Fighting the Losing Battle

Chapter 3 - Time To Go

Spurred on, I heave myself of the ground, wincing. My foot hurts – more than anything else, it is my foot that feels the most pain. I don't have time to check the damage.

I have to run. Now.

My limbs feel heavy, like lead. So, so heavy. But I force them to move, one foot in front of the other, quickening the pace to a jog, then a run. Soon I am sprinting. I made sure, when I chose that house, that I would be set apart from other people, but not too set apart as to arouse suspicion. This will come in useful now, when it comes to making a fast escape. There is no one around at this time – not many normal people are generally out and about just after dawn, and today is no exception. There is a chill wind, which I would probably mind more if it wasn't helping to cool down my burning wounds. The cold air keeps me wide awake – despite the stabbing pains, I find I am able to focus. I have to keep running. Down the backstreets, and into the woods, that's where I must go. The woods will still be dark at this time in the morning. It will be easier for me to hide there. Once there, I can make a plan and decide what to do next.

I don't allow myself to pause at the end of the street. There can be no looking back. I will not be retuning here again. A broken window and my quickly-drying blood are the only signs left behind, the only way to tell that I was there. At a glance, no one would know that I had been there for the past month. The thought provokes a sudden sense of sentiment – I was there for a month. That's longer than I have stayed anywhere else, in all the time that I have been on my own. I can't help but feel sad to leave it behind. I always felt safe there.

Not anymore.

As I run, I listen. I listen for any sound which might give away the whereabouts of the men sent after me. After overhearing their muffled words earlier, I can no longer deny that they were Equos Venaticus. I can't escape the fact that they knew where I was, they knew exactly where to look. But how? I have always been so careful. When did I slip up?

I have been running for about ten minutes when I finally reach the woods. It is here I can breathe a sigh of relief. If I have got this far, I might stand a chance at escaping them. I slow my pace upon entering the murky depths of the woods. I feel safer already, hidden away in the darkness. A few metres into the woods, swathed in shadows, I pause, leaning against a tree to catch my breath. I feel wheezy with pain; I try to focus on slowing my breathing, forcing myself to concentrate on forming a plan. The rough bark of the tree trunk is merciless against my wounded back, and I bite my lip to prevent me from crying out. I can't regret what I did though, despite all of the pain. At least I am away from the house. Had I stayed, I may not be alive now. It's a terrifying thought – that my life can be put at such risk without warning, the way it was today. I must be more careful in future. You can never be too careful.

Giving my arms a quick once-over, I groan internally. My short-sleeved t-shirt means that my arms are left entirely exposed. My arms have been slashed to pieces. They are now criss-crossed with thin, red gashes. My upper arm - my left - is in a worse condition than I thought. The skin has been shredded, and I can see tiny, gleaming slivers of glass still lodged in the wound. I rip off another strip of shirt and hastily tie it around the top of my arm, temporarily covering the wound. My arms will need to be treated soon – along with my hand (the makeshift bandage is already stained with blood) – if I want to avoid infection setting in.

Before I can scan over the rest of my body for injuries (which I know are there – I can feel them!), I am interrupted. A sound – barely audible, but definitely there – alerts me, and just like that, I am completely attentive, all thoughts of pain put aside. I wait. Listen. My senses buzzing, I try to focus my hearing, to pinpoint the location of the sound, but it's no good. The trees sway, rustling and whispering in the breeze, almost as though they are consciously trying to thwart me. Why does everyone have to hate me!? Is it too much to ask, to have someone who is working alongside me, rather than against me? Even the trees have chosen their side! I listen harder, straining against the mutters of the leaves. Nothing.

And then, all of a sudden, a sharp, high pitched whistle. And another.

I feel my heart stop.

They have found me. They should never have found me so quickly. How did they find me so quickly?

One more whistle. Deep down, I recognise that whistle.

I feel my blood run cold.

They didn't...did they?

Surely...surely I would have heard them, realised earlier if they had...?

I can only hope that I am mistaken.

Another whistle pierces the air, this one closer, too close. Beyond the trees still – the sound is not coming from within the woods – but they are not far away. Way too close for comfort. Following the whistle: a low shout, followed by the one sound that I hoped I would not hear. That one sound, the omen that I heard just moments before my parents were murdered. The one sound that instantly strikes me dumb with fear.

Another shout, a different voice this time.

That sound again – a harsh bark.

All of my fears are confirmed. I can't deny it, there is no doubt that the sound is real. There is no way that the sound is a figment of my imagination, as I first hoped. No way at all. It is real. It's all too real. And the source of that sound is heading straight for me. I know it. I know that sound. My situation is so much worse than I could have foreseen.

They know where I am.

They are approaching with every second that passes.

And they have brought the hunting dogs.