There were rules to survive this game. Maci knew them by heart. She knew to never choose a location without more than one exit. One hour of sleep intervals. Always stay stocked on coffee. Make sure the gas tank is full. No exceptions.
She'd had close calls in the past, but from her own experience, this was the only way to stay alive. Of all people she should know, she'd been on the run from it for the past two years. It didn't matter how far she traveled or how increasingly difficult the terrain became, it always found her.
Always.
The house she'd chosen for the time being was a small two-story abandoned farmhouse. All the windows were already boarded up, making it easier for Maci to set up camp. It was chilled and damp. Home sweet home.
Maci stood from her sleeping bag on the floor and dusted her hands off on the back of her jeans. Another rule; never fall asleep without wearing shoes.
She walked across the room and stopped at the front boarded window, peering through the cracks, searching for any signs of movement. This search continued from all sides of the house in an almost constant loop.
Finally settling into her sleeping bag, Maci let out a soft breath and watched the fog develop from the heat. She didn't like the cold, her limbs always felt lethargic, making it harder to run. To escape.
Slowly she let her eyes close, listening to the howl of the wind and the clinking of glass bottles and metal cans that surrounded the perimeter of the house on fishing line. If anything approached, she'd hear.
She heard the footsteps first.
Maci glanced up, immediately alert and stood to her feet, peering out into the backyard. She held her breath but saw nothing. Nothing in the back or front, nothing on the sides. She was close to chalking the noise off as a deer, but then she saw it.
It walked toward the house diagonally from the trees, slow and steady. Each time she saw it, it took the form of someone else. This time she recognized it to be her stepmother. Why it took the shape of people she knew she never understood.
Pulling back from the window she grabbed her sleeping bag, rolled it up and stuffed it into her backpack. Quickly, she slung the strap over her shoulder and reached for the pistol from the side pocket. With keys in hand, she ran for the door.
A shot to the head wouldn't kill it, but it would at least buy her some time to get out and get as far away as possible.
Maci looked over her shoulder, keeping her eyes on the thing as she quickly slid into her Range Rover and started the engine. It roared to life as she checked her rearview mirror. It was a good twenty feet back.
Smirking, she put the car into reverse and gunned it, hitting it dead on and sending the thing flying. She quickly switched gears and took off down the dirt road and back to the main highway. She could always get a job as a truck driver. At least she'd get paid for this crap.
How much time she had before it found her always depended on how far she decided to travel. A few hours journey could give her a week of peace. It never stopped. Not to rest or to eat, it was always on the move, always being guided towards her.
She had to decide where to go next. As usual, she put her GPS in for a random location, turned her radio up and started to drive. It wasn't the life she had expected or the one she wanted, but it was life all the same. It was best to make the most of it.
"Grand Island, Nebraska here I come" she muttered to herself.