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“Run! Run! Faster!”

James’s words pierced her ears despite the cacophonous sound of her blood crashing through her veins. Her heart threatened to explode, not from the physical exertion, but from terror forcing its alarm into her every extremity.

“Run!”

The razor-sharp blades of the rice crop slashed at her bare shins like whips as she shot along the lush fringes of the steeply terraced paddy fields, their stagnant waters stinging her lacerations and seeping into her trainers as the verdant shoots flattened under her pounding feet. Dense jungle and presumed safety loomed ahead to her left, and the imposing hulk of Mount Batukaru rose on her right.

Her mahogany hair lashed across her face, obstructing her vision, the mingling of perspiration from her strenuous sprint and the intense humidity doubling its volume. The rucksack James had insisted she carry bounced heavily on her shoulders, serving only to slow her escape.

“Run!”

Lit by dappled silver moonlight, the tropical forest of palm and banyan trees appeared darker and more impenetrable than by day. Before being swallowed by the waiting jungle, James twisted his face over his shoulder toward her. A jolt of horror caught in her chest as her eyes met his distorted glare, crammed with such naked hatred it caused her to miss her stride. Her foot slammed into the opaque, motionless waters of the rice field, submerging her ankle and interrupting her essential flight.

As she righted her balance—shrugging the ancient rucksack higher onto her shoulders—even in her panicked state she caught a glimpse of bleeding crimson fingers slice through the thick hessian material. She slowed again, losing vital seconds.

“Run!”