The Hunted

by Mike Dellosso

  He was a dead man.

  He shut his eyes and said good-bye to Jody, his wife, and Pete and Chris, his two sons. He'd never see them again.

  Joe and Josiah hustled through the woods, carelessly pushing ahead, making much more sound than they should.

  If that thing was out here, it would hear them coming a mile away, Joe thought. But he didn't care. Let it come. He looked at Josiah and noted the determination in the set of his jaw. They were ready.

  It was the scream that stopped them like they'd run into a wall. A spine-tingling, gut-wrenching, agonizing wail-Mike's wail-held at its peak, then followed by a low, mournful moan.

  Another crack of the gun made them flinch again. It echoed through the woods like a gavel, announcing the final verdict-case closed.

  Joe looked at Josiah. Both were panting heavily.

  "It came from over there." Josiah pointed ahead of them, at a forty-five degree angle to their right. "Not far."

  Both men took off. Mike couldn't have been more than two, three hundred yards away. They ran for about a hundred yards, then slowed to a walk, listening, smelling. It was there. Close. Joe could sense it. Feel it.

  Slowly they pressed ahead, searching, studying, scanning the gray mist for any sign of movement, listening for the slightest sound.

  Something was on the ground ahead of them, maybe a rotted log. A few steps closer and they realized what it was-a body, facedown in the leaves. The camo was blood-stained and torn, one arm twisted unnaturally around the back of the body, the ground was dark with blood. Joe tucked his boot under the hip and rolled the body over. It was Dan... barely.

  Bile forced its way up Joe's throat.

  Josiah held up a hand for silence. Had he heard something? He looked at Joe and gestured to their left.

  The fog was finally starting to lift, and Joe now recognized where they were. They were at the top of the ridge that sloped down to the old Yates place. He ran his sleeve across his mouth and listened.

  Somewhere in the distance a branch broke.

  Joe stood still, listening, gripping his gun, ready to squeeze the trigger when needed. The sound was coming closer-twigs snapping, leaves rustling, steady, rhythmic, ominous. Whatever it was, was making no attempt at stealth.

  Josiah inched forward. He raised his gun to his shoulder and pointed the barrel in the direction of the sound. It was closer now, louder, clearer, speeding up. Was that thing running toward them? Joe raised his gun too, and pressed his finger against the trigger.

  The sound was closer still. Steady. Steady. Any second and the beast would burst from the unknown and charge them like a runaway locomotive.

  But seconds ticked by and nothing happened. The sounds continued, just out of sight, concealed by the blanket of fog. Joe's heart was banging in his chest like a sledgehammer. His palms were sweaty, making his gun slippery. He tried to swallow, tried to calm himself, but it was useless. This was it. He stood on the brink of life and death. The beast, that devil lion, that whatever lurking in the haze, was all that stood between him and life, him and Maggie. It all came down to this moment, this place.

  It would only take seconds.

  He would only get one shot.

  Precious Lord, rescue me.

  It was a prayer of desperation. He was Peter sinking in the water, seeing his life flash through his mind like an old home movie in fast-forward, feeling death tighten its icy grip around his throat. He was Peter crying out, "Lord, save me!"

  Suddenly, the sounds stopped, and an eerie silence hung in the woods again.

  A shiver rippled down Joe's back.

  Josiah looked around, shifting his weight from his right foot to his left, leaning into the fog, listening. There, to his right he heard it. A leaf rustled. But before he could react, a massive bulk leapt at him and bowled him over, knocking him facedown on the ground. He didn't get a chance to see what it was, but felt its weight, suffocating weight, on his back. His face was turned toward Joe, and he saw the fear in his young friend's eyes.

  CHAPTER 43

  OE DIDN'T HEAR the leaves rustle, and he never saw the beast lunge at Josiah. It happened so fast. One second Josiah was standing; the next he was hitting the ground.

  Spinning to his right, Joe jumped back, nearly dropped his gun, and thought for sure his heart had stopped. An icy breeze started at the top of his head, blew down to his feet, and paralyzed him. There, standing with its front paws on Josiah's upper back was a lion...

  only it wasn't a lion.

