The Hunter

by Kurt Robinson

  However, she got a little distracted by the internet and was now looking at baby names. She eventually got tired of that site and began looking at pictures of nurseries. She looked at cribs, dressers, changing tables, and different designs on the wall. They hadn’t begun working on a nursery yet. She also looked at baby clothes, car seats, and almost anything else a baby would need. Prices were the main thing she was looking at and saw that it was going to be expensive. Nevertheless, she knew they could get through it and finally exited out of the internet.

  She opened a blank title page for her novel and stared at it for what felt like an eternity. She brought her fingers to the keyboard and began to type, but she didn’t have a title in mind yet, so she typed ‘Untitled’ and went to the next page. She began typing the word ‘Chapter’ but stopped halfway through when she heard a rumbling noise outside. She looked toward the French doors at the back, as did Derby, who got up and walked toward them. April sat her laptop on the couch, stood up, and walked over to join Derby.

  As Derby let out a bark, she neared him and then pulled up the blinds. Snow was flying in every direction so thick she couldn’t see anything, but the sound was now familiar to her and she realized it was a helicopter. With a bewildered look on her face, she tried to see through the snow as Derby barked continuously. She was hesitant to open the door to find out what was going on, so she squinted to see through the snow. Then she saw two figures emerging through the snow, one large figure and a smaller one.

  As they neared her house, she could make them out and the weapons they were carrying. One was a large black man and the other was a smaller white woman. Unknown to April, it was Harper and Emily. She was beginning to panic. She backed up from the window, just as Harper saw her and pointed his G36 at her, but he wasn’t going to shoot her.

  April turned around, called for Derby who followed her, and she ran for their bedroom. Harper and Emily neared the back door, looked through the glass, and then Emily fired two shots from her Beretta .45 pistol through the glass. Harper then took the butt of his rifle and cleared away the rest of the glass. They stepped through the door and into the living room. They swept the room and then moved to the hallway, which was where Harper thought he saw her go.

  April had locked the bedroom door, pulled out a small lock box from under her side of the bed, and pulled out a sub-compact G43 single stack 9mm pistol - her gun. She heard two gunshots and then glass shattering. Her eyes widened as she stayed behind the bed slightly, on her knees, and pointed it toward the door with Derby stood to her right, quiet now. She and John had Derby trained well and when they told him to be quiet that was what he did. April felt for her cell phone in her pocket to call the police but realized, in a panicked rush, she left her cell phone sitting on the couch. “Shit,” she said to herself quietly.

  She was breathing heavily but was trying to remain calm because of the baby. She remained as quiet as possible, as did Derby, and tried to listen for any noise coming from the hallway. A few seconds went by and then she heard doors opening and closing as Harper and Emily made their way down the hallway. Another few tense seconds went by, then they attempted to turn the bedroom doorknob, and the door shook.

  April gasped and hunched down lower, using the bed as cover, with the pistol resting on the mattress and just her head visible aiming down the sights. Suddenly, the door flew open as Harper kicked it. Not thinking clearly, she opened fire and sent a hail of bullets toward the door. Emily and Harper backed away quickly and avoided the fire and debris that would make its way to them. April kept squeezing the trigger repeatedly until she emptied the entire magazine and the slide locked back. Her breathing could then be heard out in the hallway, as could Derby’s growling. Then a woman’s voice rang out from the hallway.

  “April, that’s enough!” Emily yelled. “Give yourself up, you’re coming with us!”

  April didn’t say anything, left the gun on the bed, and then ducked behind the bed, out of sight from the door. She pulled Derby close to her as he still growled in the direction of the intruders.

  Then Harper made his way into the room, with his G36 up and ready, followed by Emily right behind him with her pistol up. Harper scanned the room but heard Derby’s growl and saw the empty pistol resting on the bed. He pointed his rifle in that direction and made his way around the bed, with Emily still behind him, and saw April crouched down on the side of the bed clinching Derby, who looked like an angry wolf.

  “Who are you?” April said frantically.

