I run as quickly as possible. My lungs and legs fight against me from the demand of sudden strain, but I ignore the pain. I can hear him behind me, and I know he'll catch up at some point, but as long as I remain his main priority, that's fine by me. I still have the antidote. If I die, maybe I can take him with me.
When I was a little girl, and before tiger's roamed the terrified earth, my dad would take me camping. Oh, what fun. We'd cook old timer sweets, like hot-dogs and s'mores. We'd share ghost stories. I would dread returning home.
Now, camping doesn't seem so appetizing. My life is the ghost story. And yummy food? Nope, heck, I got a pack of old beef jerky.
Finally, I find a good, fast pace and run to the beat of my heart, and the beat of furry paws behind me. The sun is setting, so my father is probably home with my sister and mother. My father. He probably thinks I'm a coward. I hope the officials aren't giving him a hard time.
Soon, so soon, I can run no longer. I double over, place my hands on my knees, and retch all over the forest ground. I wipe my mouth, with the back of my hand, then wash it out with the small amount of water I packed this morning. Then, I take a look at my surroundings.
I'm in a dense forest of multi-colored trees, and bushes, glowing in the light of the setting sun. Crickets are slowly starting to begin chirping. My father always told me as long as you could hear the crickets, you were safe. I breathe a sigh of relief, and start to climb a tree.
When the tiger's changed, they gained many talents, but lost a few in the process. One of them? Climbing trees. They became so bulky, that, wood could no longer bare their weight. So, it's the ideal place to spend the night. I climb about half way up before resting in a fork, and opening up my bag.
There is the beef jerky, the empty water bottle, the antidote, my gun, which I transferred in there while running, we couldn't have it falling on the ground, a thin red jacket, and my torn gloves. Not much, but it would have too do.
I bundle up my jacket, and place it under my head, while staring up at the starry sky. I then undo my belt, and tie it around my wait and the trunk, buckling me in, before exhaustion hits. Soon, my eyes are drooping and my hands going limp. I'm so tired, I don't even notice that it's eerily silent.
When I wake up, the sun is just starting to rise. It would have been beautiful if I wasn't so miserable. My hair probably looks like a hamster decided to take it as a nest and I desperately need a shower. But, I unbuckle myself, and unfortunately glance down, almost resuming the retching from yesterday. The leader is sleeping at the foot of my tree. His tail flicking softly as he dreams. I mutter a silent curse, before stuffing my jacket in my bad and retying the belt through my pants, as quickly and silently as possible. Then I begin searching for an alternative escape plan.
When I was younger, my parents sent me to a wilderness survival camp for a week in the summer, where, no matter how much I hated it, I learned a lot of good survival techniques. Gripping my pack, I climb to the edge of my branch, murmur a silent prayer, and jump.
The branch I land on, isn't as sturdy as my one from last night and wobbles slightly. I immediately freeze and glance at Big Furry. He's still asleep. Hopefully.
I continue this process for a little while before my bad luck hits. My lovable kitty pal wakes up right as my branch snaps. I land in a crouch and take off at a run, my sore muscles immediately protesting. I can see a clearing up ahead, through the thick forest. And . . . no! It wasn't my imagination. An old beat up truck was waiting for me, obviously abandoned. I let out a happy whoop, and a renewed burst of speed.
As I get closer, twenty feet away, ten, I start to make out the details, it wasn't as old as I thought, and there's something familiar about the equipment in the back. It looks like the shield equipment we used at the factories . . .
I realize my mistake too late, when I'm flying through the air, having run smack into a force field. I deeply regret my decision, when I hit my head hard on a thick tree trunk. Big Furry, was obviously the more lucky one. He ran into the field as well, but landed easily on his paws, making his way towards me, the easy breakfast. My vision was going hazy, I tried for my bag, but it was such a stretch, and my closest hand too it . . . were my fingers supposed to look like that?
The last thing I can remember, is the sound of a gun, and cold fingers gripping my ankles.