Closer (Story Sunday)

She knew she was being followed and her heart pounded, mind racing.

Echoes came to her. She was outnumbered.

Her steps faltered and she took a quick look over her shoulder to verify it but the street was in total darkness except for a dim, cloud-covered moon and her tiny flashlight. 

She moved a bit faster, sure it was the four men from the stadium. She'd only needed a moments escape from the thousands of tensely beating hearts crammed into the Super Dome and instead, had found a young girl's abused body and her attackers standing nearby, talking about how to hide it. All fresh from the act, they'd turned to see her and when she'd fled, they'd followed. Now, they were stalking her, getting closer.

The New Orleans street was debris-covered, empty except for broken tree limbs and power lines, and she heard the footsteps on her trail change. They'd split up, she realized, trying to surround her, herd her. She walked faster, sharp eyes still unable to pick even a single shadow from the darkness but it didn't really matter. She was a witness. They couldn't leave her alive.

Soft laughter rang out on her right and she flinched to the left, almost running now, and hit something heavy lying in the street. She fell hard, light flying out of her grasp and smashing against the ground. Blood dripped from her hands and she pushed herself up began to run through the total darkness.

A shape appeared on her right and she spun left again, running through a muddy yard, and glass crunched under her feet as heavy footsteps echoed openly, closely. 

She threw herself over a high fence and hit the ground again, almost dazed from the impact. She stayed still, hearing them close in, and then she was surrounded, looking up at four angry leers. 

Her cloak had fallen open to reveal a short, black dress over pale, flawless skin, and she felt the air shift. Their eyes darkened with need and she closed her eyes, listening to them decide who would be first and how they would clean up after.

Shadows moved silently in the darkness as the first man knelt in the mud, and unseen hands moved toward for his companions as he dropped his body onto hers. The woman immediately slid her hands around his neck.

"Closer." She whispered hungrily, lips searching, and then she was plunging her fangs into his sweaty skin and he was screaming. Her grip was like stone, relentless, and the shrieks of the other men echoed his as the small family of Hunters fed.

The woman belched loudly and giggled at herself as she pushed the body over and staggered to her feet, intoxicated with her meal. Hunting during the aftermath of human suffering was always the best. Few lights to give them away, no authorities patrolling every alley, and best of all, a perfect food supply. Tragedies brought out the worst mankind had to offer and with no one to protect their rights, these remorseless Killers were finally serving a purpose and getting what they deserved at the same time.