4 (Chapter two. )

Clay Fuller ran through the dark woods, arms raised before him to protect his face. Branches slapped against his bare forearms, stinging and drawing blood. He barely registered the pain. He was too focused on surviving the next few minutes. His heart pounded in his ears like thunder. The only thing he could hear was the thrashing of leaves as he dodged tree trunks and tried not to get his feet tangled in the underbrush. If he tripped and fell, he was a dead man. But if he slowed down, even a little, he would also die. Damned if you do, damned if you don't, he thought. It was far from a comforting observation. It was early January in Indiana, but the night air felt winter- cold. The trees around him formed a canopy that blocked much of the moonlight. His body shook, but whether from cold, terror, both, he didn't know: which direction he was running in. He could be running deeper into the woods, and if that was the case, he was well and truly screwed. He kept running, but the adrenaline was beginning to wear off, and his legs felt like heavy iron weights. Each step became an effort. Despite his determination, he started to slow down.

No! he thought. No, no, no, no! He couldn't hear them coming after him, but he could feel them. The back of his neck tingled, as if someone- many someone's- were watching him. He caught glimpses of swift movements at the edges of his vision. But whenever he turned to look he saw nothing. He realized then that the going was becoming easier. The trees were fewer and farther apart here, and the underbrush was sparser. He was coming to the edge of the woods. The relief was so strong that it nearly brought him to his knees. He pushed on, no longer feeling weary. He was exhilarated, and his body now seemed light as the air itself. He was going to make it! All he had to do was get out of the woods, and it would all be over. He'd be free, and more importantly alive.

The ground sloped upward, and he could see an edge of black asphalt lining the ridge at the top of the hill. A road. He had no idea which one, but it didn't matter. Out of the woods was out of the woods. He'd be safe once he reached the road, and he'd pick a direction and start walking. Someone had to come by eventually. He was halfway up the hill when the first one attacked. He caught a dark blur of motion out of the corner of his left eye, and then he felt a hard impact on his left shoulder. The blow staggered him, but he managed to remain on his feet. An instant later the pain hit him, a white hot agony that made him clench his teeth and draw in a hissing, pained breath. He took a quick glance at his shoulder and saw his shirt had been shredded, and blood poured from a series of deep cuts in his flesh. There was no sign of the creature that tagged him.

It seemed to have disappeared, but he knew it was still there along with the other's. They could bring him down at any time, so why were... Then he understood. They were playing with him. Terror brought with it a fresh burst of adrenaline. He attacked the slope with grim determination. This was his last chance. He saw nothing this time, but he felt an impact on his right calf, and the leg crumpled beneath him. He didn't want to look down and see what had been done to his leg. Besides, he didn't need to look to know how serious the wound was, given the amount of blood that had already filled his sneaker. The skin would be deep, skin torn, the muscle exposed, shredded.

His surge of energy waned as quickly as it came, leaving him weak and shaky. He wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and rest. But if he did, he would never open them again. He gritted his teeth and began crawling. He had almost reached the road when he heard growling. Soft at first, but quickly growing louder. It came from multiple directions- his right, his left, behind him - and he knew the hunt was over. They stepped into his view then. There were three: two males, one female. At first glance they appeared human, but then he noticed their bestial teeth, curved claws, and animalistic eyes- eyes that shone with savage anticipation. Their posture was an eerie blend of human and animal. They stood on two legs, but they were hunched over, heads thrust forward, nostrils flaring as they scented the air.

They held their claws at the ready, fingers twitching. Clay had never been a religious person. He'd never thought much about what, if anything, might lie beyond this life. He'd figured that if there was any sort of afterlife, he'd find out about it after he'd died. But now, looking up at these three monsters- their snarling mouths dripping with frothy salvia- he hoped there wasn't any life after death. If there was a Heaven and Hell, he had a good idea of which one he was going to end up in. The trio of monsters rushed towards him. When he screamed, the sound could be heard from miles.