Big Game

by Daniel Smith

  Morris shook his head. “You’re too damn stupid to work it out, aren’t you?”

  “I thought you were a friend.”

  “You don’t have friends,” Morris said. “You’re the President of the United States. You can’t have friends.”

  “But you put your life on the line for me. What’s changed?”

  “This.” Morris tapped his chest. “The bullet I took for you. Your legacy right here, working its way into my heart. I have a family, too, remember. They’ll need money when I’m gone — and it’s only a matter of time.”

  “You could’ve retired. You had the option. I —”

  “Money. And I’m not talking about some pitiful pension, I’m talking about the kind of money that comes from handing a man like you over to a man like that.” He raised a finger and pointed at the sky. “That’s your destiny approaching.”

  “This is about money?” Betrayal and disappointment were clear in the president’s voice.

  “Isn’t it always?”

  The president shook his head. “And I thought we were friends.”

  “You thought wrong.”

  The helicopter was growing louder by the second; it would be here any moment. I looked left and right, trying to think what I could do, but with all those armed men in the hunting ground, I was helpless and useless. There was nothing I could do to help my friend. Nothing at all.

  “By the way,” Morris said, stepping toward the president. “Where’s your little helper? Abandoned you, eh?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Morris stood toe to toe with the president and looked him in the eye. “Sure you do. The kid who popped you out of the rescue pod. Drove that ATV we found. Lit a fire for you last night and gave you a blanket.”

  “I don’t know, Morris. I guess if you’re too damn stupid to work it out —”

  Morris struck out with his right hand, hard and fast, smashing the president in the kidneys. He cried out in pain and dropped to his knees, but Morris didn’t leave it at that. He put up both fists and began to rain blows on the president, hitting him over and over again as the helicopter finally came in to land.

  The thundering engine was deafening as the black helicopter came to a hover over the hunting ground and began descending toward the snow, creating a storm of its own. The skids on its underside touched down, then rose a few feet as the pilot corrected the angle before settling onto the ground. The awful beat of the engine died and the smell of aviation fuel carried on the wind. The rotor blades slowed and became still, creaking a little as they settled.

  Immediately there was a clinking of kit and crunching of boots as the soldiers hurried across to the helicopter, ducking as they went even though the rotor blades had stopped spinning.

  Morris stayed where he was, reaching down to grab the president by the scruff of his jacket and drag him to his knees.

  “You’re about to meet someone who’s been looking for you, Bill.” He spoke the president’s name with sarcasm and disrespect. “His name is Hazar and he’s the illegitimate son of one of the richest oil sheiks in the Gulf. You know what? I have a feeling you’re not going to like him very much.”

  “He won’t get anything from me.” The president sounded strong, but I knew he was trying to look tough. Underneath it all, he was tired and afraid. There was disappointment, too, at having been betrayed by the man he thought was his friend. I imagined it would be ten times worse than the disappointment I had felt when I had found Dad’s note.

  Morris laughed. “Oh, Hazar doesn’t want anything from you. This isn’t about politics or ideology. It’s not even about religion, Bill, he’s just a certified Grade A psychopath who thinks of himself as a hunter. Which means you’re in a lot of trouble. You see, all he wants to do is kill you.”

  The president didn’t say or do anything. He just knelt in the snow with his head hanging so that his chin was almost on his chest. His breath billowed around him in clouds. He was exhausted and beaten, probably knowing that no one was coming to help him now. He had been captured and would have to suffer whatever came next.

  I looked about the hunting ground, trying to think of something, anything I could do to help, but we were in the middle of nowhere and all I had was my bow and my knife. Maybe if I could make some kind of distraction …

  The sound of the helicopter door sliding open made me look around to see Hazar step down onto the snow. He put his hands in the small of his back and stretched, turning his neck from side to side as if it had been an uncomfortable journey. I could almost hear the creak of his tight-fitting leather jacket as he moved, and I gritted my teeth, imagining myself firing an arrow straight into his heart. Right then, I hated that man more than I had ever hated anything. All the anger I had for everything else was directed at him. Only him.

  Hazar looked around at his men, nodding with satisfaction. Then, without turning back to the helicopter, he reached up with his right hand.

  “My rifle.”

  Without a second’s delay, one of the soldiers passed Hazar’s weapon from inside, putting it right into his hand. Hazar sniffed, hefted the weapon, then sauntered across the hunting ground toward the president.

  Behind him, one of his men jumped down from the helicopter carrying a tripod with a large camera fastened to the top. He jogged to catch up with Hazar, then followed a couple of paces behind.

  As he passed the freezer chest and the deer head, Hazar glanced down for a second, but didn’t stop. He didn’t even stop in front of the president, but walked around behind him and ordered Morris to move aside.

  The man with the camera stopped a couple of yards away from where the president was kneeling, and set the tripod on the ground.

  “You know the tradition,” Hazar said, “in which the hunter poses for a photograph with his prey?”

  The president remained silent.

  “Well, it’s good to observe the old ways of doing things, don’t you think, Mr. President?” Hazar put his boot on the president’s back and kicked him forward into the snow. “Lie down.”

