Run (The Hunted) (6 page)

The night seems to last forever. He wonders if it will ever end. It’s like he’s been dropped into a wilderness of darkness and despair that goes on and on forever.

He keeps the fence in sight and feeling, using it to guide him. It isn’t until he stumbles over a loose stone that he realizes the trees are almost gone. Reid slows and looks around. He has left the scant comfort and security of the forest behind and stands on a low cliff face. The fence lines the edge, the rest lost to him. Reid gets as close as he can and peers over the side. He feels his foot slip, the stone crumbling beneath him and for a moment he is sure he is gone. He cries out as his sneaker slides out from under him, throwing himself to the ground. A patter of stones fall, nearly dragging him to his death against the fence. He catches his breath, holding it, listening. It is a long and quiet moment before the stones hit the bottom.

Reid hastily backs off and gives the fence more room. He keeps his distance, watching his step more carefully. The trees return, sparse at first, slowly thickening and embracing him again. Reid tries to stay in sight of the fence, but the terrain is just too dangerous, the trees too thick. Still, he keeps his eyes locked on it.

He knows he is going down before he feels the pain in his leg, but is unable to stop himself. Reid’s ankle protests the abuse it’s taken, finally giving up on him over the loose stone that sends him to his knees. He breathes hard, massaging his foot, hoping he hasn’t done much damage. A tentative try of his weight tells him he’s in luck. This time.

With great regret, Reid finally lets the fence go. His heart abandons him, leaving only hurt and horror behind. He can’t explain to himself why, but seeing the last glimmer of the chain link and shedding the feeling of its power is like losing his best friend.

He angles deeper into the forest and almost immediately stumbles across a pathway. He pauses at the edge, thinking and listening while his body aches and begs him for rest. Reid briefly considers trying to erect some kind of camouflaged shelter, but discards the idea just as fast. Not like he’d get any rest anyway. His best bet is to keep moving. And, if possible, get to a gate in the fence.

As he sets foot on the path, he looks up and to the right, into the blush of dawn lighting the sky.

***

Chapter Seven

At least one thing is in his favor, Reid figures. He was right about direction. And the sun is very, very welcome in his dark and terrible new world. The light lifts his spirits somewhat, easing the tension inside him enough that he actually has the illusion he is safe for moments on end. He knows it isn’t smart to lose his edge, but he has been running all night and needs those stolen moments to keep him from falling apart.

Still, he is emotionally and physically exhausted, crippled by hunger and thirst. Both have gotten worse as time goes on and he knows his need for water must be satisfied soon or he risks delirium and collapse.

He is drawn thin and once he adjusts to the idea of morning and loses his sense of hope, the brightening sky turns on him, only makes him feel more transparent and unreal. As the light of dawn washes over his weary body, a secret part longs for the return of the black and quiet of night.

With the morning comes more sound than he is used to. Birds, small animals, insects all rise and greet the day. After the stillness of the night, punctuated only by the occasional passing creature outside the horror he witnessed, the new day wakes to a cacophony of nature. The birds are the worst, their happy songs piercing his eardrums, giving him a headache and stirring his fury. Reid stoops at one point and retrieves a rock, firing it at a happily chirping robin. The red-breasted bird flies off with a non-musical squawk of protest that makes Reid smile for some reason.

When he hears the gushing, burbling sound of water running he surges forward to greet it. This sound is welcome. More than welcome. He staggers through a line of trees to the edge of the rushing stream. Reid slides over the wet rocks that make its bed and falls to his knees next to it, plunging his face into the icy flow without a moment’s hesitation. He gulps mouthful after glorious mouthful, his cheeks numb after the initial shock, dehydrated body greedy for more than his stomach can handle. Reid falls back onto the bank with a moan of pleasure, collapsing on the polished stones with an almost musical clatter, clutching his distended belly and wishing he could fit the whole of the stream inside him.

