Dawn Chorus (Proxies x Reader)

I throw my walkie-talkie.

It soars through the air towards the man too slow, too arched. Its heavy, but he pulls his arm up in time to stop it from slamming into his face. That's fine. His eyes are covered, even if for only a moment. I only need a moment. I take off in a run, opposite the way of camp. Adrenaline rushing my veins, heart pumping a violent rhythm. The thrill lodges in my throat, trampled under the fear building up water in my eyes, glazing my vision. This isn't the same as previous runs.

The trees grow taller, branches higher up. I doubt climbing could help me anyways. Brush thins so I can move faster, focus less on my steps and more on my speed, faster, faster. I can't hear footsteps behind me. That's meaningless. I saw him before, failed to hear him before. I glance over my shoulder, a stupid instinct. A stupid, stupid instinct.

The body I slam into is hard and warm and human. Thrown back by my own force from the collision against the unmovable person, my feet slide, and I slam into the ground ass first. My breath rides up my throat, lodges there. My vision refocuses, but only right in front of me in a tunnel, the world is moving too much. Blood is pumping too harshly through my veins. The first thing my scrambling mind grasps is a mask. White, black features. Giant eyes, feminine lips, narrow, arching eyebrows. Brown hair, human hair. My chest is heaving, breath stuttering in my chest. I scramble back on the floor.

I move my narrow line of focus over him. A fresh dark stain on his yellow jacket, red. His hands. I move my eyes down to his hands. A piece of debris, just a rusted pipe. Not what hurt Sadie's side, maybe her head. But the other man's knife was clean. It had to have been a cut or slash. The man steps forward and my head snaps up.

"Shouldn't you be running?" He asks.

I think his voice is meant to be deep and threatening, a bit rough. And I don't know what makes me laugh, but I do. It just bubbles up and spills out. He tilts his head, takes another stalking step. He starts to chuckle lowly himself. I need to move, but my limbs are locked and heavy. I'm missing something. I'm missing something and I won't be able to move until I figure it out. The man before me is approaching slowly, carefully placing each step down, heel to toe. Really making a show of it. Lifting the pip, tapping it against his shoulder just as painfully slow. It almost feels like a mimicry of some terrible crime or horror movie, which settles my ease a little. Settles my fear enough to pull my gaze from him. I search the forest, the missing piece. The orange hoodie, bright as flame is moving through the trees, away from us though.

What am-- Ringing from the pipe as the ground beneath it explodes under the force of the hit. Speckles of dirt scatter across my face and side. I flinch away from the sudden violence, jerking my attention back to the man in the yellow-ish beige jacket.

"You don't feel the need to pay attention?" He teases.

I manage to move my limbs enough to scramble back as the man just watches.

"Are you gonna try to run now?" He is tapping the pipe against his shoulder again.

The soft pat pat pat pat of the pipe against the padding of clothes on his shoulder is rhythmic, almost soothing in a disorienting kind of way.

I need to move, need to run. Something is missing. I need to get up, get out of here. Something is off. He is raising the pipe. He is going to hit me. I need to move. The pipe descends. I'm rolling, limbs finally adjusting and free. Dirt flies. I pop up before he fully rightens. He is chuckling again and that's fine because it scares me enough to break the lack of missing something. I know better than to look back this time.

As my heart thuds and my chest and diaphragm strain and adrenaline rushes through my veins, a thrill starts to creep up my spine. A smile twitches at the edge of my lips. This is what a run is meant to be. Who cares if its men in masks holding weapons instead of monsters? It is supposed to be a risk of our lives. We should have been better prepared, the risk better laid out. There'd be less of us, but we'd...