No Plan of Gods

Runaway: Part One

Cormac plunged through the trees, branches clawing at his arms and face and drawing blood across his body. He threw a glance over his shoulder. As he turned back around the point of a twig sank into his eye socket. He fell forward, holding his eye, squeezing his palm into it. There was little more he wanted at that moment than to cry out in agony, but his echoing howls would only pinpoint his position. His chest swole and he felt a scream rise into his throat, but he caught it reluctantly. Hauling himself to his feet, his remaining vision now wavering, he set off again as fast as he could.

The adults of Macross were always surprised by his blinding speed, so swift for such a scrawny and short little thing, he'd nip along the streets and fields quicker than any grown man in the settlement could. If only they could see him now. Blood lined his face and arms, his tunic torn to shreds, and upon a quick glance down he realized he'd lost one of his shoes. None of the pain mattered, though. Not the pulsing of his head or sting in his eyes or stabbing of acorns and pine needles on the bare sole of his foot. He had to get to the bridge and cross the border. There'd be guards there, they'd be armed at least with old hunting rifles. They'd probably be sitting now, nailing contracts to the board on the northern side, firing shots for the hell of it, and laughing all the while. They'd have no idea that he, this young boy, was on the cusp of death just a few hundred yards away. Nobody would know.

There was an opening in the trees up ahead. With his head down, he pushed as fast as he could. He fought the urge to glance back, but instinctively, his head shot around. It was there. The horse. And the thing which sat upon its back. It seemed to weave elegantly through the trees, slowly, yet keeping with his frantic pace. The cruelest illusion. Like a nightmare in which your abilities are slowed, and the monster creeps effortlessly, inevitably toward you. Although this wasn't a nightmare, he'd not find himself awakening, sticky with sweat, breathing a sigh of relief. This was real, and the horror would truly begin if he was caught.