“I’m not letting you go! I’m coming with you.”
Shit. This is what I fucking get for not being like Sydney and gladly watching others fail.
"Okay, fuck. You can come, just let me go," I hiss, finally freeing my arm from her desperate clutches. Making a split-second decision, I run back the way we came about twenty feet, swivel my branch to my front and start brushing away her tracks, walking backwards until I reach her once more.
"Stay in front of me, and run as fast as you can," I demand. "And don't do anything to get us killed. Not more than you already have."
She winces from my harsh words, but I feel no remorse. I'm pissed off that my kindness has most likely just earned me an arrow in the back, and even more angry that I can't find it in me to knock her ass out and leave her behind.
It would benefit me, however, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. It's the whole reason I called out to her in the first place. She's young, desperate, and terrified and I'm putting on a good show of looking like I know what I'm doing. Of course, she's going to latch onto me.
Thankfully, Phoebe listens this time, keeping in front of me as we sprint. My branch is behind me again, clearing our tracks. Sweat coats nearly every inch of my skin, trickling down my forehead and spine, irritating the stitches in my skin. Clouds puff from my mouth, and I have an insane moment of panic when I wonder if my bad breath will leave a scent trail.
Several times we get turned around, and I swear we’ve passed the same fucking tree three times now. I’m growing frustrated and tired, so I skid to a stop and urge Phoebe to find a large tree to hide behind. I find one several feet southwest of her that provides a clear view of the space between both trees.
I'm heaving, desperate for oxygen, and on the verge of puking. I need to catch my breath, and I'm growing paranoid that even if they can't see our footprints, they'll be able to hear us.
"Stay quiet," I whisper, even though I'm struggling to accomplish that myself. My body doesn't care about keeping silent. All it’s only focused on is greedily sucking in precious air, no matter the cost.
I split my focus on catching my breath and listening for any footsteps. An owl hoots and a cold yet soft breeze flows through the forest. Such a stark contrast to the dark and dangerous situation. It feels like there should be Michael Myers music playing in the background.
A rustle from a nearby brush nearly sends my heart flying out of my throat, but then a bunny emerges and sprints off. Just as I wrangle the muscle back down where it belongs, a voice calls out.
"Fiiirecraacker."
Fuck. I don't know if it was a good guess, or if my branch failed to conceal both sets of footprints, but Phoebe's pursuer caught up to us. Round eyes clash with mine, and I know that my irises are dilated with fear just as much as hers are.
"What do we do?" she mouths silently, and I shake my head, at a loss. I don't know what we fucking do. I’ve no idea where he is exactly, but if even an elbow pops out from behind a tree, he’ll be able to spot it immediately.
Does it count if I'm hit with someone else's arrow? I'm sure I'll still be punished, even if I wasn't the intended target.
"Fiiiiirecrackeeer," Ben calls out again. I risk a glance around the tree trunk and see a shadow move about twenty feet behind us.
Fuck. Way too close.
If we stay silent, we might get lucky, and he'll wander off in another direction. He might think we’ve gone down a different trail and allow us to put distance between one another. But right now, the slightest sound, and he could hone in on us. It's not safe for either of us to even breathe.
Not that I can fucking breathe anyway.
Phoebe covers her nose and mouth with her hand, squeezing her eyes shut, tears crowding past her lashes and glinting in the moonlight. If she's not already, she's going to start having a panic attack. And in my experience, those are rarely silent.
I put my shaking finger to my lips, a tear of my own breaking free. My vision blurs as I face the very real possibility that I might get hit with an arrow, and then later be brutally raped for it. Again.
But she can't hold on, and a small whimper slips past her hand. My heart stalls, and almost in slow motion, I hear several footsteps taken in our direction.
“Was that you, firecracker?” he says in a hushed tone as if he’s whispering right into our ears.
Shit, Addie, think. What would Zade do?
He'd be a fucking hero; that's what he'd do. Zade isn't interested in saving himself, only everyone else. So, what would he want me to do?
Save myself. He’d want me to save myself. But the Culling wasn’t designed for the prey to safely get away.
Before I can decide, Phoebe’s eyes widen into round discs, and she seems to shy away, her body beginning to emerge from the other side. Slowly, she raises a shaking hand and points behind me.
My heart drops, and for a moment, I’m paralyzed. My brain once again divides into two, one half panicking because she’s no longer concealed, and the other half frozen in terror because there’s somebody fucking behind me.