The Unchosen Ones

Prologue

Kire ran past towering Sequoia trees with dense leaves that shaded the forest from the sun overhead, making the forest dark, humid, and uncomfortably cold. As he ran, he felt like his lungs were about to explode, but perhaps his body was waiting to fail him just as the thumping getting closer and closer finally closed in on him.

When the chase first started, taking in long breaths and then holding them in proved to be the best breathing strategy. But it no longer mattered whether he held his breath in his belly or exhaled until his soul escaped through his nostrils; every single breath of air he took left a trail of fire burning in his throat down to his chest and belly.

He leaped over giant roots sticking up out of the ground and fallen branches the size of trees. The smell of rot and moisture hung thick in the air like fog on a misty morning. He could hear the gurgling sound of a stream merging with the river somewhere in the distance. The forest was treacherous territory—twice he slipped on rocks covered with moss, leaving him covered in mud. Another fallen branch presented itself before Kire, and he leaped over it, landing on a carpet of dead leaves. This felt like a game of Temple Run or Danger Surf, except not fun and full of dread because he couldn’t respawn if he died. It was he, Kire Hunter, who would be killed. Kire’s surname was Hunter, but today he ironically found himself as the prey fleeing with its tail between its legs.

St. Bernard High School’s two apex predators, Trace and Kaos, were two of the beings chasing after Kire, and who could forget Trace’s girlfriend Amberly McHenry, who was the special angel sent to Kire from the darkest pits of hell? Kire would never understand why she was always out to get him, just to make his life as miserable as can be.

Kire fell again after running into a clump of moss and ferns hanging from some hemlocks. “Ugh, how do I get out of here,” moaned Kire. “Oh! I can call for help.” He felt around all of his pockets, searching for his phone before groaning in disappointment. He then remembered when he punched Trace Henderson in the face earlier, he quickly threw his backpack aside and started running—the backpack, of course, had his phone in it.

Kire noticed a very familiar girl bending over something a little too late. Before he could stop himself, he smashed into what looked like a pot, but pots don’t break to pieces, do they? He muttered hurried apologies and scurried to his feet just as Trace boomed out in that rich bass voice of his.

“There he is!” the tyrant called happily. “We have to get him! I can almost taste him!”

Trace’s words “taste him” filled Kire’s weary legs with adrenaline and he found himself picking up the speed he didn’t know he had in him. How could Trace say, ‘I can almost taste him,’ as though Kire was a warthog being chased by a pack of coyotes?

The thumping of the trio’s feet drummed a scary echo through the forest and Kire thought someone had joined; when he risked a glance over his shoulder, he saw that someone had joined the pursuing party. He scoffed in disbelief.

had“Kire, if you stop right now, I promise I won’t lay a hand on you,” someone called. It was Kaos.

“That’s right, Kire,” Trace bellowed behind him. “You’ll only lose an eye for that sucker punch you threw at me!”

“Oh, stop talking,” Kaos snapped at Trace. “You’re good at using everything but your brain. Don’t you think luring him over beats the chase?!” he exclaimed.

Kire scoffed; fat chance he would stop at Kaos’ request. That kid was as sly as a snake and as cunning as a fox.

“I got him!”

Kire’s eyes were bulging as Amberly came straight at him from out of nowhere.

“No!” Kire yelled as Amberly crashed into him, bringing them both down into the gorge. The last thing Kire thought of as the world of green leaves and black rotting wood swirled in his eyes was his mother smiling in the kitchen—then the day snapped into darkness.