Hunter's Rain

by Julian Jay Savarin

  “I don’t know!” Müller replied, searching for a possible sighting of the unknown attacker.

  The next shot took a suddenly terrified Pröll in the throat. His eyes opened wide, and stayed open. The blood began to leak slowly out of the wounded throat as he made strange, gargling sounds.

  Then a moan came from Elland.

  “He’s waking up!” Jackson said in a sharp whisper.

  Then into the clearing walked Mary-Ann, bright blonde hair streaming in the rain, lips red, eyes on fire, gun pointing at Jackson.

  “Come on out, boys, unless you want the colonel to get it. You’ve seen what I’ve done. You know I can do it. You will never get me before I kill him. So come on out. “ She giggled, then gave her mega smile. Even in the dark of the forest, even in the rain, it was a sunburst.

  Jackson stared at her in horror-struck awe.

  “Come on, boys! I’m getting impatient!”

  Reluctantly, the soldiers came out.

  “Now,” she said, “isn’t that better? Drop the guns, boys. Goood. Now lie down. Not on your bellies! On your backs!”

  They turned over, blinking in the rain.

  “Much better.”

  Gun still on Jackson, she inspected each of the soldiers, then stopped at one. “Mmm. You’re pretty.”

  To the astonishment of Jackson, Müller, and the soldiers, she sat astride the man she had picked.

  “Mmm,” she said to the soldier. “Like that? Nice? Open your mouth, soldier boy. Open!”

  Terrified. He did. She put the gun in it.

  “Any one of you moves” she said, “his head gets blown off.” She looked down at the soldier. “Nice?” she asked him gently. “Warm? Sweet?”

  Wide eyed, the soldier was not sure what to do.

  “You can nod,” she said.

  He nodded, fearfully.

  “You like me?

  Again the nod.

  “She wants to squeeze my scrawny neck. Did you know that? But closer to the bone, the sweeter the meat. Did you know that too? Not like that pudding Lieutenant-Colonel Bloomfield! “ she yelled suddenly. “Where are you Colonel Bloomfield?”

  “Right here.”

  Mary-Ann could not have expected it, but even so, her speed was cat-like. Her gun was out of the soldier’s mouth. and she was leaping off him and whirling in one motion, it seemed.

  But it was the Beretta which roared first.

  The shot hit her squarely in the chest, throwing her violently backwards so that she stumbled over the soldier she had recently been astride, and toppled clumsily, screeching in rage. She actually tried to get up, so powerful was her hate. She was still gripping her gun, and it began to rise towards Carey Bloomfield.

  Jackson and Müller stared in astonishment as Mary-Ann began to stagger to her feet.

  Müller began to raise his own gun.

  Carey Bloomfield stood her ground and waited, Beretta pointing unerringly.

  Mary-Ann was on her feet; legs parting, braced. Gun still coming up, pointing now, zeroing on target.

  The Beretta roared again.

  Mary-Ann was pitched backwards like a rag doll. This time, she made no sound, and did not get up again.

  Carey Bloomfield walked up to Mary-Ann’s body, and looked down. “Pudding? The more curves, the better.”

  Elland had begun to moan again.

  Carey Bloomfield looked at him. “Shut up!”

  Elland shut up.

  Müller and Jackson got to their feet, Müller putting his gun away Hagen’s soldiers staggered upright, looking bemused, and giving the one that had been Mary-Ann’s plaything strange looks.

  Jackson looked at Mary-Ann’s body. “What the hell was that?”

  “That,” Müller replied, “was Mary-Ann.”

  Jackson looked at Carey Bloomfield. “Nice timing, Colonel. She seemed to hate you. Any idea why?”

  Carey Bloomfield shook her head. “None at all, sir.”

  Then Müller’s phone rang.

  “Where are you?” came Pappenheim’s voice.

  Müller frowned, thinking there was something strange about it.

  “Everything fine here, Pappi.” He gave Pappenheim a quick rundown.

  “Move away,” Pappenheim said.

  “What?”

  “Just do it, Jens.”

  “Alright.”

  Müller walked towards the lake until he stood on high ground, looking down at the water.

  The others had looked, but without real curiosity as he left them.

  Suddenly, a scarcely human sound came from the direction of the lake, echoing in the rain. Forest animals, hearing it, scuttled into hiding.

  “Semperrrr!”

  The soldiers stared at each other.

  Jackson looked at Carey Bloomfield. “What the hell. Was that Müller?”

  “I’ll go to him.”

  She ran, fear in her heart, a puzzled Jackson staring after her.

  When she got to Müller, he was squatting on his heels, phone in one hand, head hanging down.

  Unsure of what to do, she said, “Müller, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”

  He looked up at her, eyes so haunted, she really became frightened.

  “Tell me this,” he said. “What do I tell him?”

  “Who?”

  “Jackson. That was Pappi on the phone. One of the kidnappers was a psycho. The assault team arrived too late. They found two of the men dead, killed by the psycho. They caught the psycho on the stairs. One of the assault team killed him. Then they went into the room where she was being held, and found Mrs Jackson. Dead. She had been violated. Now tell me! What do I tell him?”

  End