As David splashed through the creek bed after leaving his mother, he couldn’t help but cry. He had loved her, and her death would have been horrible. Maybe he should have stayed and tried to help her fight them off, but she demanded he run. The fear in her voice had been so intense. He had to listen. He had to obey.
She had taught him to be strong, but she had also shown him there was great strength in recognizing his weaknesses. He would honor her with his life.
The creek was cold and he felt far enough along to step out and try to find shelter from the deepening darkness. As he clambered over the slippery rocks, his shin was gouged by a protruding twig.
Nothing like leaving a trail of blood when being chased by killers he thought to himself. Maybe they didn’t know about him. Maybe they wouldn’t try to find him. He has to get it cleaned up though, and he could see some smoke rising a little way away. The “Outcasts” don’t like fire, so it should be safe to venture toward it. Maybe they would have something to bandage his wound with as well.
David drew closer and could smell that some sort of oil was being burned with the fire. It looked like three old women were the only ones by the fire. David was out of options as he stepped from the cover of the woods.