Page 12 of Hunted, Season Three

Not until I know.

Not until I see something.

Fuck, anything.

“ComeonKid,” I quietly plead behind the tape.“Openthoseeyesforme.”

Nothing.

“Openem.”

Still.

Nothing.

“Opennnnnthemmmm!” Breathing is only done to collect more air for louder screaming.“Fuckingggggopeennnnnthemmmmmm!”

Yet again.

Nothing.

Not a twitch.

Not a flinch.

Not even an involuntary fucking spasm.

The lump of uneasiness in my throat begins to expand in tandem with summoning the previously shoved down bile back upward.

Tears collect in the corner of my eyes as I slowly shake my head in disbelief.

No.

No…

No!

He’s not dead!

He can’t be!

This isn’t how this shit ends!

This isn’t-

A second almost inaudible whimper occurs informing me that heisalive.

Barely.

But definitely.

New rounds of determination roar throughout my system, forcing me to resume my surveying.

See where that twisted bastard is.

How much time we have to get loose.

Our seemingly deserted surroundings encourage the settling discomfort to surge once more.

---