.

But, they'd never believe me. Or at least, that's what he had told me would happen.

I'm probably stupid for taking his word for it, but he's a man with an excellent public image and reputation. Everyone else in town will believe him. And, I know that's not how the justice system works. I'm entitled to a lawyer whether I have money or not, thanks to Clarence Earl Gideon. However, if I'm framed, the only thing probably waiting for me is a plea deal.

I continue racing through the colorless woods; the trees that were behind the place that I used to call my home, even if it never felt like it.

The Washington air is cold as I try to multitask, a thing I have never been good at. While I'm running as fast as I can, struggling under the weight of my bag, I try zipping my thick, black winter coat up farther than it is, but to no surprise, I fail.

Ha! Story of my life.

Even though I'm busy thinking, and my mind is stupidly somewhere else, I don't stop running. There are sharp, jagged branches that stick out, probably waiting to impale my poor, not-so-innocent hazel colored eyes. Dodging them, I race as fast as I can through the deep, crystallized snow.

Which is not very fast.

I re-adjust my cozy trapper hat farther down so that it's covering half of my pale forehead and cringe at the feeling of the snow touching my legs. I'm wearing jeans, even though I had the option of grabbing my father's old bibs. But, they are too big and full for my lean frame, as he wasn't the skinniest guy. And, how fast could I run in those?

I glance back again, just as I have been for the past nine minutes I've been running, and seeing nothing, continue on through the impending woods.

Based on the map I studied and memorized these past few months, I have about a half-mile left to go, and I haven't even yet run a full one.

But, I think I'm getting close to it.

God, I hate running long distances. Or, just running in general.

Barely managing to jump over a log, I start to count the seconds and minutes as they pass by.

One cat and dog.

Two cat and dog.

Three cat and dog.

After tediously counting two minutes away, I decide to stop for a bit and catch my breath, panting in and out rapidly. I try to breathe quieter as soon as I remember where and who I am.

Speaking of which, the cops should be following me soon.

Or, they'll have tried to predict where I'm going by the direction I ran, and then they'll cut off my route there.

Another possibility is that they'll surround me, but I highly doubt that will happen before I notice them. The bare trees provide no cover at all, and anyone out here is a sitting duck to anyone or anything.

Oh, fantastic! I'm a sitting duck now.

Putting my chopper covered hands on my knees, I lean over, heaving in and out. My freezing lungs are burning from the cold, and every breath I take suffocates me. The fact that I have to haul around a heavy bag isn't really helping things, either.

I try my best to lift my head and take in my current surroundings, at the same time trying not to be fascinated by seeing my breath hanging in the air, thanks to the freezing temperature.

I'm in a tightly wooded forest, most of the trees looking to be two to six feet away from each other, or at least that's what it looks like from my tilted point of view. And, as for the kinds of trees, based on my knowledge, most are either Eastern White Pine trees, Subalpine Fir, or Mountain Paper Birch trees. Although, I do see a few Blue Spruce trees here and there.

None of the multiple tall things are climbable, though.

Great, just great!

Couldn't there be any lovely, tall trees with secure enough limbs to climb?

What will I do if I come across a wild animal?

I mean, I may have my pocket knife with me, and even though it could probably gut a deer, I highly doubt it would be of any help when a mountain lion jumps out at me with its 5 inch long claws.

Okay. 5 inches might be exaggerating, but 3-inch ones are still not a thing to be happy about.

Well, Mikaere, where you'll be going they'll be lots and lots of climbable trees, I tell myself.

Well, at least I hope there will be.

I sigh, dreading when I'll have to start towards the road again; my energy drains away for each sprint I take.

It's hard.

What is hard, exactly?

Running with soaked jeans, a bulky coat, and a massive bag through a foot of snow.

And, of course, running with lungs that feel like they're going collapse.

Oh, how I love being a lost eighteen-year-old girl that has no idea what she's doing.

I start running again, still not even bothering to hide my tracks.

If I get to the highway where I'm hoping to go, I'll be met with one of these two things:

A boatload of policemen, or a road completely free of them.

I'm obviously hoping for the latter rather than the former.

So far, for the whole distance that I've been running, the ground has been level. But, now I see it start to slope down up ahead.

Well, at least I'll be going downhill and not uphill.

I keep on moving through the trees, sweating like a pig.

I had to wear layers, as it will be cold if I get to Alaska, and I wanted to save most of the room in my duffel bag for certain things.

