Unnatural Instinct: Free

22.

You're screaming inside. It feels like the world is crashing down around you as you and Lurin stagger away from Derrick and his men.

They've found you! You should never have doubted Derrick's vindictiveness. Despite the odds, he never gives up!

Lurin's been shot—twice! Blood trickles down his arm from the big wound in his shoulder. There's another wound in his thigh. He's hunching over, wincing. His face has drained of all colour and yet he's wearing a determined expression. It gives you a little hope, small though it is.

'Lurin, let me help you.' You ease his uninjured arm around your shoulders. He leans heavily against you and you stagger beneath his weight.

'You must let me go,' he gasps. 'Run.'

'No! I will do no such thing. I am not a coward!' Not anymore.

'I will not ... I will not be able to get away.' He sucks in a choking breath. 'But you ... you have a chance.'

Your heart plummets. 'Don't say that! Don't say that. You do have a chance. You have plenty of chances. Keep going!' Wrapping an arm around his waist, you try to encourage him forward. He stumbles but manages to hold on.

Behind you, you can hear the men shouting at each other. Branches snap. Heavy boots thud against the ground, moving much too fast. Moving much faster than you and Lurin. Your throat constricts; your heart thrashes furiously in your chest.

It's all over.

Impossible. It's all so impossible. You're defeated. There's nowhere to go. Any dreams you might have had are now dust. You should have known. You should have known all along. Derrick will kill Lurin, then take you back to the village, where you will be a prisoner for the rest of your life. Whether in your body or in your mind. It was always meant to be. It was only ever just a dream.

No! You'd rather be dead. You'd rather die with Lurin.

You will not go back to the village. Derrick will not have you.

The air wheezes in your chest. Sweat drips from your fringe. Your thighs are burning so much it's hard to keep upright. Beside you, Lurin is slumping upon you more and more heavily as he pants. He's grey in the face. And there's so much blood! It pours out of his shoulder. It gushes out of his leg. There's so much of it that it fills your nostrils with its stink.

And yet, you won't give up. Not yet. They haven't caught you yet. 'Come on, Lurin!' you cry, and with a power that surprises you, you help heave him ahead.

The men are almost upon you now. You feel it like a tingle down your spine, like an itch at the back of your neck. And suddenly you find yourself praying.

Please, God. Save him. Let him live. He is the last of his kind. One of your creations! Please ... I'll do anything. Anything. If you must ... take me instead. Let me suffer in his place. Just don't let him die.

I beg of you!

Tears burn your eyes. Your throat aches. Lurin's weight is almost unbearable. His wings sag against his back, looking as limp as flower petals. It makes your heart lurch. The thought that Lurin might die utterly overwhelms your fears about your own future.

Then just when you think all hope is lost, the trees pull back and you find yourself in the open. You squint and turn your head away from the glare of the setting sun. Behind your eyelids, the world is red.

But you keep running.

'Stop!' shouts a familiar voice. 'Don't do it!'

You look over your shoulder. It's Derrick. He's running after you, barely recognisable beneath the sweat and dirt and an expression of dread. You've never seen him look like that before.

You turn back ahead and suddenly realise why he's so horrified. The ground ends into the burning red sky.

A cliff.

For an instant you feel the same horror Derrick is, until you realise that maybe God has answered your prayers, after all. Lurin will not be able to run away and he certainly doesn't have the capacity to lift himself into the air. But what if he falls into it? His wings are uninjured. He could manage it. He could glide!

Your chest swells with hope before deflating just as quickly. You're too heavy. You'll drag him down.

He'll have to go alone.

You're both still running towards the edge, Derrick gaining on you, powerful footstep by powerful footstep. He's so close you can hear his gasps for breath. He cries your name. 'Stop!'

But you won't. You won't.

You wonder what Lurin must be thinking, but he's so exhausted he can barely hold his head up, focusing on his feet, his dark hair shielding his face and against what lies ahead. Your heart clenches in your chest. Will he even make it?

'Lurin!' you cry. 'Get ready to fly!'

He lifts his head just before you reach the edge. Just as your heart leaps with excitement, your stomach lurches with dread. You're going to die—but at least you'll be free. You suck in a breath as your foot meets empty air.

Everything happens quickly. Too quickly. Something heavy slams into you. The world arches in a sickening way, and you find yourself gazing down between your feet at the distant forest below. Time seems to slow as you hang in mid-air. Somehow you're no longer moving forward, but Lurin is. He's already soaring out over the cliff, his black wings still hanging limp, his dark skin set ablaze by the glare of the setting sun.

You'll always remember him that way: like a plummeting comet, like a glowing star.

Then just like that, he's gone and you're thrown backwards into reality, into life, a strong familiar arm wrapped around your waist, a much too familiar presence at your back.

You both slam into the ground. Then you're tumbling together. You feel numb. You hardly feel the pain in your shoulder and hip when you both finally come to a stop. Everything is still. The wind whistles around you. The blood thumps in your ears. A bat screeches. Then you hear them—the village men: their thudding footsteps as they race over, their fearful voices.

You blink, hardly knowing what to think, hardly knowing what to feel, as you stare back into Derrick's green eyes.