The Hunted

by Mike Dellosso

  She let her legs rest again and shut her eyes. An image of Joe stared at her, smiling, his large brown eyes sparkling in the sunlight. He was young, just out of high school. His face was smooth, his hair short. He was promising her the world.

  Life was simple then. They were in love and that was all that mattered.

  Tears mingled with salty sweat and stung Maggie's eyes. She wanted to be eighteen again. She wanted to start over and do things differently. Do them right. Never did she imagine she would wind up here-a failed cop, buried alive, left for dead. What happened? How did she wander so far off the centerline of life?

  The Secret. The Gill family legacy.

  Anger flared inside her. Curse the family legacy. Forget about the Secret. They'd ruined enough lives, including hers. But they would ruin no more. If-if-she ever got out of here, she would come clean, confess, pour her heart out, reveal the Secret, end the legacy, and take what she had coming. Sorry, Dad.

  And Joe would help her.

  No, he wouldn't. Why would he? She'd lied to him, betrayed him, deceived him, and hurt him. She'd lost him forever.

  CHAPTER 39

  OE STEPPED THROUGH the thick undergrowth, holding his shotgun waist high. The fallen leaves had been softened by the moisture of the fog and didn't crunch when stepped on.

  It would give his prey an added advantage.

  The fog was still thick, and that, coupled with the chill in the air, made it a miserable morning for hunting. Visibility was no more than fifteen feet in any direction. It was like walking through a dark tunnel with only a candle to light the way. There was no telling what may be lurking behind the curtain of fog just feet in front of him. He had to be ready, ready to aim and pull the trigger with only a second's notice. Anything longer may be too long and... well, he'd seen what would happen.

  Joe stepped over a fallen tree, making sure his feet landed softly. Josiah was a little more than ten feet to the right of him, a gray silhouette stepping bent-kneed in a half crouch through the haze. He was glad to have Josiah with him. He had grown very fond of the old farmer and admired his wisdom and insight. It was because of Josiah's courage and willingness to challenge that Joe had reconciled his differences with God-his differences. He now knew and accepted that the problem he had with God was his problem. God had never stopped being sovereign; He'd never once stepped down from His throne or turned a blind eye toward the plight of Joe's family. He was always God, always the same, and any difference Joe had with Him was his difference, not God's. Whether his old friend in overalls realized it or not, he had opened Joe's eyes to the truth and pointed the way. Joe guessed Josiah did realize it, knew it full well, but had enough sense to let Joe work it out himself.

  Joe scanned the terrain as he walked. Trees rose from the ground like silent gray giants and disappeared into the fog above. Stands of elderberry, wild raspberry, and honeysuckle crowded the uneven terrain. He watched the wall of haze like it was a theater curtain ready to open any minute and reveal some hideous creature. He'd felt the weight of the beast, smelled its hate and anger, and kept imagining it crouching in the fog waiting patiently for him to stumble upon it and find himself once again pinned under its massive paws. He shuddered at the thought.

  Andy's voice crackled over the handheld. "How's everyone doing?"

  "All clear so far here," Mike Kline replied.

  Joe pushed the talk button. "Nothing here yet."

  "Keep pushing forward," Andy said. "And maintain visual contact with your partner. The fog seems to be getting thicker the deeper we go."

  "Gotcha."

  "Will do."

  Joe clipped the handheld to his belt and stepped over a twisted branch.

  Wait! He stopped. Josiah stopped and looked at him. Joe held a finger to his mouth and pointed into the fog in front of him. He thought he heard something. A branch break. Josiah started heading toward him, shotgun eye-level now. Joe raised his weapon as well, pushing the stock into his right shoulder, sighting down the barrel as he stepped carefully, slowly, over and around debris and leaves.

  Step by step, he inched farther into the fog, listening, smelling. He heard it, he was sure of it. Not far now, just beyond the fog screen.

  Mike's voice over the handheld startled him, and he almost lost his balance. "I have something. I have it." Andy answered. "What is it, Mike?"

  "I don't know, it was just a shadow, but I definitely heard it. It's coming your way, Joe. We'll close in behind it."

  "We're on our way too," Andy squawked.

