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It was an unexpected benefit of being so terrified you couldn’t bring yourself to do much more than breathe.
Otherwise, I would be running for the sand-dashed hills and I knew how that would turn out.
The tendril caressed the sand like a snake crawling on its belly, only it was far stronger, faster, its movements sharp and dangerous.
And it was drawing close.
It swayed side to side, its tip pointed and arched, turning as if it could see—or smell—something there.
My nostrils eased open and shut, the only movement I was capable of, save for my bulging eyes.
The tendril moved toward me and rose to my height.
If it had eyes it would be staring at me.
It must sense me somehow, I realized.
My incessant screaming instincts begged me to run, and its cries were growing louder.
Unable to control myself any longer, I inched backward.
I knew it was a stupid thing to do but I couldn’t help it.
If the creature was aware I was there, I had no choice.
I wasn’t thinking.
The tendril stiffened, turning to my quivering foot, and shivered with excitement.
It eased back like a python preparing to strike.
“Arghhhh!” a prison guard said, bolting from the darkness.
He ran toward the creature and unloaded multiple shots into it, most finding their mark.
The creature flailed, retreating back, and accidentally ran over the sporadic fires.
It sprung back.
“Run!” the prison guard bellowed.
He wasn’t just any prison guard.
It was the leader.
He turned and continued firing at the tendril as it shirked from the light.
And still, I couldn’t bring myself to move much more than a couple of inches.
The leader took a break from his Rambo routine, grabbed me by the scruff of the neck, and shoved me to one side.
“I said go!” he yelled.
The forced movement created a domino effect.
Once I started, I couldn’t stop.
I ran.
