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pushed myself faster than I dared to, stopping for nothing, desperate to elude him.  Stickers ripped and pulled at my legs and sleeves, tearing at my skin.  I fell, scraping my palms.  They stung as I curled my fingers, pushing myself harder.  My legs were long and I covered ground quickly.  I kept the moon over my right shoulder, bearing south.  If I stayed on course, I should come out on the three-thirteen.  Regrettably, I’d left my cell in Marcus’s truck.  I berated myself mentally for that.  There were no gas stations or convenience stores in the area, being mostly residential.  The walk home would be a long one.
    Slowly, my eyes began to adjust and I could see the faint outline of the larger vegetation like trees and brush.  The stickers were unrelenting, however.  I could feel my arms and legs stinging.  Slowing my pace, I blotted my hands on the legs of my pants.  They wept slowly, fresh beads of blood rising to the surface of my palms.  I could smell the metallic scent of it.
    Ahead, I could see several large, round shapes clustered together, no higher than my knee.  Rocks, I realized, catching my toe and nearly tumbling over a smaller one.  When I reached the circle of stones, I paused to catch my breath.  Sitting on the larger of the boulders, I checked my scrapes the best I could in the light available.  All the while, I hissed a string of curses, damning Marcus and Peyton to the fiery pits of hell.  On special occasions, I hoped Hell was quantifiable.  Today earned a special mark on my list of exceptions.
    Behind me, I heard a twig snap, followed by a long stretch of gurgling.  The hairs on my arms stood on end.  “Marcus?” I said in a small, girly voice, knowing intuitively it most definitely was not Marcus.  Some baser instinct told me to run, but logic overruled.  I was a person of science.  I didn’t believe in things that went bump in the night.  As far as I was concerned, finding Marcus screwing my best friend was, by far, the most monstrous thing I’d ever witness.  I was sure of it.
    On the other hand, I did believe in dogs.  And at the moment, a rather large dog materialized about three yards away, bearing his teeth in a manner impossible to mistake for a smile.  A deep, raspy growl only confirmed my observation.  His head dropped in line with his shoulders, ears flat to his head.  A fan of Caesar Millan, the dog whisperer, I stood my ground.  This proved ineffective.  He snarled.  In response, I assumed a defensive stance, hoping vainly that the lessons at Tiger Schulmann’s would be worthwhile.  Fuck an A if I couldn’t remember a thing.
    Running, unfortunately, was out of the question.  I had two legs; he had four, and night vision , to boot.  In any event, he didn’t give me a chance.  He lunged and I kicked, following through with the weight of my leg.  The dog flew sideways, tumbling across the ground.  He rolled right back to his feet and came at me again.  This time, he latched onto my forearm.  My adrenaline was pumping so I didn’t scream.  Truthfully, I didn’t even feel any pain.  Instead of pulling back and playing a game of tug with my arm, which I’d rather not use as a chew toy, I pushed forward and gouged at his eyes.  This earned a yip.  He promptly released my arm and fell back.  This didn’t deter him for long.  Regrouping, he circled, lunging and feinting until he found his opening and latched onto my ankle.  He tugged so hard, my legs went out from under me.  My elbow hit the hard packed soil and broke the fall, but I wasn’t aware of the boulder behind me.  I heard a crunch as my head made contact.  Stars flashed behind my eyes.  Still, I didn’t feel any pain.  The dog mauling my neck was the last thing I remember, and the sound of his pack mates arriving.  I was thankful of the blackness engulfing my vision.  I wouldn’t have to die while they devoured me alive.  I’ve watched National Geographic enough