The Soul Collector

Ch. Fifty-Four

"It's deciding where to die, and it's deciding where to fight."

- Twenty One Pilots

                                                                            ***

The crowds were getting thinner, which was the opposite of what she wanted. But that was the direction she needed.

Galloway's breath burned the back of her throat as she ran, the only thought in her head getting to Sirius. Howls chased after her, and she knew it was crazy, but she was certain she could hear the click of jagged claws on the concrete right behind her.

She didn't look back; that would only slow her down. Her leg was aching, the barely scarred scratch feeling like it was being pulled apart. Her hair flew behind her, the impact of each step reverberating up her spine and into the base of her skull.

Shadows flickered around her, only randomly broken by streetlights.

Another howl sounded in an alley as she passed it, and she tried to pick up her pace again. A stitch was beginning to form in her side. Her mouth was sticky. The piece of paper with the address Sirius had given her was crumpled in her hand.

She knew the area he had gone towards. It wasn't too far away. The inside of her nose burned.

A scream sounded behind her, and her heart thudded once before picking up its rapid tempo again. Now she could hear the snapping and snarling sound of hunting dogs. 

Galloway hadn't expected another Collector to join the hunt. She didn't know why; obviously Theron was sparing no expense. Rundown warehouses started to rise up around her. 

Something snapped at her hand, the click of teeth sinister, making her reckless.

She turned sharply, hurtling down an abandoned, crooked alley.

Something hooked into her calf, tripping her, and she curled into a ball, rolling harmlessly over the asphalt. Quickly regaining her feet, she tried to run, but a massive wolf swiped a paw at her, razor claws missing her stomach by inches.

She reeled backwards, just to fetch up against the brick wall of a building.

Looking around, the blood drained from her face as she found not one, but four Hellhounds surrounding her. Her breath was explosive in her ears as her chest heaved. A mangy, overgrown pitbull snarled at her, and she pulled the knife she was carrying out of her boot.

She flicked it open, the snicking sound making the Hounds snarl again. It was no where near enough, even if the blade had been coated with silver.

Galloway's chest was still heaving when the Collector wove his way between two of the Hounds, giving her an aggravated stare. Shaking his head, he said, "You should know better. Running doesn't help. Not once they have your scent."

Her breath burst out, giving away her terror. She knew her eyes were too wide. The knife blade in her hand trembled as she shook with adrenaline and exhaustion.

Rollins grinned, shaking his head. "I couldn't believe it when Theron told me. But..." He let out an ecstatic laugh. "Here we all are."

She didn't speak. There was no point.

The man looked at the knife, then around at the Hounds. Snickering, he said, "I really want to see how long you last."

"You need me alive," she finally gasped. It was the only thing she could think of that would give her time. Even now, even when it was useless, she wanted to keep living. She wanted to fight.