Hunters

by Chet Williamson

  When Ned opened the door, it was as though someone tossed a bucketful of snowflakes through it. "Good lord," he laughed. "It's like that W. C. Fields movie—'tain't a fit night out for man nor beast!'"

  "Well, both man and beast are going out!" said Megan, pushing him from behind as Pinchot thundered past.

  He let them both through, then pulled the door shut from the outside. "Think we ought to lock it?" he said over the wind.

  "Oh yeah—burglars..." Megan grabbed his gloved hand in her mittened one, and they stepped off the porch into a nearly four foot depth of snow.

  "Great jogging weather," Ned said, trying to stay upright.

  "This is great!" Megan crowed. "You ever remember it like this?"

  "Maybe when I was a kid," Ned said. "It's incredible." They moved on, side by side, feeling lilliputian in the deep snow, like six-year-olds in snowsuits. The first foot of snow was packed fairly hard under their feet, and grasped them like sucking mouths where they sank through it. But the most recent, colder snowfall had been light and powdery, and parted easily before the lunging prows of their legs.

  It was fun, Ned thought, even when the crusted snow beneath gave way, and they toppled over, sometimes falling alone, sometimes grabbing the other, so that two trees fell in the forest, and both heard each other's laughter. Pinchot body surfed his way through the top, fluffy layer, sometimes barking happily, other times giving excited little growls of pleasure.

  Megan led the way, ignoring Pinchot's innumerable, deviant side trips, and slowly they drew nearer the tower. The cab was barely visible, and the steps were crusted with ice and snow. The four bases were covered with white, making it appear that the steel beams went directly into the earth. Ned looked straight up, but could not be sure if he saw the tower swaying, or if the sense of movement was due to the swirling wind and snow.

  "Wanta go up?" Megan said with a mischievous grin.

  "In neither of our lifetimes," Ned replied, and pushed her so that she toppled over.

  She laughed as she pushed herself to her feet, and pointed toward the edge of the cliff, twenty yards away. "Let's go see what we can see." She started toward the edge, arms akimbo as though she were on an oversized ski machine, and Ned followed. There would be no sense of height, he knew, since visibility was near zero, but they would have to be careful that they didn't slide over the edge.

  Megan stopped. Several yards away Ned saw the surface of snow drop away smoothly, like a waterfall pouring over the edge of the world. He stopped next to Megan, and felt her arm slip through his. It was fine here. There was nowhere to fall. You scarcely knew you were on a cliff's edge. Ned wondered how far a drop it was. He really hadn't looked down from the tower the day before. Maybe Megan had.

  "How steep's the cliff?" he asked her.

  "Ohhh," she sighed in admiration. "I couldn't really tell, but it looked like a beauty. Relief maps have it as a four hundred foot drop, eighty degree slope. Not many that extreme around here."

  "Sorry you won't get a chance to climb it."

  "We can always come back someday," she said, nestling against him.

  "Yeah, but by the time all this snow melts, you'll be too old to climb cliffs."

  She dug into his ribs with her elbow. "Take it back," she snarled, in what Ned assumed was her best impression of Leo Gorcey.

  "And what if I don't," he said in his best Huntz Hall.

  She pushed him over, and they both went down, laughing and blowing out the snow that got in their mouths. She was on top, and grabbed a handful of snow. "I'll wash your face, mister!" she said, pushing the cold, wet snow against his cheek.

  He gave a mock cry of anger and twisted away, trying to pin her beneath him. The crust beneath shattered, and they plunged deeper into the soft layer, their faces turning red from their exertion and their laughter.

  Now Pinchot got into the act, barking and jumping up and down as best he could in the deep snow. They felt his paws against their backs, heard his puzzled and frantic barking, and it made them laugh all the harder. "If we're gonna roll," Ned managed to get out, "let's roll away from the cliff..."

  Finally they staggered to their feet and did impressions of Pinchot for a minute, shaking off the snow that clung to their jackets, hats, and hair. Then Megan looked at Ned, threw out her arms, and fell straight back to land in the snow. "Snow angels!" she said, moving her arms and legs back and forth.

