The Hunted

by Steve Scheunemann

  “Matt,” she said, “I love this place. It’s so pretty here. I wish we could stay here forever, just the two of us. No job, no diving, no coaches or bosses, just you and me. I know I just met you, but I feel really safe with you, really comfortable. Do you know what I mean?”

  “Yeah, I do. Abbey I…I like you a lot, but I’m leaving tomorrow so…I just wanted you to know. I don’t want any misunderstandings between us.”

  He never did figure out how it happened, but the next thing he knew his arms were around her, her fingers tangled in his hair, and he could feel her tongue darting between his slightly parted lips. His desire flamed hotter than he had previously believed possible, yet he pushed her away.

  “I can’t Abbey. It’s too dangerous,” he said ignoring the alarms sounding in his head. He had never revealed so much to someone he had known so briefly. What if his worst fears were true? Was he being seduced by a Hunter?

  Matt found he didn’t believe it. All of his carefully honed paranoia had deserted him in the face of his love for her. He found that he did not want to lose her. She meant more than any desire for vengeance.

  “Abbey, we have to talk.”

  They sat there on that blanket, on a cliff overlooking the ocean, the horses cropping grass nearby and Matt, for the third time in his life, gave someone his trust. It was the first time that trust had not first been earned.

  10

  May 14, 2080

  Tokyo, Asian Territory

  Malone had them this time. He would finally bring Angus down. Never again would he have to wonder if maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t the best after all. He didn’t know who the boy was but Malone figured he’d kill him out of hand. Whoever he was he was gene trash or a sympathizer, which amounted to the same thing.

  Angus had escaped him for too long. At last, Malone would kill him and get the recognition he deserved. More importantly, with Angus finally removed, Malone would gain a sector of his own. That meant power, and power was all that mattered to Malone. Power was why he hurt people, it was why he killed. Inflicting pain was a better high than any of the drugs he’d ever done. Watching the life fade from the eyes of what had, moments before, been a person, was heady stuff. It was only when killing that Malone felt truly alive.

  Since first becoming a Hunter he had held that power over those around him. Angus was the only person ever to escape Malone’s control, his power. Today that would end. Today Angus would die.

  Malone would give him a knife, then slowly, using his bare hands, he would make Angus hurt. Only when the pain had driven him to the edge of madness would Malone allow it to end. The key was to inflict so much pain, so much damage, that the victim knew that even if they survived they would be forever broken, all the while showing them just how helpless they truly were, by taking no injury yourself.

  This worked especially well with a man like Angus. A strong healthy man, a dangerous man in his own right. Being helpless as his body was destroyed would hammer at his psyche. The knife would give him the illusion that he had a chance at the outset. Then as he was slowly broken, all the while attempting futilely to hurt Malone, he would begin to know despair. At the end, on the brink of madness, Malone would kill him. He would watch as Angus died at his feet. He would be sure that Angus knew the boy was next. Despite what the dwarf had said, the boy could not be as deadly as Angus, and Angus would be easy.

  They were still at the hotel, or at the very least they had not checked out yet. Angus had not been so foolish as to register under his own name, but just the same Malone had located them. Neither was in the building as Malone sat sipping a scotch on the rocks in the lobby. Despite being in Tokyo, the hotel had a decidedly western feel. Malone was seated in a large leather wing-backed chair near a huge stone fireplace. The hearth was cold at the moment, but Malone could smell the fires that had burned there in the past. The pleasant smells of wood smoke and leather were lost on him, as lost as he was in his plans for Angus.

  He’d been pleasantly surprised to learn that not only was his quarry still staying at the hotel, but also that a young Hunter on her graduation test was also there.

  According to the bellhop he’d left bleeding in the alley, the girl had been seen in the company of the young man sharing a room with the Scotsman. He remembered because they were both so good looking. He’d thought they made such a beautiful couple, and obviously in love.

  Perhaps he’d allow her to kill the boy. She must be waiting to confirm that the boy was in fact genetic trash. That meant she’d have to get a sample of his DNA, which meant she would in all likelihood bed him. Her PDT would then analyze his semen and reveal him. Malone preferred to use blood, but any bodily fluid or tissue would suffice.

  Of course, she would naturally want to be in on Angus’ death once she found out who he was. Malone was not going to share that with anyone. If she was as beautiful as the bellhop had indicated she might share his bed for a while. Killing someone always excited Malone. The charge he got out of it often caused his desire to flame hotly. Of course, on more than one occasion this had led to death for the woman he chose to couple with. As exciting as it was to watch a strong, dangerous opponent die, it was equally as exciting to watch a woman die at the moment he released himself into her. Malone thought it might be doubly so if that woman were nearly as dangerous as he.

  He sat there enjoying his thoughts as he waited for the beautiful young couple or his nemesis to walk into his trap. This time you’re mine Angus. This time you’ll not escape me.

  11

  May 14, 2080

  Christchurch, The Free State of New Zealand

  The resistance was dying. Every day the Hunters killed more of them. New Zealand would fall to the government as soon as they got around to taking it. In the early days it had proven too costly as the Kiwi’s fiercely independent spirit managed to keep their island nation from the control of the UN.

