The doe was ahead, moving through the scrub brush, indifferent to the thorns, intent on leading her baby toward the smell of green ahead.
Close. Closer. The breeze blowing from the deer to Hunter, so that they didn’t smell him.
A few more feet and he’d be close enough. First the doe. He’d kill her first. The baby wouldn’t know how to react. She would hesitate. And he’d take her.
So much meat. Albert would be very excited. There hadn’t been many deer lately.
Hunter heard the noise and saw the deer bolt.
They were gone before he could so much as raise his hands, let alone send the invisible killing heat.
Gone. The whole night stalking and tracking and just seconds away from a good kill, and now they were bounding away through the brush.
The noise was people, Hunter knew that right away. Talking and jostling and rattling and tripping and complaining.
Hunter was angry but also philosophical. Hunting was like that: a lot of the time you ended up wasting your time. But…
Hunter frowned.
That voice.
He crouched in the brush and quieted his breathing. He strained to hear. More than one person. Boys.
They were coming in his direction, skirting the zeke field.
He could see them now, dark silhouettes. Four of them. He could see them through stalks of weed and tangles of bramble. Stumbling around because they didn’t know how to move like Hunter. Stumbling under the weight of heavy packs.
And that voice…
“…what he wants. That’s the problem with mutant freaks like him, you can never trust a word they say.”
That voice…
Hunter had heard that voice before. He’d heard that voice crying out to a bloodthirsty mob.
This mutant, this nonhuman scum here, this freak Hunter, this chud deliberately murdered my best friend, Harry.
He’s a killer!
Take him! Take him, the murdering mutant scum!
That voice…
Hunter touched his neck, feeling again the scrape of the rough rope.
He’d been hurt so bad. Head beaten. Blood running in his eyes. And his words not working…
Mind not…
Brain confused…so afraid…
Grab on to the rope!
That voice had urged, pitch rising, bellowing, the mob of kids shrieking and giddy, and the rope had tightened around Hunter’s neck and pulled and pulled and he couldn’t breathe, Oh God, gasping for air but no air…
Grab on to the rope!
They had. They had grabbed on to the rope and pulled and Hunter’s neck had stretched and his feet lifted, kicking in the air, kicking and wanting to scream and his head pounding and pounding and eyes going dark…
Zil!
Zil and his friends.
And here they were. They didn’t even know Hunter was there. They didn’t see him. They weren’t hunters.
Hunter crept closer. Moving to intersect their path. His powers didn’t usually reach more than fifty paces or so. He had to be closer.
“…think you’re right, Leader,” one of the others was saying.
“Can we take a rest?” a third voice whined. “This stuff weighs a ton.”
“We should have gone back when it was still light so we could see,” Antoine griped.
“Idiot. We waited until dark for a reason,” Zil snapped. “You want Sam or Brianna to catch us out in the open?”
“We have guns now.”
“Which we will use when the time is right,” Zil said. “Not in some open fight with Sam and Dekka and Brianna where they’ll take us out.”
“When the time is right,” one of them echoed.
They had guns, Hunter thought. Sneaking with guns.
“Leader will decide,” another voice said.
“Yeah, but…,” someone began. Then, “Shh! Hey! I think I just saw a coyote. Or maybe it was a deer.”
“Better not be a coyote.”
BLAM! BLAM!
Hunter dove facedown in the dirt.
“What are you shooting at?” Zil demanded.
“I think it was a coyote!”
“Turk, you idiot!” Zil raged. “Blasting away like a moron!”
“The sound carries, Turk,” Hank said.
“Give that gun to Hank,” Zil snapped. “Idiot.”
“Sorry. I thought…it looked like a coyote.”
It wasn’t a coyote. It was Hunter’s deer.
They were moving on now. Still grumping at one another. Still complaining.
Hunter knew he could move faster and more quietly than they did. He could get close enough…
He could stretch out his hands and bring the killing heat to Zil’s brain. Cook it. Cook it inside his skull.
Like he had Harry…
“An accident,” Hunter moaned softly to himself. “Didn’t mean to…”
But he had.
Tears filled his eyes. He wiped at them, but more came.
He’d been defending himself from Zil. So long ago. They’d been roommates, Zil and Harry and Hunter. A stupid argument; Hunter no longer remembered what had started it. He only remembered that Zil had threatened him with a fireplace poker. Hunter had been scared. He’d reacted. But Harry had moved between them, trying to separate them, trying to stop the fight.
And Harry had cried out. Grabbed his head.
Hunter remembered his eyes…the way they had turned milky…the light going out…
Hunter had seen that same dying light in the eyes of many animals since then. He was Hunter the hunter.
