The Hunted

by Mike Dellosso

  "Son," Dad said, keeping his hand on Michael's shoulder and eyes fixed on the yellow marbles floating in the fog, "get me the phone."

  Ten minutes after leaving the Dew-Drop, Joe pulled up in front of the police station. A light was on inside. He jumped out of his truck and checked the front door. It was locked. He looked inside and saw a light on in Maggie's office, then rapped on the door. A shadow moved in the office, but no one responded to his knocking. It had to be Gary or Andy. Maybe even Maggie.

  Please be Maggie.

  He knocked again. Still nothing. The shadow moved again.

  Come on. I know you're in there.

  Joe ground his teeth and ran around the rear of the building. The back door was open. He entered the darkened narrow hallway, "Hello? Maggie? Gary? Anyone?" No answer.

  But he could hear movement in Maggie's office. A chair slid across the floor, file cabinet drawers rolled open and shut, papers shuffled.

  Joe rounded the corner and found Andy sitting behind Maggie's desk digging through a drawer.

  "Andy!"

  Andy started, jumped up, knocked his knees against the desk, and drew his gun. He pointed it directly at Joe. His hands were shaking, sweat dampened his face, and his eyes were wild with terror.

  Joe shot both hands into the hair. "Whoa, Andy. Hold on now." He tried to swallow the tremor in his voice. Stay calm. "I'm on your side. I just want to find Maggie."

  Andy said nothing but kept the gun leveled.

  Joe took one careful step toward Andy, hands still raised in surrender. "Andy, think about what you're doing here, man. I'm not even armed. I stopped by to see if you heard anything from Maggie, that's all. Remember I called you last night."

  Andy took a step backward. The gun wavered in his hands, and sweat soaked through his shirt. "Don't come any closer. I'll shoot. I will."

  Joe stopped his slow advance. "Andy, please. You don't want to shoot me. Do you? I'm just trying to find Maggie. She's in trouble. I think-"

  "She's next," Andy finished. "That's what you said. Now she's missing." The tremble now took over his entire body, and for a minute Joe thought he would collapse. "Maybe it's you."

  Joe nudged his hands higher into the air. "Andy, Andy. Easy, man. You know that's not true. I would never do anything to hurt Maggie." Joe's heart was climbing in his throat. Stay calm. Stay calm. One sudden move and he'll jerk the trigger. "Andy. Have you ever shot anyone?"

  Andy didn't answer, but the shift of his eyes to the outstretched gun and back to Joe said no.

  "Do you know what it's like? Feeling the trigger depress under your finger. Hearing the crack of the fire. The gun jerking in your hands. You know you can feel the impact of the bullet just as if it was your own flesh it was penetrating? You'll never forget it. Knowing you killed someone. Took a life. An innocent life." He paused. Joe had no idea what it was like to put a slug in someone either, but he was desperate and making things up on the fly.

  The gun lowered a little in Andy's hand. He was thinking. That was good.

  Joe took one step closer to Andy. "Andy." He looked right into the younger man's eyes. Hazel. Scared. Confused. "Andy. I love Maggie. I do. And I would never do anything to hurt her. I only want to find her. Just like you."

  Finally, Andy lowered his gun and set it on the desk with a clunk. He slumped his shoulders and dropped his eyes to the floor. "Sorry, Joe."

  Joe lowered his arms and blew out his cheeks. He ran the back of his hand across his forehead. "It's OK. I know you're scared, but we need to find Maggie. What happened last night? Any leads?"

  Andy sat in Maggie's chair and rubbed at his eyes with both hands. His face was ashen and glistened under a thin film of sweat. "No. She's not home, not answering her cell phone, and the radio in her car is shut off. I've been up all night and got nothing." He looked at Joe, fatigue misting his eyes. "Gary's gone too. I can't locate him."

  "Gary's gone too?"

  Andy sucked in a deep breath and nodded. He was looking more composed with every passing second. "It's like they both just vanished. I've been tearing this place apart looking for anything that might clue me in to where they are. But so far I still have nothing. What if-"

  Just then the dispatcher's voice came over the radio. "Police assistance needed at 2874 Jackson Lane. We have a report of a large animal in Yates Woods."

  Joe shot a look at Andy. "You have a shotgun I can use?"