  Joe had unclipped the radio and was holding it to his mouth. He motioned for Josiah to come to him. "I heard something over here too." He spoke in a hushed tone. "Are there two of them?"

  "Joe," Mike said. He was breathing heavy, and Joe could tell he was running. "It sounded like ... it was running ... on two legs ... but I could be wrong."

  "Gotcha." Two legs? Maybe the fog was distorting the sound.

  Joe looked at Josiah. "It's coming our way," he whispered.

  The sound came again-a branch breaking. Soft and muted from the dampness, but definitely the sound of wood snapping. Then again. It was moving closer to them. Joe and Josiah scanned the fog, eyes wide, guns ready, fingers pressed lightly against triggers, waiting, waiting for it to reveal itself.

  Another twig snapped. This time it was behind them. Joe spun around. His stomach was in a knot, and he fought hard to still his trembling hands. He and Josiah stood back to back. Was there more than one? God help us.

  Snap! This one was to Joe's right... and closer. He shifted his weight to his right foot and exhaled slowly. Every one of his senses was on full alert, like raw nerve endings.

  Something moved in the fog. A shadow, a vague figure, darted behind a clump of honeysuckles.

  Joe's heart was in his throat. His pulse beat like a kettledrum in his ears, pounding so hard he could barely hear himself think.

  Think. Don't forget to think.

  He inched closer to the honeysuckles, cheek against the cold metal of the gun, finger pressing into the trigger, willing himself to slow his breathing. How many pounds of pressure did it take to depress a trigger? Three, four? He had to be close. He heard Josiah behind him, moving around to his right, circling around the bush.

  There was a rustling of branches and shuffling of leaves, and something took off out of the honeysuckle. Joe jumped back and jerked his gun skyward, following the dark object that exploded from the bushes. He nearly squeezed the trigger in a knee-jerk reflex.

  But it was only a spooked grouse, beating its wings against the still air. Joe lowered his gun and exhaled. His fingers tingled. His heart raced.

  Josiah looked at him, eyes wide, and blew out a breath.

  Snap! A twig, behind him again. He and Josiah lifted their guns in unison, spun around, and watched the fog.

  Andy's voice came over the handheld. "Talk to me; Joe, what's going on?"

  Joe pressed the radio against his mouth and spoke in a whisper. "It's here. I'm not sure where, but I can hear it. Where are you, Mike?"

  Mike's voice was still breathless. "We're coming... slow going, though... brambles really thick here... Should be there soon."

  Something rustled to Joe's right, and he spun, standing his ground. Leaves shuffled under wet, muffled footsteps. It was pacing... stalking. Joe glanced at Josiah, caught his eye, and pointed to the fog in front of him. Josiah motioned that he would go around to the right.

  Joe took a careful step forward and paused to listen. It was still pacing. His nerves felt like they would climb out of his skin. He took a deep breath and blinked, trying to calm himself. He had to keep his head. Right now, carelessness was as dangerous an enemy as the thing in the fog. And that thing was right in front of him, just on the other side of the haze. By the sound alone he could almost see it, pacing back and forth, back and forth, waiting for him.

  Suddenly, something moved behind him. He spun around in time to see a brown wooly... something charging him.

  He
squeezed the trigger.

  Boom!

  Maggie heard the distant gunshot and flinched. Someone was hunting. Was it Andy? Joe? Being in that box, she had no sense of direction and couldn't tell where the shot had come from. The Dinsmore house was on the other side of Yates Woods. It could have come from that direction. It sounded at least a mile away. That would make sense.

  But that would mean...

  She was the only one who knew the truth. Panic crept over her like a cold shadow. She had to get out of there. She had to warn them. But if she was right, and the gunshot did come from Yates Woods, it may be too late for warnings. She had to help them. Raising her legs above her, she pulled her knees to her chest and exploded with a kick against the flooring, letting out a loud muffled grunt.

  Nothing.

  She cocked her knees back again and fired away. Again and again, frantically, she kicked and kicked. Thud! Thud! Thud!

  Still nothing. The board above her rebounded after each blow.

  She stopped and sucked in the dry air through her nose. Her legs burned, her back ached, her head felt like a jackrabbit had taken up residence in it. She could only think of Joe. He was out there, she was sure of it. Would he find the truth before it was too late?

