The Hunted

by Steve Scheunemann

  He estimated that he’d closed the distance considerably. In fact, he was probably within a mile or less of his quarry right now.

  As this thought passed through his mind, he saw something ahead. It was an irregular outline at first. Just something that didn’t fit. Moving as stealthily as only he could he circled around and moved slowly closer. Soon he discovered the boy laying at an odd angle on the rocks. A broken tree branch next to him that had obviously come from the tree above him. Binoculars were still strapped around his neck and a hunting rifle stood propped against the far side of the tree. There was considerable blood on his head and the rocks under it. It appeared that he had climbed the tree to check their back trail when the branch he’d been standing on had broken. Striking several branches in the tall pine on the way down he’d then hit the rocks and was probably dead. He could see the girl digging in their pack, most likely for first aid supplies if he lived, or for some means of communication if he’d died. Her mission would be over, a failure to be sure but hardly one that mattered since he’d had orders for her to desist anyway.

  He watched as she rummaged through the pack and finally come out with her PDT. It was disguised as a civilian model, but Mtumbe could spot the extra thickness that all the BGP specialty hardware required. He could not hear what she was saying, but it appeared she was calling for help. Good, he could let her live then. She’d even be able to help him get the body to someplace they could extract it from. The techs would garner all kinds of information about his past from the corpse. They would x-ray it and compare him to databases across the globe. Any old broken bones would leave signs of healing and that could be run through the BGP’s access to medical records worldwide. They could possibly track his movements that way. Dental x-rays would allow them to track things as well. There were myriad ways of learning from the dead. His DNA would be analyzed and, possibly, his parents identified.

  Unlimbering his M-100, Mtumbe slowly began to stalk the girl. She’d have to be secured before he tried to activate her new orders. Mtumbe was not taking any chances at this stage of the game. Selecting the capture wire, three braided strands of spider-wire weighted at the end, he stepped into the open and cast it at the girl’s legs just below the knees. The wire snaked out and the weight wrapped around her legs, quickly tying them and dropping her to the ground. As she scrambled to get her sidearm out, Mtumbe leveled his own pistol at her face.

  “Don’t you be doin it now, girlie,” he crooned. “I got ya covered an there’s no way you’re gonna get that gun out before I can kill ya, now. So take it out slowly with just two fingers and toss it here.”

  Abbey did as she was instructed and Mtumbe quickly cuffed her hands behind her back.

  “Besides, I got new orders for ya, anyway. Director Malone says to tell ya that infiltratin the underground is not as important as capturing this one is. I think he’s after him because o’ that Angus feller story he be sendin round the world, don’t ya know?

  “Now Malone says ta tell ya that he knows he told ya only he hisself could change yer orders, but this is a special circumstance. I sure don’t want ta leave you here all tied up like that. The animals might git ya. Besides, I’ll need help carryin the body over there to where we can pick it up.

  “He is dead, no?”

  “He’s dead. Damn fool fell out of the tree and caved in his skull. He’d decided to ambush you, and was up there searching for you to see how close you were. The branch just gave way underneath him. Binocular strap snagged a branch and snapped his head into the trunk…hard. I think he was dead before he hit the ground.

  “Too bad, I was looking forward to seeing what he could do. I’ve sparred with him before, he was really good, but there’s nothing like having your life on the line to bring out the best in us all. Can you untie me now please?”

  “All in time, now. You don’t be sayin’ he could take a Hunter?”

  “Probably. At least he could take out some of those that I trained with. He was better than quite a few of them. Sneaky, too. He was always surprising me. He’d let you think you had him and then, when you thought the fight was won, he’d let you have it.”

  Approaching Matt’s still form Mtumbe replied, “Well he’ll be trickin no more.”

  “Don’t count on it,” Abbey muttered as Mtumbe leaned over Matt to check his pulse at the carotid artery.

  As the rock in the boy’s hand flashed for his temple, Mtumbe realized his mistake. Malone had warned him not to trust the girl, yet the reason for her deception had been dead, or so he’d thought. He’d seen the blood all over the kid, the awkward angle at which he lay, the girl calling for extraction. It all added up to exactly the story he’d been told. Oh, he’d been cautious, he trapped the Hunter first. He’d watched them for over a half hour before he’d even done that. Then he’d sat talking to her for another ten minutes. In over forty minutes the kid had not stirred. No one but a Hunter would show that kind of discipline. The rocks and awkward angle had to be excruciating. His back was bent over the rocks in such a way that it had looked as if it might be broken. He’d been suckered good.

  He barely had time to turn his head so the blow that had been aimed at his temple instead landed just above his right ear. Had it hit as intended it would have killed him. As it was, it stunned him good, and instead of finishing off the boy he fell back, dropping his gun in the process.

  The boy moved clumsily to his feet, no doubt because he’d stiffened up after so long in his uncomfortable, yet deceiving position. Mtumbe was realistic enough to admit that that very clumsiness probably saved his life in the first minute. Now he’d take advantage of that and end the life of the sneaky little shit.