  Andy ran for the radio. "Sure do." He picked up the receiver. "Andy here, Brenda. I'm on it." Then he went to the gun locker, unlocked it, grabbed a shotgun, and tossed it to Joe. "Help yourself to the ammo."

  Rosa sat by Caleb's bed praying and waiting.

  She had been awakened out of a sound sleep by her own screaming. Her pillow was wet with tears, and her stomach was tied in knots. She didn't remember having any dreams, but knew she had to go to Caleb. He had another message to relay.

  She had arrived at Hillside at 6:30, convinced the morning nurse to let her in-visiting hours didn't start until eight-and had been praying and waiting for the past half hour. God, speak to me.

  Ever since Caleb's message yesterday, she had done nothing but pray. Prayer was her escape, her hiding place. There was no place she felt safer than in the presence of her Lord. She called upon Him night and day, seeking Him, beseeching Him, petitioning Him, praising Him. When others, like Joe, were called to action, she was called to be still, to pray.

  When Caleb's message came yesterday, she prayed. When she couldn't find Joe, she prayed. When Joe called her last night and told her the search for Maggie had been unsuccessful, she fell on her knees and prayed. When she awoke early in the morning, wet with tears, heart banging in her chest, stomach knotted, she prayed.

  And now, sitting beside her son's bed, waiting for a miracle, she prayed.

  "Write. Write, child. Write for Us."

  I will. I'm willing.

  The glow had grown, and the voice had softened to almost a whisper. There was a sense of urgency this time, not of panic or fear or distress, but of importance.

  "Write for Us."

  I'm ready. Use me.

  Caleb's body started trembling again. His hand began shaking. Rosa jumped up, did the pencil and clipboard thing, and waited. Watching her son's hand form words sent a wave of needles along her scalp and down her neck. She was witnessing a miracle.

  "Thank You, Jesus," she whispered.

  It didn't take long. Caleb's hand wrote quickly, scribbling another message. When it stopped, Rosa took the clipboard and studied it. There were more scribbles this time, and the letters were harder to decipher. But once she found it, the message jumped out at her like a flashing sign: FEar noT.

  Joe. Something was going to happen to Joe. Dear God, protect him.

  A peace settled over her then and she knew with clarity the meaning of Caleb's message. God's message. Joe would have to decide this morningeither he would trust God completely and fully, or he wouldn't.

  This would be Joe's defining moment.

  She picked up her cell phone and punched in the number. Please answer.

  CHAPTER 38

  OE BARRELED DOWN Main Street, following Andy's cruiser through the fog. It was beginning to lighten, but the fog still made visibility almost impossible. He turned onto McCormick, wheels slipping on the wet asphalt, and reached for his cell phone. He needed to call Josiah. But just as he unclipped it from his belt, it rang. It was Rosa.

  "Rosa."

  "Joe, I have another message."

  "Another message?"

  "From Caleb."

  "OK. Go."

  "Fear not." Pause. "Did you get that?"

  Joe slowed and pulled the Ford into the Harrison's Garage parking lot. "Uh, yeah. Fear not. What does that mean?"

  "Joe, listen to me. Are you listening?" Her voice was tight, and it cracked when she spoke.

  Joe threw the truck into park, turned the key toward him, and shut off the engine. "Yes."

  "Something is going to happen thi
s morning, something frightening. This message is for you, for you, Joe. Whatever happens, remember that God is with you and that He is in control. Fear not."

  Joe grabbed the shotgun and a handful of shells from the passenger side seat. "Gotcha. Fear not."

  "Joe!" Rosa's voice spiked in volume and snatched Joe's full attention. "Listen to me. Where are you?"

  "Andy got a call just a couple minutes ago that Jerry Dinsmore spotted our animal in the woods behind his house. We're here now ready to go after it." He jumped out of the truck and shut the door.

  "Be careful. Go with God. And fear not; He's with you. Do you hear, Joe? Fear not."

  "I know, Rosa. Just pray, OK?"

  "I will. Just be careful. Bye."

  Joe reset his phone and punched in Josiah's number. C'mon. C'mon.

  Maggie awoke to the belligerent thump of a pounding headache. Her head felt like it would explode or implode-whichever was worse-at any moment. She was still in a half-conscious state and wasn't sure where she was. She tried to move. An aching cramp in her shoulders brought her into full consciousness and quickly reminded her of her present situation. Some muted light was filtering into the dirt-floored box she was in, and she realized she was somewhere under the trailer. That would explain the activity last night taking place above her.

