Hunted

Albert panted as he rushed through the sunlit woods, sweat trickling down his temples. His eyes remained locked on the back of the sprinting girl in the distance, her shape coming in and out of view intermittently as she darted across the trees. Low hanging branches scratched at his face as he charged past them, but he couldn't feel their sting. His heart was pounding in his chest, adrenaline pumping through his veins in anticipation.

He knew how this ended, and she did too. She was simply delaying the inevitable, which he'd come to understand as a fundamental aspect of the game. It was half the fun.

A malicious grin spread across his lips as a shriek reached his ears. Mustering all his strength, he converged toward its position like a shark on a blood trail. The trees tapered as he approached, their canopy thinning to reveal a small clearing up ahead. The man's sprint segued to an amble as neared her fallen shape in the middle of the glade. She was clutching at her ankle, fine glinting lines spilling down her cheeks, her pink schoolbag lying at her side.

He halted at the threshold of the clearing to catch his breath as he observed his prey. She looked so innocent, with her green floral dress and her pigtails dangling down the sides of her face.

"P-please," the girl said as she raised a hand in front of her placatingly, bringing her bag close with the other. "You said we were friends."

"Well, Lizzie," he started as he pulled a large knife from the leather holster around his waist, "this one's on your daddy." He squatted, bringing himself to her level. "He found out who I am and told everyone. I mean, I get it, it's his job, what with being the chief-of-police and all, but still." He pointed the blade toward her. "You're going to be my farewell gift to him before I skip town." His grin stretched. "And I'll make you my best one yet."

Lizzie's lips tightened. "She was going to be an actress, you know."

The man frowned. "What?"

"Abby."

"Abby?"

His eyes widened as a gunshot echoed through the forest. Seconds later, a burning sensation erupted in his guts as a dark crimson stain spread across his green shirt. Albert howled in pain as he fell back, hands clasped over his stomach as blood spurt between his fingers. He watched in agony as the girl stood, smoke billowing from the barrel of the gun in her hand, her countenance hard beneath dried tears.

"She was my friend," she spat, mouth quivering. "I saw what you did to her. I saw the pictures on my dad's desk."

He screamed obscenities through the suffering.

The girl just glared at him.

"My dad always said a bullet in the gut is a bad way to go." She backtracked a bit and sat back down. "I guess we'll find out."