Chase wanted to ask what in the hell gave Scotty the idea that any place out here would be okay, but that meant using breath he desperately needed to keep chugging through his lungs.
He caught movement in his peripheral vision, and while his brain screamed for him not to look, he did. Whether he felt he had to in order to gauge whether or not to throw the molotov, or because he just couldn't help himself, he didn't know. He did know that he regretted it instantly, and that the thing, whatever it was, was gradually closing the distance between them.
Oh god.
"Lighting!" His shout of warning to the others came out as half a shriek as sharp fear officially settled in. If he hadn't been mentally training himself to perform the action since making the molotov he wasn't sure he would have gotten the job done as well as he had, or if at all. The end of the scrap hit the torch, bursting the end to life and singing his sleeve in the process. He ignored it, giving the thing in the woods one last look before hurling the molotov in its direction.
He knew just from the way the thing moved, the way the shadows played as the glowing flame soared, that he'd missed hitting it directly. The bag exploded and ignited in a bright burst at it's feet.