He couldn’t run any further, his legs had given out. Breathing was proving to be a task, he gasped for air but couldn’t fill his lungs with it fast enough. It was over.
Michael’s brother followed behind him, also exhausted. They had been running for the most part of the night, people were not designed to have this much endurance. It was finished.
‘Michael…’ Lawrence called out from behind him, ‘Michael… we have to rest.’ He sounded as beat as he looked. This was quite an unpleasant crux they had gotten themselves into, and his brother was not going to like what he was going to say next.
‘Lawrence, we cannot afford to. They are still on our tail, we have to keep moving.’ He said.
‘But I can’t…’
‘You have to. Now let’s go!’ He cut his brother off firmly and struggled on. Lawrence had no choice but to keep up. A stumble, a limp and he regained his stamina, or what was left of it, to keep jogging.
They could hear the primitive cries of the head hunters in the distance. Not close enough to be seen, but definitely close enough to be heard. This gave the two renewed strength, they quickened their pace. They were almost there. Just a few more paces and…
Lawrence fell. Michael turned to see his brother writhing on the ground, blood spurting out of the spot where an arrow had lodged itself at the back of his neck. His eyes were wide open as he choked on his own blood, Michael felt a chill run down his spine despite the fact that there was a humidity in the air that made the shirt he had on stick to his sweaty back. He looked up, the beach seemed deserted, there was no one in sight. Yet someone had to have shot that arrow. They had gone quiet now, wherever they were, and he got the feeling he was being stalked like prey. He was.
He took one last look at his brother and swallowed, or attempted to. The lump in his throat was too painful to swallow, he had been unable to voice anything… his shock, his anger, his pain. All his mind could comprehend was the sight of his sibling’s lifeless body on the sand before him. He shot off in a sprint.
They were on his scent. He felt them behind him, still out of sight he was sure, though he didn't dare turn around. But they were definitely there. His bare feet disturbing the flat sandy surface as he got closer to the water… he was almost there.
He felt his rib cage crack and then give way as the arrow broke through it from behind and punctured his left lung, shattering its way through the front and just peeking out of his chest. He felt himself collapse and hit the water. He could taste its saltiness, and then he could taste his own blood. The pounding footsteps got closer. This was it. It was finished.
Then, just as he was about to give up he heard the first gunshot. Hope…
What say you? Shall I continue?