The Longest Night by K.M. Gibson

knee clipped something hard . She flipped like a coin and landed in a heap at the foot of the incline. The wind was kicked out of her lungs, her arm went completely numb for a moment before tingling, then her body ached with shock. Pain faded in and she kicked out with her good leg uncontrollably, like that would ward off the hurt and work the air back into her lungs that hurt so fucking much.
    A few agonizing minutes had her breathing back to normal. All of her still hurt like hell, but she could at least think. She swore aloud before rolling over—
    —and shrieking bloody murder. She fell down again, wailing wildly. Panic had her by the throat. It took her a moment to realize that something was very, very wrong. “No, no, no, no,” she begged to someone, squeezing her eyes shut and shaking her head. She started to whine the words as she looked over her shoulder at her bloody, twisted kneecap.
    “NO! NO! NO!” She looked skyward and was about to holler as loud as she could for help, but the scream caught in her throat before it let fly. No one to help. And even if there was someone…
    Come back HERE!
    She beat her fists on the ground and sobbed into it. She was dead. This is where it ended. She’d die of exposure or infection or starvation. No way to get out of this. Deadly virus? Mob of cannibals? Handled. Fifteen-foot climb? Demise.
    “Fuck it! Fuck!” she cried, clawing at the dirt. She closed her eyes and begged and prayed. When she opened them again and looked, the damage was still there.
    It must have been half an hour or so before she dared move. Grabbing onto the roots within her reach she pulled herself slowly into a sitting position, being sure not to disturb her knee. It was dislocated, likely broken, and blood continued to ooze down her leg. What chance did she have?
    Cries passed her lips quietly. Her hands surrounded her knee in a protective bubble. She knew she had to set the joint back into place, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. As soon as her hands got close she tore them away forcefully. Her mind would sooner let her die than override its fear of agony.
    She sat leaning against the cliff for an hour, trying to get close to her injury, but failing to do so. Her pale skin had been bathed entirely in red. If she could reset her knee, then she could treat the wound and stop the bleeding completely, but it was so hard, so hard…
    The months had brought summer, and with it longer days. She had many more hours of travelling time, but sitting at the bottom of the cliff had drained most of them, and the sun was setting. She could not sit there disabled through the night, however, or she would surely die.
    The night she escaped Fort McMurray came back. Fear clung to her, a cold sweat. It was a film playing inside her head: she could see the grotesque faces of the insane, the dead body in the corner store, the gas station where she lost a part of her humanity.
    Eyes filled with tears, she looked to the orange sky as she remembered. Death was always so near to her, but this moment was different: it clutched her life in its bony hands, and was slowly drawing her away now. How many times had she wanted to die? How many times had she thwarted it? She would accept her fate, whatever it was, and either remain to remember, or leave to join those she had lost. Those she had lost…
    His face again. He was so handsome, so close. Seeing him always gave her a feeling that kept her going. A warmth so deep, it was reviving.
    Closing her eyes, she took in deep, shuddering breaths until they evened out. She undid the belt on her shorts and pulled it away gently, trying not to disturb her knee. She folded the belt in half and stuffed it between her teeth, biting hard. There was another stone planted in the ground, and she shifted herself gently towards it, resting her foot upon it. Careful, careful . She shimmied her shoulders down, angling herself comfortably between the stone and the steep hill behind her. That