The Hunted

by Val Tobin

  “Right,” she said but wondered if they could expect even that much. What if the whole thing was a lie?

  Any vehicles they passed on the mostly deserted roads belonged to protectors or the military. Unless someone had an excellent reason to venture beyond populated areas, people stayed within the confines of their towns or cities. Sometimes, people needed to drive from one town or city to another. In those instances, they either rented grendel-resistant vehicles, such as Humvees, or they hired protector escorts.

  No one commuted to work in cars anymore. Heli transports or passenger trains carried people back and forth from big cities to outlying towns. Most people worked in the town or city where they lived, telecommuted, or, if they were wealthy or had high-ranking jobs, had protectors to escort or to drive them to work. Rachel had often received such assignments.

  Their current route took them past small towns that no longer existed. Hound Dog sailed past decayed homes where grendels had ripped off the roofs to get at the people and pets inside. Rachel and her team occasionally flushed out grendels who’d taken over the ramshackle buildings and made them their nests.

  As she stared out the window on the passenger side, she fell into her old habit of pretending to be outside the vehicle, running. She imagined the feeling of freedom running always gave her. In elementary school and high school, she’d joined the track team, loving the adrenaline rush she got from competing. Once, she’d contemplated running in the Olympics, but that dream had died twelve years ago, replaced by the dream of vengeance against the grendels.

  They drove over the bridge at Burleigh Falls. The rapids churned, and the control dam, built to regulate water flow on Lovesick Lake, remained, but nature had taken back the homes, motel, restaurants, stores, and campground that had bordered the road. Trees, weeds, and grasses had taken over. One large maple had toppled onto the inn’s roof, smashing whatever the grendels had left intact after their initial frenzy.

  Along Highway 28, they passed the now-defunct town of Ridley. As with other towns, the buildings were demolished, the lots they stood on overgrown. Rachel hadn’t seen grendel activity along the way, but the creatures typically kept hidden until ready to attack.

  They weren’t stupid—she’d figured that out when they’d learned how to use tools to tear the roof from the marina store where she and Jeff had hidden twelve years ago. The same store where they’d first met Peter, who’d arrived to do a delivery and instead became saddled with two desperate children. The store would be the first stop on this journey.

  Fifteen minutes after they passed Ridley, Hound Dog pulled the truck onto Storm Lake Road. Trees dominated the landscape on either side. The sun had risen, which made it safer even out in the forest, but some trees still had enough leaves on them to provide sufficient cover for lurking grendels.

  Hound Dog maintained a speed of forty kilometres an hour, unconcerned he’d encounter oncoming traffic. Code Master had verified no teams headed here—not from HQ and not from the Needham research facility.

  Within ten minutes, he pulled the truck into what had been the parking lot of a thriving marina. Rachel stepped from the vehicle into the bright sunshine of a crisp September day to confront her nightmare past.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Birdsong and the rat-a-tat of a woodpecker floated from the forest around the large clearing in which the marina store and the house of the former owners sat. Normal sounds you’d usually hear in the woods. They reassured Rachel. Birds in the trees meant grendels weren’t nearby.

  “I’ll check the store. Foot-Long, you and Code Master take the house.”

  “Wait a minute—” Hound Dog began as Peter said, “I’m coming with you.”

  Rachel, holding up a hand palm out, stared down Hound Dog, who still sat behind the wheel of the truck. Peter stayed in the middle seat in the back. The driver’s door and left passenger door hung propped open. Foot-Long and Code Master had already vanished into the house, probably eager to escape the pending confrontation.

  “Hold up, guys,” she said to the two remaining men. “I need someone to remain with the vehicle in case we need to get out of here fast.”

  “You’re leaving me on civilian protection.” Hound Dog pressed his lips together. His voice was indignant. “I’m your second.”

  “I’m not doing this to punish you, Dog. You’re my second, and I need Peter protected.”

  “And you’re risking yourself by entering that store alone.”

