Racing over to the closest tree, I leapt up and grabbed a branch with both hands. It sagged under my weight, but didn’t break. Grunting with effort, I shifted my weight, pulling myself up and then dropping hard. There was a sharp cracking sound, and then I fell to the ground, my legs not prepared to hold my weight. I clutched the bit of broken branch in my hands and scrambled toward where Viggo was still struggling with the snake.
I could see his strength fading. Adrenaline coursing through my veins, I hefted the branch over my shoulder like a spear and raced toward the pair. The snake’s head was thrashing back and forth, but I was certain if I could first shove the broken end into one of its gleaming black eyes, I would be able to kill it.
Suddenly, the spear was yanked from my hands and the next thing I knew, I was staring into the determined eyes of my brother. He lifted the branch over his shoulder, took a measured step forward and then threw it, grunting as he did.
The branch was not aerodynamic, but Tim’s reflexes and hand-eye coordination had been enhanced, and I winced as the branch hit with a wet thud, a good foot of it embedding itself into the snake’s skull. The snake shuddered, and then its head hit the ground with a heavy thud, its coils becoming slack.
I raced over to where Viggo was still half entangled in the coils. Grabbing them, I quickly pulled him out. He was gasping, but the blood-red color of his face was beginning to dissipate.
I wrapped my arms around him and held him tightly, shooting a grateful glance at my brother. He offered me a little smile in return. Pulling back a few inches, I looked deep into Viggo’s eyes. His labored breathing was still fogging up the clear plastic face of the mask, but I could see his eyes clearly.
“Idiot,” I said softly, so only he would hear.
He coughed, hard, and then grinned up at me, his green eyes twinkling. “Saved your life,” he breathed, his words punctuated by tiny coughs here and there.
I shook my head at him, and then helped him up. Ms. Dale and Tim came to stand next to us.
“Viggo… okay?” Tim asked.
Viggo smiled at him and then began coughing again. I took a step closer, concerned, but he held up a hand, and I stopped, even though I didn’t want to. After a moment, he took a deep breath and nodded, straightening up. He then reached over and grabbed Tim by the shoulder, pulling him into a massive hug. My heart soared at the image of Viggo and my brother bonding. Viggo was gentle in his hug—he was conscious of Tim’s sensitivity.
Even that was enough to bring tears of happiness to my eyes. It was strange, but even though we were on the run, with the threat of death looming over us, I felt optimistic about the future. We were going to evade the boys and escape. I clung to this hope with the same certainty that I needed oxygen to live.
Viggo released a blushing Tim and turned to the rest of us. “We throwing a party?” Viggo said hoarsely.
Ms. Dale eyed him wryly. “Not yet, but if you can get us out of here alive, Patrian, I’ll buy the first round.”
“Well then… if I didn’t have a reason for living before, having the pleasure of seeing you buy me a drink is a damned good one,” he replied with a laugh. He took a few more experimental breaths in, and then nodded. “All right, people, that’s a good enough break—let’s run.”
Tim beckoned to Samuel, and we wordlessly fell into line and began running again. Viggo set the pace—so at first it was a light jog, but after a while, it became faster. I wasn’t sure how long Viggo could keep it up, though—I had already begun to see the strain in his face, although he stoically tried to hide it.
I brought up the rear of the run, with Tim behind Viggo and Ms. Dale in front of me. We ran in a straight line, but a few times Tim scampered off, ducking under some branches or diving through the brush. The first few times, I’d watched in confusion, but after the fourth time, I put on a burst of speed and raced up to him when he rejoined our little formation.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
Tim glanced at me and then looked ahead. He was definitely exerting himself more than the rest of us—sweat was dripping from him at a phenomenal pace. However, his breathing was less labored than mine, and he still showed signs of going strong.
“Messing with… the trail. Trying to leave… fake ones. Distract the boys,” he responded.
“That’s really smart. How’d you learn to do that?”
He nodded his head toward Viggo’s back, and I smiled—of course Viggo had taught them survival. They lived in The Green, after all.
I accelerated and moved up to Viggo. “Where do you think the attack is going to happen?” I asked.