Free Run (The Hunted) by Patti Larsen

The tears start up again, a child’s weeping, as he withdraws back into near infancy, the stress driving him to his knees. He hugs himself and rocks, bawling in waves of anguish, mucus from his nose dripping in long strings to pool in the dead leaves. His belly cramps again and he isn’t sure if it is hunger or his body’s last ditch effort to expel the rest of the terror inside him onto the forest floor.
    Reid falls over, curling up on his side, unable to act. Small life goes on around him. Ants crawl past with bits of green waving above them. Hard-shelled black beetles trundle on their way, scuttling over the litter of twigs and pine needles. A fragile hummingbird hovers next to his face for a moment, examining him for a chance at some nectar before darting off when it realizes its mistake. He watches all this, letting the normal rhythm of the forest lull him out of his desperation and fear. Yes, he is still in as much danger as he was before. But the serenity of the world around him helps give him perspective.
    Reid pulls himself together and sits up, looking around for shelter, mind back on survival. There, nearby. A clump of thick underbrush, heavy with leaves, enough to mask his presence. He crawls to it, his energy drained by his storm of emotion, the ability to drag himself along all he has left.
    Reid parts the branches as best he can, to hide that he’s disturbed the foliage, worming his way in as deeply as possible, before winding himself into the fetal position again.
    He is suddenly cold, his whole body wracked in shudders, pins and needles of ice driving into his tender skin as his system reacts to his lack of food and water, taxed by the endless marathon he’s been forced to endure. The outburst he released is simply the last straw placed on a pile of unsteady bricks he carries, enough to shove him over into physical reaction. Reid whimpers through it, teeth clattering together as the shivering gets worse. He recognizes he’s in shock, but is unable to do anything about it.
    Knowing it drives him back to desperation. This is the end for him and he is ready to admit it to himself. There is no way out. His despair won’t even let him think about the two men and how they got over the fence. Because it no longer matters. He might as well try to reach the Moon as get to the fence at this point, let alone find their exit. Reid is going to die there and no one will save him.
    He wallows for quite some time, long enough for the cold to slowly leave him and the shivering to stop. His weak and spent body feels heavy, listless. Moving is more effort than it is worth. Reid finds himself staring, without even the strength to care what his eyes are fixed on. He will stay like this forever, or until the hunters find him and kill him, whichever comes first. Reid doesn’t care.
    His body has other ideas. Clear of the shock that gripped him, his hunger resurges and slams him into the ground, bringing a rim of fresh tears to his eyes. He might not care if he lives or dies, but his body refuses to quit. Survival instinct takes over, his brain processing what it needs. It refuses to stop until it gets those needs filled. It drives him to sit up, then to roll over onto his knees. He has to have food. Has to.
    The animal in him hunts for something, anything to sustain him. His eyes fall on a lump of fur not far away. He scrambles on all fours toward it and looks closer.
    It’s a squirrel, dead and quiet. Reid ponders it for a long moment. Meat. It will sustain him. If he can find a rock… he won’t eat the fur, but the flesh underneath should do the trick. Despite his ravenous cravings, he still hesitates. He has never killed anything before, beyond an ordinary spider or housefly. His father was no hunter, only an outdoorsman, and never taught Reid to kill. Fish, yes. Hunt, no. Although, his need reasons, he didn’t kill this animal, nature did. But the thought of eating it is almost too much for his unsteady stomach to