The cramps are inevitable and he accepts them with only a minor flinch of regret. Most of the water surges back up and out of him in a gush that makes his ribs ache and his throat even more raw than it was before he drank. Reid waits until the heaving is through and returns to the water. This time he goes slowly, forcing himself to take only a mouthful, sitting back to roll its lovely coldness around his tongue, feeling the zing of it against the fillings in his molars. He swallows after a ten count and waits another five seconds before taking another drink. And another. He waits each time, making sure the last will stay with him before risking the next and grateful for every single drop.

At last he is full of water, but not painfully so. He splashes some more on his face and blots his skin with the corner of his dirty T-shirt. This is his first opportunity to get a good look at himself and he does so carefully. Someone dressed him in the clothes he had on when Lucy picked him up. He wonders about that. Reid is dismayed by the tears in his jeans, the dirt ground into the elbows and knees of his navy blue hoodie. He takes a moment to rip off a strip of his T-shirt and clean the wounds on his knees. It’s not like he’s never skinned them before, but not without access to medical attention. The last thing he needs is to get an infection.

When he is done, he is satisfied. The skin is pink, some scabbing over, but neither knee is hot to the touch. Any rise in temperature would be a sure sign of trouble. Reid sighs deeply at his good luck just as his eyes drift to his sneakers. They seem to be holding up all right, though something brownish stains the top of his right one. He panics as soon as he realizes it’s blood, plunging his whole foot into the water to get the last remains of the boy’s entrails off of him.

Reid shudders and does his best to pull himself together after that. His eyes trace the path of the stream and he knows, before making a firm decision, he has no choice but to follow it. He has yet to come across another water source and worries there might not be one. There is the concern that the hunters will know this is a prime location to search for him, but he has to take the risk. Whether they kill him or he dies of dehydration, he’s just as dead.

Of course, that’s how he feels now. He’s pretty sure if one of the hunters shows up he will bolt for freedom and not think twice about water. Reid bends over the stream for one more drink and looks up, not knowing that very thought is about to be tested.

There. Across the dancing, happy brook that glitters in the morning sunlight, slightly down stream. A man dressed all in black crouches, watching him.

Reid’s panic drives him to run while his need to survive forces him to stop and observe. There is something wrong with the way the man looks. Something odd about how he hunches in place, observing Reid. And when the black-dressed hunter lifts his head and calls out, the cry he utters is the same as the cry from the night before, that terrifying and soul-slaying howl Reid was sure came from the throat of some horrible beast.

Reid is all out of luck. He was right after all. There is no time for a second though about the stream. He runs.

The hunter is right behind him. Reid is sure of it. He can feel the man breathing against his neck, his knife brushing against Reid’s lower back, just above the kidneys. His life is over all because he lost his focus over a stupid pair of sneakers. And now Reid knows daylight is no deterrent. That particular disappointment cuts deep. His only real regret is that he was unable to find and save his sister. Lucy’s name is on Reid’s lips as he spins to stand and face the death that is right behind him.

He is alone. Reid gasps from the truth of it. But wait. There, in the trees, just visible. The hunter. Following him, but keeping his distance. Never before has Reid felt so much like a mouse being toyed with by a stalking cat. Now he understands how it feels to be nothing, inconsequential. Something to be played with and discarded when his usefulness is done. And yet, the hunter holds off and Reid takes advantage of the fact. Knowing it is useless, that he will die when the hunter chooses to kill him, Reid turns and runs on.

These trees are just thick enough to offer cover but are sparse in undergrowth and so are easy to maneuver. Good for Reid and better for his pursuer. He wonders how much time he has left and what the hunter is waiting for.

Reid can’t help himself. He glances back over his shoulder. What he sees almost drops him to his knees in terror.

There are two of them, now. As he tears his eyes away from them he hears their communication, soft chuffing and growling, more expected from the throats of animals than humans.

But they must be human. They look human, don’t they? Again that feeling of wrongness washes over Reid. How can it be? They are one or the other. His logical mind refuses to bend while his fear whispers to him. Why can’t they be both?