  Please, Joe, be safe. Please, Joe.

  The creature fell to the ground, writhed for a second, then lay limp, crumpled in a heap of lifeless fur. Joe kept his gun at eye level and the barrel trained on the beast as he slowly approached it. He could feel his pulse through his trigger finger. Sweat pooled in his eyebrows. He breathed through his mouth, quick and shallow.

  "Joe, you OK?" Andy's voice was strained as it vibrated through the handheld.

  Joe didn't answer. He didn't want to take his full attention off the beast lying on the ground. It may be playing dead, baiting him, waiting until he was only feet away to pounce.

  "Joe..." It was Mike now, still winded. "I'm right near you... say something so I can follow your voice."

  Josiah came up alongside Joe and inched along with him closer to where the creature lay.

  When they got within ten feet, Joe felt his heart drop out of his chest. His whole body went numb, like someone had pumped ice water into his veins. He stood still as the gray shadowy trees spun around him, and the fog closed in on him. He lowered his shotgun and let it slip to the ground.

  There, sticking out from under the heap of fur, was a foot-a sneakered foot.

  Josiah saw it too and ran to the beast. He nuzzled the barrel of his gun under the fur and turned the heap over.

  It was Stevie. It was Stevie. It...was...STEVIE!

  His back was draped with a large brown bear skin, his head covered with a monstrous lionlike Halloween mask complete with oversized canines, the eye holes cut larger to allow for better visual ability. On his hands he wore thick work gloves rigged with razor blades, shards of glass, metal, and other cutting edges, all sewn into the palms. His arms and legs were covered with what looked like gray rabbit skins that had been pieced together.

  A hole the size of a baseball carved out Stevie's chest.

  Josiah dropped his gun and fell to his knees beside Stevie. Stevie's wide eyes, full of shock and confusion, followed him-he was still alive. Care fully, tenderly, Josiah slid the mask the rest of the way off the young man's head.

  Joe couldn't move. His feet were nailed to the ground; his arms hung limp at his sides; his legs were like rubber. Things were happening in slow motion now. Josiah was cradling Stevie's head in his arm, facing Joe and yelling something, but an eerie silence had permeated the fog. Andy's voice mumbled somewhere in the background. All Joe could hear was his own heart thump-thumping in his chest and his lungs drawing in short, shallow breaths.

  Mike Kline and Barry Wagman finally arrived. Mike bent over and propped his hands on his knees. Barry was panting and hollering, but Joe heard none of it. He'd killed a man. Shot him in cold blood.

  "-Joe." Josiah was calling to him, but his voice sounded like it was on the opposite end of a long dark tunnel.

  "-Joe." Andy's voice was crackling over the radio.

  "-Joe." Someone's voice was getting louder.

  "Joel"

  Joe finally snapped out of his trance and met Josiah's eyes.

  "Joe. He's still alive."

  Joe blinked and cleared his head. Feeling rushed back into his arms and legs. He approached the limp body of Stevie.

  Barry stepped out of the way. Mike radioed Andy.

  Joe knelt down next to Stevie and looked into his eyes. He wanted to apologize, beg forgiveness, but the words wouldn't come. The look of fear that darkened Stevie's eyes paralyzed him. A memory, stored away somewhere in Joe's mind, suddenly bobbed to the surface. The first deer he ever shot. He was a cocky twelve-year-old and had gone on his first hunting trip with his dad. They had been out a little over an hour when they spotted a whitetail behind a patch of brambles. Joe sighted it in his scope, his heart pounding, hands shaking, breathing shallow, and pulled the trigger. The Remington 700 he'd gotten for Christmas popped, and the deer fell.

  He would never forget walking up to that fallen doe and realizing she was still alive. His shot had punctured her abdomen and a steady stream of bright red blood ran out of the quarter-sized hole. But it was the look in the animal's eyes-the pain, the sheer terror-that made Joe vomit on the spot. His dad made him finish the beast off. One shot through the heart was all it took. But that look remained with Joe and haunted him for years after that first kill.

  It was the same look that now shadowed Stevie's eyes.

