6 Go! Now!

The sound came again. Closer this time. The crunch of dead leaves and branches being pushed aside under something heavy. It was deliberate, steady. Then silence. The kind that pulses. The whole forest seemed to be holding its breath with us.

We held our breath, muscles locked, like any movement might draw its attention. The sound began to circle, first to the right, then to the left, then it vanished. Slowly, every muscle screaming, I stretched my neck, pulled air back into my lungs, and with my heart lodged in my throat, I peeked through the roots.

Nothing. No shadow. No sound. But the terror was still there, clinging to my skin like a second body.

“He’s gone,” I murmured, trying to believe it, as if saying it out loud might make it real. A brief wave of relief passed through my chest, but it vanished in the same instant, swallowed by an even deeper emptiness. “But... where?”

“Don’t go out there, June,” Cherrie tugged on my clothes, and there was so much desperation in the gesture it chilled me to the bone. Her face was pale, covered in dirt and sweat, but what scared me most were her eyes, wide, glassy. “I... I think I saw his eyes. Glowing red.”

My insides twisted. I didn’t need to see it to know it was true. That thing was still nearby.

“We need to climb,” I whispered, forcing my body to move as I slid out of the hiding spot. I reached out to help her. “The path... it’s further up. If we can get to it...”

But my voice faded. The words, once so certain, now felt fragile. Exhaustion had taken over every inch of me. I felt hollow. Heavy. Even breathing hurt.

“Will you help me?” she asked, her voice breaking, but with a flicker of something almost childlike in her eyes. That look disarmed me. I was all she had now. I couldn’t fail.

I nodded and gripped her hand tightly. “I’m getting you out of here, Cherrie. I promise.”

But the promise was more a plea than a certainty. I needed to believe those words as much as she did. Because if I fell apart, we’d both go down.

We climbed slowly, tripping over branches, her weight heavier with every step. Her injured leg made everything worse. The forest felt frozen in time, no sound, no movement. Just Cherrie’s ragged breathing and my unsteady heartbeat.

I kept looking around, every shadow suspicious. The night felt alive, like it was watching us.

That’s when we heard it. A rustle ahead. Small. But enough. We stopped instantly. My gaze swept through the darkness until I saw them: two red orbs, fixed, floating. Almost hypnotic.

I held my breath. I couldn’t even blink. The orbs moved. Slowly. Like they already knew they’d won.

“June,” Cherrie whispered, her voice shaking. “I think he found us.”And in that moment, I knew she was right.

“It’s a beast. A damn werewolf, Cherrie,” my voice came out cracked, more air than words. It was like the sentence shattered inside me before it even reached my mouth. My heart skipped, literally. One second of nothing. And then, the impact of truth: it wasn’t a delusion, or hysteria. It was real. Horribly, absurdly real.

My words hung in the heavy air like they didn’t even come from me. But it was like striking a match in a gas-filled room. Fear exploded. My whole body reacted, weak legs, stomach curling, vision blurring. A werewolf. Right in front of us. Made of flesh and bone and terrible intent.

The creature’s eyes burned like live coals, but it wasn’t just fire in there. It was calculation. Awareness. Hunger. Not the normal kind, this was desire. A need to destroy, to feed, to savor fear.

My head was spinning. Silver? Wolfsbane? Crosses? Prayers? None of that felt real enough now. None of it would save us. We were alone. Empty of everything but fear.

He took a step. The forest trembled. I trembled. His fur bristled, as if his own body were at war with the world. And the sound — that growl, rolled through the air like muffled thunder. It was a warning. Or a promise.

I looked at Cherrie. She was barely breathing. Her leg was shaking more than the windblown leaves. I knew. I knew she wouldn’t make it. And it hurt. It hurt so much that for a second, I didn’t feel fear. Just pain.

If someone had to stay behind, it was going to be me.

Thoughts exploded in my head, chaotic. But my body already knew. I wasn’t going to run. Not while she was still there.

“June, don’t do this, please.” Her voice cracked the air. It broke me. But it was too late.

I turned to her and whispered, my mouth dry and my soul in ruins, “Run. Run as fast as you can. We need to split up. He’ll come after me. I’ll draw him away.”

She shook her head. Opened her mouth. But I didn’t let her.

“Go! Now!” It was more a plea to the universe than to her. A final wish. I turned. And I ran. And deep inside, I prayed. Not for me. For her. That she’d make it. That she’d trust me. Just one more time.

The werewolf’s growl turned into a howl so loud it seemed to shake the entire forest. It was a sound of triumph, like he knew the prey had separated, and now it was just a matter of choosing which one to devour first. Then I heard the pounding of his paws against the ground: dry, heavy, rhythmic. Each step felt like a hammer slamming into my chest.

Cherrie looked at me like the world had collapsed, but also with something else: trust. A desperate belief that I knew what I was doing. And even if I didn’t, she believed. I saw it in her eyes before she turned and started to run, limping, dragging her injured leg, heading in the opposite direction. The sound she made as she pulled away, half gasp, half sob, lodged itself in my mind, like it might be the last time I ever heard her voice.

And then he saw me.