  “You’re coming with us,” Harper told her.

  “Yeah, so get up and keep your fucking dog calm,” Emily added.

  “What for? I haven’t done anything,” April pleaded, almost crying.

  “We don’t have time for this,” Emily said. “Get the fuck up and come willingly or we’ll force you.”

  “No! Get out of here!” April screamed as Derby began barking again.

  “Goddamnit,” Emily’s patience ran out, “I said we don’t have time for this.” She then walked toward April and Derby, brought her pistol up and shot Derby in the head, spraying blood on April’s face as she gave out a frightening scream.

  “No! Derby, no!” April cried out, still clinched to her beloved Derby. Emily reached down, grabbed her arm, and pulled April up. April had to let go of Derby as Emily jerked her toward her and then pushed her to Harper. Harper grabbed her by the arms and Emily turned around and walked by them.

  “Let’s go,” Emily said.

  “Can’t believe you just killed a dog,” Harper told her.

  “Shut the fuck up,” she said. “Find her a jacket.”

  All three of them went down the hallway, April showed them the coat closet, grabbed her a winter coat, and they took her to the helicopter in nothing but sweat pants, house shoes, a t-shirt, and a winter jacket.

  Twenty-Six

  Saturday – 2:19 P.M.

  After a few minutes of lying in the snow, seeming to give up, he enjoyed the peace and quiet for once - no constantly talking wife, no annoying young officers, no loud captains, and no gunfire. Nevertheless, Adam Hart was freezing and he didn’t care. The blood that had flowed from his nose was now dried and partially frozen to his upper lip, with some on his chin. It was uncomfortable, but he hadn’t touched it since he first took the hit. The snow still fell and he enjoyed the view. Everything went back to normal when a soothing female voice came through on the radio.

  “Adam, it’s Emily, we’re on the way back with the package, over.”

  Taking a few seconds, he then gave a soft smile, and reached down to unclip the radio from his belt and bring it to his mouth, “That’s perfect, Emily,” he said calmly.

  Emily could tell something was amiss in his voice, “Adam, is everything okay?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Adam said with tranquility. “Everything is fine. Get here as fast as you can.”

  “Okay, shouldn’t be but twenty minutes, the snow has stopped here.”

  “Okay, I’m on the move. I’ll update you on my coordinates.”

  “Roger that.”

  Adam stood up, hooked the radio back on his belt, looked around and noticed the snow was beginning to slow down, pulled out his Glock 31 Gen4 .357 with a laser, and began walking parallel to where John and Lewis went.

  “John!” Lewis called out at the top of his lungs as he ran along the top of a small hill covered with snow, moving away from the cliff and trees. “Where the fuck are you!?”

  He still couldn’t see well through the thick falling snow but was following John by way of his footprints. He had the M4 ready to fire and held it with both hands so he could aim it at John as soon as he saw him. He was out of breath and freezing, especially his feet, which were in cold wet boots. But Lewis wasn’t stopping. John Watkins was his mission and would kill him no matter what.

  Lewis followed the tracks down a small hill, which was caused by large snowdrifts from the wind, where a few small trees sat, and then back up the other side. The snow was so deep
in this area that it came up past his knees, which slowed him down significantly. Going back up the other side was a task and he used the butt end of the gun as a walking stick to help him move up the hill. Out of breath, he finally reached the top of the small hill and he saw John in the distance, nearing another small hill.

  “Fuck you, John!” Lewis roared and brought the M4 up, firing it as fast as he could, burst after burst, toward John. About a second after he started shooting, John jumped over the hill and out of sight. Despite that, Lewis continued firing the M4 at the mound of snow, sending the cold substance flying through the air until the gun clicked.

  “Fuck!” Lewis shrieked, threw the gun down into the snow, pulled out his Sig Sauer P226 9mm stainless steel pistol, and continued making his way through the deep snow.

