Page 11 of Monstrous Serpent

Chapter 4

Hunter

Jenkins is thirty feet ahead and losing ground. He just doesn't know it.

He’s still running like there’s a way out of this—arms pumping, gym shoes driving through the pine needles and dirt. But his left stride shortens every fourth step, his breathing loud enough to track from twice this distance.

Adrenaline is carrying him.

But the gap will close. Always does.

“Well fuck me sideways. Jenkins is Cap’s sidepiece’s boyfriend.” Atlas is talking louder than necessary, his voice barely muffled by the mask.

“No shit.”

Jenkins showed up without a mask or an armband, scanning the crowd as if he were looking for someone specific. And he was angry. That was his mistake.

Angry people make bad decisions.

Up ahead, he cuts left. His stride shortens as the trees thicken.

Mine doesn’t.

My boots don’t make noise as they strike the ground. They never do. Not here, not in Ironwood, not in any stretch of woods I've moved through since I was old enough to understand why it mattered.

Silence keeps you safe. Keeps you hidden.

Tonight, it keeps me behind Jenkins.

“Can't believe Cap was just going at it like that. Even looked right at Jenkins and fucked that girl harder.”

“Atlas.”

“I'm just saying, that was brutal to walk in on. But kinda wished we hung back. Would’ve loved to see what Jenkins was going to do. He definitely looked ready to charge Cap.”

The ground slopes, and Jenkins slides on the grade, but he keeps driving forward.

Twenty feet.

Jenkins was never going to outrun us.

“Go wide. Push him toward the creek bed.”

Atlas barrels right, crashing through the brush, making enough noise for three people. “Bet he's shitting himself.”

I grunt.

“You know he's running straight toward the shit ground, right?” Atlas calls from somewhere to my right. “This is almost too easy. I'm kind of offended.”

Jesus, fuck.

“Atlas, shut up.”

Jenkins vaults a root system. His right hand catches wrong on a branch and his stride stutters. He's fighting the trees instead of reading them. Every branch he shoves through slows him down.

“This is almost sad.” Atlas dodges a branch. “Like chasing a golden retriever that got off its leash.”

In front of me, Jenkins trips, his hood falling back. I’m on him before he finds his balance. I yank the hood sideways, swinging him back down.