  “He’s right,” Peter said. “I can protect myself. I’m not happy you want to leave me behind, but I can wait in the driver’s seat. I’ve got a gun. I know how to shoot grendels, and I can tell the difference between a grendel and a human, so no accidents, I promise.”

  She almost laughed with delight at the knowledge they both knew her so well they’d guessed exactly where her logic fell. She grinned at them and relented.

  “Okay. Dog, you’re with me. Peter, hold the fort. The sun’s up and we should be all right, but that can change in a moment if a storm rolls in.”

  Before she’d finished speaking, Hound Dog had jumped from the truck, rifle slung across his shoulder. Peter hopped out of the back and took his place behind the wheel.

  “I’ll want to explore the house and the store myself. I need to know what’s happened since we were here last,” Peter said.

  “I understand. We’re clearing them before we do any investigating. Don’t want any surprises. If either building has a nest in it, we need to eliminate it.”

  In response, he flashed her a thumbs up.

  Rachel took a step toward the store but stopped and turned back to Peter. “Where’s your weapon?”

  He patted a holster at his side.

  “Take it out and have it ready.”

  He removed a baby Glock, resting it on the dash in front of him. It was smaller than Rachel would’ve liked, but if he had better aim with a chick gun, she wouldn’t comment.

  “Close your door,” she said. Without waiting for him to do so, she headed in the direction of the store, her partner only steps behind her.

  To reach the store, they had to walk down a set of fieldstone steps followed by a series of pressure-treated lumber stairs leading to a cedar porch. Carefully, they picked their way over any cracked and broken pieces up to the store’s entrance.

  The screen door Rachel remembered from her time here hung askew on one hinge. The inner door remained in the frame, but it yawned open. Mud and leaves covered the porch and the floor inside, and a musty smell permeated the air.

  Smashed shelving units and the remnants of the merchandise and packages of food lay scattered across Rachel’s path. She picked her way carefully through the mess, her rifle slung across her shoulder, her gun held ready in her hand. Hound Dog moved quietly behind her, his faint inhale and exhale the only sound in the room.

  The only footprints she saw belonged to bare feet too large to be human. Slowly, painstakingly, they made their way through the rubble. They opened closet doors, the bathroom door, and stepped through the open door to the back room. All were deserted. All were filthy. Their breaths puffed in the frigid air. Whatever sunlight filtered in through the shattered roof wasn’t enough to warm the place.

  “Funny how the grendels have five toes, isn’t it?” Rachel commented when she confirmed the building was empty.

  “I guess. Maybe it’s nature’s default for creatures that walk upright,” Hound Dog answered. His tone held disinterest, as if he’d responded out of politeness and not because he cared about the answer.

  Should she tell him about Jeff’s discovery that grendels had human DNA? No, she’d spare him that for now.

  “Could be,” she said. “There’s nothing here. Agreed?”

  “Yeah. If anyone came here, they’re long gone.”

  She pushed through the debris to what had been the front counter. The cash register lay open on its side, empty of any money it might have held.

  “People came here since Jeff, Peter, and I
left.” She recalled the car that had almost run them off the road when they’d finally escaped from here in Peter’s delivery van. What had become of the occupants?

  She doubted they’d have come in here—the place had been crawling with grendels. Also, no vehicles sat in the parking lot aside from Hound Dog’s pickup truck.

  That thought brought with it another memory.

  “The police cars are gone. My mother’s car is gone.”

  “It’s been twelve years.” Hound Dog reached her side and kicked at the papers, leaves, and wrappers on the floor.

  Using her most sardonic voice, she said, “And what? The grendels have learned how to drive and took off in them? If so, they also learned how to hotwire them or they picked the keys off the victims.”

  “You’re a hoot, you know that, Frosty?” he replied, but his tone held humour rather than contempt. “Protectors have been here. Military personnel have too. They probably removed them.”

  “What for?”

  Hound Dog shrugged. “Does it matter? Could’ve been cottagers escaping. I bet people ran for their lives then.”