  He let himself fall then, directly on top of her, thrusting his arms into the snow so that his whole weight would not come to bear on her. His face was inches away from hers, and he kissed her. Her cheeks felt cold and wet and fresh, and her mouth warmed quickly to his. "Snow lovers," he said softly, and kissed her again.

  "Is it possible," she said, "to be aroused wearing thirty pounds of clothing in the middle of a snowstorm with the temperature fifteen degrees?"

  He closed one eye to show that he was giving it careful thought. "It's possible to be aroused," he said, "though I think doing something about it would cause frostbite."

  "Good point." She nodded briskly. "There. Not aroused anymore."

  "You sure?" he said, kissing her again.

  After the kiss, she thought it over and nodded again. "Yep, I'm sure. Come on." She pushed him off and got to her feet. "I think I got snow down my neck."

  Ned twisted uncomfortably inside his heavy clothes. "If that's all, you're lucky."

  "Shall we go back and dry out?"

  He nodded, and they started back to the cabin. It was not as heavy going as before, since the canals they had made through the snow on their way out were still there. The wind and snow were filling them up quickly, however, and by the time they were at the cabin their previous trails showed only as indentations on the surface. "Get lost out here," Ned said, "you wouldn't get found until summer."

  They stamped their feet on the covered porch, and brushed each other off as best they could. Then Ned pushed open the door and stepped back so that Megan could precede him through, but Pinchot beat them both in.

  The dog stopped dead, however, just a foot inside the door. Megan nearly tripped on him. If she had, she would have fallen directly into the puddle of blood on the floor.

  It was a small puddle, roughly six inches in diameter, and the rough floorboards had soaked up part of it, but there was still enough liquid to glisten in the pale light that came through the doorway.

  "Ned..." Megan said in a shaking voice.

  He saw, and reached around the doorway to the light switch and flicked it on. The naked bulb showed the blood, the melting snow, and Megan's fiddle, now lying broken on the floor. She gave a little cry when she saw it, and started toward it, stepping around the blood. But Ned grabbed her shoulder and said, "Wait."

  He quickly went into the bedroom and dug through the clothes in his suitcase until he found the revolver and shells he had brought along. He loaded it quickly with five rounds and brought the hammer down on the empty, then went back into the living room and closed the door.

  Megan had gone to her broken fiddle, and was cradling it like a dying pet, her gaze darting between the fiddle, the blood, and the windows. Ned checked the kitchen first, then drew the curtains over all the windows. "Ned?" said Megan. "What is it? Are they here?"

  He didn't have to ask her what she meant by they. "I don't know."

  "They broke it," she said, tears in her eyes. "That was my grandfather's violin, and they broke it." She held it up to show him. The fiddle's body was shattered and splintered, as though someone had stepped on it with a heavy boot. Melted snow still wetted the surface. The strings hung like twisted wires, and the fingerboard was broken clean in two.

  Ned walked to the phone and picked it up. His expression was easy to read. "Dead?" Megan asked, and he nodded.

  "It might be the storm," he said.

  "Ned, the storm didn't do this." She held up the fiddle, then pointed at the blood. "Or that."

  Pinchot was whining, pacing back and forth near the blood, coming forward, taki
ng a sniff, then retreating again. Ned knelt next to the puddle, took a tissue from his pocket, and dabbed it into the liquid. He examined and smelled it, and shook his head. "I don't think this is human. I think it's deer blood." Ned stood up. "It could just be a hunter," he said, trying to make his voice sound firm and unworried. "Got a deer, got lost, stumbled in here to get warm, knocked over your fiddle..."

  "And then stepped on it," Megan said, straightening up. "And a puddle of deer blood dripped neatly onto the floor, right there and nowhere else. Ned, you know that's as lame as they come."

  "Yeah," he said, nodding.

  Suddenly, above the howl of the wind, they heard three gunshots in quick succession, and they both crouched involuntarily. But no bullets tore through the windows.