  It resembled a lion, and it was easy to see how at a quick glance or even from a distance it could be mistaken for one. But it was no lion. Not a devil lion. Not a Simba Whatever. What it was, though, was another story. Its head was the shape of a lion's-large and rectangular, kind of tapering into a squarish jaw, but the skin over its face was hairless and glossy and stretched tight, like the grafted skin on a burn victim, and it was covered with large quarter-sized blisters or fatty tumors, it was hard to tell which. Fleshy pink tendrils hung like mucus from its muzzle, each one crowned at its base with wiry black hair. Its mouth hung ajar in a perfect frown revealing four razor-sharp canines and a slick blue tongue. Real blue, like a tarp, and it flitted in and out from behind curled lips like a snake's tongue tasting the air. Its eyes were also shaped like a lion's, slanted down and in, but one was yellow and one was red, the color of blood. Its ears were nothing more than wrinkled folds of pink flesh singed on the ends like they had been burned to nubs. Behind the ears and lining the neck was what might be called a mane, but the fur was matted and hung in thick cords like dreadlocks. The fur covering its thick torso and stocky legs was spotty at best, like it had the mange. Dark patches of dry skin mottled the otherwise tawny fur. The tail was also hairless and covered with the same glossy skin as the face, looking more like a rat's tail than a lion's. But it wasn't a lion. Joe noticed all this in the mere two or three seconds it took for it to register in his brain. The sight of the beast/monster/whatever revolted him, and he found his mouth tasting like bile again.

  It stood motionless, like a stone effigy, its one yellow and one red eye watching Joe, piercing him like daggers, searching his soul for any weakness, any fear. Calling to him, daring, taunting, mocking. This was definitely no lion. And if it was, man oh man, if it was, it was most certainly a devil lion if there ever was one. It must have crawled right out of hell into Yates Woods.

  Joe's eyes locked on Josiah's. It was the first time since he'd known the old farmer that he'd seen fear darken those gray eyes. Josiah held his gaze for a moment, then dropped his eyes to the shotgun dangling at Joe's side.

  Joe got the message. In one slow, fluid motion, he raised the gun to his shoulder and peered down the barrel at the beast in front of him. His hands trembled, causing the end of the barrel to bounce around on the monster's face. He lowered the barrel until it pointed at the broad chest. Somewhere in there, between the shoulders and the base of the neck, was the heart pumping life into the creature. At least it should be. If it was a lion, that's where it would be.

  The beast stared back at Joe, those eyes burning holes right through him. There was something about those eyes, one yellow, one red, something disturbing, evil... deadly. It was waiting for him to make a move, daring him to squeeze the trigger, betting he wouldn't.

  Joe leaned on the trigger, depressing the fat pad on the end of his finger.

  The beast let out a low growl, a deep eight-cylinder rumble originating in its chest, resonating through its throat, and finally rippling out of its snarled mouth. It splayed its paws, revealing five talonlike claws, and curled them until they dug into Josiah's back like knives.

  Josiah gasped. The claws felt like hot pokers digging into his back, searing flesh, tearing sinew. Never had he felt so much pain. His eyes met Joe's again. "Pull..."

  He winced and gasped again. "Pull the trigger."

  Joe took a deep breath, shifted his weight to his left foot, shut his left eye, and sighted the monster's chest with his right.


  The beast narrowed its eyes and curled its claws more, pressing them deeper into Josiah's back. It was daring him. Go ahead. Go ahead.

  Joe shifted his gaze to Josiah.

  "Do it." Pain twisted his old friend's colorless face.

  But before Joe squeezed the trigger and buried a hundred plus lead balls in the beast's chest, it stabbed those huge canines in Josiah's left shoulder. Bones crunched; muscle ripped; nerves frayed.

  "Ahhhh!" Josiah gritted his teeth and winced from the acid that flooded his shoulder and shot down his arm like a lightning bolt. The pain paralyzed him and robbed him of breath. A wave of nausea tore into his stomach.

