Big Bad

Walking Away

Christopher Glover sprinted across dirt forest ground, over tree roots, and under low hanging branches as the wind whipped against his face. His eyes stung from the cold autumn air and a few eager tears dribbled down his cheeks, drying quickly. There was a terror that moved throughout him, but also a feeling of deja vu, as if he'd been there before, ran before, been on the run before.

Kit's mind was a frenzied mess of fear and every rock was a wolf glaring its jaws to chomp down on his legs. He was reminded of the day he ran through the rain, the last day he saw the wolf— the day he'd managed to convince himself he hadn't actually seen a wolf. He was stupid, a silly fool who never should have gone out into the forest alone, yes, but this was unmistakable.

Between the trees as they blurred by his eyes, a mess of red orange and green, he could have sworn he saw dark gray flashes. Flashes of fur. Flashes of teeth. Scarlet eyes staring back at him. Just behind the undergrowth he could almost hear the pounding of powerful heavy paw-steps, trotting, sprinting alongside him, just waiting for a moment to cut him off. There was something there. Not some hallucination; this time it was something real. Something big.

This time there could be no doubt. He was not alone in the woods. Maybe the wolf remembered him. Maybe it still longed to taste his flesh and tear into his bones. Maybe it had just been biding its time, anxious for his return so it could feast on the fool dumb enough to come back alone.

Kit squeezed his burning core and made his feet move faster than they ever had before. His legs were like jelly, his footsteps like thunder, and like hurricane winds. The ground crunched beneath his feet. With his head spinning the steps of the wolf merged with his own, and sounded as if there was simultaneously something running behind and beside him. The sounds closed in on him like a prison, like he was blocked on all sides.

"Kit!" A voice suddenly called and in his fear Kit couldn't even respond. He just kept running. There was nothing he could do. "Kit!" It repeated.

Kit closed his eyes but kept running. If he ran straight into a tree at least he'd be knocked out when the wolf ate him.

"KIT!" The voice called in exasperation.

Suddenly Kit felt himself crash to a stop as he was enveloped by two tree branches. Going from sprinting to not so quickly threw his body out of equilibrium and Kit was disoriented. The branches wrapped around him like a hug and he smashed into the main trunk with a force that made him stagger backwards. Only, it didn't feel like bark. Rather the tree felt like cloth against his skin... it even smelled a bit like spiced cologne.

Not tree branches, he thought, arms. Kit's fear rose quickly within him again and he acted without thinking. Before he knew it his knee had smashed into the person and Kit recoiled away and tripped onto the ground.

"Ooff!" The man grunted in pain.

Kit scrambled away, backing himself against a tree, and digging his fingers into the dirt before he recognized the figure and the voice.

"Elijah?"

Sure enough Elijah was stooped there, clear as day, clutching his fragile area with a look of extreme discomfort on his face.

"Jesus, Elijah!" Kit gathered himself to his feet and rushed to put his hand on Elijah's shoulder. "What the hell were you doing?"

"I wanted to stop you," came Elijah's strained voice. "Didn't think you'd react like that."

"You tackled me!"

"My apologies."

Kit looked to Elijah for an extra moment expecting some kind of greater explanation but nothing was offered. When it was clear Elijah was not going to say anything of value Kit let his head fall and stopped to catch his racing breath. He unclenched his hands which had dug into the dirt and put them gently in his lap.