  “They wouldn’t have outrun the grendels.” She considered. “But maybe when the grendels moved on …” She tried to picture it but couldn’t. Grendels didn’t move on if food was available. No one on foot would get far with the creatures around.

  So, perhaps, military or protector personnel had removed the vehicles. What other conclusion could they draw? The cars were gone.

  “They took the money,” she commented.

  “It’s not stealing if the owners are long dead.” He shook his head. “Why didn’t you kids take it?”

  “It would’ve been stealing. I hoped everything would return to normal and the owners would come back.” It would’ve seemed sacrilegious. Disrespectful. Dan and Enza, the marina’s owners, could have relatives who might one day return.

  A horn blast yanked her from her pondering. They raced for the door, weapons raised. Rachel went left, Hound Dog right. They peered through the broken screen door without touching it.

  She heard a vehicle approaching. “People, not monsters. It’s okay. Peter’s just giving us a heads-up.” She squinted, trying to see Peter through the windshield of the pickup truck.

  He sat behind the steering wheel, his expression calm, his gun nowhere in sight.

  “Let’s go.” She didn’t wait for Hound Dog but pushed through the screen and walked back to the parking lot, her pace leisurely.

  Two military vehicles pulled up beside Hound Dog’s truck. Doors opened, and two personnel jumped from each Jeep. They carried assault rifles and had spare pistols and Bowie knives strapped to their belts. One man took the lead, striding purposefully toward the driver’s side of the truck. The others, a man and two women, hung back, but they faced Rachel and Hound Dog, hands hovering over their weapons.

  Rachel took charge before any of them could. “We’re on a private mission. What’s your business here?” As far as she knew, the army had no forays scheduled for Storm Lake, and when they did go into the woods on scavenging or hunting missions, they teamed up with protectors.

  Unease settled around her, and she instinctively shuddered. Perhaps her father had sent them. She tried to shake it off. Paranoia. That’s all.

  The guy who’d been heading for Peter stopped and turned toward Rachel. “Search and rescue operation. A civilian went missing in this area.”

  He was a huge guy, taller and wider than Hound Dog. His jaw jutted out from a chiselled face. As the others did, he wore army fatigues, but none of their gear had identifying tags. If they were military, they kept it hidden.

  More convinced than ever they worked for private industry, Rachel asked, “What would a lone person be doing out this way?”

  “That’s classified.”

  She shrugged that off and said, “Where are your protectors?”

  “Didn’t request any.” He studied her for a moment. “What’s your mission here?”

  With a straight face, she said, “That’s classified.”

  His brows furrowed, and he glanced from person to person, settling on Rachel. At the sound of approaching footsteps, they all turned to face Foot-Long and Code Master, who thudded across the home’s wooden plank front porch and down the steps.

  “House is clear, boss,” Foot-Long said.

  The group leader faced Rachel. “Who hired you?”

  “I did,” Peter hopped from the truck and stepped between Rachel and the group leader. “I’m Peter Sanderson.” He held out his hand, and the man slowly extended his and they shook.

  If the name Peter Sanderson meant anything to any of the newcomers, no one said or did anything to indicate it. When no other introductions appeared forthcoming, Rachel spoke up.

  “We can keep an eye out for your missing guy. We’re headed toward the lake.”

  “So are we,” the leader said, his voice wary. “Why are you heading deeper into the woods? Leaving the main road?”

  Rachel replied before Peter could answer the question. “Not your concern.”

  “Did you secure permission from your superiors, Protector?”

  “Didn’t need to. I’m off duty.”

  “Where’s your pass to enter here?”

  “Don’t need one. We’re heading to a property my family owns.” She gave him nothing more. None of his business.

  “Stay out of trouble. We’re not here to rescue you and your civilian.”

  She laughed. “Right back at ya. And stay out of our way. We wouldn’t want to mistake you or anyone in your team for a grendel and shoot you.” She wasn’t kidding. Her guys could evaluate a target in seconds, but she didn’t know how twitchy Peter would get if he was terrified for his life.

