“Hey, stop!” the hunter shouts after them, but she’s already taken to her heels after the helpful stranger. It’s the adrenalin that allows that; she knows she’ll pay for this energy later, probably at a very steep cost, but whatever the cost it will still be lower than the hunter catching her.
She just hopes the stranger knows what he’s doing.
He does seem to have latched on to a good idea here, though, because the hunter doesn’t even try to chase them.
The shouting disappears as Stiles sprints down from where he was originally going, Scott’s house only a certain amount of miles away. They couldn’t run that distance forever, but he was sure that he wanted to lose the hunter off his tracks. He’d experienced enough crap in Scott’s world that this seemed like a breeze, but it was serious enough that it was important to him.
Now he’s shouting into the phone at Scott, telling him to open his front door and that he’ll explain things when he gets there. Once he hears the simple word “okay” from Scott, he hangs up immediately and uses more energy into sprinting off.
She can’t keep up — he’s amazing, like a gazelle, his long legs easily outdistancing her. Everything hurts, bare feet slapping against the pavement, breath rasping in and out of her chest audibly, limbs increasingly heavy. She can’t feel the hunter anymore — but she can feel everyone else, a cacophony in her skull that makes her clamp her hands futilely over her ears.
And then there’s a rock, or a curb, a stick, something — she trips over it and hits the ground heavily.