  "That was close," Ned said, "but not aimed at us—further away than that. Deer rifle too..." Then he thought that maybe he had been right, but that the blood was human. "Look, Megan, maybe my reason wasn't as lame as we thought. Maybe a hunter was in trouble, shot himself accidentally, wandered in here, bled on the floor, staggered around, and wandered right back out again."

  "Why would he go back out?"

  Ned didn't know. "Delirious, maybe. But maybe those shots are a distress signal." He thought for a moment, then nodded. "I ought to be able to follow his trail."

  She stopped him as he went for the door. "Not without me."

  "No. You stay here. If I'm wrong..." He paused.

  "And if it's those maniacs, then they'd get me anyway. I'm not leaving you."

  He nodded sharply. "All right, come on."

  The shots sounded as though they had come from the north, behind the cabin, and when Megan and Ned went around the side they saw where the visitor had been. There was a trough in the snow that his body had made when he came onto the porch from the side, and it led off back into the woods. There was no sign of blood, but Ned thought the blowing snow would have long since covered up any drops.

  "He's gotta be up this way," Ned said, breathing deeply as he plowed through the snow. He held his pistol in his ungloved right hand. "Stay with me!" he called to Megan, who shouted that she was. Pinchot was with them too, barking as though this were just another romp, the disquieting blood on the floor forgotten.

  The trail cut between sparsely grown pine trees. If the snow had let him, Ned thought he could have seen ahead a great distance. But the scant growth also made it easier for the wind to fill in the unseen man's trail, and a hundred yards behind the cabin, it faded to nothing, its manmade features lost amid nature's patterns in the swirling dunes of white.

  The wan, smothered light that had managed to pierce the snowfall was fading fast. Night was coming, and Ned knew that they wouldn't be able to stay outside much longer. He turned east, thinking that he might be able to cross the man's trail again if he was wandering about, and fifty yards away he found the telltale indentation in the snow. "He was here," he told Megan. "His trail's heading south again."

  But as they followed the man's trail, Ned noticed that it was wider now, as though he were moving with more effort, and as the trail grew fresher, Ned saw pink streaks in the snow. The man was bleeding after all.

  Pinchot surged ahead, but Ned called him back, and to Ned's surprise the dog obeyed. He didn't want Pinchot to get to the man first. In his weakened and demented condition, the hunter might think the friendly oaf of a dog was attacking him.

  The trail led behind the cabin, then around to the opposite side of the porch from which they had begun. They had walked, Ned realized, in a large circle.

  "Hey!" he shouted as he stepped into the less deep snow on the porch. "You in there?" He glanced back to see that Megan was right behind him. Pinchot was at the door of the cabin, which had been closed by whoever had entered. Ned held the pistol in his right hand, and, with the left, pushed open the door.

  No one was in the room, but a trail of blood now ran to the closed bedroom door. Pinchot sniffed at it, then scratched at the door, which swung slowly open.

  Inside, lying in a pool of blood on the bed, was a dead deer. It had been gutted, and the empty cavity yawned at them like a pale, surprised mouth.

  Ned looked at it for only a moment. "Come on," he said, grabbing Megan's hand. He led her onto the porch and across the space that separated the cabin from the Blazer. What little he could see of it told him that the tires were nearly covered in snow, but if Megan drove while he pushed, there might be enough traction to get the Blazer moving. Once it was, he might be able to keep it moving. It was a long shot, but he knew they had to get out now.

  Someone had been toying with them, playing games with blood and gunfire, and he was afraid he knew who.

  He body-plowed his way toward the Blazer, but as he got nearer, he thought that the snow was covering the vehicle more deeply than it should have, as if he had parked it in a hole. Then he saw the reason why. Only the upper third of the tires was visible, and into each of them someone had driven foot-long metal spikes. He didn't even bother to look at the other side.

  The cold had him now. He was shivering, remembering what they had done and thinking about what they would do. His probable fate shook him hard, but that they should harm Megan filled him with a far more intense combination of terror, grief, and fury.

  He would not let them. He would do whatever he could, but he would not let them harm her.

