Grave Games: A Collection Of Riveting Suspense Thrillers

by James Hunt

The weapon looked more sinister than what she was given at the camp. She ran her fingers down the bulky metal until she found the grips. “Nothing like this.”

  The hermit snatched the rifle back as quickly as he’d given it to her. His hands worked over the weapon deftly, and she tried to keep up with the instructions. “Trigger. Safety. Magazine ejection when you’re empty. The slide will open here when you’re out of ammunition.” He removed the magazine, showing her the empty chamber. “You reload in the same position, and—” A gunshot sounded. “Fifty yards,” Reuben whispered to himself. He finished loading the rifle without explanation, shoved it back into Wren’s arms, then rushed outside.

  Wren fumbled with the rifle awkwardly. It was heavier than the previous weapons she’d held. She took a few careful steps toward the door. Another single gunshot froze her in her tracks. Her knuckles flashed white against the rifle’s midnight-black stock. She steadied her hands and brought the tip of her finger to the trigger. The curved metal felt awkward under the bulky fabric of her bandage, but she forced herself into familiarity with the weapon. The wound from the dog bite on her left forearm weakened the grip on her left hand, causing her to cradle the rifle like an infant. She remained quiet and hidden at the cabin’s entrance, looking into the woods for the enemy that had come to kill her, or worse.

  Wren fell backward as Reuben sprinted back into the house, sealing the door shut behind him. He smashed the front window with the butt of his rifle and scraped away any remaining jagged pieces. “There’s only five of them. One on horseback in the rear. A scout team, just like I thought.” He stomped to the opposite side and broke the second window. “No rifles from what I could see, and the bastards have the stealth of an elephant.” He kicked the glass on floor away with his boot and turned back to Wren. “You shoot anything that’s not me that steps within twenty yards of this cabin. Understand?”

  Wren looked from the rifle to the hermit, who stood defenseless right in the line of fire from her weapon. The air stiffened between them, and all Wren had to do was squeeze the trigger. I could make it if I ran. But once in the forest, she wouldn’t know where to run. Without him, she wouldn’t be able to return to her children. “All right.”

  Reuben positioned himself at the front window, while Wren watched the rear. The smaller bits of glass he didn’t clear away pressed into the naked sole of her foot, but her adrenaline numbed what would have normally been uncomfortable. Outside, the forest was still and quiet. All Wren heard was the sound of her own breaths, and all she felt was the warmth of the rifle’s metal against her cheek as she eyed the scope. The tunneled view through the scope magnified the world and divided it into small, round segments. Details once lost in the forest became clear.

  Wren jolted at Reuben’s first gunshot, shaking her from the concentration of her post. She looked back and watched the discharged shell roll across the floor and come to rest against the thick leather of his boot. She returned her attention to the crosshairs and maneuvered her aim through the thick trees. An odd branch stopped her sweep, the scope blurring in and out of focus. When the lens finally focused, the branch transformed into the rounded shoulder of a man. She lined the crosshairs over the target and drew in a breath.

  One quick pull of the trigger and the recoil of the gunshot disrupted her aim. The bullet missed the shoulder and splintered tree bark. She cursed under her breath, and just before she realigned her aim, a hail of gunfire descended upon the cabin.

  Wren ducked, covering the back of her head with her hands, as she felt the vibration of every gunshot transfer through the thick oak of the cabin walls. She looked over to Reuben, who was in the same position, a slow rainfall of dust shaken loose from the walls by every gunshot, slowly covering his head and back. Upon eye contact, he motioned for her to stay low.

  After a while the thunder of gunshots ended, and the storm was replaced with silence. Wren slowly lifted her head and reached for the rifle. She looked to Reuben who moved his lips softly as though he were whispering a prayer. When his eyes opened, he gave a firm nod and leapt to the window, firing wildly into the forest.

  Wren joined the assault, thrusting her rifle’s barrel through the broken window. She peered through the scope and watched two bodies sprint between trees. They moved to fast for her aim, and she watched bullet after bullet miss, hitting everything but the flesh of her targets.