Another howl joins their chatter from the distance, off to the south. Reid’s breath comes in whispered whimpers as he tries for more speed, more distance, knowing it is useless, that he is useless and nothing he can do will save his life.

One he may have outrun. Two is a slice of impossible. Three? He might as well just give up right now and let them take him. Pack animals don’t quit until their quarry is dead.

He staggers through the edge of the trees and into a clearing. Reid blinks against the brightness of the sun, missing the canopy of the forest and hesitates only for a heartbeat before plunging forward. He is a deer chased by wolves, vulnerable and fragile. He knows he is exposed, but for the moment his only friend is speed and the empty meadow offers him a chance to go even faster.

Reid crashes through the tall grass, every step steeped in fear. It seemed like such a short distance when he started out, a brief and rapid way across. But the tangled meadow foliage grabs at his sneakers even more than the underbrush in the forest and he is sweating from the heat of the sun. The safety of the trees seems so far to him, he sobs once in frustration and fear. All of his focus is on the line of trees, the relative darkness of the woods and he throws himself toward it like it is his salvation.

He is suddenly over the threshold and back into the forest, his lungs ready to quit, legs quivering from strain. And yet he runs on. Reid has no choice. He strains to listen, to hear them and realizes he hasn’t picked up any sound from them since he crossed the clearing. Could it be he lost them? His heart doesn’t want to dare hope it is true and his mind refuses to believe.

A glance behind shows him the truth. They ease toward him, soft shadows moving like ghosts, holding back. There are three of them now. Silent because there is no longer any need to communicate. They have him and they know it. They will toy with their prey for as long as it amuses them and then they will swoop in and kill him.

Reid wants to scream, to fight back, but instead he gathers what remains of his strength and runs.

He tries to focus on moving forward, but knowing they are behind him terrifies him. Reid stumbles more often, his feet tangling in the brush and on roots. He is thinking too hard, about running, escaping and it is destroying his speed.

Reid doesn’t want his end to come when he isn’t looking, but he is terrified to stop and let it be over like this. His father’s voice tells him he needs to face his death like a man, to stop, turn and fight for as long as he can and never, ever quit.

He looks back without thinking about it, obeying his father’s words in that small way. Reid can’t see them anymore, but he knows they are back there, stalking him. He scans around for something to fight with, anything, but he is moving too fast and refuses to slow until he can’t run any longer. Besides, he knows he will never win this fight. He silently begs his father’s forgiveness for being a coward and continues to stagger onward.

Was that a sound? Reid can barely hear above his own pounding heart and the wheezing rattle that is his breathing. They are getting closer, that must be it. They are on top of him, he is certain. Any second now a knife will bring him down and his entrails will fall to the path, his body hung lifeless as a warning to the next poor unfortunate kid to get dumped in this hell.

He risks it and scans behind him one last time. He is alone, blessedly alone. There is no sign of them, not even a glimmer. But why did they give up the pursuit? They had him, they must have known it. Did they find more delectable prey to chase? He wishes he didn’t feel so happy about that idea, knowing if that is the case his salvation comes at the loss of another life.

Reid chooses his survival over compassion, at least for the moment, and spins to make a final sprinting effort.

Only to collide full on into one of the hunters.

***

Chapter Eight

Reid lashes out immediately before his tortured brain can register these men aren’t dressed in black, but camo-green.

“Whoa, there, kiddo!” He is grabbed, shaken slightly. “Where’s the fire?” The man who grips him is burly and broad shouldered, a massive handle bar mustache drooping to his chin. But his brown eyes are amused and there is no fear in him.

“Not exactly the game we were looking for,” his friend smirks.

It is Reid’s turn to grab on and not let go. The first man staggers backward a step as Reid throws himself forward, clutching at the front of the camo jacket, fingers twining in the straps and bulging pockets. He is stunned to find the men are real after all. His sense of touch proves it.

“Please!” His voice scares him, it is so high pitched. The whine of a terrified animal. He sounds way younger than he feels. “They’re going to kill me!”