Hidden (Book 3 of the Immune Series)

Fight or Flight

Mya

The bark of the tree cuts into my scalp as I lean against the strong trunk, gasping for air like I'm suffocating. I grip the sides of the tree and shake uncontrollably. Water runs down my bare legs in streams, pooling around my bare feet which are covered in paper mache leaves.

Even over the roar of the river and the chattering of my teeth, our pursuer's words find my ears, driving a new emotion into my skull.

Terror.

Now, I can't be sure if I'm shaking from the cold or from the fear I feel coursing through my veins alongside my red blood cells, beating like a symphony with every ragged heartbeat, multiplying as I suck in starved breaths.

They're not just chasing us.

They're hunting us.

I escaped the temporary security of my own home to become nothing more than prey.

Sakir appears beside me suddenly, his face red.

"I'm going after them," he whispers in angry tones. I shake my head in an attempt to untangle my tongue.

"You can't," I mumble, fighting my numb lips and face.

"Why not?" he snaps, taking his dry backpack off and tossing it at my feet. His hands move with incredible speed to undo the clasp and dig through for the change of clothes I promised him.

"They have guns, Sakir," I state, watching him, frozen to the spot. Just the idea of guns paralyzes me. We wouldn't stand a chance if they started firing.

"So? I can sneak up behind them." He peels the shirt off his drenched skin, crumbling it into a ball and tossing it towards the water. It sails in a perfect arc, landing near the center of the villainous river before getting sucked away.

"I don't doubt that," I say, glancing away as he begins to ease his pants off, "but you're one person. There's at least three of them."

"Four, actually, and I've fought them before. They're the ones who kidnapped me."

"Judging by where we are right now, I think you lost that fight."

Sakir laughs, a dry single exhale, making me look back over at him. The smile on his face is impressed and warm.

"Are you going to finish getting dressed?"

He nods, bending down and jerking the dry pants up over his knees.

"I thought since you had a brother it wouldn't be a problem," he mumbles, pulling the too-small shirt over his head. I watch as he jerks at the neck.

"You're not Finn."

He sighs, nodding.

"Unless you want to freeze to death, I suggest you change, too. I'll stand guard over there." He points in the direction that we're about to head before shuffling away with his bag.

As soon as he's out of sight, I take off my backpack, not surprised to see that it's soaking wet. The water immersed it when we stepped into the river. I untie the knot keeping it closed, groaning at the mess within.

One by one, I drag out the few things I brought with me of sentimental value.

Finn's favorite book, a ragged copy of Meditations on the First Philosophy by Rene Descartes. My diary, now nothing more than a soggy mess of paper and ink. The ingredient list for the third strand, wet but still in one peice. Finn's stuffed fox from when we were small, and Finn's comb- the one he never used but sometimes played like an air guitar to cheer me up.