WolfWolf is

by Paul G Mann

  The last one still in hiding posed a small problem, he wasn’t looking at the camp the same as his friends; he was looking away from camp, probably for sign of Fred. At least this one had some sense Fred thought as he made his way camp side of him and crept up close enough to grab him by the mouth while stunning him at the same time with a blow to the head. Hog tied like his companions Fred made his way back to his pack, shouldered it and with noise enough to stampede a herd of cows he made for the camp.

  He knew the man waiting for him, not well enough to be a friend but enough to be pleasant to in ordinary circumstances. With a smile as wide as a horse’s backside he made a show of greeting him with warmth and friendship; even though the man began to tremble as his accomplices failed to attack an unsuspecting Fred, as had obviously been planned. Enough of the pleasantries Fred turned on the man without warning; grabbing him by the throat he lifted him of the ground with his powerful arms and demanded answers from him.

  ‘I said why are you waiting in ambush for me?’ Fred growled, even though the wretch couldn’t move or barely breathe suspended as he was some six inches off the floor. His eyes that seconds before explored the undergrowth surrounding the camp looking for his friends now began to bulge as the lack of oxygen from Fred’s death grip about his windpipe began to have an effect. Seeing this Fred opened his hand, relaxed his grip and let his choking and spluttering victim fall to the floor in a heap, face puce red from a lack of air.

  Relieving his victim of weaponry, Fred took a rare steel knife off his victim and held it to the fools’ throat. A steel knife, something very rare on this heap of rock they called home proved to Fred that whoever wanted him dead was willing to pay for it and pay well. He watched as his victim began to show signs of life once more; his breath was more even and the puce colour had reverted to a healthy pink.

  ‘I won’t ask again’ Fred said quietly. ‘I will just push this knife into your throat and get the information I need from one of your cronies. Now talk. Who sent you to kill me?’

  ‘We weren’t sent to kill you just capture you and take you to East Harbour.’ He replied with a sulk in his voice while rubbing his throat where Fred had gripped him.

  ‘I haven’t been to East Harbour for fifty years or more, who there would want me so bad they send four idiots like you to catch me?’ Fred grinned at him. ‘Besides I know you Billy Johnson, you’re from Haroldstown not East Harbour.’

  ‘I’m sorry Fred,’ Billy replied, fear of the big man who still loomed over him evident in his voice, ‘but word came with the last traveller that the residents of East Harbour wanted you and a substantial reward was promised to anyone who brought you there. We just thought…’ his voice trailed off as he shrugged his shoulders with resignation.

  ‘Thinking is not one of your strong points then.’ Fred said sarcastically. ‘Go and get your cronies Billy and come back here. Untie them gently I want the rawhide strips, and remember, one stupid move by any of you and it will be your last. GO,’ he hissed through clenched teeth.

  East Harbour was over five hundred miles away across some rough terrain. It would take at least two months to get there and that providing the weather stayed fair. What Fred had to consider was would the journey be worth it? He doubted he was in any danger; the four buffoons who had tried to ambush him must have misread the message. If the residents wanted him it was clear to Fred’s thinking that his services as a hunter would be wanted rather than his head for any dirty deeds he may have done the last time he was there. He couldn’t think of any, but fifty years was a long time and long enough for any indiscretion he may have made to be long forgotten or forgiven.

  By the time he had made his mind up to travel north to East Harbour Billy was leading his three henchmen in to Fred’s camp. Sheepishly they shuffled forward and stood in front of him.

  ‘Weapons and footwear’, Fred stated. ‘In a pile; there!’ He pointed to the ground four feet in front of him.

  Four crossbows with full quarrels of bolts, three stone knives, a stone tipped spear and four pairs of roughly made sandals lay before him.

  ‘Where is your camp equipment,’ he asked.

  ‘Ready for travel under a fallen tree half a mile over there,’ Billy replied pointing southwards.

  ‘Pick up your weapons, leave the crossbow bolts here except one each and go collect your equipment, then my friends head south to Haroldstown; if I see you again I promise to kill you, nice and slow so you suffer. Leave your sandals here, barefoot you will be less inclined to try and follow me, now go.’

  Fred watched as they scrambled for their weapons complaining as they did so about no sandals. He never flinched, just starred at them until they eventually got his message and with more than one furtive glance back, hobbled on bare feet as best they could out of the camp.

  He broke camp and was ready to move in under ten minutes. With about four hours of daylight left he knew he could put some three or four miles in, that would be three or four miles away from the four idiots that had tried to ambush him. Not that he thought for one minute they would follow, but it paid to be careful; the miserable existence that most people endured on this planet was enough to drive even the most honest to commit criminal and malicious acts given the right circumstances.

  As he made his way across country to East Harbour the Hunki played on his mind. No one he ever spoke to knew where they came from or how they got here. All that was known for sure was the Hunki were in some way responsible for everyone else being on the planet. It had been some time since their last hunt and it bothered him whenever he crossed open countryside that they could come out of the sky without sound or warning to chase their human quarry. What happened to the unfortunates who were captured didn’t make for nice thoughts. Fred had observed with his own eyes how a young woman had been decapitated, speared and roasted over an open fire, the flesh cut from her body to feed the hunters. Even he with his life hardened mind towards death shuddered at this evil memory. His progress was slow; the constant look out for Hunki warriors and the miles he added to his journey by avoiding open land would put weeks on his trek; not something he wanted but something that had to be for him to ensure his survival.

