Someone grabbed at my arm, but I dodged free. The end of the lane approached. I heard the chains of the lift rattling in the breeze. I stopped before the ground dropped down to the lift platform. I hopped off, tottering on the edge of the platform, arms wide at my sides for balance. One wrong step and I would plummet.
I could hear his panting breaths and curses behind me. My pulse hammered, drumming in my neck.
I arrived at the far side of the landing. My hand groped at a giant tree there, finding and seizing a curling branch. I circled my arms around it and leaped, scooting up until I reached its trunk. From there, I scaled a little bit higher, grabbing another branch, then another. Fortunately, the branches were as big as I was and strong enough to support me. My arms burned as I climbed, no clear direction in mind except away.
I heard Anselm below, climbing up after me, cursing and gasping for breath as his shoes and hands scuffed against bark.
My arms worked, straining, pulling me along. I reached for another branch, this one extending from another tree. It was a little too far. My shoulder screamed as I stretched harder for it. I knew it was there. I could sense its presence, hear its creak on the wind. Please, please . . .
I choked with relief as I grasped hold of it and swung, crossing over into the neighboring tree, finding footing on a lower branch.
My mind raced ahead, trying to strategize beyond the idea of merely getting away from him. I needed a plan.
If I made it down to the ground below, I could lose him in the forest. There was no rescue coming. This was all on me.
Following that logic, I started to reach for lower branches, at times even scaling the tree trunk itself, sliding down against the rough bite of bark that rubbed my skin raw in places. My arms quivered from exertion, whimpers escaping me.
My fingers dug deep, nails cracking and splintering from the abuse. My boot lost its foothold and I dropped several feet before I hit another branch. The impact stopped me—and shot pain to every fiber in my body.
Panting, I held still for a moment, fighting for breath.
My heart pounded as I took a moment to assess for injuries and to regain my breath. All of me hurt, but I could still move. I had to move. I tested my limbs, turning and stretching to my full height, my spine flat against the tree.
The smell of my own blood reached my nose, and I lifted a shaking hand to my face. I flexed my fingers. Slick blood coated my palms, the coppery scent filling my nose.
I could hear Anselm crashing above me. A fresh dose of panic washed through me.
Move, move, move!
I started down again, ignoring the pain. I tried not to think about the dwellers below. I’d take my chances with them over Anselm.
“Come back here before you fall, girl!”
I whimpered at the sound of his voice. He was directly above me. Close. I moved faster, anxiety pushing me. I had to be close to the ground. I had to be. My legs and arms moved quickly, one over the other, taking me down the tree.
My speed cost me. My hand slipped from a branch. My hand flailed wildly, seizing only air.
Crying out, I plunged, banging my way down. My knee collided with a branch and I shouted, tumbling in a whirl of flailing limbs and spinning leaves.
I hit earth. Flat on my back, I didn’t move for a moment. Didn’t breathe. Pain greeted my body in sharp needles, poking and stabbing me everywhere.
I groaned and rolled to my side, gasping into the dirt, leaves crunching under me.
Sounds above jerked me to life. He was still coming. I sucked in air, letting it fill and lift me up. With that breath swirling through my nose, the familiar musky aroma of dwellers assailed me.
I turned, inhaling, marking their scent. They were thicker to my right. The slight snuffling sounds they made were there, their wet breaths huffing on the breeze, growing closer.
It was enough to force me to my feet. I staggered, fighting past the throbbing in my knee and overall aches, weaving through the trees, extending my hands, palms out, brushing shrubs and rough bark, feeling my way as I ran.
He was on the ground now, too. “Stupid girl! Get back here!” his angry shout rang out. I could feel them out there, dwellers hunting me, too.
I pushed my legs harder, dodging where I smelled or heard dwellers, but there were so many—like the first day I arrived with Fowler.
“They’re going to get you! Is that what you want, girl?”
Gradually, it grew quieter. I felt their sudden absence. The lack of their loamy musk on the air.
They were gone.
I paused, my chest aching, hard breaths sawing from my lips.
I lifted my face to air that felt thinner, not as dense as the night. It was midlight.
I flew into motion. They might be gone, but he wasn’t.
Anselm was still after me, coming faster now, hunting me harder now that it was midlight and the dwellers were gone. It was just the two of us.
TWENTY-SIX
Fowler