The Mating Run

Chapter 42

Weakness Anger is like a flame, they say.

It flickers, it burns, and it engulfs everything in its path. But as | watch Zeke down there, pacing with that twisted grin anda menacing machete in hand, it’s not heat that | feel. No, it’s an eerie coldness that wraps around me like a ghostly

shroud.

You see, they tell you that anger makes your temperature rise, your blood boiling beneath your skin. But right now, in the heart of this forest, surrounded by towering trees that seem to witness every breath we take, | can’t help but shiver. The chill isn’t just in the air; it's seeping into my bones, settling in, making me question everything.

Maybe it’s the fear. Fear has a way of sending shivers down your spine, they say. But this isn’t just fear. It’s a bone-deep coldness that goes beyond the natural apprehension that anyone would feel when faced with a man wielding a machete and sporting a grin that belongs in nightmares.

| wrap my arms around myself, attempting to ward off the cold. It’s not the kind of cold the

a jacket or a warm embrace can chase away. No, this cold is different. It’s the kind that seeps into your soul, making you question the very essence of warmth you thought you knew.

The forest, once alive with the symphony of rustling leaves and distant bird calls, feels muted. It’s as if the very essence of life has taken a step back, leaving room for this unnatural coldness to take center stage. The trees stand tall, their branches reaching towards the heavens, but their usual comforting presence feels distant, almost aloof.

| glance at Victor, who’s huddled beside me on this high tree branch. His brows are furrowed in concern, and | can see the tension in his eyes. | wonder if he knows just how much trouble he’s in right now. | wonder if | will do anything to stop Zeke. | wonder if | will do my best to save him.

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The coldness intensifies, and | find myself rubbing my arms, trying to generate some warmth. It’s not just a physical chill; it's a psychological one, creeping into the recesses of my mind and leaving a lingering sense of unease.

| steal another glance at Zeke. His movements are erratic, and the unsettling grin never leaves his face. It’s as if he’s dancing to a tune only he can hear, a melody that sends shivers down my spine.

Everything freezes as Zeke begins to ascend the tree with an eerie ease that defies gravity. Panic clutches at my throat, threatening to choke the breath from my lungs. Victor, usually the epitome of composure, looks at me with wide eyes, desperation etched across his face.

“Fuck! What do we do, Alina? What the fuck do we do?!” Victor's voice trembles with a fear that mirrors my own.

| want to answer him, to provide a solution that will magically whisk us away. from this unfolding horror, but my mind is a chaotic whirlwind of confusion. Zeke, his eyes glinting with madness, inches closer and closer, each upward movement sending shivers down my spine.

“Think, Alina, think!” Victor's urgency pierces through my mental fog, but my thoughts remain muddled, trapped in the labyrinth of fear. Zeke’s laughter, a disconcerting melody, reverberates through the air, filling the forest with a sense of impending doom.

“He’s climbing,” | mutter, my voice barely audible even to myself. It's a statement of the obvious, a futile attempt to articulate the sheer horror of the

situation. “| can see that! He’s climbing alright! We can’t stay here!” Victor's panic rises, mirroring the surge of dread within me.

The tree branch, once our refuge, now feels like a precarious ledge suspended between life and the malevolent force that is Zeke. | search desperately for an escape route, my eyes darting between the surrounding branches as if they hold the key to our salvation.

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Victor clutches my arm, his grip a desperate plea for guidance.

“Alina, please, we can’t just wait for him to reach us. What do we do?”

The coldness that had momentarily retreated returns, a chilling embrace that tightens its grip with each passing moment. | rack my brain for a plan, any plat, but the panic has rendered my thoughts incoherent.

“He’s almost here! Alina, do something!” Victor’s voice cracks, his eyes. reflecting the terror that has consumed us both. al eee | think-”

“This is your fault, Alina! If you hadn’t destroyed his shack, we wouldn't be in

this mess!”

His blame hangs heavy between us, a suffocating weight that makes every breath feel like an effort. Panic tightens its grip on my chest as | try to find a way out of this nightmare.

“Oh, Victor!” Zeke’s voice carries an unsettling calmness, “How would your prefer to meet your end? Quick and easy, or slow and painful?”

The choice, gruesome and inevitable, dangles over us like a macabre game. | look at Victor, searching for some sign of resilience, a glimmer of hope that we might find a way out of this dire situation. But his eyes, filled with fear and anger, only reflect the stark reality of our impending doom.

“I'm giving you a choice, Victor,” Zeke continues, smirking like a maniac, waving his machete as he climbed the tree with ease. “Quick and easy or slow and painful.”

Victor's gaze turns to me, his eyes ablaze with a fury that intensifies the chill in the air. “You did this, Alina! You destroyed his shack, and now we're going to pay for

it!”

My attempts to reason with him are futile as Zeke’s presence grows more ominous. The forest, with its ancient trees as silent spectators, seems to bear witness to our descent into chaos.

377 08:35 Sat 9 Mar N Weakness now.” “Victor, we need to figure this out together. Blaming each other won't help us 1.me. But Victor's anger only deepens, his frustration finding an outlet in accusing Zeke’s voice interrupts our fraught exchange, “Tick—tock, Victor. Time’s running out. Choose your fate.”

The pressure mounts as Victor glares at me, his accusation lingering in the air like an unspoken verdict.

Victor, fueled by desperation, inches closer to the edge of the tree branch, his eyes reflecting the turmoil within. The decision to jump, to escape the clutches of Zeke, hangs in the air like a precarious balance between life and a precipitous fall.

