The Atrophy of Clementine Darlington

XLIII | The Leshen in the Woods

          Should he run outside? There'd surely be people out there, right? Lori wouldn't kill him in front of witnesses, would she? He didn't have time to ponder. His only options were to head outside and hope there were people out there or continue running through the academy and hope he didn't pass out before he reached the lounge. His legs were trembling, his heart was racing so hard he felt his chest might burst—the former option was the better of the two.

          He hurried through the doorway and turned left, skidding on the marble floor, but he kept his balance and raced outside into the courtyard.

          There wasn't anyone sitting on the snowy benches.

          Clementine scowled in panic—why wasn't there anyone out there?!

          "Clementine!" one of Lori's goons called amusedly.

          "There's nowhere to go!" another yelled.

          He didn't stop running—he couldn't. He hurried across the snowy ground, his mind racing, his body beginning to feel numb. What was he supposed to do? Where was he going to go? Could he lead them around the outside of the academy and into the lounge through its garden door? That could work.

          But his frantic breaths began to stifle; he started wheezing, his body giving up on him. He wasn't going to have time to lead them to the lounge.

          A familiar, harrowing feeling then gripped him. Eyes. He could feel hungry sights on him. The wind whistled through the trees, their trunks groaning as a light flurry of snow started falling. And a growl—a low, rumbling growl. Of course. How had he not thought of that before? The perfect trap.

          He abruptly turned left, now heading towards the forest. Lori and her group followed, but the fact they were gaining on him much faster didn't horrify him as much as the thought of what might be about to happen. He didn't have a choice, though. He had to take the risk.

          Clementine hurried into the forest. In the dead silence beyond the treeline, the frosty grass cracked and rustle beneath his feet. He frantically checked to his left and right; Lori's approaching group called his name, and his dizziness became so severe that he was now stumbling around like a drunk. He tried to push forward, but his legs failed him. They seemed to just shut off, and as he hit the ground, he grunted and groaned in both pain and desperation. He couldn't move. He couldn't run. And he was all alone.

          Someone gripped his shoulder, and when he was rolled onto his back, he stared up at Jackson's grinning face. Lori's group crowded around him; he could see their mouths moving, but he couldn't understand what they were saying. Their voices were distorted, and as his vision started blurring, he watched their faces contort and twist like drops of ink in water.

          Reece pulled out a blade and waved it around while Lori and Jackson patted his shoulders—clearly, they were encouraging him to make the kill.

          Clementine couldn't do anything but lay there. He wanted to move—he tried forcing his legs to respond, but they didn't. His panted, trembled, and gritted his teeth in dismay—

          Blood suddenly splattered onto his face. He flinched in shock, and through his blurred vision, he watched as a huge visage collided with Lori's group. Their muffled, distorted screams and yells were accompanied by a horrific roar; the ground beneath him shook, the trees around where he lay seemed to tremble, and Clementine found himself hoping it was Sebastien, but he knew it wasn't. He knew what it was.

          The creature's spiked, scaled tail slammed down onto the ground beside him; he turned his head, watching as the tail slithered after its owner, leaving a trail of blood in the snow.