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Kyle was running as fast as he could through the forest as the loud cracklings and dashing of over a hundred feet pursued him. He changed direction, running back towards town, hoping to throw them off and yet knowing in his heart that they would anticipate where he was heading. After so many years of being the bad little kid in Wilton, it seemed that the community had finally decided enough was enough. One way or the other, they would have him dead.
Tree branches lashed at his face, trickles of blood oozing from cuts and scratches. By the time he had reached the edge of the forest, he was growing more than weary from running and his neck hurt from glancing over his shoulder. Twice he had stacked it, tripping over a log or a particularly thick, tangled knot of wild spinifex. The thunde