  Last night. The gunshot. Gary. Stevie. Was it all just a dream? Her head was still cloudy, and she wasn't sure what was reality and what were mere products of her imagination.

  She tried to lift her head, but something pulled at her hair. The blood from her head wound had dried, matting her hair to a blanket under her. Her arms and legs refused to move, scolding her with cramps and spasms every time she tried to budge them. Her hands and feet were bound tight, and there must have been tape over her mouth, sealing in whatever was stuffed in her mouth. She tried to swallow, but her throat was too dry.

  The trailer was silent. Was Stevie still in bed? Or had he already left for the day?

  Slowly, memories from last night started to form. She remembered Gary and Stevie wrestling, then the gunshot, then hearing something large being dragged across the floor, and then outside. It wasn't a dream. Gary was dead; she was sure of it. She also recalled Stevie's voice resonating through the floorboards, saying something about Dinsmore and Sterner and Dad. No, Sterner first, then Dinsmore. Then Dad. That's what he said.

  He was going to kill Glen Sterner first, then the Dinsmore boys. Panic rose in her chest. Then Dad.

  Ignoring the pain in her shoulders and head, she tried to move againshe had to get herself free-but it was useless; whatever held her wrists and ankles was too tight. If she could roll onto her back, maybe she could kick at the ceiling. It was only a couple of feet above her. She took a deep breath through her nose, held it, and in one quick motion rolled herself over. Hair ripped from her scalp, her back spasmed, shoulders screamed, head throbbed. She drew in a long breath, air whistling through her nose, and let out a muted scream. It was all she could do.

  Drawing her knees to her chest, she kicked her legs upward with a grunt, beating the trailer floor with her feet.

  "Josiah will be here in a few minutes," Joe said, shutting his phone.

  "I just called a couple of guys too," Andy said, hooking his phone to his belt. "They'll be here ASAP."

  Joe looked into the woods. It was getting lighter by the minute, but the fog was still so thick the trees were only vague charcoal outlines against the gray haze, like gnarled sentinels guarding an ancient secret. The beast was in there somewhere, hidden in the fog, waiting for them. Waiting to hunt them. At the thought of being the prey, a warmth started in Joe's cheeks and spread through his face. What was it Rosa had said? This message is for you, for you, Joe. Fear not. Fear not. The words bounced around in his head before settling quietly. Fear not. Lord, I know You're with me. Help me to not be afraid.

  -Joe."

  Andy was calling his name.

  "Joe."

  He looked at Andy and blinked.

  "You OK?"

  Joe peered into the fog and blinked again. "Yeah. I'm fine. Just ... thinking."

  Andy swung his rifle over his shoulder. "Take plenty of ammo. Once we go in there, we're not coming out until we get a kill."

  "Yeah. OK."

  Fifteen minutes later, Josiah pulled up in his beat-up Dodge followed by three other burly hunter types in oversized pickups. They all climbed out of their trucks, toting rifles and decked out in camo, and assembled around Andy's cruiser.

  Andy made the introductions. "Thanks for coming out, guys. This is Barry Wagman." He pointed to the tallest of the three newcomers, a thick-armed giant with a rough, pock-marked face, then went from left to right: "Mike Kline," a short, round middle-aged man with squinty eyes and a full brown beard; "Dan Berwager," a husky linebacker-type with a round face, rosy cheeks, and big meaty hands; "Joe Saunders, and Josiah Walker."

  They all nodded to each other, then focused their attention on Andy.

  "We don't know exactly what we're looking for in there, but it's already mauled a young boy and"-he glanced at Joe-"killed three others that we know of. Whatever it is, it's a predator, a man-eater, so you can bet it'll be hunting us just the same as we're hunting it. Visibility is tight, so keep alert."

  "Simba Mfu," Barry said, taking a cigarette out of his coat pocket.

  Joe shot a look at Josiah, then leaned toward Barry. "Excuse me?"

  "Simba Mfu, fellas, a devil lion, that's what we're hunting... or being hunted by. I've been hearing the stories going around town 'bout the lion out there. Some years ago I spent some time in Africa, traveling and hunting, running from some of my own demons. The Africans tell a tale of a lion that's possessed by the spirit of a dead man. Spends his nights prowling and hunting humans, settling old scores. He's driven by revenge. They say the lion is immune to bullets and has some kind of supernatural intelligence."