  The enemy returned fire and Wren ducked. The heavy din of gunfire filled her ears, and she felt splintered pieces of oak fall over her body. She clamped her hands tight over her ears. But with each gunshot, she felt the foundation of her conscious mind crack. Fear and apprehension escaped from the deepest caverns of her mind, bringing to life the nightmares that had tormented her the previous nights. She watched Chloe cry as she was cut, she heard Addison scream with a man on top of her, and she watched the tip of a barrel press against Zack’s head and his body go limp at the sound of a gunshot. The images replayed over and over in her mind. Wren hyperventilated. The gunfire reached a crescendo. Her grip on reality slipped away. She couldn’t take it anymore. She rose from behind the window, the sunlight warming her face, and she closed her eyes.

  A body crashed into her and she was driven to the floor. The violent blow shook the evils from her mind, restoring her senses. When she opened her eyes Reuben stared down at her, his face scrunched in bewilderment, the stink of his body flooding her senses. “What’s the matter with you?” He pushed himself off her and returned to the front window, shooting anything that moved.

  Wren caught her breath, and reached for the rifle she dropped. Her skin felt clammy, and despite the blazing heat, a shiver chilled her spine. But she tightened her grip on the rifle and the heat from the weapon warmed her. She huddled below the windowsill, and the moment there was a lull in gunfire, she rejoined the fight.

  The constant discharge of ammunition filled the cabin with a smoky haze. The acrid cloud stung her eyes, but Wren forced them to remain open. She drifted the tunneled vision of the scope and crosshairs through the forest and stopped once she saw flesh. Before she fired, the gunman zigzagged on a path toward the cabin.

  Wren kept her stance in the open window, her finger over the trigger. She took a deep breath, calmed herself. If you don’t kill him, they’ll kill you. She guided the crosshairs along the man’s path, then glided ahead of him to anticipate his next steps. She followed the pattern, and then just before the gunman veered left, she aimed the scope into his path and fired.

  A fine red mist spewed into the air nearly simultaneously as she pulled the trigger. The man’s hurried sprint ended, and the bullet’s velocity knocked him backward. He rolled lazily back and forth in the dirt, the bloodstain on his chest growing larger with every motion. More than once he tried to stand, but each attempt was met with the same defeated collapse.

  Wren remained motionless, watching the man die like the animal he was. He raised the rifle in his hand and squeezed off one last round in defiance. Blood foamed at the corners of his mouth, and Wren lowered her weapon, refusing to put him out of his misery. Let the bastard suffer.

  Finally, his head collapsed and his body lay motionless. But while her victim’s body was still, Wren’s trembled in excitement, adrenaline, fear, and anger. She’d killed men before, but this was different. Every other time had been quick, in the heat of the moment. This was calculated, this took patience. The beast that awakened inside licked the lust dripping from her heart. And what frightened her most was that it craved more.

  “Hey.” Wren jolted backward at the touch of Reuben’s hand, aiming the rifle at him in a knee-jerk reaction. He held up his hands in defense. “Take it easy.” He extended a slow but steady hand and pulled the rifle from her grip. She watched her hands tremble then clenched them into fists.

  Wren followed the hermit outside and squinted into the sunlight. Her first step onto the ground reminded her that she was barefoot, and the dirt felt soft and cool under her feet. The forest was quiet now, and she looked to the bodies t
hat had been silenced.

  The man she’d shot lay by a cluster of trees. The earth around him was stained a crimson red, his eyes still open. Blood dripped from his chin and the back of his jaw. She knelt by his side and examined the wound over his chest. She stretched her hand and felt the warmth of the blood on his shirt. Just before her fingers grazed the wound, Reuben’s heavy footsteps caused her to jerk her hand back.

  He panted and pointed between the trees. “Their partner on the horse took off as soon as the shots were fired. If we’re lucky, he’ll get some weather to slow him down, but it won’t be long before he comes back. And with more men. I can’t stay here anymore. This location is compromised.”

  Reuben didn’t wait for an answer from Wren, nor did she try and give him one. Some of the man’s blood had collected on the leaves and rolled toward the tip of her large toe. Just before the blood touched, she withdrew her foot. Everything is compromised now.