Close. Closer. The breeze blowing from the deer to Hunter, so that they didn’t smell him.
A few more feet and he’d be close enough. First the doe. He’d kill her first. The baby wouldn’t know how to react. She would hesitate. And he’d take her.
So much meat. Albert would be very excited. There hadn’t been many deer lately.
Hunter heard the noise and saw the deer bolt.
They were gone before he could so much as raise his hands, let alone send the invisible killing heat.
Gone. The whole night stalking and tracking and just seconds away from a good kill, and now they were bounding away through the brush.
The noise was people, Hunter knew that right away. Talking and jostling and rattling and tripping and complaining.
Hunter was angry but also philosophical. Hunting was like that: a lot of the time you ended up wasting your time. But…
Hunter frowned.
That voice.
He crouched in the brush and quieted his breathing. He strained to hear. More than one person. Boys.
They were coming in his direction, skirting the zeke field.
He could see them now, dark silhouettes. Four of them. He could see them through stalks of weed and tangles of bramble. Stumbling around because they didn’t know how to move like Hunter. Stumbling under the weight of heavy packs.
And that voice…
“…what he wants. That’s the problem with mutant freaks like him, you can never trust a word they say.”
That voice…
Hunter had heard that voice before. He’d heard that voice crying out to a bloodthirsty mob.
This mutant, this nonhuman scum here, this freak Hunter, this chud deliberately murdered my best friend, Harry.
He’s a killer!
Take him! Take him, the murdering mutant scum!
That voice…
Hunter touched his neck, feeling again the scrape of the rough rope.
He’d been hurt so bad. Head beaten. Blood running in his eyes. And his words not working…
Mind not…
Brain confused…so afraid…
Grab on to the rope!
That voice had urged, pitch rising, bellowing, the mob of kids shrieking and giddy, and the rope had tightened around Hunter’s neck and pulled and pulled and he couldn’t breathe, Oh God, gasping for air but no air…
Grab on to the rope!
They had. They had grabbed on to the rope and pulled and Hunter’s neck had stretched and his feet lifted, kicking in the air, kicking and wanting to scream and his head pounding and pounding and eyes going dark…
Zil!
Zil and his friends.
And here they were. They didn’t even know Hunter was there. They didn’t see him. They weren’t hunters.
Hunter crept closer. Moving to intersect their path. His powers didn’t usually reach more than fifty paces or so. He had to be closer.
“…think you’re right, Leader,” one of the others was saying.
“Can we take a rest?” a third voice whined. “This stuff weighs a ton.”
“We should have gone back when it was still light so we could see,” Antoine griped.
“Idiot. We waited until dark for a reason,” Zil snapped. “You want Sam or Brianna to catch us out in the open?”
“We have guns now.”
“Which we will use when the time is right,” Zil said. “Not in some open fight with Sam and Dekka and Brianna where they’ll take us out.”
“When the time is right,” one of them echoed.
They had guns, Hunter thought. Sneaking with guns.
“Leader will decide,” another voice said.
“Yeah, but…,” someone began. Then, “Shh! Hey! I think I just saw a coyote. Or maybe it was a deer.”
“Better not be a coyote.”
BLAM! BLAM!
Hunter dove facedown in the dirt.
“What are you shooting at?” Zil demanded.
“I think it was a coyote!”
“Turk, you idiot!” Zil raged. “Blasting away like a moron!”
“The sound carries, Turk,” Hank said.
“Give that gun to Hank,” Zil snapped. “Idiot.”
“Sorry. I thought…it looked like a coyote.”
It wasn’t a coyote. It was Hunter’s deer.
They were moving on now. Still grumping at one another. Still complaining.
Hunter knew he could move faster and more quietly than they did. He could get close enough…
He could stretch out his hands and bring the killing heat to Zil’s brain. Cook it. Cook it inside his skull.
Like he had Harry…
“An accident,” Hunter moaned softly to himself. “Didn’t mean to…”
But he had.
Tears filled his eyes. He wiped at them, but more came.
He’d been defending himself from Zil. So long ago. They’d been roommates, Zil and Harry and Hunter. A stupid argument; Hunter no longer remembered what had started it. He only remembered that Zil had threatened him with a fireplace poker. Hunter had been scared. He’d reacted. But Harry had moved between them, trying to separate them, trying to stop the fight.
And Harry had cried out. Grabbed his head.
Hunter remembered his eyes…the way they had turned milky…the light going out…
Hunter had seen that same dying light in the eyes of many animals since then. He was Hunter the hunter.
