Reid crashes through the underbrush, knowing in his bones he is barely ahead of his pursuers. He can't hear them but he
knows they are there, sees flickers of shadow deeper than the dark. He clutches his right hand to his chest, the precious
tube held close, hiding it from them as best he can, keeping it sheltered until he can use it to the best effect.
If they find out about it, know of it, he is lost. It's his last line of defense. And once it is gone, he is done. He has
no other way to fight back. So he runs on and hopes he can take enough with him that it makes a difference.
Reid fully expects to die tonight, lost in the darkness, with no one left to save or mourn him because his friends will
all be dead, too.
His body fails him the second time, blood loss making it more and more difficult to breath and focus and run. He stumbles
over a tangled mass of brush, crumpling to the ground. Reid howls in agony, his left thigh on fire. He jerks back on