This is my first story and attempt at any sort of fictional writing, so please be kind.
He had to be faster.
They were closing in on him, they were so close. A feeling of claustrophobia swept over him as he forced himself forward. A thought that had been creeping through his mind suddenly leapt out in front of the other thoughts swarming through his head: he wasn't going to make it.
He had to push that thought out of his head, if he started thinking that way then he wouldn't make it.
His run had turned more into a drunken stagger the further he went and the trees seemed to go by him in slow motion. He had been running for so long that he had forgotten just when exactly it was that he started. If he could just keep going for five more minutes he might be able to shake them and hide somewhere, but where was there to hide?
He could hear them shouting behind him, closer than he believed them to be. Far closer. He zipped behind a giant oak, then out again to the same side, trying to confuse them. Every second he could gain could mean his life.
It didn't work.
Perspiration was seeping through his clothes, making him chilled down to the very core of himself. Somewhere along the way he had cut his face on a passing limb, causing a sticky sweet mixture of sweat and blood to pour down. He didn't care. He just had to lost them.
One moment he could hear them behind him, cursing as they ran noisily over the crunchy leaves on the forest bottom. Then suddenly, there was nothing. The very forest itself seemed to be taunting him into making a noise, to give away his location.
For a brief moment he felt relief. They were gone. They had given up. He had lost them. Then the pessimistic part of himself that was still anchored in reality spoke up again: They could be lulling you into a false sense of security, they are waiting for you to make a mistake.
The soft obliteration of the leaves were the only way he was able to mark the progress of his enemies. Now he was completely blind.
He couldn't give up now, he was so close. His sluggish pace continued as he attempted to put distance between himself and his pursuers. He needed to focus, he needed to succeed. He had to get there.
Through the blackness of the forest he started to see a light off in the distance. This gave him a new surge of energy. He was almost there. He hoped that Montag had not left for the city yet. He had to get to Montag. As he got closer to the light he could see more clearly the outline of the cottage. He had made it.
A searing pain ripped through his head. He could see the lights start to fade as he drifted into the blackness that was enveloping him. He had led them to Montag…
Then Atticus saw no more.