  Down the hill he went and then back up the other side, where he last saw John. He stopped at the top of that little hill and looked down below him. The other side was much steeper and he saw large messy imprints in the snow where John fell down. But that wasn’t what caught his attention. Below the hill was what looked like a one lane road with tire tracks running through it. They looked fresh, like tractor tire tracks - someone drove there not very long ago and could be close by. He also saw a barn a little ways past the road, right in front of him, sitting next to what looked like a frozen over pond with a dock close to the barn. As the falling snow began to cease, he looked ahead, and sure enough, saw John’s prints heading straight to the frozen pond.

  Lewis made his way down the hill, but stopped once he reached the bottom and looked around to see if he could see John anywhere, but saw nothing. He crossed the fresh tractor tracks and made his way to the barn by following the tracks. Once he reached the barn, he stopped by the door and looked toward the snow-covered dock, which had footprints on it as well. It looked like John ran to the dock first, then back to the barn door, and went inside because there were no other tracks.

  Lewis put his back against the left sliding door of the barn - John had closed them when he went inside - and pulled back his slide slightly to check and see if a round was chambered; it was. He put the slide back and grabbed the wooden door he was against to pull it open, still using it as cover. He had to pull it hard because of the snow piled up against the barn, but was able to open it just far enough for him to get in. He eased around the door, aiming down the sights of his pistol, and stepped inside quickly.

  He scanned the barn. It was open with no stalls, and had a second floor with a ladder in the middle on the left side. As he scanned the large space he noticed there were a couple trailers with wooden bottoms, a sprayer, oil bottles, tractor tires stacked next to old wooden storage boxes on the right, a dirty riding mower off to one side, a gas tank with a manual pump in it, and several old fifty-gallon drums on the right in the middle. He made a face of disgust as he looked around in the barn and he was happy he was a city boy.

  He spotted footprints with snow scattered in them leading to the ladder. He looked up and tried to see what was upstairs but couldn’t see anything because it was so dark up there. Carefully and slowly he made his way over to the ladder, keeping his head on a swivel to make sure John wasn’t anywhere down there with him. He saw and heard nothing. John had to be upstairs. Lewis reached the ladder, pointed his pistol straight above him first and then to the opposite side, still nothing. Holding his pistol in one hand and leaving his other hand free, he began climbing.

  When he was halfway up, a pair of hands grabbed him by the ankles, which scared him to death, and gave a hard yank downward and back. Lewis lost his grip as he was violently flung straight down. He lost his gun and his chest and face slammed on the hard dirt floor. John, who had been hiding between the tires and boxes, pulled Lewis back along the dirt as he tried to get his breath back after the impact. John then let go of his ankles, jumped on his back, and began laying punches to his rib cage. He landed the first three, but then it was Lewis’ turn.

  Lewis brought his right elbow back so hard and fast, out of anger, on John’s side that he practically flew off him. As he landed, Lewis got up, yelled, and charged at John. John saw him coming but wasn’t fast enough to block him. Lewis tackled John back to the ground and they wrestled in the dirt. They both struggled and then Lewis loosened himself from John and connected a punch to his face and then another. The third attempt John blocked, causing Lewis to fall to the right. John then pushed him off, rolled to the left, and stood up.

  Lewis stood up quickly as well and they stared each other down in the middle of the barn. Lewis began to walk slowly to his right as John moved to his right and they slowly walked in front of each other in a circular motion. John made sure there was plenty of space between the two of them.

  “I hope you enjoyed your trek through the woods, killing cops because it’s about to fuckin’ end,” Lewis said, then paused but spoke again. “Cop killer.”

  “Dirty cops,” John told him.

  “Still cops motherfucker and now it’s your turn,” Lewis said and then reached down to his ankle, pulled his jeans up, and pulled a knife out of its sheath that was wrapped around his ankle. “I’m gonna make sure nobody will recognize you, if they can even find your fuckin’ body.”

  John reached at his waist and pulled out his hunting knife with a gut hook and said, “Bring it, fuckhead.”

