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There is a stilled silence that blankets the woods. A passing cloud allows light to cut through clusters of wilting paper birch trees and into a clearing where a woman lies unconscious on the ground. A mix of dry mud and blood is speckled on her face; Alina regains consciousness, gasping loudly for air. The adrenaline kicks in. She struggles to breathe, trying to keep up with her racing heartbeat. Her eyes have trouble focusing through the fogged-up mask covering her face. 

Alina’s eyes dart frantically back and forth, scanning her surroundings. A shrill, high-pitched noise rings incessantly in her ears. Her senses slowly start to fade back in. She shifts her body in an attempt to get up and feels a sharp pain surge from her stomach. Her hand moves to clutch her abdomen, where blood soaked through the yellow biohazard suit she’s wearing. She’s been shot. Alina applies pressure to her wound as she calculates a way out.

In her near vicinity lie two men, unconscious, on the floor of the woods. Each half-clinging to pistols in their limp hands. One man’s face is partially obscured by a threadbare scarf that wraps around his neck. The other wears a tattered, dark military jacket adorned with an icon depicting two red crossed arrows. 

A large, robust briefcase glints through the grey light of the overcast sky. It lies close to the hand of the man lying furthest from her, partially buried in shriveled red and brown leaves. Upon spotting the briefcase, Alina’s body seizes up. Her stare becomes fixated on it. She starts to crawl as quickly as her body allows her towards the briefcase, pausing in-between moments of excruciating pain that makes it all the harder for her to inch forward. Before going any further, Alina feels a presence behind her. She looks back at the man in the military jacket, nudging him with her foot to reassure herself that he is dead. The man doesn’t respond. 

She continues to crawl. Leaves crunch underneath her with each painstaking pull, slowly closing the distance between her and the briefcase. The man behind her regains consciousness and, in his somnolent haze, spots Alina escaping. Determined to stop her, the man lunges at Alina, pulling out a long, military-grade knife from the holster strapped to his leg and plunging its hilt into her right thigh. Alina shrieks at the sudden, violent pain of the knife tearing through her suit and into her leg. The man grips Alina’s leg to drag her closer to him, wrestling her squirming body into the floor. He flips her over and heaves himself on top of her. He reaches for her throat. Alina feels his desperate hands gripping her neck, crushing her larynx. The air escapes her. In the few seconds she has left before fainting, she hurriedly searches the floor for something to defend herself. Her hand meets the cold handle of the man’s gun and quickly latches on to it. She immediately points it at the man’s face and, without wasting another second, pulls the trigger. Blood splatters on Alina’s mask and the man’s slack body falls on top of her. 

Alina takes off the mask in a shocked stupor. She draws in all the air she can, and with that breath, all her senses sharpen. She takes a moment to recuperate herself before craning her gaze down at the limp body on top of her. The acute pain of her wounds reemerges from the momentary adrenaline of the assault. The man’s stiff body weighs Alina down. She tries to push him off of her, struggling to muster up enough strength to do so. The pain in her stomach debilitates her, but she manages to shift him aside. Lying on her back, she looks for the briefcase and begins to crawl toward it again. In a few strides, she reaches it, and, having finally secured it, Alina pauses for a brief moment of respite. 

With fear in her eyes, Alina looks down at the knife buried in her leg. She stares at it, judging her next move. Coming to a decision, she exhales and closes her eyes. Alina wrenches the knife out of her leg. She wails out in pain. Blood gushes out of her leg and wells up between the creases of her suit, trailing onto the floor. Alina tears off a piece of the dead man's shirt with trembling hands and ties it into a weak tourniquet. As she delicately wraps her wounds, she bites her bottom lip to stifle her cries. 

Once her makeshift bandage finally quells the flow of blood, Alina begins to search for water. With the bit of strength she has left, she grabs the briefcase and throws it some meters in front of her. Alina crawls towards it, following each throw until she reaches a creek. She cups her hands together and dips them into the clear water to rinse her face and wounds. She takes a couple of sips from the rest of the water in her hands before it seeps through. The coolness of the water assuages her stinging wounds. 

Alina hears a branch crack near her, and her nerves shoot up again. Her moment of rest is interrupted. She spots a little boy peeking at her from behind a tree. The boy carries a large canvas rucksack and two dead rabbits tied together by their feet hang over his neck, one on each side of his shoulders. He holds a hunting rifle that looks a little too big for him. The name "Bo" is stitched in colorful letters into his breast pocket. The boy eyes Alina intently, as if observing a wild animal. Alina is mesmerized and tries to invite the boy to come closer with her eyes. 

Bo approaches Alina warily, caution in his steps. He fumbles with the rifle in his hands, unsure of what to do. They stare at each other in silence. The momentum stilled by the tension between them. Alina slowly reaches her hand out to touch Bo's leg, showing him how vulnerable she is. Realizing that Alina is not a real threat, he begins to retreat back into the forest. But before he can take another step, Alina tightens her grip on Bo's leg. Her eyes go mad. She can’t let him leave. Desperately, she tries to pull him back to her. Bo immediately recoils from her sudden grasp, unable to free himself. He loses his footing and slips on a rock behind him. 

The sound of a rifle shot booms through the clearing. 

A lull of silence trails in after the shot, blanketing the forest once again. 

Fabian Palacios is a senior with the Film Department at the School of Visual Arts. He is currently shooting his thesis film in Mexico City.