  The Hunki liked to hunt in the open and selected the villages and hamlets surrounded by open countryside as their favoured hunting grounds. They were not averse to hunting in the forests but avoided the trees whenever they could. There was too much cover for the human prey under the trees, too many hiding places that a resourceful human could use to his or her own advantage. In the trees a human had a 50/50 chance of survival; the Hunki weapons would make short work of a hiding human if found, but the hunt took longer for the Hunki and was not as successful as an open country hunt; their weapons didn’t have the range under the trees that open land gave them. It was far safer for a human under the trees; not a guarantee of safety but a lone wandering human under the tree line was usually left alone by the Hunki in favour of an easier kill in open ground.

  A week into his journey and the good weather turned to rain, heavy rain that would soak him and his belongings if he didn’t find shelter. He was in open country when the rains began and despite the fact Hunki rarely hunted in the wet he quickly altered his course to take him into the trees some five hundred yards to his right. The tree canopy would be thick at this time of year, thick enough to allow the rainwater to run harmlessly away from the tree trunks and give him shelter as it soaked into the ground. He was in luck; a hundred yards in from the tree line, native trees mixed with those from Earth; the large leafed natives giving excellent shelter as they fought for light alongside the huge Earth pines the Hunki had introduced and let seed the forests.

  Climbing the slender native tree to the first branches, he used his new steel knife to cut four huge leaves. These he used as a makeshift cover for him and his travel pack; cut from the tree they would be good for about three days before they began to deteriorate, three days of dryness under the tree canopy was better than none out in the open
. He settled down to wait and with a Ripper claw in one hand and the steel knife in the other he began to shape and carve a knife blade from the claw to pass the time.

  The rain lasted for about six hours. Satisfied it had abated for the day he set the pack on his back, discarded all but one of the native leaves and using the other as a makeshift umbrella till he cleared the trees he set off once more on his trek north to East Harbour. He had roughly two hours of good daylight left and he wanted to put them to good use. At least the rain delay in the woods hadn’t been a complete loss; he now had enough fresh rainwater to last him a week without having to search for a steam to replenish his supplies.

  He set himself a brisk pace; one fast enough he knew would stop anyone following him, not that he expected to be followed but his cautious nature was instinctive and had served him so well in the past he never questioned his instincts anymore. The grasslands began to give way to shrub and scrub as he neared a low range of rolling hills. He hoped to find shelter in the hills, it had been a long day and he would like to set a fire without unpacking his gear. He needed to hunt; his fresh meat was long gone and grains would not sustain him for long.

  Interspersed among the shrubs were vegetable plants in abundance. Cabbage plants were still in season and if he looked he dared say he would find some sprouts, carrots and maybe the last of the native yam but the cabbage would do for now. With a bit of meat it would make a nice meal. Finding a low overhang of rock he made a camp, set a fire ready to light on his return and with bow and arrow he set out to hunt. An hour later he returned with a brace of rabbit and three big fat pigeons. He lit his fire, skinned and cleaned the rabbits with a practiced ease, placed them on a makeshift spit and sat back to let them roast while he plucked the three small birds, gutted and cleaned them ready for cooking while he ate his rabbit and raw cabbage.

  Living and travelling alone meant he had a lot of thinking time and this journey proved no different as his mind began to wander and daydream about hunting the Hunki. They usually came in their hundreds turning everyone out of the rancid tunnels and hovels people lived in; anyone refusing to get out was killed on the spot; once outside they were harried and chased until the hunters could bring them down. Those killed had their heads removed as a trophy; the bodies butchered and roasted over open fires while the Hunki celebrated in what Fred thought was their version of dancing and singing around a campfire. It was a hideous sight, one Fred wished never to see again, but this feasting was when the Hunki were at their weakest.

  He had seen this celebration a number of times, albeit from a distance, but he had noticed that while they celebrated their weapons were left in their flying craft and a concerted attack could be made; if only he could get a group of people together willing to take the Hunki on. The Hunki were cowards, Fred knew this with all his heart. The very fact they forced people to live the way they do and hunted them without allowing them weapons other than a useless club or stick to defend themselves made them cowards, worse than cowards in Fred’s opinion, and as such one good revenge attack where the Hunki were killed may prove the salvation of people here. The trouble with his hypothesis was he couldn’t get anyone other than himself brave or stupid enough to do anything more than run from the Hunki when they came.

  He had often thought of tackling them on his own. In the woods he wouldn’t hesitate, but the Hunki knew this. Their weapons were good, better than anything Fred had ever seen. They could hit a target over a mile away while even Fred’s own powerful bow could only fire with any degree of accuracy at about 180 to 200 yards. His weapon was also subject to wind and weather conditions, the Hunki’s weren’t and unless he could catch them within two hundred yards of the tree line, any solo attack by him was tantamount to suicide, not something he had contemplated of late. It was a scenario he pondered and dreamed about often, now as he fell asleep was no different; ‘one day,’ he thought as he drifted off, ‘the Hunki would pay for what they did.’ It was a comforting thought.