  The beast kept its head down, jaws clamped on Josiah's shoulder. He could smell the animal's putrid breath as it hissed from its throat. Then, in one sickening motion, it jerked its head back, lifting Josiah off the ground so he dangled from the huge mouth like a dead gazelle.

  But he wasn't dead. The pain was all too real.

  "Aaaaah!" he cried, hoping it would end soon and he could finally see his Savior face-to-face. Thoughts of first-century martyrs, mauled and eaten by lions to the cheers of thousands, rushed through his mind.

  Take me, Jesus. I'm ready.

  Joe aimed again. But he couldn't get a good shot. Josiah was in the way. That thing was dangling him like some prize it had won on the savanna... if it were only a lion. He wouldn't risk hitting his dear friend. There may still be hope.

  But whatever hope Joe had imagined was quickly dashed when the monster spun to its left and dashed down the slope toward the abandoned Yates house, dragging Josiah along with it. Prey in the jaws of the hunter.

  Frozen by the sudden change of events, Joe momentarily hesitated, then instinctively lifted his shotgun, pressed the stock against his shoulder, sighted the beast's hind quarter in its sight, and exhaled as he squeezed the trigger. The end of the barrel exploded in a flash, and the gun recoiled violently.

  He missed. The beast had taken a hard right. He pumped the fore-end, aimed, and fired again.

  Another miss. C'mon!

  The beast was too far now, only a vague shadow in the fog, maybe thirty yards ahead, to the right.

  Joe grunted and started after the creature. He ran pell-mell down the hill, snapping branches, stumbling, slipping on the wet leaves, trying desperately to keep up with the mutant lion and not lose it in the fog. He fell once, twice, but both times sprang to his feet and continued his pursuit. But the beast's movements were deft, precise, and quick, its soft paws finding sure footing as it wove and slipped between, under, and around the brush.

  When he finally came to the clearing, he stopped and looked around, studying the gray curtain that concealed the house. There. The mutant's ratlike tail disappeared behind the stone wall of the old ruin. Joe dashed for the doorway and entered the house, gun outstretched in front of him. He scanned the first floor and noticed fresh blood-Josiah's-dotting the floorboards. He followed the trail with his eyes... the cellar, the monster's lair.

  It was luring him, using Josiah as bait.

  Joe stood at the top of the stairs and stared into the darkness. Little light made its way down to the dirt floor. The very thought of going down there put his back on ice. No way. He couldn't do it.

  Fear not.

  Caleb's message. The words rang in his mind and penetrated to his heart, momentarily banishing the chill.

  Fear not.

  He breathed in and slowly exhaled. OK, Lord. You've got my attention. I trust You. He pumped the fore-end, jamming another shell into the chamber. Ready for another shot.

  Putting one foot on the top step, he began the slow descent into the darkness as if he were entering the bowels of hell itself. He stayed close to the wall, inching along, watching the hazy blackness for any sign of movement.

  When he reached the dirt floor at the bottom of the stairs, he held his gun shoulder high and pressed his back against the cold stone. He saw nothing, but he could hear the beast's breathing, a ghostly whisper. It was in the far corner.

  Joe stood still, battling the urge to flee. Every fiber in his body wanted to dash up those steps, back into the muted light of the morning, and holler for help. If Maggie called the police, they had to be on their way. Probably picking their way through the woods right now, looking for him.

  He heard a thump in the far corner and then a muffled moan. The beast must have released Josiah. It was free to attack now, to pounce on him at will, maul him, and eat him alive. For an instant, Joe imagined what it would be like to be pinned beneath the creature, that glossy-skinned, blistered face staring down at him, saliva dripping off the blue tongue, yellow eye/red eye burning holes in him. Fear, cold and dark, spread over him like a thick shadow. His pulse spiked, a lump rose in his throat, and his hands began to tremble again.

  Jesus, help me.

  "Fear not." It was His voice. The voice of the Savior. Clear and gentle, but rich with authority, like polished brass.

  Joe froze, momentarily paralyzed by the reality of the still voice that resonated through his head, no, his heart. His mind stuttered. F fear not? But there's so much to fear.

  "Fear not, My son."

  A low growl vibrated from the corner, then another muffled groan.

