The Hollow Men (Book 1): Crave by Jonathan Teague Page B

literally charged him, horns lowered.
    Scott stood momentarily paralyzed, staring dumbly at the machine streaking toward him. Reflex finally jerked him out of the way a fraction of an instant too late. The driver’s side mirror smacked his left shoulder, throwing him to the ground. He rolled into the bushes surrounding the church. The bone-jarring collision left a grey haze over his mind. He barely hung onto consciousness.
    Slowly, Scott returned to himself. Landscaping bark blanketed the ground underneath him cushioning his fall. A crisp pine scent emanated from the dew-laden shrubbery above him.
    When he rolled to get up, fiery pain lit in the depths of his shoulder. He squeezed his eyes closed and gritted his teeth in anticipation of more pain as he rocked slightly to test the extent of damage. No grinding nor sliding of bones. At least those weren’t broken.
    Scott’s neck, chest and arm were drenched in something wet. He dabbed at it. It lacked the thickness and the metallic smell of blood. Confused, he caught sight of the armband he used to hold his water flask and safety light lying on the road 15 yards from him. The bottle had taken the brunt of the mirror’s impact, saving his arm from more serious trauma.
    The flashing red beacon of the safety light hadn’t worked in months. Perhaps if it had functioned, the Dodge wouldn’t have rammed him, but the collision with the mirror had caused the light to start working again. Life had a snarky sense of humor.
    Somebody walked in front of the red flashers. He saw the outline of a tall man, thin with the exception of a paunch. A smaller feminine shadow shuffled into view. Behind her, another person shambled just outside the perimeter of the glowing crimson strobe. Scott presumed they were rescuers arriving at the scene of the accident.
    He inhaled a short breath, just about to call them over. Before he could utter a sound, an internal force seized his throat, choking him off before he could exhale any noise through his vocal cords. Ice coursed through his veins as his instincts insisted, “Don’t move! Watch!”
    Each figure moved stutteringly, as if multiple factions fought for mastery of its body. None appeared to be winning. Faces blinked red from the runner’s light. Dark, sticky-looking smears covered mouths and chins. Jaws opened and shut. Their expressions spun through confusion, insanity, menace, rage, craving, and emptiness. When they stopped, they landed on hunger.
    The hunt was on. Scott was the prey.
    He retreated slowly into the darkness by the hedge, hoping to stay undetected. He pressed his body more deeply into the damp landscaping wood. Hands whispered loudly around him, probing the bushes to both his right and his left. Dirt-encrusted feet stepped within six inches of where he lay.
    Scott’s heart pounded violently. Strength surged into him. Instinctively, he knew they were on the verge of discovering him. He lunged to his right just as two hands reached through a gap in the shrubs, grasping empty air where he had lain an instant before.
    Twigs and needles showered him as he punched blindly from the hedge. His injured shoulder struck a shirtless old man, whose ribs cracked audibly as he stepped backward. He showed no sign of being hurt, despite having a shard of bone that pierced obscenely through the sagging skin above his hipbone. Undeterred, he moved forward again, his eyes fixed on Scott. He stretched out his gnarled hands.
    Scott dodged right to avoid him and felt the wind as the hands passed him. Shivers crawled across his skin, like hundreds of millipedes traveling his body. Fingers snagged his shirt, but he broke free. Another near miss.
    Distracted by the old man, he missed the two others that had crept up behind him. In the inky blackness, he heard the rasping sounds of more converging on him.
    Sparked by his fear, his legs finally got moving. He skirted around the church, slipping on wet grass at the entrance to the cemetery. He scrambled