mastin2
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I panicked. I knew what was coming long before I would be able to hear it, to smell it, to feel it, to see it. Yet I still ran, because I had no choice. It is what we agreed to do. My fear was—is—well-founded. If I have a chance of surviving this, it is at an absolute minimum. Yet what else can I try to do?
My legs are on fire. I feel intense heat burning through them. Several cuts across my face and arms are bleeding; I can feel them stinging, a sign that the scratches run deep. I can’t feel my lungs. They’re pumping so much air through my body, I could probably fill up an inflatable boat in mere seconds. My heart is pumping so fast, I can hear it, and most definitely can feel it. My head is rushing, slightly disoriented. Every fiber in my body is fighting for its life. Every part of me is crying out in protest, yet I have no choice but to push it aside. I am going to die; I know it.
“Run!” I hear from behind. They’ve cot up. My friend behind me would be next. I didn’t want to hear it, but I knew that I’d listen to him die…and that I’d follow seconds later. “Run, Mathias, run! Keep on running! Don’t look back. Don’t think twice about our decision! Just get out of here and give your two-hundred percent to living!”
Advice I must take. Jacob…my best friend…my last remaining comrade…I cease to hear his footsteps. I hear a loud snap and a cry of pain that pierces into my soul…and I know that he is dead in that moment. I keep on going. I feel a little irritated around my eyes, and then realize what it is. Moisture runs across my cheeks, originating from around the eyes. Whether it is tears from his loss, or blood from my wounds, I am unsure.
I keep on running. It is my only way, at the moment, of fighting. I can’t do anything else. I know that it is hopeless—that I will die. Against our foes, how could I survive? But I shall keep on trying. For Jacob, for my friends and comrades before him that lost their lives. I must try. I hear their footsteps. The hunters are coming, and I can do nothing to stop them.
We’re nearly extinct. We humans are a rare species. Across the world, there are less than a thousand of us…and every single one of us is in prison. We are weaker than they are. Our foes are better in every possible way. Except for one: we fight harder. We have more to lose, more of a reason to fight. Our ambitions drive us on, and this is what keeps them from annihilating us: they are intrigued by us. They are fascinated as to why we don’t give up.
So that is why we’ve been herded, placed in human farms. Placed in small concentrations as to prevent rebellion. Yet they made a mistake: even in camps of less than a hundred, we still are too strong. They are confident that they can beat us. That is their mistake. Our whole camp formed a plan, an escape strategy. They never saw it coming.
We escaped, but they were on to us. It was only a matter of time. When they came up behind us, the decision was made: half of us would stay behind and fight to their last breath to give us time. Of the half remaining, all would run, but half would keep their gear on as to still be able to fight. I was in the last quarter left, the quarter to ditch all gear possible in the futile effort to outrun them.
We got five minutes. Five minutes of running. Then we heard them coming, and five minutes later, our group, the runners on foot, were well out of visual range. They caught up. Of the thirteen in our group, I was the fastest. I got the furthest. And Jacob was right behind me. We were the last two of the original conspirators. The other three were in the other groups and had been dead for an eternity, to us.
And that last scream, Jacob’s scream, marked the ninety-ninth death. The death of my last friend, my last comrade, my last family member. If the population of my species was monitored down to the last baby and still equaled only a thousand, then that would leave nine hundred and one humans left…and it was going to become nine-hundred really fast.
My buddies have done what they can. Not only have they fought and died a noble death, but they’ve also laid traps. Traps to slow them down. Traps to prolong my lifespan by seconds as they are caught and hopefully some of them will die. I’ve set my own as well. I hear them activating, the hunters slowing down. I grin, and quickly set another, albeit less lethal.
I need to find shelter. I need to find somewhere to hide, so that they can’t find me. They’re smarter. They’re stronger. They are faster than I am. They have better senses and better technology. So it will have to be in the last place that they expect. I’ll leave them interested in humans once more. I’ll trick them. I’ll kill them. I’ll survive.
But until then, I will run. I hear them coming up on me. It will be within two minutes that they catch me. But I will keep on running, to keep fighting. I will survive. I will give my three-hundred percent to human survival. They’re better, but they have their weaknesses. They enjoy the hunt too much.
So, for the next minute and forty-five seconds, I shall give them good game. Fight my hardest fight. I will keep on running. I can’t feel my legs burning, anymore. I can’t feel my head spinning. I can’t feel the scratches all over my body. All I can feel is the rush of the wind as I pour my last strength into running, running through this lush green forest. The damp air probably makes it harder to breathe. But I can’t smell it, can’t taste it, and can’t feel it. It’s something which I know is there, yet cannot sense. Like their presence.
They are coming. I am running. They will get me within a minute. But I’ll keep on trying. I will keep on trying to survive. I won’t let them catch me. I will find a way to win this situation. I have to. If I don’t, then I die, and a hundred souls will have lost their lives for nothing. Thirty seconds, and I am still going strong…
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