  Back-pedaling to gain space Mtumbe was glad he’d left the girl cuffed. He’d done it to establish himself as the senior of the pair, so later, when he had his way with her, she wouldn’t fight too hard. Now he’d make her pay for that after he took care of this little piece of business. He’d use her hard at least once before he ever untied her, then he’d make her carry the freshly killed corpse herself.

  Standing to face the boy across six feet of rocky ground, he pulled his fighting knife. He wished he had his M-100, but that was still securing the girls legs. He would have liked to try out the new toy on flesh and blood. Maybe carve off the ears before he really got to work on him. Oh well, the knife was a good one, nine inches of razor-sharp ceramic steel alloy that would cut through bone with ease.

  The boy was holding a hunting knife. It looked serviceable enough and he appeared to know what he was about, but it wouldn’t be enough. Not against Mtumbe, who had tracked and killed sixty-eight men. This would be sixty-nine. Lunging across the space between them, knife extended for a low thrust that would disembowel his opponent, Mtumbe could not understand why he was suddenly staring at the rocks only inches from his eyes. He couldn’t understand why the world seemed tilted at a crazy angle or why he didn’t feel anything except hard rock against his cheek and sunlight too bright in his eyes.

  One moment he’d been about to kill a man, the next he was lying here. He could not feel the knife buried in the base of his skull and did not yet realize he had but moments to live. He’d never seen it coming, still couldn’t comprehend the fact that the mere boy he’d been tracking was so very much better than he was.

  He tried to rise and his body ignored his commands to action. He suddenly realized he wasn’t even breathing anymore. With the severing of his spinal cord, even the involuntary automatic signals his brain sent to his body had ceased. His lungs no longer filled with air, his heart no longer beat, pushing blood through his veins. He never even realized he was dead. He simply stared into the sun as all life left him.

  29

  June 28, 2080

  Sao Paolo, Brazil, South American Territory

  Lazarus was scared. He’d managed to escape from that crazy Hunter and figured it would all blow over. He was a bit player, moving around the fringes of outcast society, dealing in information. He’d been c
areful to never come to the BGP’s attention, to never do anything that might interfere with their interests. He’d even provided them information from time to time at no cost. Then what happens? He tried to tell that damn Hunter the truth. So much for the old adage ‘The truth shall set you free.’

  If he hadn’t had a specially rigged collapsing bolt hole at the bar he’d be dead right now. Well, he’d figured that even with the loss of the establishment he’d worked so hard for so long to create, he’d be okay. His sources of information were still there, and he could rebuild somewhere else. For a short time that had seemed likely.

  Then out of nowhere he ended up on the ‘Most Wanted’ list. That was simply not possible. He’d never done anything to warrant that. In fact, he knew that at least two BGP sector chiefs had known about him and allowed him to continue business, as long as he fed the BGP from time to time. He’d played by the unwritten rules of the game. It should have been enough to ensure that the BGP at least left him alone. He’d always been in plenty of danger from the outcast society. After all, he sold information. Information that got people killed. He’d set up fail-safes; if he was killed all kinds of people, some official, some not, would be receiving message dumps. In any event, those with the best reasons to want him dead also had the most reason to fear that eventuality. All in all he’d been as protected as he could be.

  While he still didn’t know why he was on the damn list he knew who put him there; Deputy Director for Special Operations Malone. It had taken squeezing all his sources, hard, to get the information. It had taken even longer to acquire an image of Malone. Lazarus now knew it was the Hunter who’d killed the stone man in his club, the same one he’d told about Angus and the kid, but he still didn’t know why. He knew that every hand was against him though. Unless you were a complete genetic freak, turning in one of the ‘Most Wanted’ was a pass to automatic citizenship. Even for the freaks it could equal a lifetime pass of BGP agents looking the other way.

  He now found himself in this run-down cantina in the dirty, squalid little city of Sao Paolo. He feared to go out, he feared to sit still. He did not know how long this could last, but he knew that soon the Hunters would find him and he’d be dead.

  He almost jumped when they walked through the door. Three of them, who moved well but seemed to blend in with the crowd. If this place hadn’t been frequented entirely by locals, Lazarus never would have spotted them. They came in separately, didn’t sit together or even look at each other. Lazarus did notice that they neatly cut off any avenue of escape though. They didn’t really watch him either, they just sat, one at the bar with a drink, and the other two at a table and a booth eating lunch.

  It was a fourth man who spoke. He had been here every day since Lazarus arrived. He was a local with ties to the community and he had somehow moved from his usual spot in the corner to Lazarus’ table without being noticed.

  “If you want to live out the day, Señor Lazarus, then you should listen very carefully to what it is that I have to tell you.”

  Wondering what game the BGP was playing here he falteringly replied, “I’m listening.”

  “Good. First of all, we are not BGP Hunters. If we were you would already be dead. Let us just say that we represent freedom. The last free place on the planet. I have never been there, but I am a citizen of New Zealand.

  “You are not a good man, Señor Lazarus. This we know. You have not done good things for the free people of the world. You have sold many into slavery and death. Yet, you have value. You are the world’s greatest purveyor of information. Is a good word, purveyor. I like it. Even here, cut off from all your usual sources, you were able to find out that Malone wanted you dead. It is nothing more than a fit of spite. Did you know that? He got mad because you had told him how dangerous Matt is and he ignored you, to his dismay. So, he blames you, and now you must die.”