I make it to the hill and stop, gawking down.

How will I get down this without breaking my neck?

I have no clue exactly how tall or big the hill is, as I've never been the best with measurements, but from here, it's steep. Very, very steep.

I sigh deeply, as the memories of sledding down a small, stupid, wimpy hill come back to me.

If only I had a sled now.

I can't walk down it. Otherwise, I might slip and fall and break something, and I don't think it's nice being injured in jail.

I can't sit on my duffel bag and ride down it on that, either. It holds essential items in there that I don't want to get crushed. 150 pounds will probably be hefty on certain things, like the bottles that I have in there, both glass and plastic alike.

So, naturally, there's only one thing left to do.

Roll down it!

Or, slide down it, on my butt, I suppose.

Sighing, I look around for a spot where I can send my bag down without it running into any trees. After a few seconds, I find a narrow two-foot place, about 5 feet away from where I'm standing now. I walk over to it and then squat, taking my duffel bag off my shoulder and putting it in front of me. Then, I just give a hard shove, setting it down the hill. It goes sliding down pretty fast, gliding over the snow, and perfectly bypassing all the trees along the way. Once it's down there, I stand up, looking around for my roll-down location.

This will be harder to find, as I need to find a spot that'll be wide enough for me, either rolling down or sliding down. If my bag weren't there, I could've slid down there, but since it is, and I don't want to roll into it, I'm forced to trudge through the snow ten feet to the right.

And, there it is. A spot where I can get down.

I'll have to slide down, as there isn't a wide enough area for me to roll down diagonally. But, I won't slide into any trees, thankfully.

Once I'm standing at my slide-down location, I sit down and put a hand to each side of me, getting ready to push off. I put my legs together, stretching them out while at the same time keeping them straight.

I take a deep breath and then hold it.

Well, here goes absolutely nothing.

I push myself off down the hill as hard as I can, then quickly pull my hands up to my head to hold down my hat as I fly down.

The wind is blowing harshly against my already cold skin, and I feel my eyes start to water as snow and ice flies at them.

I start to increase speed the farther I go down, going faster and faster through the trees, giving me an alarming adrenaline rush.

I never liked adrenaline, but I have a feeling it may come in handy now that I'm on my own.

When I reach the bottom, I have to dig my heavy boots into the snow to stop myself from running into a Spruce tree. Then, reminding myself that I have to keep going, I quickly recover from the slide down and run to my bag, picking it up and slinging it over my right shoulder once again.

I look ahead and start walking, at the same time taking out my compass to make sure I'm going in the right direction to get to the highway.

I'm completely exhausted, inside and out. But, I force myself to pick up the pace and start running northwest through the trees again.

Focus, Mikaere. Focus.

I put my compass back in my coat pocket, lifting my knees up high as I run to get through the snow.

This is the most tiring thing I've probably ever done.

In fact, now that I'm sweating like an oversized pig running from a butcher, I realize that I should've exercised more in the past. I mean, sure, I'll run away to Alaska with a kind-of-well-thought out plan, but I won't train for it physically, first?

Stupid. That was stupid.

I continue running, pressing on until I hear faint whooshing noises coming through the trees up ahead.

Whoosh, whoosh.

Whoosh, whoosh.

Cars. The highway is up ahead.

When the realization hits, so do my feet on the snow as I start running the fastest I have so far.

I brush up against trees as I pass, scratching my face.

I don't care, though. I just keep running like a Karen to a manager.

I run and run and run until I'm stumbling through the tree line, gasping for air as I fall onto the ground. I fumble with my bag, reaching in with shaky and sweaty hands until I find one of the water bottles I had packed, opening it up and drinking three-fourths of it all at once.

I sit there in the ditch at the side of the road, trying to catch my breath.

There aren't many cars on the highway, just one or two passing by once and awhile. I imagine that I look quite crazy to the passerby. Red nose and cheeks, pale skin, wide eyes, and messy hair. They're probably like, "Who's this clown? Should we call the cops? Why does she look like she's about to bury herself in the snow and just die right there?"

Honestly, I do feel like a clown right now, though. My face has got to be a more vivid red than what it looks like when I get sunburned.

After approximately three minutes have passed, I decide to keep moving, as they'll be arriving soon. That is if they're actually capable of doing their job correctly.

So, I stand up and finish off my water, putting the empty bottle back in my bag. Then, I begin to move onto step two of my runaway plan.

Hitchhiking.