Prologue
His heart pounded as he ran faster than his legs could keep up with, momentum and gravity doing most of the work. The beast trying to escape through his chest also clawed at the insides of his head. His mouth was sandpaper dry and his nose scorched by the cold air.
The darkness was broken only by slivers of light that were barely enough to make out the branches and trunks that snatched, scraped, and sliced his arms. He battled through, only just managing to keep within the limits of a thin track. No choice but to follow it.
But then it vanished.
He felt a sudden sensation of turning, twisting weightlessness, followed by a crushing blow to his side. His breath vanished in a single mighty gasp. Something in the darkness, a hidden trap, had brought him crashing down, but he had to get up and keep going. He had to keep running.
He’d stopped breathing for long enough to hear the voices all around were still chasing. A beam of light cut through the darkness like a lightsabre, dancing for a moment, and then vanishing as fast as it had appeared.
Scrambling, falling from one foot to the next, over and over, stabbed by the rough surface, he continued his escape through the woods and down a slope. The adrenaline was rushing and pain had yet to set in, so he kept going.
The noise of his heavy, rasping breathing and the pounding drum of his heart were masking the chasing voices again.
He had to keep going.
The pitch-black fingers and arms of trees spread out and reach higher into the sky. Thicker bushes clawed away at the skin of his arms. Adjusting to the changes in light, his eyes began to make out more shapes. Short, fat buildings like houses. A road, perhaps. Fences and lampposts. There was no time to stop, and barely enough to turn and look for pursuers.
It took one final push to break through the edge of the woodland. The last bush scratched viciously at all the exposed skin on his arms and legs, etching lines of heat through his body as if the woods were trying to drag him back.
Within an instant, the icy wind hit his face. The chase was still close behind, and although his instinct had been to run, his body now cried out to stop for just a few moments.
Scanning the open ground as quickly as possible, he could just about make out metal shards, wooden panels, and wire fencing. It looked like the kind of ground that in daylight promised great adventure, but at that moment gave him a chance to hide.
Battling through a small, low twist in the fence, he crawled across and found refuge behind a pair of rusted steel barrels. He followed a split-second thought to move a few pieces of wood, hiding from view, before the voices caught up.
And then he just sat.
Listened.
The voices seemed some distance away. They’d taken a different winding path through the trees. He managed to take a few deep breaths. Slow and forced. His muscles began to tighten…
…and the pain set in.
He tried not to cry out, knowing that he couldn’t afford to be discovered. He bit down on the pain and clenched his fists.
That’s when he felt the oozing wetness trapped between his fingers.
As he looked down in the faint, cold moonlight, he saw the dark crimson blood covering his ten-year-old hands.
