The funny thing about facing imminent death is that it really snaps everything else into perspective. Take right now, for instance.
Run! Come on, run! You know you can do it.
I gulped deep lungfuls of air. My brain was on hyperdrive; I was racing for my life. My one goal was to escape. Nothing else mattered.
My arms being scratched to ribbons by a briar I'd run through? No biggie.
My bare feet hitting every sharp rock, rough root, pointed stick? Not a problem.
My lungs aching for air? I could deal.
As long as I could put as much distance as possible between me and the Erasers.
Yeah, Erasers. Mutants: half-men, half-wolves, usually armed, always bloodthirsty. Right now they were after me.
See? That snaps everything into perspective.
Run. You're faster than they are. You can outrun anyone.
I'd never been this far from the School before. I was totally lost. Still, my arms pumped by my sides, my feet crashed through the underbrush, my eyes scanned ahead anxiously through the half-light. I could outrun them. I could find a clearing with enough space for me to ---
Oh, no. Oh, no. The unearthly baying of bloodhounds on the scent wailed through the trees, and I felt sick. I could outrun men --- all of us could, even Angel, and she's only six. But none of us could outrun a big dog.
Dogs, dogs, go away, let me live another day.
They were getting closer. Dim light filtered in through the woods in front of me --- a clearing? Plea