Shadowed

X. Blood and Hope

I hear murmurs and yawns as the others awaken, slightly annoyed by the interruption in their sleep. Some of them roll over and sink right back into slumber, but others stretch and whisper among themselves.

It's pitch black, and even the flickering streetlamp outside has gone dark, but I still stand up, grabbing the rusted play structure for support. Exhaustion flashes through my body, making my head fuzzy and my movements sluggish. I almost want to crumple back down and desperately try to force myself to sleep, but there's no way I'd be able to. Not with my heart beating as fast as it is.

The scream rings through my head. It was sharp, and full of genuine fear. The most raw, painful kind of scream. It was too high pitched to have been James. That means it was either Angella— or Abby.

I don't think. I just stumble in the direction of the gate, blinking fatigue out of my eyes and reaching my arms out in front of me so I don't hit anything.

My hands make contact with the brick wall circling the park, and I buckle against it, my legs unsteady. I can hardly move without lurching from lack of sleep, but the only thing I'm thinking is that I have to get over there now. I barely remember that the Hunters are looking for me too. The pure fear, the one that hit me the second I realized what the gunshots must be, has taken control, and it's not letting me get a word in edgewise.

Someone flicks on a lighter, and in the low light I can make out some of the others buzzing to each other softly, leaning up against the playground equipment or sprawled on benches. None seem nearly as frantic as they should be after hearing a shot fired in a generally bloodless city. That's the thing about fear. It loves to pick and choose its victims.

No one's looking at me, so I ease towards the front gate of the park, preparing my shaky legs to break into a sprint the moment I get outside. 

My fingers wrap around the gate's ice-cold handle, and I can hear my blood pounding in my ears. What if I get there too late?

Before I can slip out of the safe haven that is Welles Park, I feel a hand on my shoulder.

I turn. It's Drew, his eyes wide with the terror that's mirrored in my own.

"Is it Abby?" he asks, his voice soft, breathless, but full of dread, like he needs my answer but can't bear to hear it at the same time.

"I don't know," I respond honestly, but he sees my eyes and gleans the full truth from them. I think so.

Silently, I grab his arm and pull him out of the park. I let my autopilot take control, fueled by the fear coursing through me, as we race through alleys and across streets barely lit by the dim streetlights. 

Logic tries to push its way through my exhausted, irrational tangle of thoughts. You could be walking right into danger. The Hunters could be waiting there for you. 

I ignore it. As I frantically skid into a dark alley just blocks away from where James and Angella hid, I'm vaguely aware of my shaking hand wrapped around Drew's wrist. I can feel his blood pulsing through the extrusive veins, and his mangled fingers gripping me are beacons of warmth in a freezing night.

"Where are we going?" he gasps as I pull him down yet another passage, this one lit by soft, lambent streetlights posted every several yards.

I don't answer—not because I'm giving him the cold shoulder, because I don't know what to say. My breaths are coming in wheezes, but my terror for Abby, for James and Angella, for myself, has made words evade my tongue anyway. 

Disregarding the cigarette-induced fire in my lungs, I make two more deft turns before we find ourselves in the alley that they hid out in. The familiar cutout is on my left, and I can make out the shape of Angella's pocketknife still discarded in the same place it was this afternoon. But I don't see anyone, Hunter or not.