Hunter/Prey

Chapter 4

He was getting progressively worse, and the dizzying spells were coming faster and lingered longer. His footing was more treacherous than he remembered from a few minutes ago and it took a lot of effort just to swing one leg forward, then start the process all over again with the other one.

Repeat, suck in a breath, and repeat again.

The entire time, he swore he could hear her coming.

So this is what it feels like to be hunted.

Again, he almost laughed out loud. But he couldn’t because that would take too much effort and he was simply too weak, even after he had lessened the blood loss. Or, well, had done his best to, anyway. It was hard to see where he was going and twice as difficult to know what he was doing. His hand could be at the wrong spot at this very moment, for all he knew.

He kept moving, because to stop now would be to die. And he didn’t want to die. He had too many things left to do, too many goals unfulfilled. And he so, so wanted to fulfill them.

So he stumbled, and staggered, and groped at trees to keep from keeling over. He couldn’t take his other hand away from his waist. That was the only thing keeping the rest of his life from pouring out to the damp ground in a big puddle of dead.

He pulled back his long-sleeve shirt and squinted at his watch. It had glowing neon hands, but for some reason that didn’t seem to help at the moment. It took him much longer than necessary (maybe thirty seconds?) to finally pick out the hour from the minute hand.

9:35 P.M.

Christ. That was it? How long had he been stumbling around in here? Apparently not very long. Go figure.

He pushed off the tree and took two steps forward when he heard the snap! of a twig and twisted around. Too fast (Christ, not again!) and a bolt of flesh-rendering electricity rippled across his body for the fifth time in as many…minutes? Seconds?

He grimaced through the pain and had to grab at a tree trunk — missed it, groped for it again, and managed to get a handhold on the third try.

He glanced back and stood perfectly still and listened.

Footsteps.

He was sure of it.

Getting closer!

He turned around and began running, ignoring the shooting pain because even that was better than getting shot.

Of course she had tracked him. How could she not? A blind man could have followed all the blood he had left in his wake. And as well prepared as she had been, it was a good bet she’d probably brought a flashlight along, too.

Come into my web, said the spider to the fly…

She had certainly baited him easily enough. But then, he had always been a sucker for a city girl. He just didn’t know she had come with a shotgun in the trunk. Though, he had to admit, even if he had known that…maybe…maybe he would still have gone for it. That was just the kind of guy he was.

He found himself smiling despite the pain.

Maybe, after all this time, he had finally found the one he was looking for. It was too bad she was trying to kill him. But then, what relationship didn’t have its problems, especially in the beginning? How could you hope to grow as a couple without weathering a rocky storm or two?

The light beckoned to him between two of the largest trees he had ever laid eyes on. Or maybe that was just the lightheadedness messing with his perception of things. Even the light could have been a figment of his imagination. He hoped not, because he could almost feel her catching up to him.

Thank God the light was very much real, and he had to blink a couple of times when they first hit his eyes: LED lightbulbs from the other side of a pair of windows facing a wide-open front yard.

He staggered toward the brightness, like a dying patient toward “the light.” Except this one wasn’t going to lead him “up there,” but rather “down there.” More than a dozen women, over the course of a ten-year career, had made damned sure of that.

As he got closer, he was able to make out the square shape of a log cabin, wider than it was tall, with a front porch. There was a white minivan parked out front. The yard hadn’t been tended to in a long time, which meant this was some kind of summer retreat. This area of the country was filled with hunters, some of who didn’t really follow hunting season rules.

He braced against one of the trees for a moment to look the property over.

A dirt road led to the front door of the cabin, where he could see silhouetted shapes moving across one of the living room windows. That would explain the voices he could just barely hear coming from inside—

Snap! from behind him again.

Still far away, but she was getting closer.

He pushed off and stumbled out of the tree line and toward the cabin.

The minivan had out-of-state plates, which was a good sign. Out-of-towners might not know about the things he had done, regardless of how much time had passed since the last time he had been in the news. The windows were tinted so he couldn’t see inside the vehicle, and when he tried the driver-side door, it wouldn’t budge. The passenger side and side hatch also wouldn’t move when he pulled at them.

He smirked. Of course it was too much to hope for a getaway car with a key still in the ignition. Then again, he had always been the optimistic type, so why stop now?

He turned his attention to the cabin instead.

Halfway to the front door, he unzipped his black jacket to expose the khaki-colored shirt and black tie underneath. He didn’t bother fixing his hair or wiping the sweat and traces of blood off his face. All of that would add to the sales pitch he had coming up.

He climbed the three steps up the porch, each one flimsier than the last. Rotten wood, no doubt from lack of maintenance, creaked under him. The state of the cabin’s exterior didn’t look like anyone regularly visited this place, which meant he was definitely dealing with out-of-towners. Even better if they were kids taking the old man’s (or uncle’s) cabin for a spin.

Voices floated through the cracks in the doorframe and windows as he neared.

Definitely young people. Maybe early twenties.

He suddenly remembered the knife in his hand and paused to slip it back into its nylon sheath strapped to his left hip. He took a breath before knocking once on the door, then glancing over his shoulder to make sure she hadn’t caught up to him yet, turned around and knocked a second time.

How many minutes did he have on her? One? Two? Five? Maybe just seconds—

The door opened and a young woman — blonde and green-eyed, with marvelous legs under white shorts despite the chilly evening — peered out at him from the partial opening. She had smartly kept the chain in place, but he could see enough of her to know she was definitely his type.

Twice in one day. This must be my lucky night.

“Jesus,” she said before turning and shouting, “Wade! There’s a guy here, and he’s bleeding all over your porch!”

He couldn’t help but grin to himself. The girl had a way of getting right to the point.

A twenty-something man with short brown hair (Wade, I presume) appeared promptly behind the blonde and peered out at him. “Holy shit, man, you okay?”

“No,” he said. “I’m definitely not okay.”

Then he casually brushed the sides of his jacket back to reveal the perfectly round emblem with a silver star in the middle.

“You a cop?” Wade asked, staring at the badge pinned to his shirt.

Captain Obvious, this kid.

“My name’s Beckard,” he said. “I’m a state trooper, and I need your help. There’s a crazy woman with a shotgun right behind me.”