Chapter 5 - The Fugitive Mother
The agonizing sound of crunching metal echoed in my ears as our car finally came to a halt upside down.
I hung suspended by my seatbelt, my head throbbing with a blinding, terrifying pain.
My first instinct was to check the backseat where I had managed to secure Noah in his car seat mid-flight.
He was crying loudly, a beautiful sound that meant he was still breathing and alive.
I unbuckled myself, falling awkwardly to the shattered ceiling of the car, and crawled into the back.
I managed to pull Noah from his seat, wrapping him securely in the green giraffe blanket.
I turned my attention to the driver's seat, calling out Mark's name in the smoky darkness.
He was conscious but breathing heavily, a deep laceration bleeding profusely on his forehead.
He weakly unbuckled his belt and collapsed beside me, urging me to kick out the remaining window glass.
We scrambled out of the wreckage, dragging ourselves up the muddy embankment into the dense woods.
Cold rain began to pour from the sky, washing the blood from our faces and soaking us to the bone.
We ran blindly through the trees for miles, ignoring the burning pain in our legs and lungs.
Eventually, we stumbled upon an abandoned hunting cabin hidden deep within the forest.
We kicked the rotting door open and collapsed onto the dusty wooden floor inside.
I laid Noah on a dry piece of furniture and tore my shirt to make a bandage for Mark's bleeding head.
He hissed in pain as I applied pressure to the wound, but his eyes remained fixed on the baby.
He slowly pulled a small flashlight from his pocket and clicked it on, shining it toward Noah.
Mark crawled over to the makeshift bed, his hands shaking as he inspected the child's face.
I asked him what he was doing, annoyed that he was disturbing the baby after such a traumatic ordeal.
Mark ignored me, pulling the green blanket away to expose the baby's left ankle.
He rubbed his thumb hard against the crescent moon birthmark on the baby's skin.
My breath hitched in my throat as I watched the dark ink of the birthmark easily smear across his thumb.
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Mark looked up at me, his face pale and his voice trembling with absolute devastation.
"Sarah, this is not Noah."
