JULIA

Julia counted distance without thinking. Twenty yards to the creek. Forty to the clearing. Whoever she was following had begun favoring the right leg. Nothing moved. No birds. No wind. A dark shape slipped between the trees ahead.

 She lowered her weight and tightened her grip on the rifle. Her breathing stayed low and controlled. One step. Then another.

 She had followed the tracks for over half an hour. They were faint in places, nearly swallowed by the damp earth, but she knew what to look for: the broken branches, the smear of blood across the tree trunk, the shallow impression of a heel where something– or someone– had moved too quickly.

 She crouched and touched two fingers to the ground. They were close. 

 JULES

 Jules did not count anything. She only knew the footsteps had not stopped. She ran until her lungs burned, branches tearing at her sleeves and skin. She did not slow down. She couldn't.

 Behind her, she heard her pursuer. Not frantic. Steady. Whoever followed her knew she was tired and had nowhere to go. She glanced over her shoulder, but saw only trees.

She faced forward as her foot struck a root. She fell hard. Pain seared through her palms. A branch snapped behind her–close enough that her stomach dropped. Too close. She scrambled to her feet.

 

JULIA

Julia heard the snap. She raised her rifle and pressed against a tree. Through her scope, movement flickered. Her finger settled against the trigger. 

Jules stumbled into the clearing, searching wildly for somewhere, anywhere, to hide.

Julia fired. The woods fell silent. Smoke hung motionless between the trees. A handful of leaves stopped halfway to the ground. For one impossible second, everything seemed suspended. 

Then, the trees blurred. The earth tilted beneath them. 

Julia felt herself falling. Jules felt herself falling.

And somewhere close, yet impossibly far away, both women screamed.

Then the woods began again. 

JULES

Jules opened her eyes as the smell of sulfur filled her nostrils. Her hands were wrapped around the rifle. She dropped it.

The weapon struck the ground with a dull thud. Jules steadied herself. Her breath became uneven. She stared at the rifle, then at her hands. 

No dirt beneath her nails. No torn skin. No scratches. She wore heavy boots and a warm, thick jacket she had not been wearing seconds ago. Her pulse hammered in her ears. 

Somewhere deeper in the woods, something moved. Jules froze. She thought that whoever had been chasing her was still on the move. Then she noticed something. 

They were running away from her. 

 

JULIA

Julia came to on her hands and knees. Pain tore through her rib cage as she reached for her rifle. Her hand found only wet grass. 

Her jacket was thinner than the one she remembered wearing. Dirt packed beneath her fingernails. Angry scratches ran along her arms. Her shirt was torn, and her shoes were soaked from the wet forest floor.

She heard the footfalls before she saw who was coming. They were coming towards her. 

Julia forced herself upright despite the protest from her ribs.  As the steps slowed, Julia reached for the knife at her belt. It wasn't there. 

JULES

Jules stared into the trees, then at the rifle on the ground. She didn't want to touch it, but the runner was getting farther away. Jules swallowed and reached for the weapon. It felt heavier than she expected. Yet, somehow familiar. 

She tightened her grip and headed into the woods. The path curved around a fallen tree before dipping toward a shallow creek. Jules stopped. She knew this place. The creek was wider than she remembered, and the tree beside it was split down the middle instead of leaning out toward the water. Everything was almost right, but not quite.

A few yards ahead, the bushes began to rustle. Jules raised the rifle.

"Wait!" 

The movement stopped. Nothing answered.

For a moment she wondered if she had imagined it. Then a figure shifted behind the bush.

"I said wait!"

"Put the gun down!" 

Jules froze. She knew that voice. 

JULIA

Julia pressed herself against the tree. 

"I said wait!" the voice called. Her stomach dropped. "Put the gun down!"

She knew that voice too.

JULES

Jules kept the rifle raised. "Come out!"

The voice came from behind the bush. "You don't want to do that."

A woman stepped out from behind the bush. Jules stared at the familiar eyes, the familiar face, the familiar scar along the brow. It was her. Jules lowered the rifle. The woman held her ribs with one hand and stabilized herself against the tree with the other.

"Who are you?" Jules asked.

"You know who I am." 

"No...I...I don't," Jules said.

The woman gave a short, breathless laugh.

"You've been hunting me for hours."

Jules shook her head. "I...I was the one being hunted."

The woman's expression changed. Jules looked at the scratches covering the woman's arm, the torn shirt, the mud coating her shoes– the same injuries she had carried only minutes before. Her stomach turned.

"What happened to you?" Jules whispered.

Julia stared at her. "I was going to ask you the same question."

"What's your name?"

The woman frowned. "What?"

"Your name. Tell me your name."

She hesitated. "It's Julia."

The rifle slipped in Jules's hand. "No."

"What do you mean, no?" Julia asked.

Jules stared at her. "My name is Julia. Jules for short." 

Julia's expression tightened. "That isn't possible." Neither of them moved. She eyed the rifle in Jules's hands.

"Where did you get that?"

Jules looked down. "I didn't. It was just there."

"That's my rifle." Julia's eyes narrowed. "Give it back."

"No."

"You don't even know how to use it!" Julia made her way toward Jules. 

Jules took a step back. "I know enough...You were hunting me."

"You were hunting me," Julia said. Neither moved. Julia clutched her side, but adrenaline drowned the pain. She lunged, slamming into Jules before she could react. The rifle twisted between them as both women fought for control, the barrel jerking wildly as Jules's finger brushed the trigger.

"Let go!" they shouted in unison.

Julia pulled harder. The rifle fired. The sound tore through the woods. The same sulfuric smell filled the air as the ground began to shift beneath them. 

"No," Jules whispered as the trees began to blur.  

Jules saw two forests layered over each other– the same path, the same clearing, two different creeks, two different versions of herself. 

JULES

Jules hit the ground hard. A nearby bird cawed and burst from the trees. She looked around and saw the rifle was gone. Her sleeves were once again torn, and dirt filled the cuts along her hands. Jules pushed herself to her feet. Everything looked the way it had before. Her breath left her in a shaky rush.

Jules looked toward the creek. It was gone. A narrow wooden bridge stretched between the trees where water should have been. She had run through these woods hundreds of times. There had never been a bridge.

A branch snapped behind her. Jules turned. A woman stood several yards away. She held a bow, an arrow aimed at Jules's chest. Jules stopped breathing.  

The woman looked almost familiar. Same eyes, same curve of the jawline, but her hair was shorter, and the scar above her brow was gone.

"Julia?" Jules whispered.

The woman frowned. "Who's Julia?"