Free The PriZin of Zin by Loretta Sinclair Page A

are they?’ Hunter whispered. In his heart he already knew the answer.
    “Evil.”
    Hunter looked up into the air; the circle of dream catchers was gone. Around him, from every angle, was the dingy, thick, gray fog.
    “What do we do now?” he asked Mikey.
    “Be ready,” was the quick reply. Mikey was in the starter’s position to run. Hunter assumed the same crouching body position Mikey had. Low to the ground, hands out, buck head tucked under his arm, fingers spread as though he were on the starting block of a race.
    I wonder what we would have to —
    “Run!” came the command. Mikey sprinted through the darkened mist with Hunter on his heels. In their void, the eyes pounced, snarling and snapping at the spot that had once been the safety of the campfire only seconds before.
    Sprinting into the darkened forest, Mikey, Hunter on his enormous heels, searched the darkened forest for shelter and safety.
    Finding a small cave, the two ducked inside. It went back only a few feet, more like an indentation into the mountainside rather than a full-fledged cave. Hunter realized in a flash that this was a mistake. Now they were trapped. He turned back to the entrance to see dozens of red glaring eyes on them. Moisture dripped from the brush where they hid. Hunter’s stomach sickened at a thought, it might be drool, not rain.
    Mikey busied himself pushing a huge boulder toward the opening of the cave to give them shelter. Taking his place behind it, Mikey cowered low to the ground, hiding. From his position, he was able to reach further into some close-by brush, gathering small stones making a pile at Hunter’s feet. Mikey grabbed Hunter’s hand and placed a small smooth stone into his palm.
    “Throw.”
    Hunter reared back and threw the stone, missing his target altogether. He could hear them moving around, but the thick gray cloud moved with them. Swirling mist and dense brush kept Hunter from seeing his targets clearly. All he could see was the red flash of their eyes as they moved, and the dripping of their sharpened fangs.
    Hunter started to cry. There were so many of them. His eyes darted from one to the other. He tried to take aim at one, when another started to charge. He turned to throw, and another snarled at his side. They ducked and turned all around him, confusing his senses and shaking his new-found confidence. All Hunter and Mikey could hear was the scuffling of feet, rustling of branches, and the unearthly growl of these demonic creatures. Hunter’s hand shook. He looked to Mikey for help. The enormous creature crouched behind the rock, as far as he could be from the vicious fight that lay ahead. He tossed another stone at Hunter. “Throw,” he said again in a weak and shaking voice.
    Hunter wanted to run. There was no escape. He spun around again to look for an escape. As he flipped around he caught sight of the thin silvery thread, still attached to his heart. He had forgotten. The Maker was still touching him.
    “Why is this happening?” he screamed upwards. “Help me!” Again crying, the old feelings of hurt and pain crept back into his soul. I can’t do this. I’m not good enough .
    The string stirred. Hunter’s heart tickled, but he did not laugh. I can’t , he thought again.
    The string stirred once again. Hunter’s heart stirred with it. A second thread from the string unraveled and hovered over the top of the deer skull that he had worn earlier in the day. Hunter stared, trying to figure out what it meant. The rustling and snarling continued, moving closer with every second. Now he could see the fangs and their elongated, snarling snouts clearly through the brush. Their nostrils flared each time they caught wind of their prey, making them drool more with each breath.
    The string wiggled again, like a finger pointing the way.
    Hunter dropped the rock he was holding and reached for the mask. Lifting the heavy animal head over his shoulders, he seated it back onto his head and rested it