  Chapter 2

  By the time Wren stepped back inside the cabin, Reuben nearly had the entire place packed. She stood in the cabin’s center, watching him shove a pack of MREs into a bag. “You can’t leave.” He ignored her and continued his manic pace. When her words failed, she reached for one of the rifles and aimed for his head. “Hey!”

  The hermit stopped, staring down the rifle’s barrel with the same indifference he’d treated her with since her arrival. “Put that down before you hurt yourself.” His tone was strict, like a father addressing a child.

  “I’m not letting you leave until you help me get my children back.” Wren moved her finger to the trigger and took a step forward. She noticed that her arms had stopped trembling. “I need you to take me to the camp. I know you know where it is.”

  Reuben squinted. The kindness she’d seen in his eyes since her arrival was suddenly gone. He leaned closer to the tip of the barrel. “I’m not taking you anywhere.”

  Wren aimed the tip of the rifle at Reuben’s arm and squeezed the trigger without hesitation. But the thundering crack of gunfire was replaced with the light click of the hammer snapping against the firing pin. She looked down at the weapon, and the moment her eyes were off him, he snatched the gun from her hands, flipped the end of the barrel into her face, and flicked off the safety. Wren thrust her hands up defensively as Reuben took an aggressive step forward, and she took one back.

  “You think you can use my own gun to kill me?” He walked both of them out the door with only the length of the rifle between them. “I don’t take kindly to threats, woman.” He spit on the ground and continued to press them deeper into the trees.

  Wren dug her heels into the dirt. “Stop!” She thrust her hand in front of her, the tip of the rifle just out of reach, and Reuben grimaced. “I didn’t…” She searched for the words, but when she looked to her left all she found was one of the dead bodies that still littered the ground. “I don’t have a lot of options right now. What you’ve done for me, I’m truly grateful. I wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for you.”

  “No,” Reuben agreed. “You wouldn’t.” He lowered the weapon and cradled the rifle over his shoulder. “I can’t help your family. What’s coming I won’t be able to stop, and you can barely fight yourself. If your family is still back at that camp, then they’re as good as dead. If you thought your fate would have been cruel staying in town, it’ll only be worse if you head back to that community. I warned you that first day. I told you there were wolves. Well, now they’re hungry, and the scent of blood is in the air.” He turned and headed back inside, leaving Wren barefoot in the trees.

  Wren followed him inside and she stopped once she saw him staring into the rifle case. From the angle she couldn’t see what had caught his attention. He went to reach for it, but stopped himself. He slammed the cabinet doors shut and zipped up his bag, everything he planned on taking with him strapped to his back. Before he walked out she stepped in his path, blocking his way. “I lived in that camp for over a month. I know what it looks like. I helped reinforce most of the defenses, and I know where they’re vulnerable.”

  Reuben shoved her aside, heading around the cabin, the very top of the pack teetering back and forth high above his head. “The world you want back is gone. Make do with what you have. If you choose to live, then you will. That’s all there is now.”

  Wren stepped in his path and shoved him hard in the chest, but the force barely moved his massive frame. “I’m not leaving my family to die in that hellhole. You want to know why the world is shit now? It’s not because of some attack, but people like you! You sit behind your walls, or hide in your forests, and tuck yourselves away thinking of nothing but yourself!”

  “And what have you done?” Reuben thrust a dirty finger in her face and stepped closer. “The world was always like this. The only difference now is that thin veil of protection that you treated like a trash can was torn down, and you got a taste of what really goes on in people’s minds. You sat in your homes, in your cities, thinking of nothing but what was right in front of your faces.” He took a step back. “Look at you. What did you do before all of this, huh? Sit behind some desk, watch the world pass out some open window while your eyes were glued to the faint glow of a computer screen? Yeah, you look the type. What’d you do, sweetheart? Marry rich? You got a grit that tells me you didn’t come from money, but that fair skin, that air of superiority when you turn your nose up to me, yeah, I know who you are, you stuck-up bitch.”

  Wren flung her hand back in an attempt to slap him, but the hermit caught her wrist faster than she could swing. She stood frozen, her hand curled into a fist thrust toward the sky, trying with all of her might to free herself from his grip. “Is that what you did to your family? Did you just leave them because it got too hard?”

