Through the forest, up and down embankments, fighting my way through thick undergrowth only to run some more.
I don’t know where I’m going, but I know what my direction must be.
Away.
I want to get as far away from the children as I can. Or maybe it’s the truth I’m running from.
Dr. Pao warned me that I had the instincts of a killer built into my genetic code.
I didn’t want to believe her.
But I felt the instinct come alive during the fight with the Finisher, and now I know she was telling the truth. Maybe I’ve known it all along. The dreams were telling me what I’d done, but I didn’t want to listen.
Maybe you’d be better off not knowing what’s out there, Ruben said.
I wanted to know, and now I do.
I’m a violent dog, created by Maelstrom. They’ve made me what I am and taken away my chance of finding a home.
I don’t belong with dogs, but how can I live with humans? A feeling of despair and pain washes through me.
Now they’re after me, and they won’t stop. Dogs, soldiers, whatever else they might have at their disposal. I think about a future of running and fighting, and my body is overcome with exhaustion.
I slow to a trot, looking for someplace where I can lie down for a while. A hiding place that will give me time to rest and to heal.
I spot an outcropping nearby with a narrow cave opening beneath it. I crawl into the cave on failing legs, squeezing through the crack in the rocks and into the fetid black hole. My body is shutting down, forcing me to rest so it can heal.
I lie in the dark listening to the sound of my chest heaving. I feel the blood dripping from my wound and taste the dog’s stinking fur in my muzzle.
Occasionally I think of the kids, but I push the image from my mind. Instead I look into the darkness, choosing the dark and the cold as my companions.
I slip in and out of consciousness.
Maybe I sleep. I can’t be sure.
Gradually I become aware of a noise. A low hum, vibrating through the stones above me.
I can’t tell if I’m awake or dreaming. And then the hum gets louder, the pitch rising and fading as it moves away.
There’s something familiar about that sound.
I crawl my way out of the cave, moving from pitch-black to inky night.
It’s dark now. Did I sleep through the day?
I hear the noise again, the unmistakable sound of helicopter blades chopping through the air. If one already went by, this must be a second one.
A minute later a helicopter skims the tree line above me, heading away at speed.
I catch a glimpse of it between the branches. It’s a twin-engine Black Hawk, a military helicopter, flying low and carrying a heavy load. I see blue uniforms through the windows on the cargo door.
Maelstrom soldiers. Where are they coming from?
I orient myself with the moon, quickly getting my bearings on the mountain range. The helicopters are heading north, and I look south, scanning for familiar features.
That’s when I see the double peak like a letter K on its side. I look across the canyon to where our campsite was located. It’s nearly ten miles away, but I can see that the tops of the trees are disturbed near the area where we’d set up camp. The leaves have been blown right off by the blast of the rotors.
The helicopters were at the campsite.
I start to run.