Page 120 of Kill Feed

I finally skid to a stop, and I just lie there, listening to the ringing in my ears as my chest struggles to expand.

A deep, brutal ache settles through my ribs while my head burns hot enough to make my vision pulse at the edges.

I missed the sound of impact, but I see the violent crunch of metal folding into metal resembling nothing but crumbled paper, and it’s enough to make me want to go for their throats.

I don’t, because that will be fucking stupid.

They’ll have to pay for that later.

I push myself onto an elbow, which is an awful idea. Sharp pain shoots through my side, hard enough to make me suck in a breath through my teeth.

I roll my shoulder and thank fuck it works… hurts like hell, but it works. I flex my fingers, then move my legs next. Both answer with no bone sticking out.

The hunters scramble out of the heavily dented truck, silhouettes moving through the headlights while music still blasts from somewhere inside the vehicle, sounding almost distorted.

“This cunt refuses to die,” one of them chimes.

I stagger to my feet as another wave of pain rolls through my body. I bite it back down, and without hesitation, I turn towards the forest. I run in blind, with no way of knowing whether I will reach the inside of the kill circle, never mind the destination.

Branches whip against my legs as I push deeper into the forest, boots hammering against damp earth. My shoulder feels like someone drove a nail through it and left it there, my ribs protesting every breath I take, but none of it matters right now. The pain is information, and the information says I can still move. It’s the helmet that becomes the bigger problem.

It bounces against my vision every time I run, narrowing what little I can already see beneath the trees.

Shadows move between trunks. Leaves crunch somewhere to my left. Then to my right. All while I try to stay on my feet, fingers at the buckle of the helmet that refuses to fucking budge.

I duck behind the thick trunk of an oak tree, dropping into a crouch as my fingers immediately go for the knife strapped inside my boot. I flip the blade open and slide it underneath my chin. The blade slices the strap instantly, and I rip the helmet off.

The world tilts as another violent ringing floods my ears. For a second, everything feels distant and warped, leaving me to feel like somebody stuffed cotton into my skull.

Fuck. I need to stay conscious. I need to keep running.

The ringing begins to fade, and a deadly focus settles between nerves and sinews as the sound of boots hitting the ground approaches me rapidly. I peek from behind the tree. A man in military gear and a gas mask crashes through the undergrowth ahead. The same bastard from the truck.

He’s moving quickly, scanning between the trees, but he clearly doesn’t see me. With the knife still in one hand and the helmet in the other, I wait for him to reach my hiding spot.

He’s about to round the tree when the helmet leaves me like a sledgehammer. It smashes into the side of his face with a crack that echoes through the forest.

The impact spins him sideways. The gas mask partially tears loose, and he tumbles across the forest floor, hitting roots and leaves before rolling onto his back.

The hunter seems dazed, but it doesn’t stop him from catching his breath, staggering to his feet with a groan, one hand pressed against the cracked side of his gas mask while the other searches for balance against a nearby tree.

Only then do I notice the camera in the center of his chest plate, strapped in an X formation.

So that’s how they’re watching us, huh? A direct view of the chaos that’s been unleashed. What a fucking way to spend Halloween. It’s almost too perfect, really—insufferably so, and I don’t care to put on a show for these bastards.

But I might have to, seeing as the hunter’s head snaps toward me in a fury of rage I can sense even from this distance.

“You little fucking bitch!” he yells, grabbing a bat from the ground… one that got knocked out of his hand, one I managed to miss. And it’s not just a bat. It’s completely covered in rusted nails.

The hunter swings immediately, and the weapon whistles through the air where my head was half a second earlier.

I throw myself backward and lose my footing on the slope, shoulder slamming into the ground, and pain explodes through the bruised joints. Despite it all, I scramble upright, the knife still tight in my grip.

The hunter lifts the bat again, but I’m already closing in. His eyes flicker wide, surprise breaking through. Not what he expected. He braces, plants his feet, and swings with everything he’s got.

Perfect.

I duck, letting the bat tear through empty air above me. For one brief moment, his arm extends fully, and that’s when the knife flashes. In a short movement, the blade slices across his forearm.