Panic comes in two varieties, and I would have much preferred being a victim of the first, which is four-fifths terror. It descends on you fast, taking your breath and your muscle control, trying to freeze you where you stand or cripple you in the midst of movement. It’s an emotion that does, very often, generate its own opposition in you once the initial shock is over, helping you to overcome it as soon as possible. The second variety is only half terror or less, which means it comes slowly but firmly over you, creeping up and getting a good, solid hold before you understand completely that it’s there. You find yourself racing along like a mindless animal, wasting strength and breath, almost running into trees in your need to get away from whatever it is that’s coming behind you—or will be coming behind you. It tells you that even if nothing’s behind you now there soon will be, and gives you no time to think, no opportunity to stop and use reason on your problem. Most of the time you don’t even know it’s happening, not until a countershock jars you free of it.
My countershock came when I slammed hard into the ground, facedown among twigs and thin grass and leaves. My knees and palms got the worst of it, but my left ankle also ached a little from the way my left boot had gotten caught on something I hadn’t seen. My breathing was still ragged and I still felt the urge to run without stopping, but having to brush my palms clean and then rub at my ankle meant I also had the opportunity to look around. I hadn’t seen much of what I’d been running through, only a blur of trees and bushes marking my progress in my memory, but it didn’t take long to see it was a damned good thing I’d fallen hard enough to be snapped out of it. Without realizing it Iii been running beside a brook, the sort of shallow little waterway I needed to disguise my trail, and I hadn’t even seen it.
I gave myself a minute to catch my breath, begrudging every second of it but knowing it was necessary, then got to my feet and walked over to the brook. It was fastmoving and shallow, coming up to no more than ankleheight on my boots, and once I stepped down into it found that keeping my balance against the movement of the water was one of the things I had to be careful about. Another was the slick stones the water ran over, not to mention occasional hidden holes, but it had the overwhelming advantage of not showing a single one of my footprints. I moved around a bit to get used to walking in it and convince myself about the lack of visible passage, then turned in the direction opposite to the one I’d been running in and continued on my way.
I suppose I started out congratulating myself on my cleverness over having turned in a new direction, and truthfully it hadn’t been a bad idea. I’d run headlong into the forest as far as I could until the brook had stopped my straight-line progress, and then had chosen a different direction and had simply kept going. Right or left really didn’t matter just then with one way as good as another, but turning back again after entering the water should have confused everyone and anyone trying to follow me. I felt so pleased it took a while before I discovered how cold my feet were growing, courtesy of the brook water I was walking in., My borrowed boots were watertight but uninsulated, ad I hadn’t known before how cold it’s possible to get while still remaining dry.
I found out how cold it’s possible to get, just before I also found what seemed like the best place to leave the brook. I’d walked on for quite a way against the flow of the water, slowly feeling my feet freeze solid, slowly discovering just how much of my strength I’d thrown away in blind panic, and just before I gave in to the urge to sit down right there in the middle of the brook I saw exactly what I needed. Most of the ground beside the water had no more than thin grass, the dirt under it obviously created for the sole purpose of taking footprints and holding them forever with a smirk of laughter. What I finally came to was a wide table of stone that jutted out just a little over the water, stone that looked almost swept clean of dirt by a broom, and that was my way out. I waded over to it, used strict self-control to keep myself from getting down on hands and knees to kiss it, and simply left the friendly brook behind.
I forced myself to walk on a short distance before sitting down near a tree, leaned against it with my back, then concentrated on resting while at the same time getting pain control ready for when my feet would start coming back to life. It had felt as though I’d been walking on wooden feet for quite a while, and the surprising part was that I hadn’t at any time fallen. I closed my eyes as I leaned back against the hard wood of the tree bark, feeling the way my body ached, trying not to think about whoever would be coming after me. I couldn’t afford to believe they would give up the search easily, which meant I had to keep going as long as humanly possible and then add a little more distant to that. How I would find food and shelter I didn’t know, but—
My eyes flew open as I straightened away from the tree, my mind belatedly feeling the presence of other minds, minds that were very close. I’d been too deep inside myself to notice them immediately, too concerned with what I had done and would do next, but the hatred that had suddenly begun welling at me had forced me to notice. My sight confirmed what my mind already knew, that there were ten or twelve men and women standing and staring at me, their approach having been so silent I hadn’t heard anything of it, but vision added shock because of their appearance. They were thin, those people, as though they’d never had a decent meal in their lives, and their hair and beards were long and totally unkempt. What they wore in the way of clothing wasn’t clothing at all, but what seemed to be hides and pelts of various animals, badly made, badly kept, and smelling so foul that I experienced a very strong urge to throw up. The barefoot people themselves were as dirty as what theyd wrapped themselves in, but one fact stood out even more clearly than the stench coming at me in waves: every one of them had an active mind, which meant every one of them was an empath.
“Watcha doin’ here?” one of them suddenly demanded, a man larger than the rest who stepped out in front of those he stood with. “Watcha up to, huh, thinkin’ y’c’n sneak up ’n us? Ain’t got enuffa watcha want whur y’cum frum?”
It actually took me a minute to understand what he was saying, the words were so garbled and the accent so thick, and all the time I had to fight off oceans of hostility and hatred trying to roll over me. As empaths they had no control of their minds at all, no discipline to keep them from projecting what they were feeling, and I had never been exposed to such completely raw emotions. I retreated most of the way behind the thin shield I’d been looking through, trembling in spite of myself, then forced myself to stand and face them. The men of the group were carrying heavy sticks of some kind, almost like long cudgels, and the women were gripping thinner but still nasty-looking versions of their own weapons.
“I’ve run away from those people and I need help,” I said to the man who had spoken, wishing my heart wasn’t making so much noise. “I can’t let them catch me again,
I have to stay free, but I can’t do it alone. I hate them as much as you do, so won’t you help me?”
I’d been trying to keep my words as simple as possible so they would understand, but understanding wasn’t a problem. Most of the group immediately began to mutter, and the man I’d addressed snorted out his disgust and disdain.
“Y’din like it there, so y’run Cus,” he said, looking me up and down with no approval at all. “Whole buncha ya don’ give a damn ’bout us till y’need us, then y’cum lookin’. We ain’t had none a ourn took fer killin’ in a whole long while ’cuz they don’ know we’s here, an’ we ain’t gonna do nothin’ t’ change thet. We’s gonna drive ya a good long ways away, an’ then whin they git ya they still ain’t gonna know whur we’s at. Them others bin mens steada girls, but it don’ make no nevermind. They’s gonna git ya but ain’t gonna git none a ourn.”