Cold, salty, ocean water lap at my toes. Socks stuffed in my shoes and shoes hanging around my neck, I stare off into the Atlantic. Two days straight of running have passed. I haven’t slept. I haven’t eaten. I haven’t felt more alive. Yes, exhaustion and fatigue weigh on me, still I smile a small half grin on the outside with narrowed sly eyes, but inside I beam like a lighthouse on a dark cloudless night. Shaking myself, dog-like, I walk through the tips of the high tide waves. They barely reach me but when they do I give the ocean a fond smile.
I’m waiting for them, someone other than Kit is tracking me, and I’ve kept myself at the edge of their radar. I want to know who is following me so I’m baiting them. I don’t know how I shook Kit off my trail but oh well, we’ll be back at it after I take a look at these unknowns. It’s obvious they are new to interacting with me because they don’t seem to know or worry that I’m constantly at their fingertips, that I’m never quite in reach or out of reach. Kit, or anyone else that has worked with me before, would already have warning signals up and would be watching me more intensely. But this group only has one person who is actually fallowing me, kind of like the representative of their group. This is the person I’m going to meet with. He’s obviously a hunter, and has tracked my kind before, but that’s what interests me. So I’m going to arrange a meeting, then see where that takes me.
Walking into an alley next to the beach, I blow up a balloon, and write a message with only a time and address. Only my trackers will know what it means and hopefully it will take Kit just long enough to catch it for the meeting to get over before he sends someone. Next I shoot three shots into the air, enough to get people’s attention, then I shoot the balloon, making sure that I don’t affect the writing when it pops. I can already hear the sirens; the police will investigate and find the balloon bits. Hopefully, if things go according to plan, when they write a report on what happened they will log the note on the balloon. It should be strange enough to catch someone’s eye, especially that of someone who’s looking for me.
Slipping out of the alley, I dash along the beach. The sand sucks at my feet, trying to stop me, slow me down, but I’m not easily caught. I avoid the area of the beach that holds foliage till I see flashlights coming up a ways behind me. If I’d ran through the water my path would have been hidden, but that would have sacrificed time. Jumping over plants I keep running parallel to the ocean, not quite wanting to run through the town just yet, and looking for a spot to put on my shoes. I drop to the ground and hide in the shrubs as flashlights come down the alley I almost turned into. Immediately I silence my panting, difficult but not impossible, especially for someone who can mentally shut their body down like I can.
But the moment I’m laying down and breathing evenly, sleep tries to regain control. I hold myself together by tensing my muscles till they threaten to cramp, doing anything else would have ended up badly. Either I would have fallen asleep, gave away my position somehow, or just plan jumped up and ran like mad. Self-control is one major lesson I’ve retained from Misty and those lessons will stay with me till I die … and possibly after that, who knows. Rather, I tensed until the police, speaking in hushed voices as though trying to sneak up on someone, passed. Then I’m up again, running through the streets, leaving a trail of sand … at least until I run through a carwash, then for a little bit I leave a trail of wet foot prints.
When I’m a block away from the room I reserved and paid for in advance via an internet café and swung by earlier to grab the key and drop off some cloths, I decide to really loose them. Shaking water from my soaked frame, I jump and start up a fire escape. It was a twelve foot jump, one that even basketball players rarely make, easy for me though and enough to confuse and/or throw the cops off my scent. Once on the roof I want to just lie down, but I’ve still got a block to go. Jumping rooftop to rooftop, I reach the top of my motel. I picked this motel because I knew the door to the stairway never locked on the roof. Plus they won’t ever bother to fix it because who can cross a 15-20 foot jump from the buildings on all sides? Slipping through the door, I pad down to my room’s hallway, the only sound I made was water dripping from my cloths and hair … I never did get to putting on my shoes. Peeking through the door from the stairwell into my hallway, I expected guns, dogs, lights, and who knows what else exploring my room then turning and chasing me.
My tired mind is starting to play with itself. Nothing’s there. I barely breathe as I ease down the hall to my room, if someone comes out from their room, the suspicion will be too thick for me to stay. The door swings open silently, and I flip on the lights. Still nothing, still paranoia screaming in my exhausted brain, but the thinking part of my brain knows there is nothing here and that it’s all fine. Quick glance in the bathroom and out the window for people, and a swift sweep for bugs lets me relax. The moment I’m assured everything’s fine, I flop on the bed. Not even bothering to change into dry cloths, not even bothering to get under the covers, not even bothering for a care in the world. Sleep now, think later. Meeting’s tomorrow and I need to be ready for anything. Moment my eyes close is the moment the world disappears.