  As the UN turned into simply ‘The Government’, they had turned to solidifying their hold on the rest of the world, not bothering with New Zealand’s hills. After all, they were nothing but a bunch of sheep farmers. Sparsely populated and far removed from everything, they had made the few attempts by the Government to assimilate them too expensive in both men and materials.

  Their closest neighbors the Aussies had simply rolled over. Near the end of the 20th Century, the Australian government had forced the citizens to give up all private ownership of firearms, making themselves easy pickings. Only the Americans could have stopped the UN, or possibly the Chinese. The Chinese had been completely in favor of the takeover since they held many of the strings of power within the UN. The Americans had torn their own land apart fighting amongst themselves.

  Only New Zealand had survived. They had done it mostly by being considered inconsequential. Their independence of course meant they soon became the home of the resistance, but so far, the feared invasion had not come. The government did not admit to its citizens that New Zealand was not part of the system. They just didn’t schedule any transportation there and never mentioned it in any media.

  For their part, the Kiwis did nothing to bring attention to themselves. No broadcasts reached even as far as Australia. They remained entirely self-sufficient, utilizing hydrogen, and solar power for everything, building mostly with timber, and recycling everything, but they were slowly losing ground in technology.

  At the start, the disparity had not been so great. New Zealand was hardly the backwater that most of the world thought. It had been an ultra modern country that had still maintained its rural roots. Christchurch was not the only city with modern skyscrapers, their tops punching holes in the clouds.

  The capital, Auckland, had been reduced to rubble by the bombing, but some of the other cities still stood. As the ability to trade with the rest of the world had been lost, many of the things that had been considered necessities were no longer available. Moving quickly and decisively the government of New Zealand granted themselves broad powers.

  Their
first act was to seize all the oil and petroleum products in the country. These they held in reserve, and immediately they converted all power generation to either hydrogen or solar.

  All seagoing vessels in port or sailing within kiwi waters were impounded. The same held true for any aircraft on the ground or in the skies above.

  All around the island the seas were mined out to a distance that made naval gunfire ineffective. Airports and any stretch of roadway long enough to land an aircraft were also mined and cleared only at specified intervals when anti-aircraft guns were manned.

  As much as was possible, everything moved underground. A series of tunnels ran all through the hills of the country and connected the north and south islands deep below ground and water where the effect of bombs would barely be felt.

  News of the mining of the seas and runways was sent to the UN council, along with the news that New Zealand did not want to fight, but would not be conquered. They had always been isolated and that was the way they liked it.

  Of course, none of it worked. Soldiers marched through the streets of New Zealand within days of the declaration.

  The move underground and the indomitable will of the people to be free had, however, been effective. Outgunned and outnumbered, they had resorted to hit-and-run-tactics. It had taken two years of guerrilla fighting to make the government decide that New Zealand could wait, though they had not, by any means, given up. They just decided to consolidate their hold on the rest of the world first.

  In the interim, the resistance had taken the opportunity to grow, and secret routes in and out of the country had been established. This had been amazingly difficult, considering that they were on an island. It required taking a southern route that took a traveler to Antarctica by submarine, across that vast, frozen continent by a long circuitous route, utilizing a combination of dog sleds and powered transport, then another submarine into either South America or Africa. This trip could take as long as 23 days for Africa or 33 to reach South America. If one was both amazingly lucky, and foolish enough to try, it was just barely possible to penetrate the net around New Zealand in a small, say five man or smaller, watercraft. Of course with radar and sonar, as well as the remaining satellite surveillance and regular patrols that route was extremely risky.

  Deep below ground, under the hills surrounding the port city of Christchurch the leaders of the Resistance gathered.

  Brigadier General Jonathan “Jack” Patrick McDougal, the leader of the Resistance military forces; Colonel Kwamae Nobutu, head of psy-ops; Colonel Vicki Rawlson, from Operation Achilles; Colonel Jean-Luc Thibodaux, of Special Operations; Lieutenant Colonel Andrea Walks-with-Thunder, head of Procurement; Major Daniel Steven Trowbridge, from Intelligence; and Arthur Jonas Wainwright, President of the free and independent nation of New Zealand.

  “Gentlemen and Ladies”, began the president, a tall, distinguished, athletic looking man of seventy-two, who was just beginning to grow a paunch around his middle. “We’re here to discuss our options. Surrender is obviously not among them. Each and every one of us, as well as all those we safeguard, would be put to death. There can be no compromise with our enemy. He will offer us no quarter, no safe haven, no mercy. Let us all keep that in mind as we proceed.

  “We are in a bad spot. Each of you knows our situation at least as well as I. Despite Andrea’s heroic efforts, and that of her people, we continue to run out of vital supplies. Many things we have learned to manufacture ourselves, or developed alternatives, but much remains that must be acquired from the enemy. Our numbers are few enough that each time one of the scavenger squads fails to return, or returns with fewer people than it left with, we feel a very real impact.

  “Jack, we have fewer than 25,000 men in our military forces, correct?”

  “Yes, Mr. President”.