  Lazarus did not miss the fact that the man next to him had just told him that they had sources of information every bit as good as his own. In other words, while they might want him alive for the information he could provide, they didn’t really need him. So what did they want?

  Sensing that maybe he just might survive, and thus by instinct seeking the angles that would profit him most, Lazarus said, “So you set all this up just to find me. What is it that I can do for you? You seem to have pretty good sources of information already, so why am I important? I mean, this is no small operation you’ve launched here just to recruit me. I guess you figure as good as your sources are you could always use another, right?”

  “You would be most incorrect Señor Lazarus. We do not need you to gather information at all. We need you to distribute information. You will do this for free, and you will use every source you have. You will hold nothing back.

  Playing for time he replied, “I suppose I could send a few anonymous drops. Sorta spread the word you all want spread. You’d need to get me to New Zealand, though. That is where you are from after all.”

  “You misunderstand, Señor Lazarus. It must be very wide spread. In fact, we need you to use every source you have. It also, I’m afraid, must be sent out in your name. You see, you have a reputation for accurate information. You may have no loyalty, but whatever information you have sold in the past has always been very good information.

  “It is also not a request. It is not negotiable and you will not be taken to New Zealand. What we will do is keep you well hidden from the BGP. We will keep you safe, and when the task is done we will completely remake your genetic code as well as your appearance. You will be able to start over.”

  “I’d have nothing. The reputation you just mentioned is what makes my business. Of course, as you will no doubt point out, there is also the matter of the ‘Most Wanted’ list attached to my name and genes. Its extortion, pure and simple, but I don’t have much choice. What exactly is it you want me to distribute?”

  “You have, of course, heard of the Angus Chronicle, volume one of which was recently widely released?”

  “Yeah, but that came out with an official BGP stamp on it. I understand the Hunter in question claims to have switched sides and hooked up with young Matthew.

  “There would be no point in my distributing that. It’s already more widely spread than I could do and as for the rep of the source…”

  “This would not be that. It would rather be this.”

  So saying, the gentlemen handed Lazarus an information chit readable by any PDT that was simply titled “The Angus Companion: His Story From Fellow Freedom Fighters.”

  “Oh damn, you’re gonna get me killed. They’re gonna make a special ‘Extra Most Wanted’ list just for me.”

  30

  July 4, 2080

  Near the Silent Heart Monastery, North American Territory

  Six days from the Southern Alaskan coast to Colorado. Most of it on foot over rough terrain. It was a journey no human being from an earlier generation could have made. Often on the move for 12 hours or more at a time without slacking their pace or stopping to rest, they covered more ground in less time than was humanly possible, at least not possible for unaltered humans. Genetics alone did not account for their progress, nor did the lifetime of training and conditioning they both had received. In the end there is nothing like being pursued by the best killers the world has ever known and five hounds right out of Hades to spur one on to extra effort.

  Both had lost considerable weight, and their once well-fit clothing hung off of them. That much sustained effort over a little less than a week can do amazing things to the human body. A body with a genetically modified metabolism, a metabolism that burns fuel at a prodigious rate, will begin to feed off of itself. The doctors who had designed Hunters had known this and addressed the problem in a unique way. A Hunter who is pushed beyond the normal limits of his endurance, but who might well need all his muscle mass at the end of the trek, would not lose that. His body will first feed on any stored fat. Both Matt and Abbey had little enough of that. Then when the reserve
s of fat are depleted, rather than break down muscle tissue, as a normal person’s body would do, it attacked the organs for sustenance. Liver function was impaired, kidneys, bowels, spleen, all were affected to fuel the body beyond normal limits. In the end it could kill them, but would allow them to function at a higher rate for a longer period of time.

  If they survived, the fact that Hunters had prodigious healing abilities meant that they could fully recover from the damage, even without transplants.

  “Matt, we need food, and lots of it, you more than me. Your body is just not as efficient at living off itself as mine is.”

  “Must come from being only half Hunter.”

  “You might be genetically half Hunter, but Mtumbe would tell you that doesn’t matter. Matt, I’ve seen the best we have in action, for that matter you fought the best we have to a standstill. Mtumbe was very good at unarmed combat. According to his file he was in the top 16% BGP wide, and you made it look effortless.

  “I was so scared for you. I knew you were good, but I was tied and helpless to come to your rescue. I had to watch as he tried to kill you. I’m really glad you were so much better than he was. If he’d even hurt you badly while losing we were done for. Mtumbe’s loss has slowed their tracking efforts, but there is still McLeish and the dogs, and Delacruz is in the air looking, although far behind us right now. Depardieu is out there too, and we only have the 7mm, which has half the range as her Eliminator.”

  “Abbey, I know all this. You are starting to ramble a little. I think its exhaustion and lack of sleep. I can fix both of those things. If I can find the bolt hole, there should be shelter we can rely on to keep us hidden as well as plenty of food and maybe even some better weapons, or at least maybe more ammo for this one.