Free Run (The Hunted) by Patti Larsen Page B

and more planning. It’s very hard to do without any real goals, suffering from a damaged and harried soul, but he keeps returning to the thought anyway.
    He is rewarded by his evasion efforts when the next howl he hears echoes from a great distance. The diagonal path he is taking seems to be working. He sends a silent thank you to Monica, wherever her spirit is. Reid knows better than to get cocky, but he allows himself a brief arm-pump of victory before hurrying on.
    After another long stretch of silence, he catches only the barest of sounds and knows he has finally managed to lose them. Either that or they decided to pursue other prey and let him live a while longer. He refuses to feel guilty this time. After all, he has no way of knowing if he’s right. And even if he is, there is nothing he can do to stop it. He’s done torturing himself over things he can’t control.
    Reid needs to remember what his goals are. Save himself. And save Lucy. Nothing else matters.
    He slows then to conserve his energy, or what remains of it, and wonders how long he can keep this up. As he does, he catches a familiar scent and comes to an abrupt halt because of it. Wood smoke drifts on the still air. Reid spins in place, searching for the source. He moves on, sniffing as he does, trying not to compare his actions to that of the hunters.
    There is the scent again, stronger this time. He is going the right way if he wants to investigate. And he very much wants to investigate. Reid can’t see anything over or through the trees, but the smell is unmistakable. How many campfires did he sit at with his father, fires that smelled just the same? Reid tries not to think about those happy times. They won’t help him now. Instead, he forces his weary legs into a jog.
    The trees thin ahead, making it easier for him to spot the narrow meadow. He slows, nearing it with great caution. It must be a trap. That fact reasserts itself when he spots the weathered shack in the middle of the clearing, the grasses cut and pulled away as though someone purposely cleaned up. A trail of smoke puffs from the chimney, heading right for him.
    Reid hunkers down on his haunches just inside the shelter of the trees and looks around, considering. It has to be a set up. There is no way anyone can survive the hunters. And yet, they themselves don’t seem the type to use such a spot for a base. He considers this may have been where Mustache and Scar came from, but refuses to let go of the idea that they came over the fence. They had to have. And if this is where they were hunting from, it means the fence is near by. The other possibility is someone has survived and built this shelter as protection. Reid discards that idea immediately. No way. The hunters would tear this measly shack apart in a heartbeat.
    It’s much more likely whoever lives here or uses this place for shelter is in league with the hunters. Meaning, no friend of Reid’s.
    He waits a while longer, thinking if there is someone inside they have to move eventually. But no one does, at least, not that he can tell. And better yet, no one approaches. The sky in the west is turning red and orange and purple, but Reid is in no mood to enjoy the colorful sunset. He is grateful night is falling, plan already decided. Investigating the cabin is worth the risk. But only in full dark.
    It is torture for him to sit there and simply wait and watch. He forces himself to patience, struggling back and forth between fear and focus, knowing he should keep running but needing to find out what is inside that shack. It becomes an obsession, as though freedom lies just beyond that door, some magic portal to a happier place. He’ll regret it if he leaves without finding out, knowing he will think about it and let it distract him until he is able to see what’s inside.
    Leaving just isn’t an option.
    It’s not until the sun is gone and he is surrounded by the dark that Reid realizes he has been on the run for a whole day. It