C A Gleason [Gleason - Being Hunted

All the guns typicallykept most from running away. When the Draw happened, they were encouraged tourinate or squat over a shithole. It seemed loose bowels were the most commonreaction to having been chosen, but thankfully Otto had already gone both a fewhours earlier. Sometimes it was difficult to do one without going the other.

Their way of doing things was arrogant, and thankfullyforhimthe routine needed revamping. Guns were for killing, except they neededthem alive. That was a major flaw, probably because their system was relativelynewand had been carried out for only a few years. It was a mistake, and exploitingit was his only chance for survival. The choice was an easy one: it was eitherrisk being shot while escaping or die anyway. He didnt know anyone who survivedonce they were put in a cell.

Even though his situation was a truth he couldntescape from, he still wanted to talk to them first. Try to talk them out of it.Remind them of the good times, like when he made them laugh. They alwayslaughed at him. When the huddle of men broke up to seemingly go about theirassigned duties, finishing their conversations as if Otto couldnt hear themand readying their weapons, he made the attempt while the others were out ofearshot, pissing or shitting but most likely also praying.

It was painful to do, to hear what was coming outof his mouth, how it shouldnt be him but someone else, how he contributed toomuch to be considered, and how well liked others considered him to be. Half ofwhat he said was a lie; others did some of the things he was claiming to havedone, but not everyone was aware of every role. Within those minutes of his bogusexplanation, it was possible to sway at least one of them. Long enough to disappearlater by violating that trust instead of outright fleeing right in front ofthem.

Unfortunately they were far too determined.Archards underlings had one job once the Draw was active: follow through withhis orders. They must have thought his silence after his spiel was accepteddefeat. Callousness was necessary for how they survived, but he knew theywouldnt kill him yet. They were spaced enough so he had a slim chance, so whenthey aimed their guns and told him to get in the back of the pickup truck, heran. Ironicallyand for a split secondhe almost wished they had shot himbecause he knew what it meant if they caught him.

The scary part, even more frightening than the monstersthat were always present and hunting them, was what was required for theirsystem to work. What was strange was it had never been him on the losing end.It was others, people he didnt know very well or even care about. Now he hadbeen chosen as its most integral element. He didnt want to think about it.Doing so practically dredged up nausea. The truth of what went on was why he fledin the first place, and as he did, he wasnt surprised with the direction hetook; it was an unfamiliar one.

Maybe he should have headed for another camp. Itwasnt as if he needed to reach his own. Archard kept everyone regimented enoughso that almost everything was in a designated place, which meant there were supplieshe could find quickly to steal. He would need to grab only the basics: acanteen, packaged food, a weapon of some sort, preferably a knife.

What else? he thought.

Except almost everyone knew him or would at leastrecognize him. Newcomers were a curiosity and knowing their history a necessity,for the safety of the others. They were practically paraded in front ofeveryone as if they were a trophy before a role could be assigned. He had nochoice but to abandon his belongings at his own campno doubt word had alreadyspread there by radiobut he wished he could have grabbed something of usebefore they went after him.

They probably believed he would head to his camp,which was why he was going in the opposite direction. He wished it would haveoccurred to him earlier that the danger was possible even for him, but hehonestly hadnt believed it. He was a newcomer, but he did know some of them wellenough to call them friendsat least he thought soand although he wasnt armed,someone around where he lay his head at night might have helped him escape. Toolate for that now. Instead, he was going where the land was unfamiliar.

Although hed lived there his whole life, otherthan a few summers in France during his early twenties, and especially becauseof what happened since the Moltingit wasnt as if the airlines were up andrunning with tubes filled with people flying overheadhe wasnt familiar withthis area of Deutschland. Now and then, being a local was a hindrance. Hedidnt know his own country well enough.

Escaping was a momentary decision anyway. Fight orflee and he had fled because he didnt have anything to fight with except hisfists, and he hardly ever used those. Not since he was a child and that probablydidnt even count. If he raised his hands up in a threatening manner as anadult, he had no idea what would happen. Even if he were a boxing champion,there was no way he could threaten a group of armed men.

Hard to know if his instincts were taking him in asafe direction either. That could be known only once the next undetermined decisionpresented itself and he made it. Currently he was correct because he was stillalive, and they wouldnt know where he was going because he didnt either. The onlyproblem with traveling an unfamiliar path was that it required him to go slowerthan a familiar one would. That made it possible for them to catch up.

It was strange, but he wasnt concerned with the onesthat would drain him on sight or the big ones that fed on the drainers oncethey cocooned and were ripe, because the surrounding territory had been,relatively, under control. At least during the day. It was his fellow man hewas afraid of at the moment, and unfortunately they were right behind him. Hecould hear a commotion, the organized kind that was readying for a pursuit, buthe couldnt see them. Presently, he was focused only on the snowy woods infront of him.

When he summoned up the courage to steal a lookbehind him, they didnt seem to be as close as he imagined they were. Plus,Otto wasnt the only one they were dealing with. Others who had been chosen tookadvantage of his chaotic escape and ran for their lives, too, feeling compelledto attempt to save themselves.

What did Archards men think would happen? Theywould all just agree to be a working part of their system, to die as the othershad before them? It was preposterous. Everyone knew what would happen.Especially now. He would be surprised if anyone went along willingly in thefuture because the way they did things wasnt going to end any time soon.

Not that he was innocent in all of it. He had donehis part, well, hadnt obstructed what he knew was wrong. Self-preservationkicks in when in the proximity of a possible death, and when they had taken himin, he was just thankful to be alive. Before today he had started to believe heneeded to fear only the monsters. If they caught him, they would put him in oneof those cells, and then he would know what fear really felt like.

The captures always happened where people believedthey were safe, but many had seen it happen in those same places, and for aminority of the some, it eventually happened to them. The way they used toassure those who were chosen would no longer work. They were lies, and thosewho were the instruments of the Draw were in denial. Denial was a frame ofmind, a mental illness that infected the desperate, and these were desperatetimes.