  Two

  It was mid afternoon the following day; as he picked his way through the sparse shrubbery his senses came on full alert. Someone or something was either following him or stalking him. The change in bird song and lack of scurrying sounds behind him changed alerting his keen senses to the possible danger; animals wary of his presence moved even further to safety once he passed scurrying away from whatever or whoever was behind and following him.

  A noise, the snapping of a twig off to his left finally alerted him to the direction his follower was. He couldn’t smell them, whoever or whatever had made the noise was downwind of him and any sudden move towards his bow would alert whoever had made the noise that he was now aware of them and probably provoke an attack before he was ready. Ten yards ahead of him a native tree, an old one at that with huge trunk meant he had to change his course to pass it. The easiest path was to the left that being the downhill side of the tree. Instead he made his way to the right, shucking his pack as soon as the tree gave him cover he plucked an arrow from his quiver and knocked it in the bow before quickly scanning the general area the noise had come from.

  It took less than a second for his hunters’ eye to see what made the noise and stalked him. It was human and carried a cutlass, a blow from which could slice a man near in half. His adversary if adversary he was, knew immediately he had been discovered uttering a curse before shouting in what was obviously a woman’s voice

  ‘If you don’t clear off and leave me alone I’ll kill you.’

  Taken by surprise at the gender of his ‘foe’ he shouted back with more than a hint of surprise in his own voice ‘Excuse me lady, but you’re the one creeping about following me.’

  ‘I am not following you!’ the indignant reply came. ‘I’m just making sure you clear the area and leave me alone.’

  ‘Once I know that cutlass is not going to be buried in my back, you have my assurances I am doing nothing more than just passing through,’ Fred replied. ‘I mean you no harm as long as you mean no harm to me.’

  ‘Heard it all before,’ she shouted. ‘Just leave this place and no harm will come to you either.’

  It was getting late, ideally Fred had wanted to get another mile or two under his feet before making camp for the night, but this situation began to intrigue him. What was a woman doing out here on her own? It was miles from any town or village and lone women were a rarity no matter where you went as the Hunki hunters preferred the softer less sinewy flesh of the female; besides women were not as quick as men and easily brought down by the Hunki weapons. Unfortunately for the women, it was they who usually ended up butchered and eaten; their flesh not as muscled as men probably made for finer dining, males made for a better trophy. He quickly made up his mind and threw pack and bow out from behind the tree before stepping out from its shelter.

  ‘I don’t care what you have heard before,’ he said in a voice just audible enough to carry to the woman, ‘but when I say I mean you no harm you can believe it. To prove it I ask if you will join me for a meal of game bird and rabbit. I might even have half a quart of Haroldstown’s best ale if you want it.’

  Not waiting for a reply he began to quickly pull the items he wanted out of his pack and with a well practiced and experienced eye gathered some dried twigs to begin a fire. ‘I don’t believe you,’ she said disbelief in her voice evident as she slowly walked towards him, cutlass extended in front of her. ‘I tell you to go and you make a campfire, I’ve a good mind to cut the ears from your head and feed them to the next Ripper that wanders through here.’

  ‘Talking of which,’ he replied ignoring her words and the dangerously wavering cutlass. ‘I have a couple of Ripper pelts in my pack if you want them.’

  ‘And why would any sane person want Ripper pelts?’ she asked as the cutlass blade began to make him nervous the way she was holding it and letting it swing ever so closer to him.

  ‘To scare other Rippers away,’ he answered before menacingly stating, ‘if that cutlass comes any closer I’m
going to have to take it from you.’

  Her laugh was interrupted as Fred in a blur of motion and speed covered the short distance between them, took the cutlass in his left hand and twirled her around with her back towards him with his right hand before gently pushing her away from him and burying the cutlass point first in the ground. He never uttered a sound, just sat down once more and continued making his fire and preparing the meal as she stood opened mouthed staring at him with incredulous indignation written all over her face. Despite himself, he couldn’t resist a smile.

  ‘Now,’ he stated looking her in the eye and with his face as expressionless as he could make it he continued, ‘are you going to stand there open mouthed all day or are you going to sit down and join me for a meal?’

  She looked nervously at the cutlass, still quivering from the momentum Fred had used to bury it in the ground, then glanced at Fred totally unsure what to do next.

  ‘If you feel safer with the cutlass in your hand, please bring it with you,’ He said smiling at her, ‘but please don’t wave it about. I get nervous.’

  She never answered, just moved slowly over to where he had built the small fire and sat opposite him. A cursory nod of the head was the only thanks he got for handing over the rear quarters of an already cooked rabbit. He smiled inwardly to himself as he studied his dinner companion. She looked to be in her late twenties or very early thirties with a light brown hair that was almost blonde but not quite. Brown eyes in a thinish face gave an attractive appearance and with a slim figure as was the norm on Newth; she was as his father would say ‘pleasing to the eye.’