Chasing Tomorrow

Chapter 8

I can hear the pounding of my own heart, thudding in my chest like a drum as I race through the underbrush. Every muscle aches, every breath burns, but I can't slow down. Not now. Not until I know Cady is safe. I pass a thick bush, the leaves scratching at my arms, my eyes focused on the path ahead, when—whoosh—I'm yanked to the ground. My breath catches in my throat as I try to scream, to fight back, but a hand, rough and firm, covers my mouth, cutting off the sound before it can escape. My body goes rigid, heart leaping into my throat, my mind immediately flashing to the worst. A monster. It has to be. It must've caught up with me. I struggle, panic surging through my veins, but the hand doesn't move. It presses harder, pinning my head to the cold earth. My pulse is deafening in my ears, and my skin is slick with fear. I want to scream again, but I don't dare. I force myself to stop thrashing, my eyes wide and searching in the darkness. That's when I notice something. The hand—it's not rough and scaly like a monster's. No, it's human. I freeze.

Then, as if sensing my stillness, the figure above me leans closer. I can feel their breath near my ear, their weight pressing me into the ground as they whisper, "Shhh." The voice is deep, hushed, but calm. Too calm for the chaos that's been tearing through my mind. I don't know what to do. Should I scream? Should I fight? But I don't. I stay quiet, just as the stranger told me to. The moment I stop struggling, I hear it—the monsters—their heavy, snuffling breaths as they pass by the bush, not even a foot away. My body is frozen, heart in my throat, and I hold my breath, praying they don't notice me. My mind screams at me to run, to do something, but I stay still. I listen to the sounds of the monsters—their low growls, the soft crackle of their movement in the brush—as they move farther and farther away. And then, when the sounds of the creatures fade into the night, the figure above me releases their grip on my mouth but doesn't move away.

The person tilts their head, watching me intently. The silence stretches on for a few heartbeats. "Geez, you always have to be saved, no?" Always? What does he mean with that? "Excuse me?" I ak him, my eyebrows raising in dibelieve. "Stay quiet," the figure murmurs, their voice low and almost comforting, despite the tension crackling in the air. "They'll hear you." Hold up. That voice is familiar... Way too familiar.

Recognition hits me like a wave, crashing over the shock and confusion. It’s him—the boy from the river, the one who taught me how to fish. My mind races as I take him in, the memory flooding back with clarity. His messy dark brown hair, those piercing brown eyes that seemed to see right through me, and the cuts on his arms from running through the underbrush. I can't believe it’s him. The boy who once laughed at my clumsiness now hoverd above me, a ghost from my past. He doesn’t seem bothered by my presence at all. In fact, he’s watching me, studying me, as if I’m a puzzle he’s trying to figure out. My heart races, still pulsing with adrenaline from the near encounter with the monsters. I want to say something—anything—but the words refuse to come. Instead, I stay crouched in the underbrush, the remnants of fear making me hesitant. I remember how he had helped me, yet he had also been so quick to leave, to disappear into the shadows.

“Are you hurt?” he finally asks, breaking the silence, his voice low and steady. I shake my head, still catching my breath, my eyes never leaving his face. “No. I’m fine. Just… surprised.” He nods slowly, those dark eyes scanning my face as if weighing my words. “Good,” he replies, his tone neutral. “You shouldn’t be out here alone. It’s dangerous.”

I can't help but scoff. "Says the one who left without looking back and doesn't trust anyone." There falls a silence between us. He just looks at me. If my words had an effect on him, he didn't show it.

“Why did you help me?” I blurt out, the question spilling from my lips before I can stop it. “You left me in the river. I thought you didn’t want to be around people.” He shrugs, an indifferent gesture that makes my heart sink a little. “Things change. I didn’t want to see you get eaten. You’re lucky I was nearby.”

“Lucky?” I echo, incredulous. “I was terrified!”. “Better than dead,” he replies, his voice devoid of sympathy. He pauses for a moment, and I can see his jaw tighten as if he’s wrestling with some internal conflict. “Stay quiet for a minute. If the monsters come back, we’ll have to move.”
The gravity of his words pulls me back into the present. I nod again, this time more resolutely, and I instinctively lean closer to the ground, still feeling the tension in the air as I watch him. He seems unbothered by the chaos around us, a stark contrast to my own racing thoughts. It’s almost as if this is just another day for him, a normal occurrence in this twisted new reality.
The stillness envelops us, and I can’t help but feel the weight of the moment between us. I remember how he had taught me to fish, the way he had effortlessly carved the spear, and the way he had made me feel a glimmer of hope in a world full of despair. There’s a flicker of something else in me now, too—curiosity mixed with an undeniable desire to understand him better, to know why he had come back when I had thought I’d never see him again. Finally, the sounds of the forest return to life, the monsters’ growls fading into the distance. The danger may have passed, but the questions linger, heavy in the air between us.

I watch him in the silence, his figure barely visible in the shadows, yet his presence somehow overwhelming. It’s impossible not to notice how calm he is—like he’s completely at ease, even with monsters lurking just beyond the brush. My heart is still hammering in my chest, adrenaline coursing through me, but he doesn’t seem bothered at all. His posture is relaxed, his gaze steady, as if this is all just part of his everyday routine...

Finally, the curiosity I’ve been pushing down for days rises up and bursts out of me, unfiltered. “How are you so calm?” I ask, the question tumbling out before I could get too scared to ask it. “You… You’ve been through all this before, haven’t you? The monsters, the danger. You don’t even seem fazed. How do you do it? How are you always so… collected?”
I can feel the weight of my own words hanging in the air between us, and I can’t help but study his reaction. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even blink.
“I’m not fazed,” he says simply, his voice low, but somehow full of an unshakable confidence. “You think I don’t get scared? You think this doesn’t bother me?” He pauses, glancing at me from the corner of his eye. “It does. But fear won’t help you survive. It only gets in the way.” His answer, though blunt, doesn’t settle my curiosity. If anything, it only deepens it. He’s been through the same horrors we all have. The monsters. The bloodshed. The isolation. So why doesn’t he feel it? Why is he able to act like it’s nothing, like it’s just another day in the life?
I can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to him than he’s letting on, something he’s keeping hidden beneath that calm exterior.

“How do you know all this?” I ask, my voice quiet but insistent. “The fishing, the tools, surviving in this hellhole… how do you know how to do everything? It’s almost like you’ve been doing this for years.” His eyes flicker toward me for a brief moment, but then he shrugs, his gaze shifting back to the woods, scanning the perimeter like he’s waiting for something. He doesn’t respond immediately, and I can feel the weight of the silence stretching between us. He’s not answering, and I know better than to push too hard. But I just can’t help it. “It’s not normal,” I add, my voice laced with suspicion. “It’s almost… too easy for you. Like you’re prepared for all of this. Like you’ve been through it before.” I feel my chest tighten, the unease creeping back into my veins. “You’re hiding something, aren’t you?”

He doesn’t react immediately. The tension between us rises, like the air before a storm. And then, when I think he’s going to say nothing, he looks at me with that unreadable expression—cool, detached, and somehow far older than his years. “You’ll learn,” he says, his voice carrying a subtle warning. “But it’s not something you want to know.”

I don’t push any further. His words hang in the air, cryptic and unsettling, but I don’t dare ask him to elaborate. Some things are better left unsaid. But the question lingers, growing heavier with each passing moment. What is he hiding? How does he know so much, and why does he seem so different from everyone else?

And, most importantly—what will happen if I find out?