chance that just maybe she’d round the bend and run into him before the thing got her. Better than zero chance of survival if she “stayed” like Rhyst wanted.
Letting her terror give her wings, she raced down the side of the mountain, hopping over obstacles, her feet sliding in mud. Just behind her, she heard the beast making a horrible hiss-snap sound and the rocks slide under its feet as followed in hot pursuit.
Where the fuck was Rhyst? Everything within her seemed to tighten and shout out warnings to flee, anticipating that at any moment the predator behind her would pounce. Charlie swore she could hear its breath even from within her suit. Or maybe that was her breath. Either way, she wasn’t stupid. The creature could run her down. It was toying with her, savoring her terror. There was only one way this was going to end if her damned alien didn’t show up soon.
Sure, let’s leave the helpless human to feed the fucking wildlife!
“Rhyst!” she screamed as she dodged around the trunk of a tree. That gave her a pause. Wait. I don’t remember seeing trees on the mountain. She shook her head. That shit didn’t matter. What mattered was finding the bastard who told her stay to put without any way to defend herself. And she had been the trusting idiot who stayed. Granted, he probably hadn’t anticipated her falling out of the cave, but she wasn’t of a mind to be reasonable at that moment. She screamed his name again, but there was no answer.
Tears clogged her throat as she considered that just maybe she had been right, and he had abandoned her to die a horrible death on the mountain. She wouldn’t blame him if, after everything he had been through, he had sent the beast to kill her. Truthfully, she felt at least the cup should have afforded her a quick, merciful death at his hand instead.
Her fingers trailed over her sheathed blade as she contemplated how much farther she could run. It wouldn’t be much farther. She hadn’t eaten all day, and she felt her limited reserve of energy dwindling. If she could just get far enough ahead of the creature, just maybe she could get lucky and launch an attack.
Another terrible rattle broke through the air just behind her. Jerking to the left at the last second, she watched as teeth the size of her blade snapped in the air just where she had been standing seconds before.
The beast turned toward her even as she scrambled away, her legs pumping as she attempted to evade it. It bounded after her so fast that she knew she would be caught within minutes. It was done playing now. In one last bid for survival, she focused all her remaining energy on a burst of speed. Instead of running, however, she was taken by surprise when her foot hit loose, wet earth, and Charlie slipped off the slope, her voice rising in a shrill scream.
Sliding backward down the side of the mountain, she didn’t have the ability to entertain anything but one thought: Turongal was going to be the death of her. Her heart hammered as she attempted to slow her progress, grabbing at anything that flew by. She wept with bitter frustration as she tried again and again, but a high-pitched screech had her breath catching in her throat as, mid-tumble, she caught sight of the pacing canine flying down the mountain with graceful leaps, its paws kicking up little sprays of dirt.
It gained on her with each leap, closing the distance. She closed her eyes as its teeth descended toward her. This is it! She felt the heat of its breath on her when she lurched back in a graceless somersault to the bottom of the gulch, where she finally landed with a splash in shallow water.
Rolling over in the murky water, Charlie groaned and stood up. She wiped thick mud off her visor only to find a spiderweb of cracks. At least the alien dog from hell was no longer on her heels. It stood at the edge of the swamp, staring after her, shifting on its feet nervously as if debating whether or not to follow after her. Finally, it let out an eerily pitched whine, turned away, and loped back up the side of the mountain.
“That’s right! Run, you bastard!” she shouted after it, a measure of her bravado returning. She snorted and continued to wipe off the muck. Maybe