Written to @DaHob‘s commissioned continuation; part IV of a longer story.
This comes after Fox Hunt(Saturday) and The Hunt Continues (Wednesday), Chase the Fox Part I (Wednesday – the following Saturday), Part II (The next Wednesday and Thursday), and Part III (Friday and Monday morning)
Challenge. She wanted challenge? George would give her a freaking challenge. He would disappear so well into the landscape that nobody could find him, change his appearance so much even his mother wouldn’t be able to tell it was him, and lay low until she’d gotten tired of looking, until she’d gotten bored with this little game of hers. Continue reading
Written to @DaHob‘s commissioned continuation; part III of a longer story.
This comes after Fox Hunt(Saturday) and The Hunt Continues (Wednesday), Chase the Fox Part I (Wednesday – the following Saturday), and Part II (The next Wednesday and Thursday).
It was still such a bad idea, such a dumb idea, but George took the offered night in the hotel — the nicest the area had to offer, he was fairly certain. He cleaned himself up, shopped at the overpriced gift shop, slept solidly, and left the next day looking like a travelling businessman rather than a backpacking kid.
The look on the woman’s face haunted him. She’d nearly been licking her lips. George had been on the end of hungry women before — but never one who acted quite so much like he was the perfect prey.
Well, he was done running for her. He hopped a train to the nearest border crossing, paying with cash, and spent some quality time in the train bathroom forging papers. Continue reading
Written to @DaHob’s commissioned continuation; part II of a longer story. This comes after Fox Hunt(Saturday) and The Hunt Continues (Wednesday) and Chase the Fox Part I (Wednesday – the following Saturday).
Hitchhiking had gotten old pretty quickly. George hadn’t thumbed a ride in years, not since his college days, and he found that all the things that had made it so unpleasant back in Maine were almost identical in California — the road splashing and the traffic noise, the hours you’d go by with nobody picking you up, the odd juts out of your way when you did get a ride, the talking. The endless uncomfortable chatter.
Add to it that in California, the chatter was likely to veer into topics he knew nothing about. Politics was a land mine. Even the weather could be tricky. And then there was his accent, which didn’t exactly sound Down Home Californian not matter how much time he’d spent scrubbing the salt water and lobster out of his vowels. Every ride was an exercise in tension, and the time spent watching for rides wasn’t much better.
After his third ride spent far too long asking prying questions about his marriage plans and potential children, George decided walking was the better plan. He could stay away from the road, he wouldn’t have to deal with prying questions, and he wouldn’t have to worry about the police having his picture, for any number of reasons including $517 Californian he’d stolen over the past few days. Continue reading