Lana thinks the frantic shuffling of footsteps around her is part of a bad dream. She was curled by the dwindling predawn fire this morning when she fell asleep, listening to the sniffles and restless whispers of her companions huddled on the forest floor around her. She pushed up from the ground to look around, head still foggy and bits of soil and pine needles clinging to her hair and face. Her eyes widen, alertness striking like lightning. Her people run scattered, arms scooping up children or few belongings. She leaps to action, herding the small crowd downhill to charge away from the oncoming shuffle in the distance. 

Looking uphill, their watchman is slumped against a tree as the horizon darkens with the enemy. Lana squints to see if he is dead or asleep. The crimson puddle around him answers as she turns to run. But, her people are not soldiers and the adversary is trained to seek and kill. She hears thuds and grunts as people fall beside her, mixed with the desperate sounds of suctioning air back into collapsed lungs. She feels a splash of warmth fling across her right side as a man arcs to the ground in a twitching heap in her peripheral vision with his leg muscles contracting with continued attempts to run to spite death. She doesn’t care that her lungs burn as she breaks away from the pack. Panic kicks her into a survival mode and she forgets the people she pledged to protect that fall around her. The only thought was escape now. When she only hears her footsteps, she sees a ridge off the road. She dives into a hollow created by tree roots, pressing herself flat against the earth between its tendrils. 

Lana hunches in the hollow listening for any movements. She tries to slow her breathing, now ragged with sobs. She clasps her hand over her mouth to try to stifle the noise. All of them are dead. I am alone. She couldn’t stop the waves of shame over running away from them all. She knew they had taken a chance by stopping where there was little brush to disguise their group, but it was necessary. She saw that the toughest of them tripping over his own feet with fatigue, his eyes sagging with the bags underneath. Days of running and fitful nights siphoned any energy left from breaking free in the first place. But that doesn’t matter anymore. At least they won’t need to run anymore. But she does.