The terrifying idea that some warped sicko brought me out here into the forest morphs into the gruesome realization that some sort of cult abducted me instead.
If it was just one man, I could try to fight—not with a ton of skill, but I might be able to hold my own.
A whole cult?
Chance and hope lock the door, sliding the bolt closed and leaving me trapped on the other side.
Oh god. Please don’t tell me I’m some kind of human sacrifice.
Dread creeps up the sides of my throat, my gaze passing anxiously over each of the cloaked figures.
Thank fuck none of them move or even turn toward me. I’m not sure they’ve noticed I’m awake, which is surprising because I’m certain that my pounding heart and gasping breaths are as loud as a fighter jet right now. My head and ears are pulsing expectantly, anticipation churning a boiling, bubbling lava through my veins. Any second now, this line of cloaked figures is going to pivot toward me and realize that one of these things is not like the other.
My hands clench with apprehension.
But they just keep waiting.
Waiting for what?
The hairs on my arms rise with warning, and fear screams at me that I don’t want to know what else could be in these woods.
I start to back away, trying to be quiet and discreet.
Something in the air changes.
Maybe it’s the way the nocturnal noises of the forest suddenly stop or my adrenaline is working on overdrive to sharpen my senses in an effort to survive whatever is coming, but—all at once—I know, without a shred of doubt, that something is coming.
I freeze, even though everything in me is begging for me to run, to escape.
My shallow, dread-filled breaths are too loud as they saw in and out of my lungs.
Terrified, I watch the other red-cloaked figures, each of them locked in place just like me.
Are they…are they not in on this? Are they clueless and hurt too?
But I’m out of time to ask questions.
A stick snaps in the distance and the air in my chest retreats.
Tension thickens the cold night, pressing in against me, and I taste acrid fear. I want to spit to remove the taint from my tongue, but I’m too afraid to move.
Two glowing orbs suddenly appear out of nowhere. I stop breathing as they slowly, steadily move closer, floating three or maybe four feet above the ground. It takes my panicked mind a moment to understand what I’m seeing.
It’s a pair of eyes.
Yellow eyes, set in a dark gray and silver furred face.
The biggest wolf I’ve ever seen seems to coalesce out of nowhere.
It’s as though the beast materializes from the darkness itself, one paw moving in front of the other as it stalks its prey. The only problem is I’m pretty sure I’m the prey.
Fuck my life. This is worse than a cult. Torn apart alive and then eaten? That’s number four on my list of worst ways to die.
The wolf slips from the shadows, and just when I think that’s bad enough, two more massive beasts step out of the darkness and join the first. Each of them watches me as they stalk closer, a brutal glint of anticipation flickering in their cold gazes. My knees knock painfully together as a full-body clench born of horror seizes control of my system.
A deep growl rumbles from one of the beasts, and I swear I hear the challenge to run in the menacing sound.
I have zero intention of doing that. I know better than to activate a predator’s prey drive. All my years of working with animals scream inside my head at once—a cacophony of warnings and instructions. Cautiously, I angle my body so I’m not squaring off with the wolves and drop my gaze. I keep track of the wild animals while also searching the ground for a stick or a rock. The branches of the tree behind me are too high, so climbing to get away from them is out.
Think. Breathe and think, I coach myself.
I spot a decent-sized rock a couple feet away when a high-pitched scream rips through the night. The shriek makes me jump and stumble back with fright, and the wolves’ attention snaps in the direction of the sound. Sharp teeth gleam as the wolves’ lips pull back into snarls.
As though the scream was some sort of starter pistol, the other red-cloaked people suddenly bolt into action. Each of them sprints in a different direction, their cloaks trailing behind them in billowing crimson lines.
Instinctively, I run too, unable to stop myself. I know it’s the last thing I should be doing, but it’s as though some baser nature is overriding my common sense. The need to flee surges through me and wipes away anything else.
I spin and race into the trees behind me. Pumping my arms, I work to steady my shaking breaths so that I can feed my lungs and fuel my muscles. I pick up speed faster than I thought possible—thank fuck for adrenaline—and I desperately hope that the wolves have found someone else to chase in the mayhem.
As I run, my cloak fans out behind me like some fucked-up cape of doom. The clasp presses tight against my throat, making me all too aware of the blood surging through my veins there. I want to tear the cloak off, but it’s the only thing I have that can protect my fragile flesh from the unfolding nightmare all around me.
My feet stumble and slide across dead, damp leaves, and I’m not immune to the rocks or twigs scattered about like nature’s shrapnel. I bite down on a yelp as something gouges a hole in my heel. I force my eyes to stay forward, not allowing them to stray down and check my injuries.
Move, Noah! Move! I scream at myself, my inner voice just as hoarse and raw as my actual throat.
More screams sound off in the distance, and I push myself even harder as I weave through the tree trunks. I’m somehow both numb and overwhelmingly terrified, but there’s something else underlying it all, something fucked-up that just might scare me worse than being run down by wolves.
I think I like it.
There’s a tiny thread of elation. A sliver of insanity. A miniscule broken piece of myself that’s enjoying this.
I have no fucking clue why or what it means, but it’s there, and it’s freaking me out.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I push aside a bush, grasping the branches the same way I’m grasping onto my sanity.
There’s no way this is real life.
People don’t just attack you and then drop you off in some horror-filled Little Red Riding Hood role play.
Wild wolves don’t attack humans unprovoked.
None of this makes any sense.
As I run for my life, I scan the forest floor, looking for anything I can climb or hide in. A river to jump into. A hill that might show me a road that leads to safety. But all I see are endless trees and stars, the full moon, and looming mountains that are too far away to help me.
My lungs start to scream as panic tightens my throat. A barely-there snarl sounds off somewhere behind me, and that’s when I know.
I’m being hunted.
“Stupid. Stupid. Stupid,” I chant angrily at myself.
Why did I run?
I’m smarter than this. There’s no winning in a foot race against wild animals. I let myself get spooked and, like a doomed deer, I gave these hairy bastards exactly what they crave. Unlike the deer though, I know I’m fucked.