by J. S. Volpe
22
When Brandon hollered “Run,” Lauren gladly obeyed and headed off in pursuit of Donovan and Violet, who, she saw with chagrin, looked like they were already halfway across the warehouse. Behind her she heard snarls and grunts, then the clang of something metallic hitting the ground. Glancing back, she saw nothing but darkness. Brandon’s flashlight had gone out. Had the leucrota gotten him?
Sure enough, a cacophony of clips and clops rang out behind her, the horrible din growing louder by the moment.
She ran faster, but it was no use; the leucrota kept gaining on her. Much as she wanted to catch up with Donovan and Violet, she didn’t dare remain on this straight, open course any longer. She had to start making turns in hopes of either shaking off the leucrota or slowing it down.
She swerved down the next aisle on the left. She was pretty sure that if she went a few rows in this direction and then made another left, she’d wind up near the door they’d entered through. From there, she wasn’t entirely sure what she should do. She could try to flee outside and find a phone to call the cops. Or she could head back to the shipping office and reunite with Calvin and Cynthia and Tiffany (assuming they were still there). Or maybe she could find that can of Mace she had dropped and/or Violet’s hatchet. Or, hell, maybe she could just find a damn light-switch. Something. Anything.
After a few seconds she heard quick clopping steps following her down the aisle.
“Shit,” she hissed and ran faster.