Chapter 7: The Burning Woods

The woods glowed red, fire jumping tree to tree, crackling loud like a monster eating everything. Isabella stumbled behind Dante, her hands tied tight behind her back, the rope cutting her wrists deep, blood dripping slow—drip, drip—down her fingers. The gag in her mouth was wet and nasty, choking her sobs—mmph, mmph!—her nose so stuffy she gasped tiny breaths, her face swollen and sore. Her dress was torn rags, muddy and bloody, sticking to her scratched legs, her bare feet burning on hot ground, turning red and blistered. Her tummy hurt bad, a sharp twist from no food, her head spinning like a top, every step shaky. Smoke stung her eyes, thick and gray, making tears fall faster—she was falling apart, so small and sad, readers would cry for her.

Dante pulled her hard, his big hand bruising her arm, his fingers digging in like claws. "Faster!" he yelled, his voice mean and loud over the fire's roar—crackle, snap! His gray eyes were mad, flashing in the orange light, his scar shining wet with sweat and rain. His black suit was dirty now, ripped at the knee, his boots sinking in mud—squelch, squelch. Marco ran ahead, coughing loud, his gray suit torn more, blood dripping from his arm, leaving a trail. "They're close, boss!" he shouted, his voice rough, looking back with scared eyes.

Isabella tripped, her bare toes catching a root, and fell hard, her tied hands hitting a burning stick—ow! She screamed into the gag—mmph!—her palms blistering, hot and sharp like fire biting her. Tears poured down, her body shaking, her burned hands shaking worse—she couldn't even wipe her face, tied up tight. "Get up!" Dante roared, stomping back, grabbing her hair in a big fist. Her scalp burned, like needles stabbing, her head jerking back, and she cried louder—mmph! He raised her up, rough and fast, his face red and mad. "You're slowing us!" he yelled, shoving her forward so hard she stumbled again, her knees banging a rock—crack!—blood oozing down her legs, warm and sticky.

"I can't!" she tried to scream—mmph!—but the gag stopped her words, her voice lost in her throat. He blamed her, his eyes mean, like she made the fire, like she wanted this—she was so little, so hurt, and he kept yelling. Her chest heaved, coughing hard, smoke sneaking under the gag, burning her lungs. She gagged more, her tummy flipping—she was so scared, so tired, every breath hurt.

The fire chased them, trees falling loud—crash, boom!—big branches hitting the ground, sparks flying like angry bugs. Smoke rolled thick, black and heavy, wrapping around her, stinging her scratched arms, her eyes red and watery. Her mind spun, fuzzy and slow—then a memory hit, sharp like a slap. Years ago, her dad sat her on his knee, his voice low, "Victor's tricky, Bella. He's bad news. Watch out." Was that this Victor? Her heart banged harder—she didn't know, but it made her shake more, her tears falling faster—readers would gasp, she remembered something big, but couldn't say it, couldn't run.

Marco shouted ahead, his voice cutting through the noise, "Over here! Path!" He pointed to a skinny trail, dark and muddy, trees burning on both sides. Dante dragged her fast, his grip bruising deeper, her bare feet slipping in mud and ash—squelch!—her toes curling from the heat. She stumbled, her burned hands brushing a hot branch—ow!—crying loud into the gag—mmph! Then—snap!—a trap opened under them, a big hole in the ground, dark and scary. Dante yelled, "No!" falling in fast, his weight pulling Isabella with him—she screamed, muffled and wild—mmph!—tumbling down like a broken toy.

They hit bottom hard, mud splashing cold and wet, her tied hands twisting bad—crack!—pain shooting through her wrists like lightning. She sobbed loud—mmph, mmph!—her burned hands stinging worse, smeared with mud, her ribs aching from the fall. The hole was deep, walls slimy and black, smelling like wet dirt and rot. Dante cursed loud, standing fast, his boots splashing—splash!—and kicked her side, hard. "Move!" he yelled, his boot hitting her ribs again—thud! She cried out—mmph!—pain exploding, curling up tight, her side throbbing like a drum—ow, ow!. 

She was so broken, so hurt, and he kept kicking, blaming her for everything.

Above, fire roared closer—crackle, hiss!—smoke curling down into the pit, thick and choking. Her eyes stung more, tears mixing with mud, her gag soaked—she could barely breathe, her nose blocked, her chest tight. Marco peeked over the edge, his face blurry in the smoke, yelling, "Boss! Hold on!" His voice was far, scared, his bloody arm waving. Isabella lay there, shaking hard, her burned hands bloody, her ribs screaming, her tummy empty and twisting—she was trapped, lost, so sad, nobody coming to help her, fire closing in like a big, mean hug.