Blood & Dirt by Corey Niles

Author:Corey Niles
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: LGBTQIA+, Contemporary, paranormal, horror, urban fantasy, golem, students, homophobic attack, murder, revenge
Publisher: NineStar Press, LLC
Published: 2022-07-10T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

Run

VINCENT STARED AT their executioner.

Fuck, we’re going to die.

He wondered if all final thoughts were so ineloquent. Garbled curses at a world that was cruel enough to give you a warning when it was far too late to do anything about it.

James yanked him to the right, and he crashed to the ground near the front of the truck.

Bang!

Shotgun pellets blasted the truck and kicked up a cloud of dirt.

“Run!” James ordered. He pulled Vincent to his feet, forced him forward, and somehow, his legs carried him. They ran toward the fence on the other side of the truck. The girl cried somewhere inside. The stocky man screamed out in frustration. There were footsteps behind them.

He was chasing after them.

He was going to kill them.

They were going to die here.

Become part of this wasteland.

The reality of just how much trouble they were in ate through his shock all at once, like a colony of starved termites had burrowed into his mind and torn it to pieces. He realized James was pushing him toward the fence behind the brick building. But he couldn’t climb it. Not with his ribs in their current condition. Hell, he could barely run. They needed to change directions. Run for the gate. He looked back to try to communicate this to James, and he spotted the stocky man standing in the dust behind them, aiming the barrel of the shotgun at them.

Bang!

James slammed into him, and they smashed to the ground. The fence shook as the pellets hit it. Pain exploded in Vincent’s chest. James was on top of him.

Oh God, the stocky man had killed him. Shot him dead. Something between a scream and a moan escaped Vincent’s throat. That fucking monster had killed James, and he was next.

But then the weight was gone, he was pulled to his feet, and James pushed him to the fence and screamed, “Climb!”

James was alive—he must have tackled Vincent to the ground before the pellets reached them. But there wasn’t time to celebrate that or try to redirect him toward the gate. Vincent grabbed the top of the fence and attempted to pull himself up.

The stabbing pain in his chest cut so deep that his strength evaporated. Before he had the chance to tell James to save himself, James wrapped his arms around Vincent’s waist and lifted him into the air. Vincent swung his legs over the top of the fence and dropped to the ground. A shock wave shot up his legs and struck him in his chest.

James landed beside him.

The stocky man charged toward them, fumbling with the gun. Reloading. The fence wouldn’t protect them from the blast of a shotgun. They needed to keep going.

James grabbed his hand and took off for the woods behind the fence. Each step sent pain rippling through Vincent’s system. He focused on the tree line. If they slowed down now, then they were as good as dead. Muscle memory, forged from years of jogging, took over, and he ran alongside James despite the pain.

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