Free Rise and Walk by Gregory Solis

surrounded the stranger’s mouth like a madman at an all you can eat rib house. His breath reminded Clay of the time a rat had died in his garage but no one knew where. A distinct smell of decay that grows over time getting worse and worse until it is strong enough to locate. The stranger’s torso was covered with sticky blood slime, so much so that Clay’s hand slipped off the stranger’s neck. The blood encrusted specter lifted its arm around Clay as he fell, pulling him towards blood stained teeth. Clay fought with all of his strength to push off the ground, away from the maul of snapping jaws. A cold stink washed over his neck as the creature breathed out. Clay’s arms shivered with fatigue, his hands dug into the soft earth as he tried to force himself away from the lunatic. The thing’s teeth found Clay’s Adams apple, crushing down awash in blood and flesh. The terror and pain coursed through Clay’s body releasing a full jolt of adrenalin allowing him a momentary burst of near super human strength. Clay pushed off the ground leaving a part of himself in the stranger’s mouth.
    Clay instinctively put his dirt covered hand to his neck. He screamed in agony but heard nothing. He ran away, towards the campground. The pain was incredible but he was still mobile. He tried to apply pressure to stop the bleeding but the action made him choke. The dirt transferring from his hand smeared over his slimy wound creating a disgusting mush. He felt air blow across his hand as he tried to scream. He inhaled hard yet could get little air. He coughed but nothing came out of his mouth. Chunky slime shot onto the hand that he held to his throat. It was all coming out of his neck. He bent over as he ran and found that he could gain a little more air while doubled over. The blood flowed over his hand and down into the dirt instead of going into his lungs. Looking back through tear clouded eyes; he saw that no one was following. He used what little strength he had left to scale a small grade and gain more distance from his assailant. Clay struggled for breath. The gash in his neck started to swell from the injury. His torn air passage began to shrink from the trauma. The neck was bleeding but it wasn’t squirting out in jets like in the movies. His run had slowed to a weak stumble. Each step was becoming more difficult. If he could catch his breath he could start again. Just a little rest he thought as he slammed to the ground. He slid an arm under his chest to prop his body up as he lay face down in the dirt. He had to let his neck bleed downwards to keep his air passages as clear as possible.
    A horrible feeling descended on Clay. This is one of those things that can’t be undone . Like when he was a kid and he broke his arm climbing a tree. He remembered how he thought then; if he had only gone swimming instead of climbing the tree, he wouldn’t have broken his arm . Lying in the dirt now, he thought to himself that he should have went and got the sheriff or something . He shouldn’t have gotten involved. He struggled against his narrowing airway for breath. Pain and exhaustion overwhelmed his senses. A sad, high pitched sound whimpered from the hole in his trachea as Clay lost consciousness.

 
    TWELVE
     
     
     
     
    Jack Mason entered the Paintball registration area as calmly as he could. He was attempting to suppress his anger at the results of the contest. Andy Walters noticed Mason enter and was about to offer a consoling word. He studied Mason’s expression of controlled anger and decided that it might be best to keep his mouth shut. Mason passed Andy without a word. He didn’t believe that Andy had anything to do with the treachery on the field but this was his neck of the woods. The man should run a better shop , he thought. Mason spied Tony standing next to an old Volkswagen Mini Camper with its engine idling on the camp road. Mason stepped off the deck of the registration area and double checked the safety on