Sam started to run as soon as he heard the first rustling in the undergrowth. He hadn’t seen anything, but neither had he waited around to look. Now he couldn’t hear anything over the sounds of his own passage. The assault gun bounced against his shoulder and back, bruising the skin even through his tough coverall. Already he was winded, panting hard for every breath. He should have gone running more often with his dogs, or otherwise exercised to keep himself in better trim. Now he was running for his life and paying for his indolence. He wanted to stop, to breathe, to rest, but did not dare. They were behind him somewhere. They wouldn’t rest, so he couldn’t.