  The president tried to turn and look at the hunter, but Hazar kicked him hard in the kidneys. “Lie down,” he spat.

  I couldn’t bear to see my friend like that, beaten and defenseless. He was coughing and groaning, writhing in pain on the ground.

  Hazar put one boot on him and held his rifle in both hands. He put his shoulders back and stuck out his chest. The camera clicked several times and the cameraman nodded at Hazar.

  “You got a good one?” Hazar asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  In that instant, I saw the board in the Hunting Lodge with all those photographs pinned to it. I saw the one of Dad with the bear on his back, but mostly I saw the ones of the other men, standing with the bow in their hands and their trophy at their feet. Is that really what all this was about? It was a hunt?

  And that’s when it came to me. Like a bolt out of the sky that dusted away the clouds and showed me the real reason why that plane had crashed across my path and knocked me from the ATV. The real reason why I had seen the red light blinking in the sky and found the pod. The real reason why I had found the president.

  Because this was what the forest wanted.

  My wilderness. My president.

  Hamara’s words echoed in my head. The forest is a harsh judge. It gives each of us what we deserve. We must know how to listen and fight tooth and nail for our prey.

  Now I understood. I was supposed to rescue him. This was my Trial. I had not come into the forest to kill something — I had come here to save something.

  All I had to do was figure out how.

  “Okay, you’ve had your fun,” Morris said. “Now let’s get this over with. Finish him off.”

  Hazar threw Morris an irritated look, then took a deep breath and stepped back a few paces. He raised his rifle, tucking it against his shoulder, and aimed it at the back of the president’s head.

  I couldn’t bear to look. I didn
’t want to see them kill him. But I stopped myself from closing my eyes or looking away, because I knew I had to do something. It was now or never. A few more seconds and Hazar would pull the trigger and the president would be as dead as Patu.

  No.

  I took a deep breath, ready to shout at the top of my lungs.

  No.

  I didn’t have much of a plan other than to distract them, maybe make them chase me into the forest. If they thought there was a witness, maybe they wouldn’t kill the president. Maybe they would wait until they had caught me first — which they wouldn’t. I would be too fast and too clever for them. One word was all I had to shout.

  No.

  When I opened my mouth, though, the word already forming, someone else said it for me.

  “No.” Hazar lowered his rifle and shook his head. “Not like this.”

  “What?” Morris looked at him in disbelief. “Just get on with it. Let’s do this and leave.”

  “I have a better idea.”

  “A better idea? What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I don’t want him dead. Not yet. I want him fresh.”

  “Fresh?” Morris was confused. “What the hell does that mean?”

  Hazar put his rifle over his shoulder and took his phone from his pocket. “Thank goodness for satellite phones.” He used his thumbs to type a message as he spoke. “This one will work anywhere on earth; just like yours. I contacted my taxidermist about some of the logistics of dealing with a human cadaver.”

  “What?” Morris looked like he couldn’t believe his ears.

  “Well, apparently if I’m going to stuff him and mount him, it’s best that the body is as fresh as possible.” Hazar continued to type, eyes fixed on the small screen.

  “My God, you’re going to stuff him?”

  “What else should one do with a hunting trophy?”

  “You’re insane.”

  “And you, my friend, are a very rich man.” Hazar put his phone back into his pocket and looked up at Morris. “I have just transferred ten million dollars into the agreed bank account. It was a good hunt, thank you.” He turned to the man with the camera. “That freezer chest is a gift I can’t ignore. Let’s get the president inside, and then we’ll be on our way.”

  The man nodded, folded the tripod, and hurried back to the helicopter. He stored it inside and returned with two other men, going straight to the president. They hauled him to his feet and marched him over to Dad’s freezer chest.

  “What? No!” The president struggled against them.

  “Damn it.” Morris was growing more and more angry. “Why don’t you just bring him in the helicopter with us?”

  “There’s not enough room,” Hazar said. “This will have to do.”

  “I already shot one of your men. There’s enough room.”

  “A place which you will now occupy.” Hazar raised his weapon to point at Morris. “Unless you want to give it up for the president?”

  Morris gritted his teeth and glared at Hazar. “Just get a move on. It won’t be long before this place is crawling with Navy SEALs.” He took his phone from his pocket and held it up to Hazar, the screen glowing. “Everything we can see, they can see. Look!”

  “I don’t care about that,” Hazar said, glancing over at his men. They had removed the buck’s head and were struggling to lift the president into the freezer chest.

  “Well, you should, because the longer we stay here, the less chance we have of getting away.”

  “Please,” the president managed to call. He looked over at Hazar. “Please don’t …”

  “Oh, my apologies, Mr. President,” Hazar shouted back. “First class is full.” He smiled at his own joke as his men forced the president down.

  I stared in disbelief as my friend disappeared from view, but as he did, he looked across the hunting ground, right past Hazar and Morris, and I was sure he saw me. I don’t know how, I was so well hidden, but our eyes seemed to meet and hold for a few seconds. We were locked together like that, linked because it was what the wilderness wanted. I understood now that our lives were bound together like the threads of a rope, and that I would not lose him. He was mine; I just had to fight for him.