  Joe swallowed hard. His throat felt like it was stuffed with cotton. Simba Mfu. That's what Old Man Yates called it too. Said it was a devil lion. His palms were suddenly wet.

  Barry shoved the unlit Marlboro between his lips, making eye contact with each of the other men. He must have noticed the way they eyed the cigarette. "Don't worry, I won't light it. I'll save it for after we bag this creature. Any of you ever heard of the man-eater from Mfuwe? He terrorized a whole valley a few years back. After he killed his sixth victim he paraded through the village streets with the man's bloodied clothes in his mouth. Like he was braggin' 'bout it. And then there was the Tsavo River incident. Back in the 1800s, two lions killed over a hundred and forty men."

  He pulled the cigarette from his mouth and studied it thoughtfully. The silence around the circle was almost as thick as the fog. "I've done a lot of research on man-eaters. Even hunted a few. Believe what you want, but those African tales came from somewhere; there's some truth in 'em. There's a devil lion in these woods, fellas. But that ain't gonna stop me from puttin' a hole in it when I see it."

  "Just be careful, guys," Andy said. "You have my permission to shoot anything that isn't human and bigger than a dog. I only want one death today, so be careful." He lifted some handheld radios out of his car. "We'll go in twos. Joe, you and Josiah, Mike and Barry, and I'll go with Dan." He handed each pair one radio. "We'll keep in contact with these. Channel five." He turned to Joe. "Joe, you went after this thing once already. Anything you want to add?"

  Joe glanced at Barry. "I think Barry might be on to something. Bob Cummings and I hunted this thing a week ago. It's stealthy, like a phantom. It snuck up on us and"-he paused to swallow-"got Cummings before he even had time to aim his rifle. I'm talking not even seconds. If you get a shot, make it count." He looked around the group, making sure he had their attention. "You may only get one."

  Andy nodded. "OK. We'll start on the north side here and move south. If we can flush it out into the open field beyond the woods, we'll have a good shot at it. Joe and Josiah, you start on the west end; Mike and Barry, take the cente
r; and Dan and I will start on the east end. The two groups on the perimeter will move toward the center. Keep in contact, guys, and partners, maintain visual contact with each other at all times. I don't want anyone getting disconnected."

  The tension in the group was thick. They worked quickly in silence, loading their weapons, checking their radios, making only awkward eye contact with one another.

  When they were all ready, Josiah said, "Guys, you mind if I say a word of prayer?"

  No one said anything, but they all gathered in a circle around Josiah.

  Joe bowed his head as Josiah prayed. "Father God, maker of heaven and Earth, we ask You to go with us today as we enter these here woods. Be our protection. Give us keen hearing, sharp eyesight, and steady hands. Let us see Your power at work today." He paused, and Joe lifted his head and looked around the group. Some of the men had their eyes open, staring at the broken and cracked asphalt; some had their eyes closed. "Amen."

  Andy looked up and nodded. "Amen. OK, guys. Let's go get us a kill."

  Maggie kicked at the floor above her again and again until her legs felt like lead. Letting them fall to the ground, sore and tired, she wheezed heavily through her nose. Her pulse was like a piston in her ears. Sweat trickled from her hairline. Her head throbbed. She needed to catch her breath.

  As it was getting lighter outside, more and more light filtered into the compartment in which she was hidden. And now that her head was freed from the ground, she could look around. She was in a box, about six feet by six feet. In one corner was a pile of empty soda cans, potato chip bags, and candy bar wrappers. In the opposite corner was what looked like a crumpled blanket and pillow. Next to the pillow was a large black flashlight. This must be Stevie's hideout, where he came to feel safe and concealed from the outside world.

  Maggie drew in a long breath. The musty smell of body odor and blood filled her nostrils. She raised her legs again and kicked at the trailer floor, letting out a muffled grunt with each blow, but it didn't budge. There was something heavy on the floor above her. It was useless. She was trapped, buried alive, and no one knew where she was. She would die here. Or worse, Stevie would return and finish the job he'd started. He obviously knew she was still alive, or he wouldn't have bound her and stuffed her in this dungeon.