5 Don't Move

I nodded, even though I couldn’t say a word, with the air burning in my lungs like I’d just inhaled fire. The road was already behind us, swallowed by the blur of darkness, and all that existed now was the forest, dense, suffocating, far too tight. The pines swallowed us whole like a sea without light, and the sharp smell of wet earth and needles hit me in the face like a slap. The ground was uneven, covered in roots and jagged branches that seemed determined to stop us, to hurt us. Every step was a new scratch on my skin, every branch a warning that we shouldn’t be there. But we couldn’t stop. Behind us, his howls tore through the air, mixed with the horrible sound of claws ripping through the ground. Closer every second. More real with every breath.

“We have to keep going. Find shelter, anything,” I shouted, even though my throat was already raw and burning. My voice came out choked, cut by short gasps. “He’s close, Cherrie. Way too close.”

She stumbled beside me, her body trembling, and I saw something in her face that froze me for a second: pure exhaustion. “I... I can’t,” she panted, and I barely heard it, because my heartbeat was pounding so hard it felt trapped in my ears. “My leg... it feels weird, I think I twisted it.”

I turned back on instinct, nearly slipping in the mud, and slid my shoulder under hers. Her weight collapsed into me, arms clinging tight like she was afraid I’d disappear. We almost both went down, but I held steady, locked my legs, and pulled her up.

“Don’t leave me, June,” she whispered, her voice cracking with fear. And in that tone, I heard everything, the pain, the exhaustion, and the terror that I might vanish into the dark without her. It was more than physical. It was the fear of being left alone.

“I’m here,” I murmured, heart racing, even with every part of me screaming that slowing down was a mistake. “I’m not going anywhere.”

But inside, something was already shifting. I knew that if the time came... I would leave her. Not out of cowardice. But because it might be her only chance. And I was willing to be the bait. The distraction. For her.

What I felt for Cherrie wasn’t simple. It wasn’t just friendship. It was the kind of bond you don’t try to name, because no name could ever contain it. It was like she had taken root in me, in a way that couldn’t be undone. And if that meant staying behind so she could live, then that’s what I would do.

One step, I thought. Then another. Each movement was a silent deal with fate: that I would go as far as I had to for her. We kept going, stumbling, nearly falling, more forest ahead, more fear behind. And no time to breathe.

Silence returned like a dead weight, dense and smothering, and the only thing we could hear now was the uneven sound of our breathing. We curled up inside a makeshift cave beneath the thick roots of a tree so ancient it seemed like it had grown up with the forest itself. The roots formed a narrow arch, and we dragged ourselves inside like two cornered animals, trying to vanish there in the mud, the leaves, the fear. The ground was damp, cold, and the strong smell of wet wood mixed with sweat and blood was almost unbearable.

Cherrie trembled against me. I felt her body suddenly tense, and then the sound: a branch snapping far too close. A dry, sharp crack, like someone, or something, had stepped down hard. She choked on a gasp and buried her face in my shoulder, her fingers gripping my jacket so tightly it hurt.

“Don’t move,” I whispered, my voice barely audible, tongue glued to the roof of my mouth from the tension. My hand moved on its own to the rusty knife my father had given me years ago, hidden in my boot. My fingers wrapped around the handle tightly, but I knew, if that thing out there was him, the blade wouldn’t help at all.