  Reuben thrust her arm backward with a hard shove, and she landed with her back in the dirt. She clawed her bandaged fingers into the earth and flung a lump of the cool soil at his body. His retaliation was shoving the tip of the rifle’s barrel in her face. “You ever speak to me like that again, and I’ll replace the brain matter in your head with lead. Do I make myself clear?”

  The hermit’s eyes were bloodshot as Wren lay on her back. “Yes.” She lay frozen on the ground with him staring her down, his finger on the trigger. The anger pulsated through his shaking arms, and the reddening of his cheeks. It took a moment for the realization of his words to work its way past her own anger. “So you did have a family.” Reuben pulled the barrel of his rifle away and marched past. She scrambled to her feet, chasing after him. “If you’ve lost someone you cared about, then you know what I’m going through. You know how much—”

  “How much it hurts?” Reuben stopped dead in his tracks. “I’m not going to get into an argument with you about who has dealt with more pain. We all go through trials. We all have demons that torment us in our sleep. There isn’t one that’s worse than the other. They’re all bad. And they all end up killing you if you let them. Your family is gone. The sooner you can come to grips with that reality, the better off you’ll be.” He shoulder checked her on his way past, and this time Wren stayed. Whatever pain the man spoke of had broken him. He wouldn’t help her. He wasn’t coming back.

  A trail of footprints was all that followed Wren back to the cabin. She glanced at the bodies that still lay lifeless near the trees. Shadows hovered around the corpses, and she looked up to the vultures circling overhead. Nature pitied nothing, and life always moved on. But she wasn’t ready to do the same. Once at the cabin, she rummaged through what the hermit left behind and found a few cans of food, a knife, and a compass that no longer worked. Aside from the furniture, the cabin was empty.

  A few shelves lined the cupboard that Reuben had stored the rifles in, and she removed the longer pieces. The first shelf she pulled out dislodged a piece of paper that drifted to the floor. Wren knelt down and picked it up. It was a picture. The faded colors and thick layer of dust told its age. When she brushed the dust off, a woman and two young girls were revealed.
All three of them were crouched low, looking at something, unaware that the picture was even being taken. Wren looked out the broken window in the direction that Reuben had disappeared, but she couldn’t see him anymore. She set the photo down on the windowsill then returned to her search for supplies.

  Wren knew that Edric would keep the camp well guarded, but she also knew he’d kill anyone who wasn’t loyal, which meant his numbers would dwindle. And unless he’d managed to recruit more people into the camp while she’d been gone, the patrols around the camp would be sporadic. Even still, she knew she’d need a weapon, and since Reuben took all of his guns, she’d need to fashion her own.

  Wren took the long planks from the cabinet and used the knife to sharpen the ends. The bandages around her fingers fumbled the plank awkwardly, but she kept them on since her fingers were still healing. The shavings from the wood collected at her feet as she sat on the steps of the cabin, sharpening the ends of the boards into spikes. She looked up periodically, making sure she was alone. She kept the supplies close at hand in case she needed to run, though she still wasn’t sure which direction she should flee.

  With the sun nearing its highest crest in the sky, signaling midday, and the pile of shavings nearly up to her ankles, Wren picked up the crude spear she’d fashioned and grabbed the cluster of nails she pried from the furniture inside. The metal was rusty, and most of their points had dulled over time, but she knew she wouldn’t need much force to puncture the neck or eyes.

  Wren took one last inventory, spreading the supplies on the steps. Aside from the clothes on her back, all she had was the spear, six nails, four cans of cooked meat, a spool of gauze, and the sheet on the bed that Reuben left behind. The food would hold her over until she made it to camp, and the spear would offer her some form of protection if anyone or anything moved too close, but then what?

  Her parents’ house in Indiana was still an option, but it was almost two hundred miles away, which wasn’t a distance she thought the girls could walk. Once they were on the road they’d need food, water, and shelter, all of which were in short supply, save for the camp. She could steal a car once she made it back to the community, but that only complicated the escape.