(Will be attempting to post a 50k novel for nanowrimo throughout November, though technically cheating since I have already written 25k of it)

All Ayan could hear was his own labored breathing, the crunch of the earth and leaves under his bare feet, and the steady thumps of Elijah’s footsteps behind him, getting louder every second. The main highway was so close. He could feel the sharp sting of rocks and foliage beneath his stumbling feet, could sense the disturbing stickiness of blood on his hands, but these sensations didn’t seem real. His body didn’t feel real. Like he was running in a dream from some demonic creature.

“Stop!” Elijah cried.

Just reach the highway.

I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die.

Keep going. You have to keep going.

He spotted a car driving perpendicular to him roughly 100 yards ahead, and his heart skipped a beat. He had a chance! His body felt sluggish and weighted down by the injection Elijah had given him. Every movement of his legs was like swimming through molasses, but he refused to give in. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, keeping him steadily moving along, despite the growing pain in his feet, the burn of his wrists and mouth, and the unsteady hum in his throbbing head.

“Please! You don’t know what you’re doing! You’ll spoil everything! His death will have meant nothing!” Elijah shouted.

Heart racing, mind a murky slog of jumbled thoughts, a ball of nausea rising in his throat, Ayan stumbled rapidly along, too scared to look back. He had to survive. He had to get free of this psychotic man. The alternative was unthinkable.

Reach the fucking road. Do not look back. Do not fall down.

Sharp sticks and rocks dug into his feet. He caught himself on the branch of a tree as he tripped over a protruding root, head spinning. One foot in front of the other. Keep moving. Please let someone see him. Let them save him.

“Please!” Elijah sounded startlingly close now. He definitely had the advantage of running with shoes on and no drugs in his system, despite having started his pursuit several hundred yards behind Ayan.

“You have to stop!” Elijah begged.

Ayan had the sudden sensation of being smashed from behind by a giant wall. Terrifyingly strong hands dragged down his shoulders, and he collapsed to the ground with a strangled grunt. He was momentarily disoriented, before his senses returned with a throb of panic and adrenaline, and he kicked back at his attacker, fighting to topple him, to force his way free.

But Elijah was stronger. He was larger, more coherent, and he had the advantage. Ayan managed to get in a good kick to the thigh, that briefly knocked Elijah off-balance, but before Ayan could stand again, after having dragged himself through dirt and leaves for several feet, Elijah was on him once more. This time Elijah’s arm was around Ayan’s throat, expertly squeezing.

“I’m sorry about this. I’m so sorry,” Elijah muttered in his ear.

“No,” Ayan croaked, his fingers struggling to find hold on Elijah’s arm as pressure built in his head. He scratched blindly at Elijah’s face in hopes that the man would release his grip, but it was too late. Ayan’s vision was whiting out, head throbbing, his body relaxing. Just as he was losing consciousness, he saw an SUV turn off the highway and head toward them. A moment later, Ayan slumped down in the leaves, unconscious.