Chapter 12: The Pit

Reid draws a full breath and pulls himself upward. Every instinct he has prods him to go faster, climb harder, to claw

and fight his way to the top, but he forces himself to take his time. It is the hardest thing he has ever done, but if he

falls again, he is dead.

The hunters are near, but he has no way of knowing how near. The night air is deceptive, the mouth of the hole sending

back echoes and lies. While his mind shrieks at him to hurry, he whispers back to it, I have lots of time.

He doesn't. They'll be on him in seconds. But it helps just enough to keep his pace steady, to still the shaking in his

limbs so he can hang on and give him the boost he needs to reach the top of the hole again.

Time goes so slowly around him, pinching him between anxious fingers, squeezing the air from his chest and the fear out

of his very pores. He longs to lunge for the top the same as the first time, but the sight of the missing patch of ground

where it gave way under his weight is enough to hold him back. When he realizes his mistake, that in his fear he chose to

climb the exact same section of wall instead of looking for a better route up, it almost defeats him.

Reid feels along the edge with his fingers, searching for purchase, something stable to hang onto. He finds only

crumbling earth and thin grass. He continues to touch his way along the rim as far as he can reach, despair growing as he

realizes there is nothing there to find. His toes burn from the strain of holding him up, his injured right shoulder,

still a mass of bruises, threatening to let go and send him plummeting back to the bottom of the pit.

A small patter of dirt falls as his right hand slides over the root it holds. He has seconds to find a way out or he is

done. The howl he dreads is so close now he is sure the hunter is watching him, waiting for him to fail, laughing at the

pathetic weakness of his efforts.

Reid's hand starts to fall back and catches on something hard. He grasps at it, grips it tight. Tugs and burrows with his

fingers. The root is old and gnarled, the remnant of a long dead tree. But it is solid and well anchored. This is the

only chance he has.

With one last pull, the remainder of the strength in his right arm sacrificed to do it, Reid heaves himself up and over

the edge of the hole. He feels himself starting to slide, the weakened side giving way under him. Reid desperately levers

himself further forward, pulling on the ground to drag himself up, gouging out clumps of earth and grass to do it.

His toes finally catch on the surface and he forgets the ache in them instantly, driving his sneakers into the ground as

hard as he can, instincts telling him to get away from the edge.

Reid is on his feet even as a hunter's howl drives a spike of terror further into his heart. There is a flicker on the

path ahead. He is too late, no time to run.

The hunter has found him. But he's not trapped, at least. Not anymore.

Reid sees the man in black flying toward him so swiftly he has no time to react. Or thinks he doesn't. The survivor in

him takes over. He throws himself to the side as the hunter leaps, the image of an attacking cat. Reid's lungs empty of

air in terrified exhalation, sure the blade of the man's knife is faster. He just registers the tug of the man's hands on

his clothing as the hunter soars over him. Reid spins sideways and hits the ground hard on his right side, shoulder

screaming at him, the pain so intense it slows him down. He tries to rise, his only hope that the man didn't notice the

hole any more than Reid had.

Luck isn't with him. When he turns, he sees the hunter crouched on the edge of the pit, moonlight glistening on his teeth

as he smiles at Reid. They look sharp, pointed like a shark's and very big. But it isn't the hunter's teeth he cares

about. It's the strange knife in his hand, made of three blades all razor perfect and glittering silver.

Reid blinks. Wait. Not a knife, or knives. They are the man's hands. Claws extend from the ends of his fingers like

sharpened eagle talons, the edges clearly honed to a deadly edge. Reid's brain rebels and he freezes, unable to

comprehend what he is witnessing or believe it either. His logical mind refuses to accept, to put together the truth of

what he is seeing, from the inhuman teeth to the claws for hands and, finally, the slitted pupils in solid silver eyes

that fix him as firmly as the mountain lion's had.

While he struggles with reality, the hunter tenses and snarls at him, more animal than man in that instant, its intent

clear. Reid knows if the thing-he can no longer think of it as human-had a tail it would be thrashing it at him. He can't

help the comparison to the great cat this creature chased off with only the sound of its voice.

Reid has seconds, less than that, to live.

His luck, so far an absent friend, finally shows up to give him a fighting chance. As the hunter shifts its weight to

pounce, the weakened lip of the pit suddenly gives way. Reid stares, mouth gaping open, wanting to run but sickly

fascinated, as the black clad thing struggles to recover and wonders in the rational part of his mind if he looked that

silly when he fell.

The hunter is more dexterous than him and manages to regain one foot hold. Without thinking about it, Reid leaps forward

and dives feet first, planting his sneakers in the center of the hunter's chest. It grabs for him, claws grazing his pant

leg, tearing free one of the many pockets before it falls and lands with a loud thud.

This time Reid's horrible curiosity can't hold him. He doesn't stop to investigate or check if the thing is injured. He

scrambles to his feet and runs. Reid can hear it howling behind him, from the bottom of the pit. Alive then, and sounding

unhurt. Of course his luck wouldn't take him any further than that. He knows the hunter won't be long getting out. But

fate has given Reid a head start and he has no intention of wasting it.

He runs on.

***