own. This was in addition to the red-haired young lady with a vendetta, the woman whose prize was Red himself.
As he and the others around him continued their frantic northward flight, he slowed his pace slightly, feigning exhaustion, until he was lagging at the end of the group. After a quick check to ensure that the others were all still facing ahead, he ducked behind a thick, gnarled tree. After a few moments, he risked another brief glance at the group, who showed no sign of noticing his absence. He started back south toward Jonesboro, which he knew to be the destination of Evan and Michelle.
Not too late to get out.
Daphne decided that it was time to close in slightly on the sadists, time to move east, get closer, and thin their numbers before they made it to Red. She shifted slightly from northbound to northwest, mindful not to get close enough for the enemy to hear her. The brisk air moved over her receptive skin and she breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of the damp, chilly woods. Her dilated pupils allowed her a view of the forest that had a clarity rivaling daylight. She heard everything from her own heartbeat to the birds tucked away for the night in the trunks of hollow oak trees.
Just ahead, running southward directly toward her, was a panicked sadist. Daphne, without formulating words in her head, gathered that he was deserting, considering that he appeared to be just as fearful of the sadists behind him as he was of what may lurk ahead. Being nearly silent, Daphne got within three feet of the man before he saw her.
He let out a strangled cry as he raised a forearm to cover his mouth, his face full of trepidation. Daphne gazed at him for a brief moment before her eyes averted ahead, dismissive of his presence. The two passed one another, traveling in opposite directions. The runaway sadist was headed toward Jonesboro, and Daphne continued to pursue her target to the north, and any minor targets in between that got in her way.
As she trailed behind the evading group, she saw a ribboning clearing ahead. She bounded up and into the lower branches of a dead tree, climbing toward the top. Through its barren limbs, she saw that there was a road running through the center of the clearing. From the west, she heard footsteps approaching, dozens of shoes and boots striking the pavement. From the sound of it, they were moving at about the same speed as the group she had been chasing.
She lingered in the tree, waiting for the two groups to meet. Those she had been following, comprised of two females and three males, reached the two-lane highway, turning to the west as they caught their breath and awaited their advancing compatriots.
"The fuck are y'all waiting for?" yelled a member of the group making their way down the road. He gestured ahead. "Red's that way."
"Get on your radio," snapped one of the females from the first group. "Tell Red that crazy ginger bitch is on the loose."
"Where's Cynthia?" someone from the new group inquired, producing a walkie-talkie.
"I'm assuming dead," said one of the three males left alive from the first group.
"Red," the one with the radio said into the mouthpiece, "we have an issue."
"Make it quick," came Red's reply from the speaker. "I'm already dealing with more bullshit than I can handle right now."
"It's about the girl. She's on some kind of rampage."
"Yeah," Red replied. "I'm aware."
"I don't feel safe just standing here," said a 30-something from the new group, cinching her poncho more tightly and stroking the barrel of her shotgun as she glared into the woods.
"Yeah, let's keep moving," a male agreed.
"So what do you want us to do, Red?" asked the one holding the radio, continuing after several silent seconds. "Red? Red!"
"He's gone, man,"
As he and the others around him continued their frantic northward flight, he slowed his pace slightly, feigning exhaustion, until he was lagging at the end of the group. After a quick check to ensure that the others were all still facing ahead, he ducked behind a thick, gnarled tree. After a few moments, he risked another brief glance at the group, who showed no sign of noticing his absence. He started back south toward Jonesboro, which he knew to be the destination of Evan and Michelle.
Not too late to get out.
Daphne decided that it was time to close in slightly on the sadists, time to move east, get closer, and thin their numbers before they made it to Red. She shifted slightly from northbound to northwest, mindful not to get close enough for the enemy to hear her. The brisk air moved over her receptive skin and she breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of the damp, chilly woods. Her dilated pupils allowed her a view of the forest that had a clarity rivaling daylight. She heard everything from her own heartbeat to the birds tucked away for the night in the trunks of hollow oak trees.
Just ahead, running southward directly toward her, was a panicked sadist. Daphne, without formulating words in her head, gathered that he was deserting, considering that he appeared to be just as fearful of the sadists behind him as he was of what may lurk ahead. Being nearly silent, Daphne got within three feet of the man before he saw her.
He let out a strangled cry as he raised a forearm to cover his mouth, his face full of trepidation. Daphne gazed at him for a brief moment before her eyes averted ahead, dismissive of his presence. The two passed one another, traveling in opposite directions. The runaway sadist was headed toward Jonesboro, and Daphne continued to pursue her target to the north, and any minor targets in between that got in her way.
As she trailed behind the evading group, she saw a ribboning clearing ahead. She bounded up and into the lower branches of a dead tree, climbing toward the top. Through its barren limbs, she saw that there was a road running through the center of the clearing. From the west, she heard footsteps approaching, dozens of shoes and boots striking the pavement. From the sound of it, they were moving at about the same speed as the group she had been chasing.
She lingered in the tree, waiting for the two groups to meet. Those she had been following, comprised of two females and three males, reached the two-lane highway, turning to the west as they caught their breath and awaited their advancing compatriots.
"The fuck are y'all waiting for?" yelled a member of the group making their way down the road. He gestured ahead. "Red's that way."
"Get on your radio," snapped one of the females from the first group. "Tell Red that crazy ginger bitch is on the loose."
"Where's Cynthia?" someone from the new group inquired, producing a walkie-talkie.
"I'm assuming dead," said one of the three males left alive from the first group.
"Red," the one with the radio said into the mouthpiece, "we have an issue."
"Make it quick," came Red's reply from the speaker. "I'm already dealing with more bullshit than I can handle right now."
"It's about the girl. She's on some kind of rampage."
"Yeah," Red replied. "I'm aware."
"I don't feel safe just standing here," said a 30-something from the new group, cinching her poncho more tightly and stroking the barrel of her shotgun as she glared into the woods.
"Yeah, let's keep moving," a male agreed.
"So what do you want us to do, Red?" asked the one holding the radio, continuing after several silent seconds. "Red? Red!"
"He's gone, man,"
Similar Books
