Mason

Then he spoke, and his voice was quiet, almost gentle.

I told you you can't go back, he said.

You came anyway.

Mason sprayed.

This time he aimed better, straight at the man's face.

The man jerked back, raising his arm, and the spray hit him full.

He made a choking sound and stumbled off the porch, eyes clamped shut, wiping at his face with his sleeve.

Mason grabbed my arm again.

"'Run.'

We ran into the trees, away from the cabin, away from that fake promise.

We didn't follow the trail, we just plunged into undergrowth, branches whipping our faces, packs snagging.

We crashed through ferns and downed logs, not caring about direction, only distance.

Behind us, I heard the man recover faster than I expected.

His footsteps came, stumbling at first, then steady.

He was following by sound.

We ran until our lungs felt shredded.

Then we slowed to a desperate fast walk, trying to keep moving without making enough noise to guide him.

We tried to use the terrain, dipping into a small ravine, then climbing out, hoping to break line of sight and confuse him.

the rain kept falling making everything slippery and cold the forest floor became a sponge my socks were soaked my toes felt numb mason's breathing sounded wet at some point we stopped behind a wall of fallen logs and crouched there shaking trying to listen for him

silence for several minutes there was nothing but rain and our own breath then faintly from somewhere upslope came the whistle two notes a pause two notes again mason's eyes met mine in the dark and i saw the realization settle