The group of suspicious men loomed not far away, the situation was dire.
Mila, afraid of alerting them, didn’t dare to make a call. Instead, she pulled out her phone, set it to silent, and swiftly sent messages to Miranda, Eugene, and the owner of the guesthouse, including her real-time location.
She could only hope that someone would wake up early, see the messages, and quickly call the police to rescue them.
But that wasn’t a sure thing.
Immediately, she switched to the texting app, quickly typed out her current location and the situation, and added the area code at the end before sending an emergency alert to 911.
In the past, Mila had ventured into remote mountainous regions to gather design materials, posing as a journalist to investigate local customs. She had encountered reckless thugs before and had gained quite a bit of experience.
Whoever saw the message first, that would be their chance.
Now, all she could do was pray for divine intervention.
After handling these tasks, Mila took a deep breath, hoisted the child onto her back, and bent low. She moved cautiously and quietly, inching away from the voices towards the underbrush, making not a sound.
The child was clever too, lying silently on her back without uttering a peep.
Voices grew closer, and flashlight beams flickered through the bushes, occasionally accompanied by curses and threats.
Suddenly, a man’s shout pierced the night air.
Hey, over here! The branches are broken. Someone’s been through here. There’s a piece of cloth!
Quick, this way!
Hey, you little brat, come out!
You can’t escape! Run, and when we catch you, we’ll break your legs, you little punk!
The shouts closed in on their direction, sending shivers down Mila’s spine. She knew she was out of time.
Gritting her teeth, she stopped hiding and bolted downhill with the child on her back.
The men chasing them were startled, not expecting an adult to suddenly appear. Once they gathered their wits, they charged after her, wielding knives and clubs.
Get her!
Suddenly, she heard the whistling sound of something flying through the air, followed by a heavy thud on her back. The child let out a soft cry.
They were throwing things at them!
With legs feeling like lead, Mila pushed herself to pick up speed, zigzagging wildly, using the bushes for cover to break their line of sight.
But her stamina was waning, and she had the child to carry.
Her vision blurred, the cold air stinging her nostrils, making them ache. She was nearly out of strength, the voices behind her growing ever closer.
Just as despair threatened to consume her, a car horn blared from the road.
Her mind buzzing, she instinctively turned toward it, a sudden burst of survival instinct overriding the pain in her chest as she dashed toward the road.
Stop right there, you witch!
A curse came from behind, and a knife grazed her shoulder, blood immediately spilling out, but she seemed immune to the pain, refusing to halt even for a moment.