It is Regan, in the end, who lets out a breath, and Martin stiffens as the creature's focus narrows instantly, its horrible form rearranging itself in ways that bring Martin to mind of too many Statements about meat. He's panicking, distantly, and Marcus is panicking beside him, his hands pressed over his mouth but his breathing growing more and more difficult to quell. It's coming toward them. Unless it hears something else, Martin is sure it's going to keep coming toward him.

There is no one else here and no way to alert anyone to their predicament without giving them fully away. There is only Martin and two children who are terrified, the smaller of them inching steadily toward a scream.

He has never considered himself a particularly brave person, and it's not entirely bravery that motivates him. It's mostly a kind of sick desperation for the tension to snap, a frantic desire to do something. He barely thinks about it at all, really. There isn't time for that. There isn't time for the consequences, the pros or cons, or the thought that this is really it, not at the hands of a known monster, not the sacrifice he'd planned that might save the world, as if that ever sounded anything like him - just this, lonely in this strange place, to save some children he barely knows. There isn't time to think that maybe that's enough, which is already a truth lodged somewhere in his gut instincts. Most of all there isn't time to think about how he's never going to see John again.

Martin breaks into a run, faster than he thought himself capable, cutting directly past the monster and for the corn behind it. He doesn't try to be quiet. He tries not to be quiet. He feels the creature turn its head, and only then does he really let go.

There's no words. Just shouting. Screaming, really. Just a panicked, raw cacophony intended to make himself the sole target, intended, he realizes like it hadn't been wholly obvious, to end his life.