The foothills seem too far away.
My breath is sharp in my throat, and I need rest to make more charge. What I have left won’t be enough to stop a warrior’s heart, and those things are far harder to kill.
More chirps, but the tone has changed.
I’m tempted to look behind me, but that will only waste time.
Ruby slides in the mud. I grab her arm, then grab her around the waist, tucking her under my arm. I can run faster than her, even dehydrated and wounded.
My shoulder throbs, and I’m sure the wound is tearing. I’ll assess it later, but neither of us will have a later if we don’t get out of the grass.
The bag she’s holding bumps against my thigh.
There’s a scream as if one of them found the body of its fallen friend.
I’m tempted to fling myself into the grass, but I don’t know how the screamers hunt. And I’m bleeding, which always attracts predators.
I’d curse, but I need my breath to run. I’m close enough that I can see a rocky outcropping. I wouldn’t call it shelter and if the screamers can climb, it will do us no good. But it’s all we have.
I can sense them following and can hear their calls, alerting others. From the corner of my eye, I see heads appear over the top of the grass.
We’re almost there.
My lungs are burning.
They are gaining.
9
RUBY
My head is bouncing with every step. I have never been so uncomfortable in my life, but I keep my mouth shut. He’s moving faster than I was. My knuckles are white from gripping the bag which holds our only supplies, and my ribs hurt where he is squeezing them.
The screaming is getting closer. I expect one to eat my feet with every heartbeat.
Then we’re running up the hill.
I lift my gaze from the dirt and see that we are technically on the mountain, and that there is a ledge that might offer safety.
Aldit tries to scramble up one handed.
“Put me down. I can climb.” I hope I can anyway.
He does, and I sling the bag over my shoulder again. He lifts me, and I grip the rocks, taking a moment to work out where to grab next.
“Move,” he barks.
If I fall, I’ll be eaten. If I don’t climb, I’ll be eaten.
Rocks come away under my fingers, and each time panic flares sharp and bright. By the time I haul myself onto the dubious safety of the ledge, I’m breathing hard, and my fingertips are bleeding.
Aldit hasn’t started to climb. He was waiting for me to finish.
“Hurry,” I call. Not that I need to. I’m sure he’s well aware that a pack of screamers are now running toward him. I really hope they can’t climb.
He claws his way up.
A screamer leaps and just misses his feet. I gasp, but there’s nothing I can do to help him unless I start lobbing rocks at them. I don’t take the bag off—I’m not making that mistake again—as I gather a couple of fist sized rocks.
