Nathan was scared, for about the one hundredth time that day. But this was worse. He could feel it empowering him with every breath that escaped his mouth. A plane flew low overhead, so low that he could almost make out the pilot’s face. The face that was obviously searching, searching for him.
It had only taken three days for Nathan Taylor to go from a plain nobody college student to the top of the FBI’s most wanted list. And it wasn’t even his fault. Thirty people found dead and brutally mutated in the basement of his apartment was bad enough, but being blamed for it was the worst. Especially when he had no alibi and the penalty would obviously be death.
So he ran.
But now there was no where left to run. Nathan had a twisted ankle, and his lungs were on fire. The planes were searching, as were the helicopters, as was everyone in the United States of America. Everyone was afraid of his name.
I am going to die, he thought.
He had no water, no food, and no shelter. All he wanted was his life back, but that was no longer possible. Running had made him look guiltier than ever. All he could do was turn himself in.
Nathan walked slowly through the woods, making his way towards the nearest clearing where the planes would surely spot him. Hunger washed over him, and his ankle was throbbing.
I never thought it would end like this.
He stumbled into the open field and screamed, for all of the past events, for the ending so near. Then a gunshot rang through the woods, and his scream halted.
The true murderer had returned.