  He had not let go of her hand, and now he led her back to the cabin. "We'll have to hole up in here," he said breathlessly. "Keep the lights off so they can't see to shoot."

  "Could they burn us out?" Megan said, panting as they ran, Pinchot at their side.

  "I don't think so, with all the snow...maybe, I don't know, if they soaked the cabin with gas...God, I don't know..."

  They had left the door open when they fled, and now they rushed back into the cabin, slamming and locking the door behind them. Ned dragged the dead buck off the bed and through the living room to the kitchen door, opened it, and pushed the carcass out into the snow, then closed and locked the door.

  Megan had drawn back one of the closed curtains just far enough to peek out. "Ned," she said, "they could break the windows..."

  "They might break the separate panes, but nobody can crawl through," he said. "Those frames are metal. They'd have to twist them open with a crowbar to get through, and if they try that I can shoot them. I've got two boxes of ammo. That's a hundred shots."

  "You didn't bring another gun?"

  Ned shook his head. "No. Just the one." He shrugged and smiled lamely. "Who would have thought we'd even need this one?"

  Megan shook her head. "How did they even get back here?"

  "If you want something bad enough," Ned said, "I guess you can get to it." Suddenly he raised his head. "Listen..."

  Above the whine of the wind, they could hear a high-pitched buzzing, like a swarm of huge, angry bees. It grew ever louder, and in another few seconds Ned knew what it was.

  "Snowmobiles."

  Ned dashed to the light switch and turned it off. Then he and Megan went to the window near the fireplace, inched back the curtain, and looked out.

  Through the falling snow they could see dim lights, like fireflies in fog. There were two of them, and they were moving slowly, not at all like the Ski-doos that ripped through the woods during non-hunting seasons.

  Then, as the snowmobiles stopped near the Blazer, Ned saw why. Each vehicle was carrying two people. That meant that four crazies were out to kill them, twice the number Ned had assumed when he saw the two lights. They must have left the snowmobiles further out the access road, come in the rest of the way on foot to play their little games of torment, then returned to the snowmobiles to come back in and finish the fun. It made sense. Walk in these woods in the dark, and you'd be lost in minutes. But the snowmobiles' lights were strong. It would be easy to come in to the tower on the Forestry Service road in the dark.

  And easy to get back out again after they did what they came to do.

  The snowmobiles swun
g around so that the lights were facing the cabin, and Ned drew back as the bright beam illuminated the window from which he and Megan were watching. He felt certain that the people outside had seen the curtain drift back into place, and readied himself for the first shot of the siege that he expected, pulling Megan with him down below the level of the window.

  But no shots came, and he scrambled over to the front window, signaling Megan to stay where she was. The lights through the windows made it easy to get around in the small room, and easy to avoid Pinchot, who was trotting back and forth nervously.

  Ned could see them now, four of them, walking toward the cabin. The lights weren't hitting the front window directly, and he knew they couldn't see him watching them. He felt ice pool in his stomach as he saw that they all carried guns. Two had pistols, and the other two had small weapons that looked like pistols, but had long, blocky magazines. Assault weapons, as if things weren't bad enough.

  As the four moved along, the largest of them stopped and turned toward the tower, whose posts were dimly illuminated by the spill from the headlights. He threw out his arms, and Ned saw that in his other hand he was carrying a box with a handle. Ned thought he heard a booming laugh, but wasn't sure. Two of the others stopped and looked too, but the fourth figure kept moving inexorably toward the cabin. After a moment, two of the others turned and followed, but the big man was moving away from the others, toward the tower. Ned could see a flashlight's beam illuminating his path.

  The person in front led the others around to the side, just behind the cabin where Ned couldn't see them through any of the windows, and his bullets couldn't reach them. "Craig!" a voice called, and Ned thought it sounded like a woman's.

  "We know you're in there!" the voice shouted over the storm. He looked at Megan, and she said softly, "A woman?" Ned nodded.

  "And we know who's in there with you!" the woman went on. "We're armed. Heavily. We've got guns and we've got explosives, and if you don't come out, we'll take this cabin down around you!"