"Stay quiet," I whisper, even though I'm struggling to accomplish that myself. My body doesn't care about keeping silent. All it’s only focused on is greedily sucking in precious air, no matter the cost.
I split my focus on catching my breath and listening for any footsteps. An owl hoots and a cold yet soft breeze flows through the forest. Such a stark contrast to the dark and dangerous situation. It feels like there should be Michael Myers music playing in the background.
A rustle from a nearby brush nearly sends my heart flying out of my throat, but then a bunny emerges and sprints off. Just as I wrangle the muscle back down where it belongs, a voice calls out.
"Fiiirecraacker."
Fuck. I don't know if it was a good guess, or if my branch failed to conceal both sets of footprints, but Phoebe's pursuer caught up to us. Round eyes clash with mine, and I know that my irises are dilated with fear just as much as hers are.
"What do we do?" she mouths silently, and I shake my head, at a loss. I don't know what we fucking do. I’ve no idea where he is exactly, but if even an elbow pops out from behind a tree, he’ll be able to spot it immediately.
Does it count if I'm hit with someone else's arrow? I'm sure I'll still be punished, even if I wasn't the intended target.
"Fiiiiirecrackeeer," Ben calls out again. I risk a glance around the tree trunk and see a shadow move about twenty feet behind us.
Fuck. Way too close.
If we stay silent, we might get lucky, and he'll wander off in another direction. He might think we’ve gone down a different trail and allow us to put distance between one another. But right now, the slightest sound, and he could hone in on us. It's not safe for either of us to even breathe.
Not that I can fucking breathe anyway.
Phoebe covers her nose and mouth with her hand, squeezing her eyes shut, tears crowding past her lashes and glinting in the moonlight. If she's not already, she's going to start having a panic attack. And in my experience, those are rarely silent.
I put my shaking finger to my lips, a tear of my own breaking free. My vision blurs as I face the very real possibility that I might get hit with an arrow, and then later be brutally raped for it. Again.
But she can't hold on, and a small whimper slips past her hand. My heart stalls, and almost in slow motion, I hear several footsteps taken in our direction.
“Was that you, firecracker?” he says in a hushed tone as if he’s whispering right into our ears.
Shit, Addie, think. What would Zade do?
He'd be a fucking hero; that's what he'd do. Zade isn't interested in saving himself, only everyone else. So, what would he want me to do?
Save myself. He’d want me to save myself. But the Culling wasn’t designed for the prey to safely get away.
Before I can decide, Phoebe’s eyes widen into round discs, and she seems to shy away, her body beginning to emerge from the other side. Slowly, she raises a shaking hand and points behind me.
My heart drops, and for a moment, I’m paralyzed. My brain once again divides into two, one half panicking because she’s no longer concealed, and the other half frozen in terror because there’s somebody fucking behind me.
I know without a shadow of a doubt that it’s Xavier. He’s found me.
Leaves crunch and a twig snaps to my right. My head whips in that direction, and I scarcely see the shine of a crossbow glinting under the moonbeams.
And then time speeds up, slapping me in the face as two arrows barrel towards us at once. One from Ben, and the other from behind me.
The air whistles and my body moves purely on instinct, ducking low and veering off toward the tree to the left of me. The arrow flies between my tree and the one I’m aiming for, and a thunk stops me in my tracks. Mere inches separate the tip of the arrow now impaled in the bark, and my face.
My eyes blow wide, and I yelp. I look up and notice the first shot towards Phoebe also failed. We won’t get that lucky again. And we only have about seventeen seconds to get away.
…three, four, five…
“Phoebe, run!”
Both of us scramble, dirt and leaves kicking up beneath our boots as we take off, our legs pumping and tearing through the foliage.
“Jump!” I screech, my mind scrambling to keep up with our steps. Scarcely, I lift the branch attached to me, and the both of us jump over the tripwire, coming incredibly close to snagging it.
Our pounding footsteps ruminate through the forest floor. There’s no hiding now. There’s only escaping a silver arrowhead. The paths we take are strategic only in the sense of losing them, rather than trying to find our way out.