  Joe slid his back along the stone wall as he sidestepped to his right, gun still held against his shoulder, finger pressed against the trigger. He had to get to Josiah. There was no way he was going to leave him to be devoured by this monster.

  He inched along, painfully slow, but making progress, staring into the shadows, keeping his eyes on the sound of the low hiss. His eyes were slowly adjusting to the darkness, drawing in what little light was left in the room.

  Then, like an explosion, the beast burst from the shadows, a blur of mangled fur, slick skin, and fangs.

  Joe had only a fraction of a second to react. He pointed and squeezed. The gun thundered with a flash. The monster rocked back onto its hind legs, stumbled, let out a yelp, and disappeared back into the darkened corner.

  He hit it! Joe reached in his pocket for another shell... it was empty. He felt the other pocket. Empty too. He must have lost the shells when he was stumbling down the-

  The mutant moved. Joe could hear paws shuffling along the dirt. The beast's breathing had increased and deepened. It was wounded and angry, and he was helpless-easy prey.

  Suddenly, the monster appeared. It sauntered into the light at the bottom of the stairs, turned, and stared at Joe. The corners of its mouth were pulled back, making it look as if it was smiling at him, saying, Nice try; is that all you got?

  Joe inched farther back, trying to disappear into the shadows, but those eyes-one red, one yellow-pierced the darkness like fiery darts. There would be no hiding. There would be no running. This was it. Showdown at high noon.

  The beast shook its head and the pink tendrils slapped back and forth against the blisters. Its left flank was raw and red. The shot must have just grazed its shoulder. It eyed Joe steadily, puffed, growled, and curled its lips into a hideous snarl, revealing those knives in its mouth and that blue tongue darting in and out, licking teeth, tasting his scent. Then it splayed its paws and dug its claws into the dirt, bracing itself. Lowering its head, it arched its back, wrinkled its muzzle, contracted its abdominals, and let out an eardrum-ripping, thunderous roar.

  Joe froze. Paralyzed. That was definitely lion. Never had he witnessed such a perfect blend of power and hate, let alone been on the receiving end of it. He was done for. This beast, this monster, was going to tear him limb from limb and devour him slowly.

  Jesus. It was all he could pray, the only thing that his mind could grab on to. Jesus.

  "Fear not."

  How?

  "Daniel."

  Daniel?

  "Remember Daniel."

  Then it hit him like a revelation from heaven, like a sunbeam piercing the darkness, slicing through the fear like a double-edged sword.

  Yes, Daniel!

  CHAPTER 44
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  HE LIGHT APPEARED again. Not the orange glow but the pinhole of brilliant white light, high above Caleb, like a lonely star in the midnight sky.

  He stared at it, studying its brilliance, mesmerized by its radiance.

  A familiar voice was near him, muffled but almost distinguishable. It was a woman's voice, soft and kind, hushed in a whisper.

  The light drew closer, growing as it floated toward him, its radiance reaching like tentacles through the darkness, wrapping around him, enveloping him in a warm embrace.

  The woman's voice grew louder. She was calling to him, her voice familiar yet oddly strange.

  The light grew brighter, beckoning him to follow it, but still he could not move.

  Joe lowered his gun and let it slip to the floor with a clunk. Taking a deep breath and holding it, he took one step closer to the beast.

  The mutant snarled, its lips pulling away from its teeth like Roman blinds, revealing canines slick with saliva. It huffed a low growl, crouched its front end, and anxiously clawed at the dirt.

  Joe wanted to run, drop, surrender, beg the beast for mercy. This was insane.

  "Surrender to Me. Trust Me. Let Me."

  Joe slowly let the air out of his lungs and took another step. His feet were numb. His legs were numb. His whole body was numb. But he knew what he had to do.

  Daniel.

  With each step that Joe moved closer, the monster grew more agitatedsnarling, growling, hissing, puffing, stamping its paws in the dirt, shaking its head, wagging those tendrils.

  But Joe pressed on. Step by step until he was no more than five feet from the monstrosity, standing eye to eye with death itself. Time stood still as if the world had stopped spinning on its axis.