  Seconds later, or maybe it was minutes, Joe couldn't tell, Andy and Dan Berwager appeared. Dan stood over Stevie and shook his head. Andy radioed for an ambulance. His voice was hushed and grim. It was obvious to all that Stevie wouldn't last much longer.

  Somewhere behind Joe, Mike said, "So he was the beast?"

  Josiah leaned in closer to Stevie. "It's OK, son, help is comin'. Hang in there."

  Stevie followed him with his eyes and moved his lips. Blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth and made a scarlet line down his cheek. He moved his lips again.

  Josiah leaned closer, tilting his ear toward Stevie's mouth. "What is it, son?"

  Stevie's voice was a hoarse whisper, but Joe could make out what he said. "Chief... safe... " His words then trailed off.

  "Again, Stevie," Josiah whispered, laying a hand on Stevie's head. "Tell me again, son."

  Stevie's lips moved but no words passed over them. He tried again. "Chief... safe ... in... hide..." His words faded, and his eyes went blank, staring vacantly into the fog.

  Josiah placed two fingers over Stevie's carotid, held them there a few seconds, then removed them. "He's gone."

  He's gone. The words echoed in Joe's head, rattling around like bullets in a metal box, looking for a soft spot to penetrate. He'd done it. He'd killed a man.

  Josiah stood up and looked at Joe, determination in the set of his jaw. "Joe, you didn't know. There's nothing more we can do for Stevie; he's gone. But Maggie isn't."

  Joe snapped his head toward Josiah. "What?"

  "Did you hear what Stevie said?"

  Joe looked confused. "Yeah. Chief safe in hide. That's it."

  "He meant Maggie was safe in his `hideout.' A place under the trailer he used to hide when he thought someone was after him. She's alive, Joe."

  Josiah walked over and picked up Joe's gun, then tossed it to him. "Let's go."

  Seconds later both men were racing through the woods toward Stevie's trailer. Joe pushed on harder and harder, ignoring the burning in his lungs, ignoring the spasms in his thighs, ignoring Josiah's urging to slow down. He couldn't see where he was going, only fog, thick, smoky fog. It was crazy, he knew. He could step in a groundhog hole, trip on a fallen tree, clothesline himself on a low-hanging branch, anything. Bones would crunch before he even knew what had happened. But he didn't care. Not now. Not as long as Maggie was in that trailer. He wouldn't care about anything until she was safe in his
arms.

  A thought entered his mind, but he quickly brushed it aside. No, she had to be alive. Stevie said she was safe. Please, God, let her be alive. I can't lose her again. I love her.

  CHAPTER 40

  AGGIE WAS IN the middle of another kicking outburst when she heard the trailer's storm door creak open and slam shut. She stopped midkick and listened, filtering out the sound of her own heavy breathing. Was it Stevie? Had he come back to finish her off?

  Footsteps.

  Her pulse thumped in her neck.

  Then, "Maggie!"

  It was Joe! His voice never sounded so wonderful.

  She raised her legs and kicked furiously at the boards above her. "Mmmm! Mmmm!" Here! Here!

  The footsteps thundered on the floor above, closer and closer until they were directly above her.

  "Maggie?"

  "Mmmm!" She kicked again. Hot tears flooded her eyes. Joe! Joe!

  Something heavy slid across the floor. "Maggie, I'm here." The board was lifted away and light blinded her.

  Andy, Mike, Dan, and Barry stood around Stevie's body as the paramedics squawked over the radio. They were having a hard time locating the hunting party in the dense fog, not to mention the arduous trek through the thick underbrush.

  "It's no hurry," Andy spoke into the radio. "He's dead anyway."

  "Well, why the heck are you having us come in then?" a man's voice screeched. "Ouch! I can't believe this."

  Andy looked at Dan and chuckled. "It builds character, lase. You'll thank me later."

  "Yeah, right."

  Barry pulled out a lighter, spun the thumbwheel, and held the flame to the cigarette dangling from his mouth. He took a long draw, held it for a second, then let a ribbon of smoke slowly escape through pursed lips. "I can't believe this crazy was the beast," he said, gesturing toward Stevie's lifeless body. "Some man-eater. What do you think got into him?"