The Hunt of Altswood High (The Altswood Saga #1)

Chapter 19 - Light

Chapter 19 - Light

At the back of my mind, I remembered that running in zig-zags decreased the likelihood of getting shot.

I swerved randomly as I fled, but I didn't know if it was because I was trying to avoid possible bullets coming my way or if it was because I could barely keep myself upright.

I was dreadfully out of breath.

A stitch was forming at my ribs. I paused against a street sign, slamming my arm against the pole for support. I heaved in a deep inhalation of oxygen, then glanced into the empty street behind me. My panting was too loud to hear anything else, but the hairs at the back of my neck stood up. Someone watched me from the darkness.

"Help!" I screamed, picking up speed again. My feet slammed against the pavement, one step after the other. Keep going. I just had to keep going. "HELP!"

No one opened their doors. Or maybe they did. Maybe I was going too fast, too quick to notice.

But I was making good time. I could see the haze in the atmosphere from where the lights of the town illuminated the island. If I could just—

My ankle twisted.

I dropped to my knees.

"No," I hissed at the ground. "No, no, no!"

My hands were shaking too hard to pick myself back up.

A shot boomed into the silence and skimmed the concrete inches away. I jerked my shoulder down, regaining my balance, and forced my legs to straighten.

"Get up, Luca," I commanded myself. "Get up. Get up now."

And I was back on my feet.

In one sharp motion, I threw myself into an alleyway. A puddle of water splashed my lower half. Garbage bags tipped over, crumpled pieces of paper billowing in my warpath.

Follow the lights. Follow the lights.

One streetlight after the other, I ran under its protection.

I had to stop shouting for help. I could barely breathe as it was.

A line of buildings came into view. I was so close. If I could just get to the next corner.

Fifty or so lines in the sidewalk were left for me to cross. Forty, and the clouds gathered up above, blocking any hint of moonlight. Thirty, and I could hear breathing from behind.

At twenty, something cold hit my leg.

I went rigid, and with the town center looming into view, I crashed.

Palms grazed against hard gravel, elbows and knees taking the impact hard. My forehead knocked against the ground, dripping blood into my eye as I recovered from the brunt of the fall.

Getupgetupgetupgetup—

I touched the icy pinprick on my leg, and my fingers came back coated with blood. I stared at the viscous liquid seeping into the crevices in my hand, watching one drop slowly trickle down the length of my pale arm.

The moment I realized what had happened, the pinprick turned to a gaping hole, and the burning began then.

I stifled the sobs, silent tears tracked with blood running down my face.

This was it.

I lost.

"Come out!" I screamed into the night. My voice was raw, torn with a sour build-up at the hollow of my throat where I tried to control the sniveling. "Constantly lurking, what kind of coward are you?"

"With a bullet embedded in your leg, you're hardly in a position to talk."

All the air rushed out from my lungs.

It had been a high-pitched voice, somewhere right behind the next streetlight. It was familiar, but not enough so that I could immediately place it. Frenzied, I tried to scoot back, but my leg threatened to tear itself off with every muscle I used.

"Stop moving."

A click reverberated across the eerie scene. I cast one last glance back, and knew then that there was no saving grace coming for me. The town center was too far, and I had been defeated on a backroad too empty.

The barrel of a gun came into view under the streetlight. The arm holding the weapon up was folded within giant mounds of fabric that altered the killer's appearance. Their circular silhouette took one step closer.

I scrambled back again, biting down on the inside of my cheeks as the pain in my leg traveled through every singe nerve.

Shoot me! Just do it, I dare you, I wanted to say. To put on a grand façade at the direst moment and if I had to go, to go with dignity. But I couldn't. I didn't even dare look at the metal weapon.

There was only one way I could fool the killer into allowing my survival.

I sucked in a shaky breath.

"I know who you are."

Silence. Then: "No, you don't."

But they had hesitated. The silhouette stepped closer, and the gun lowered ever so slightly. I let out a shallow breath; my heartbeat was so loud it ricocheted from my eardrums with every thump.

"You can't kill me," I argued in a wheeze. Buytimebuytimebuytime— "Not yet. I told Gabriel that I suspected it was you when you shot his window. The moment I die, he's going to know."

"That's a load of bull."

Their voice shook. I had convinced them.

"You really think I can't put clues together?" I spat with a conviction that was entirely fabricated. "I saw you that night."

And I did. Because in a way, my mind had already put together their identity that night by the bonfire.

It wasn't a lie to say I knew who they were.

I just hadn't realized it yet.

As the silhouette stepped directly under the streetlight, my subconscious was whispering her name.

As her hood fell back and I tried to use my last ounce of strength to move away from her wrath, all the puzzle pieces finally clicked into place.

Of course I knew.

I had put it together long ago without knowing as Rebekah Gray slammed the body of the gun over my head.