  Instead of replying, the leader gave a loud whistle and ordered his team back to their vehicle. Before they pulled away, he rolled down his window and called out to Rachel. “You got flares?”

  “Yes.”

  “You spot our man, send up a flare.”

  “You not expecting to find him alive?”

  He frowned. “I don’t know what to expect.” He rolled up the window and, with a spin of his tires, raced from the parking lot.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “I didn’t know the army had anyone out here, boss,” Code Master said. “I checked when we prepped for this trip, I swear.”

  “I believe you,” she replied.

  As Code Master was a thorough man, he’d have not only checked schedules but also would have set alerts up on his phone to let him know if something new came in after he’d reviewed the schedule. All civilians, protectors, or government teams foraying into the woods registered in a central database anyone could access. They’d posted their venture, identifying it as a civilian undertaking to salvage private property. This was a way of saying a former resident wanted to search for possessions or investigate property they’d lost to the grendels.

  Often, civilians returned to the woods to search for lost loved ones years after the event when they finally had the money to pay protectors to take them in. Rachel had spun this outing as one such mission, using Peter’s name as the hiring party. No one needed to know he went as an investigative reporter.

  “I don’t think they’re army,” Peter said.

  “Agreed,” Rachel replied.

  “Then who are they?” Code Master asked. “No civilian groups posted a search here either. Plus, they said this was a search-and-rescue operation. Who else but army or protectors would do one of those? Besides, they never posted it.”

  “They’d have known we were out here. We’re on the schedule.” She’d considered going covert, but that could put them at risk. Practical reasons existed for having the mission on the official schedules. They’d listed their expected date of return for three days out. If they didn’t flag themselves as either returned or set a new return date, a search and rescue would begin.

  “I never heard of a missing person report for this area,” Code Master continued. “
This is totally off the books.”

  “We’ll have to be wary,” Rachel said. “They must have their reasons for keeping this quiet, but I doubt they’re ethical.” She looked at Peter. “We might want to take the investigation in their direction later.”

  “Agreed.” He tapped his lips with his index finger, then dropped his hand, and shook his head. “Mind if I go through the house and the store now?” He held up a digital camera. “I want to take pictures.”

  “Sure,” Rachel said. “Coder, Foot-Long, you guys stand guard out here. Hound Dog and I will escort the civilian.”

  They started with the store. Now that Rachel could take her time rooting through the rubble, she found evidence of their last stay here. The note she’d left lay on the floor, torn and mud smeared. The sleeping bags they’d used were shredded, the blow-up pillows ripped to pieces.

  “It’s surreal,” she commented.

  “What is?” Hound Dog asked.

  “All this. My last time here, I was a child.” Before the weekend had turned horrific and violent, her biggest concern had been getting a taste of the red velvet cupcakes Enza expected in her next stock delivery.

  Luckily, Peter had made the trip or she and Jeff would’ve died that weekend. After he rescued them and they made it to her father’s in Peterborough, he’d offered them a box of the cupcakes as a parting gift. She and Jeff had eaten three each before their stomachs ached from the sugar overload. Rachel hadn’t had a red velvet cupcake since.

  “I want to walk down to the shore,” she announced.

  “Not a good idea.” Hound Dog said it casually, but she heard the edge in his voice.

  “You don’t have to come with me.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Peter said.

  “If you must do this, I’ll go with you.” Hound Dog squatted and pushed a broken piece of shelving aside, uncovering newspapers from the last known grendel-free day on Earth. He picked one up. “The civilian should hang back.” He gave Peter a side-wise glance.

  “I’m not hanging back,” Peter shouted, scowling at Hound Dog. “And quit calling me ‘the civilian.’ You know my name. You’re doing that to make me sound helpless and not part of your tough-guy group. I can look after myself, thanks. I’ve been on these missions before.”