Early in late February, I woke up,
startled from sleep by a feeling of urgency in my chest. Even when I had sat in
the rocking chair for what felt like an hour, the feeling hadn’t vanished. It
grew worse, to the point where I couldn’t sit still. I had to be moving
somewhere. I just didn’t know where.
Pulling on a pair of old sweats, a
jacket, and my overused tennis shoes, I left the cabin behind me, jogging down
to the path and concentrating on the inflating sense.
The sun had yet to break the horizon,
but the sky was preparing for the transition. Gray loomed overhead, forbidding
and yet welcoming. I found myself regarding it warily. It was the only thing
not cast completely into silhouette by the light fog, another reminder of the
snow-less winter.
I counted the cabins, watching their
silent façades as I passed. The path swept away from the buildings where the
vampires dwelt, but this morning, I didn’t stop to see if Drei was slipping into
sleep. Just the thought repulsed me. Whether it was my own repulsion or the
sense of urgency, I couldn’t be sure. I was sure that the further I ran, the
more the feeling receded.
As I approached the crossroad into
the forest, the sole marked exit from our haven, I thought I saw something
flash in the corner of my eye. Looking up, I realized there was a small
silhouette at the peak of the path, stumbling and weak, the sound of ragged
breathing barely reaching me through the dangling water droplets. The figure
stumbled and fell. I waited at the foot of the path, watching to see if it
would stand again. When it didn’t, and I realized the urgency had dissipated, I
sprinted up the path, terrified and hoping it wasn’t too late.
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