Rubber Bracelets

Chapter Three: Breaking People

 Screams came from all around.

Grhey stood in an open field with nowhere to hide, with nowhere to run.

The rhythmic thump of Them running, interrupted only by more screams of a thousand screams, was closing in every second.

Then he stood there, surrounded by twenty of Them.

They just stood there, on their hind legs, watching him.

Grhey breathed slowly, but his heart raced and pounded.

With short twitches, They were on him instantly, claws wrapping around him.

Grhey sat up, his eyes exploding open, and found himself looking into the eyes of another person, eyes with the same shade of green as his. One of his boots had been removed, and the other was nearly untied; the person's fingers worked on the laces, but were now frozen like the rest of the woman they belonged to.

Cold metal tapped at his right cheek, and he turned to look at it, finding himself staring up the barrel of a shotgun.

Grhey laughed. Tilting his head back, and leaning back on his elbows, he laughed. His chest and stomach vibrated and heaved with his laughter. The woman remained frozen at his feet; the man holding the shotgun stood stupefied.

Lifting from his elbows onto the palms of his hands, Grhey rolled his neck around, causing it to crack and pop from stiffness. He lifted a hand to the back of his head and pulled it away; blood covered the tips of his fingers.

The woman finally moved, dropping the laces and backing away from Grhey quickly. The man eyed the blood on his fingertips, still appearing astonished. Then, after wiping the blood on his dirty blue jeans, Grhey stood to his feet, and popped his fingers one by one.

“Take off the other boot, and toss it to her. I don't want to shoot you.” The end of the shotgun weaved and bobbed as the man spoke.

“If-” The word caught in Grhey's throat. After clearing his throat several times, he tried again. “If you have any shells,” his voice sounding odd in his own ears. Trying to remember the last time he had spoken aloud was as difficult as trying to remember his own birth.

This time the man with the gun laughed.

“Thanks to you, I have a shell. Before, I didn't. Now, I do,” he said, grinning.

“Okay then. How about this?” Grhey reached his hand to the back of his head for a second time, and for a second time his fingertips held blood. Lifting up his leg, he smeared blood along the side of his boot. “You don't know if I have it. Do you still want it?”

The man's brows furrowed with anger; he pressed the shotgun barrel into Grhey's chest.

“You know They are in these woods, right?” asked Grhey. “I was chased by two not too long before I stepped into this trap. I don't know how long I was knocked out, but I do know I'm bleeding, and I do know they can smell blood.”

Grhey turned his head to the right, turned his head to the left.

“They could already be following the scent, and we wouldn't know it until we heard them running. Then, it would be way too late,” explained Grhey, now staring into the brown eyes of the holder of the gun.

Finally the man's concentration broke, and he looked around him. On queue, Grhey grabbed at the barrel, lifting it up with all his strength, causing it to smack the man in the face. A cracking sound resonated from the man, and blood poured from his nose. Still grasping the barrel tightly, Grhey smashed it into the man's face again. Pulling the shotgun from the man's now loose grip, Grhey smacked him a third time, this time using the stock of the gun, causing the man to collapse, and lay limp on the ground.