  Then he was gone, pushed right down into the chest, and the men closed the lid on him. They locked the latch, wrapped green cargo straps around the white box, and fastened them together to keep the lid shut.

  Hazar watched as the men spooled a thick wire from the underside of the helicopter and ran it through the cargo straps holding the freezer chest shut, then he smiled at Morris and said, “See. That didn’t take long.”

  “With that weight underneath, it’ll slow us down,” Morris replied.

  “Relax; we just bagged the biggest prize on the planet. Try to enjoy it.” Hazar raised a hand and made a circling motion before heading back to the helicopter.

  “I would have enjoyed it more if you’d just killed him,” Morris grumbled.

  As the men climbed aboard, the engine started and the rotors began to turn.

  The forest is a harsh judge.

  Hamara’s words repeated in my head as I slipped down from the boulder and secured the bow across my back. The quiver was tight with moss and the arrows were snug.

  It gives each of us what we deserve.

  There was no need to move quietly. With the helicopter blades churning the air, lifting the snow into a flurry, no one was going to hear me, so I sprinted along the edge of the hunting ground, keeping out of sight. Dodging through a collection of gaunt silver birch, and leaping over rocks, I skirted around so I was behind the helicopter.

  We must know how to listen …

  I stopped behind two narrow pines that grew together like twins, and pressed myself close to them. Drawing my knife, I watched the last man climb aboard.

  … and fight tooth and nail for our prey.

  As soon as he was in, I began to run. My boots were light on the ground despite the whirlwind. Snow and soil and pine needles spun in the air, but I ignored the stinging clouds of grit that battered my face. I gripped my knife tight in my fist and ran, ran, ran.

  My eyes were fixed on the freezer. That was my target. I had to get to it before the helicopter took off.

  The forest is a harsh judge.

  My arms were like pistons; my legs were steel cords.

  It gives each of us what we deserve.

  I gritted my teeth and summoned all my strength as the helicopter door slid shut.

  We must know how to listen …

  The freezer was just a few yards away. I was almost there. Not far.

  … and fight tooth and nail for our prey.

  A couple of paces from the freezer, I launched myself at it, arms outstretched.

  I hit it with a solid thud and scrambled on top. My camouflage netting rippled around me and the draught ripped the hat from my head as I slipped the blade of my knife under the first of the green nylon cargo straps. One look at the metal rope securing the box to the underside of the helicopter had told me I had no hope of cutting it, but maybe the cargo straps would be easier. The knife was sharp, but the nylon was tough and I sawed the steel backward and forward, slicing through the material bit by bit.

  The helicopter skids lifted off the ground and began to rise higher and higher, taking the steel rope up into the air. As the metal cord tightened, I knew I didn’t have much time. There were four cargo straps to cut through, and only a few more seconds to manage it. My head buzzed with fear and excitement, but the first doubt was beginning to snake in. When I had been running, I hadn’t thought for a second that I wouldn’t succeed, but now it looked certain that I wouldn’t.

  The first cargo strap gave way to my knife, splitting apart and flying away in the draught created by the rotors. Immediately, I went to the next one, slipping the blade underneath it, and —

  The steel cord tightened against the freezer, making it lurch, and in less than a heartbeat it was off the ground, rising into the air with me st
ill on top of it.

  My left hand was gripping the cargo strap so tight that my knuckles had gone white. I stared at it and told my fingers to open. I willed my hand to let go, so that I could drop safely to the earth, but it refused. Fear and determination kept it tight around the cargo strap and nothing I could do would make it open. It was as if my body had decided to stay with the president — to fight tooth and nail for my prey.

  Within seconds it was too late anyway. The helicopter was rising quickly.

  Without even realizing it I slipped my other hand, still holding the knife, under the cargo strap as far as my elbow. I hooked my whole arm around the strong nylon and hung on for dear life as we rose higher and higher over the forest.

  The day Dad first made me jump off the waterfall into Lake Tuonela, I thought I was going to drown. I thought a näkki was going to drag me down to a grim, watery death. I had been terrified. But the fear I had felt that day was nothing compared to what I felt as I hung on to that chest, swinging in the wind as it trailed behind the helicopter. I was frozen by fear, the way a rabbit can be frozen in fear at night if you point a powerful torch at it.

  I couldn’t move a muscle. Everything was locked tight. My arms were like stone, clinging on to the cargo straps, and my legs were like a vise, grasping the freezer as if they might crush it. My eyes were squeezed shut so tightly that they hurt.

  The wind raced around me, rushing under my jacket, flapping my camouflage, buffeting the freezer chest. Everything seemed to be vibrating and humming and it battered my ears so I couldn’t hear anything except for the roaring rush of it swirling around my head.

  For what felt like a very long time, I stayed that way, swinging wildly beneath the helicopter with my eyes shut and nothing going through my head other than fear. But fear like that can’t last forever, and it eventually began to dull. It was still there — I was still afraid — just not as much. Being scared was not going to save my life and it wasn’t going to save the president’s, and as my brain finally started to work properly again, I opened my eyes.