  “It is a very real fact that even with every single citizen as a part of our armed reserves; we are still outnumbered by something like 1000 to 1. Going toe-to-toe with them will never lead to anything other than our destruction. We are not Leonidas and his 300 at Thermopylae.”

  “Dan, what does the intelligence community have to report?”

  “Mr. President, Gentlemen, Ladies, while the invasion of our homeland is not going to happen this week, it will occur within the next 6 to 18 months, two years at the outside. The enemy is amassing troops in both Australia and the Philippines, making all but the southern route out of New Zealand tenuous at best. I’ll be able to provide more precise times and locations in the near future.

  “Our sources within the Military continue to provide us with quality information on troop movements. We have people placed high enough within the Military that we can influence events even if we yet lack any real control. They of course have no idea who we are, they simply are people with skeletons we’ve uncovered. People who can be persuaded to do as we require, and believe they are serving military rivals of their commanders. This is a belief we’ve planted and it serves our purposes well.

  “The civil authorities are another matter. Our people there have no real position. They are secretaries, clerks, a few middle-management types, but nobody of any consequence. To be sure, they provide quality intelligence and can subtlty influence things. A paper misfiled or filed a day late, a message held up at a critical moment or never delivered, supplies misrouted, these things can add up to quite dramatic events but require careful management and they are never sure things.

  “We are getting a good flow of information, but by far our best efforts remain in the area of misinformation supplied to the enemy. My sources indicate they continue to estimate our numbers at no more than 10,000 men under arms and a total population of less than 1 million.

  “Last month they committed an entire division to an operation designed to clear us out of Afghanistan, a location we, of course, have never been. The bad news is that over 2000 Afghanis died. They were not in any way connected with our operations, and in fact were citizens, their only crime was being a convenient target for Minister Fadwah to unleash his pent up frustrations against. That’s all for now”, Major Trowbridge concluded in his usual abrupt manner.

  He was not so much rude as he was succinct. Daniel Trowbridge did not believe in waste, as evidenced by his slim, almost gaunt frame, this belief held true for more than just speech. He was an intelligence analyst without peer, and a leader whose men respected him greatly.

  “Thank you, Dan. Vicki how goes Operation Achilles?”

  “Mr. President, we currently have one operative in the BGP. Not a Hunter, of course, but an analyst. He is fairly well placed, but his influence is severely limited due to his assignment. Should Achilles be given the green light, he is ready to make the sacrifice required. Rest assured if we get the go-ahead we’ll lose this man. He actually knows who and what we are and wants to help. That, ladies and gentlemen is all too rare. I know how important Achilles is, but this man is almost as important. I advise we hold off until we must proceed.

  “I heard from Angus just this morning. It seems that his young charge has attracted the attention of a young female Hunter. It might be worthwhile to take her alive when we pull Angus and the boy out of Japan.

  “If she were with anyone but Matthew I’d say it was definitely worth the risk. As it is, I can only recommend that we remove her, at the very least. We need to get Matthew safely away. I know Angus says he’ll not join us yet, but it may be time we removed the choice.”

  Vicki Rawlson’s one real fault was a tendency to act precipitously. She was an extremely intelligent person and a planner of operations without equal. However, when her plans were upset in the slightest way she tended to forget about thinking and acted on instinct alone. Fortunately, for the Resistance, she also had exceptional instincts.

  “I’m sorry, Colonel Rawlson, I have to disagree,” said Colonel Thibodaux. “I trained Angus after he joined us, he’s one of mine. You made him aware of the Hunter. He will get the boy out.”

  “Jean-Luc, Malone is there too.
With a Hunter already with Matthew, and now Malone, it’s become a powder-keg” Vicki Rawlson replied.

  “You have what, twenty, maybe twenty-five people there? If we wait until Malone catches them there will be two very deadly Hunters and the entire weight of the BGP coming down on them. We have to act now. We take the Hunter if we can, if not we take her out. We bring the boy in from the cold. If he’s not ready we still have four on the team who are. Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

  “Dammit. Vicki, you are cold, almost as cold as the bastards we are fighting are. Angus will get them both out. He’s been outsmarting Malone for years now. He’s the best there is at what he does. We have no one who can move as freely among the citizens as he can. He’s had Malone after him since the day he joined us. He’s never let us down before and he won’t now.” Jean-Luc Thibodaux, the colonel commanding Special Operations had come up through the ranks and had more experience in the field than all but two of his operatives. He was fiercely loyal to his men and to the cause they shared. Any time the cause called on him to sacrifice one of his men, he felt a real and burning desire to trade places with that man. Words like honor, courage, loyalty, and duty held very real meaning for Jean-Luc. These words formed the very essence of his being. These words cut both up and down the chain of command. Loyalty to and faith in his men formed a very real part of his makeup; indeed they were part of his very soul.

  “Jean-Luc, I know how you feel, and I agree with your assessment of Angus’ skills, but I’m very much afraid Vicki may be right,” interjected the president.

  “Jean-Luc, if you ordered it right this minute how soon could your people be ready to recover Angus and the boy?”

  “I’m afraid it would be at least twelve hours before my people could be gathered together, briefed, and ready to go Mr. President.”