  Lewis charged at John and brought his knife up toward John’s chest, but John blocked it with his knife and stepped to the left. Lewis fell to the right, but quickly regained himself and glared at John, who was stoic. They both paused and then Lewis charged once more and John reacted. Lewis tried to go for John’s gut this time, but John grabbed his arm and held him back while he tried to jam his knife in Lewis’ stomach, but Lewis grabbed his hand too.

  It turned into a strength test as they both held back their opponent’s arm. They stared each other down as their arms began to shake from the long lasting tension. After a few more seconds, John stopped resisting which caused Lewis’ arms to fly forward, but John directed them around his torso. At the same time, John brought his head forward quickly and head-butted Lewis in the face. Stunned, Lewis went backwards a little, brought his left hand to his nose, and swung the knife in his right hand from left to right at John and connected with his abdomen.

  John grunted, stepped back slightly, and put his hand on the new wound, which was now bleeding. He looked at Lewis and saw his nose was bleeding, and more than likely broken. Then Lewis looked at John once again, face twisted in rage and blood flowing down his face. He didn’t even feel the bullet wound in his shoulder as his adrenaline took over. He ran toward John and attempted to impale him down low, but John moved to the right, raised his left arm, and caused Lewis to miss as he brought his arm down on Lewis’ arm. Lewis’ arm was now caught between John’s arm and his body.

  John’s next move was to bring his knife up and gore Lewis in his side, but Lewis’ adrenaline was still going strong and he grabbed John’s shirt with his other hand, spun to the left, taking John with him, and threw John through the barn’s wooden wall. The wood broke and shattered as John’s body went through it and he landed in the snow next to the frozen over pond. In pain, he lay there for a second on his back, holding the gash on his stomach. Then Lewis burst through the hole in the barn and practically jumped on top of John with his knife pressing down toward John’s chest. However, John caught his hands once again and tried to resist as hard as he could. He wasn’t quite strong enough, and the knife penetrated his skin slightly as John let out a yell. With adrenaline pumping through him from the pain, John rolled to the right, pushed up on Lewis, and flung him off onto the frozen pond.

  Lewis, whose knife came loose from his hand, slid several feet out on the ice past the old dock. His knife slid to a stop just in front of him. John still had his knife in his hand and got up as fast as he could when he saw Lewis reach for his knife. He slipped as he stood but went out onto the ice, ran, dropped to his knees, and slid extremely fast, right into Lewis. John blocked
the knife swing by Lewis and brought his in and sliced Lewis’ stomach. Practically ignoring the large gash, now pouring out blood, Lewis brought his left arm down hard on John’s right hand, knocking John’s knife loose.

  Lewis then used both of his hands to push his knife into John’s shoulder, below his collarbone but above any vital organs. Though nothing important was damaged, the pain was still excruciating. John let out a scream and Lewis jerked the knife out, which hurt more, sending a stream of blood on the ice and snow. Lewis then attempted to puncture John’s chest, but John reacted in time and brought up both hands, his left grabbing Lewis’ forearm and his right grabbing the backside of his hand. John then pushed back with great force, so that Lewis’ elbow bent and John forced the knife toward his face. But Lewis’ quick reaction and past police trainings paid off, as he moved his head to the left at the last second. Even though the knife didn’t pierce him, the blade still connected with the right side of his forehead and cut open his skin from just above his right eye all the way to his ear.

  “Argh!” Lewis screamed and pushed off John causing them to slide apart on the ice. Blood was now pouring down the right side of his face, getting in his eye, and down onto the ice. He tried to wipe it off with his sleeve as much as he could, but it just kept gushing.

  With a pause in the action, John stood up, grimaced at his wounds, and picked his knife up off the ice. As he held his knife in his right hand, he looked down at the laceration near his left shoulder and saw that it was bleeding profusely, so he brought his right hand up, with the knife still clinched in it, and applied pressure. He knew he couldn’t stop the bleeding for very long because it would be pulled open further when he had to defend himself again. He turned his attention back to Lewis who was now standing and had an evil glare on his face, through all the blood from his nose and gash, with knife in hand.