“Victor, wait! Don’t!”

But before Victor can leap into the abyss below, Zeke, swift as the shadows cast by the dense foliage, closes in with an uncanny agility. My scream pierces the stillness as Zeke’s hand clamps around Victor's ankle, halting his perilous descent.

Zeke, his features twisted by a malevolent determination, shoves Victor back. onto the branch with a force that sends tremors through the wood. As Victor stumbles backward, teetering on the edge of the branch, Zeke lunges forward with a ferocity that mirrors the primal instincts of a predator. The machete gleams in the moonlight, a cold glint that heralds the impending danger. My heart pounds in my chest as | witness the unfolding nightmare.

“Stay away from him!” | scream, my voice raw with desperation.

Zeke, relentless in his pursuit, launches at Victor, the machete raised high

above his head.

Victor, scrambling to regain his footing, meets Zeke’s relentless assault with a desperation born of survival. The machete arcs through the air, a lethal dance of metal that threatens to

sever the fragile thread holding us suspended between life and the abyss below.

“Victor, watch out!”

In a moment of fleeting grace, Victor manages to evade Zeke’s deadly strike, the machete grazing the air where he once stood. Victor, agile and quick, darts. around Zeke like a shadow avoiding the light. His movements are a blend of desperation and determination, a silent vow to defy the looming threat that Zeke

represents.

Zeke, towering over Victor with a menacing presence, wields a machete stained with blood, Victor, fighting with a cunning ferocity, employs dirty tactics to gain the upper hand. He throws dirt into Zeke’s eyes, blinding him momentarily.

Zeke, temporarily blinded, roars in frustration, swinging the machete blindly in Victor’s direction. The clash of steel against air becomes a dissonant melody within. the natural amphitheater. In a sudden twist, Zeke regains his composure and lands a brutal hit with the machete on Victor's knee.

“Fuck! That fucking hurts, man. What the fuck?!”

Victor, hobbled and in pain, refuses to yield. He retaliates with a swift kick to Zeke’s chin, a desperate attempt to turn the tides. It hits, and | gasp. Zeke, blood streaming from his split lip, staggers backward. Victor, though wounded and hobbled, fights with a determination that defies the limitations imposed by Zeke’s brutal assault. Zeke, fueled by a primal rage, swings the machete with renewed ferocity. Each strike is a declaration of dominance, a testament to the unyielding force that seeks to impose its will.

Victor charges towards me. His figure, a blur against the backdrop of nature’s tapestry, elicits an involuntary flinch from Zeke. The machete, once wielded with malicious intent, hangs at Zeke’s side.

Zeke, his menacing glare never faltering, tightens his grip on the machete, ready to defend himself against the approaching threat. As Victor nears, Zeke’s. demeanor changes. He doesn’t swing the machete in a direct assault; instead, he starts throwing it around with a wild and erratic motion.

The machete, a glinting menace in the dappled sunlight filtering through the 4/7

08:35 Sat, 9 Mar

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trees, weaves a dangerous path through the air. Victor, now cautious and calculating, watches the deadly dance with a gaze. Zeke, his eyes locked on

War Victor, seems to want to say something. His lips part as if grappling with unspokent words. The t

tension hangs thick in the air as | observe the peculiar dynamics between Victor and Zeke. The machete, once wielded with reckless abandon, is now handled with an unexpected degree of caution by Zeke. It’s a shift that doesn’t escape my notice, and | find myself puzzled by the sudden change in his approach.

Victor, on the other hand, seems to revel in the strange turn of events. His chuckle, a low and mocking sound, ripples through the charged atmosphere. | shoot. him a questioning look, silently demanding an explanation for this unnerving. situation. His response is a cryptic smile that only deepens the enigma.

“What's so funny, Victor?” | inquire, my voice a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.

Victor's chuckle evolves into a full-blown laughter, and he shoots a mischievous. glance at Zeke. “Seems like our friend here has a soft spot,” he teases, his words. laced with a subtle mockery that only intensifies the intrigue.

| exchange a puzzled glance with Zeke, who remains stoic in the face of Victor's taunts. The machete, now held with an almost delicate touch by Zeke. Why?

“What's he talking about, Zeke?” | press, my gaze shifting between the two men. Zeke, usually a fortress of silent strength, appears unsettled by Victor’s revelation. The machete, now a tool of both defense and vulnerability, remains poised in Zeke’s hands.

Zeke’s response is a gruff mutter, “None of your business.”

Victor, seemingly relishing the discomfort he’s sown, decides to elaborate. “Our friend Zeke here, the mighty warrior, has a fear. A fear that makes him rethink his whole strategy.”

| look at Zeke with renewed interest, trying to discern the truth behind Victor's 5/7

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words.

“What fear?” | ask, my voice edged with a mix of curiosity and caution. Confusion lingers in the air as | press the both of them for an explanation. Before Zeke can respond, Victor, always the provocateur, decides to interject.

He moves with a sudden swiftness that catches me off guard, grabbing me and using me as a shield. Something sharp jabs against my neck, and a gasp escapes my lips.

“| see it now, Zeke,” Victor announces with a calculated emphasis, his eyes. locking onto mine. The sinister edge in his voice sends shivers down my spine, as if he relishes the revelation he’s about to unveil. “I thought it was just my eyes deceiving me but no.”

| tried to pry myself away from Victor but he held me firmly.

“What are you doing?!”

The machete glistens ominously, mirroring the calculating glint in Victor’s eyes. “This tough guy’s got a weakness, Alina. It’s you.”

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