Hunter's Heart

by Julia Green

  Once it’s going properly he can relax a bit, but that means his mind’s free to think. It keeps returning to the catapult in his pocket. A hand reaching in, pulling it out, while he lay unconscious on the ground. Was he unconscious? Did he knock his head on the stone lintel when he was clambering out? Or did someone do that too? And then they left a trail of evidence to spook him more? But why would anyone do that? And the neat circle of stones, laid out like a present? None of it makes sense.

  The fire begins to crackle and spit. The damp wood makes too much smoke. Dan coughs, grunts, turns over. Simon seizes his chance.

  ‘Oi, Dan! Wake up!’

  ‘Whazz it?’

  ‘Wake up. Properly. Listen.’

  One eye opens warily. He groans again. ‘Head!’

  ‘Drink some water. Sit up. I’ll get some.’ Simon rummages for a water bottle in the muddle of kit at one end of the tarpaulin shelter. ‘Here.’

  ‘What’s up?’ Dan’s speech is still slurred. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I don’t know, that’s the point. Something really weird. I mean seriously weird.’

  Dan’s in danger of falling asleep again unless Simon makes it quick and exciting.

  ‘I nearly died.’

  Dan eyes him suspiciously. ‘What d’ya mean?’

  ‘I went for a walk and found this stone burial place, and then someone knocked me unconscious. And stole my catapult.’

  ‘Good try,’ Dan says, ‘but not plausible enough. Not in the sober light of morning. Very… early… morning,’ he says slowly, to make the point.

  ‘I’m not making this up, Dan. It’s for real. I woke up on the ground and my head hurt, as if I’d been hit with something, and my catapult had gone.’

  ‘What’s that, then?’ Dan points to the catapult in Simon’s hand.

  ‘Well, that’s even more weird. Cos someone had put it back on the stile, obviously for me to find.’

  Dan shakes his head. ‘Sad. Get some sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.’

  It does sound feeble, said out loud. No wonder Dan’s not interested. Simon turns his back on the fire to warm it up a bit.

  The light’s spreading in the sky, turning it golden. Perhaps he’ll make a hot drink. He rummages in his rucksack and fishes out two sachets of tomato soup, pours water into the billycan and balances it on two flat stones over the fire. Johnny and Dan sleep on. He feels utterly alone. His head still aches.

  He thinks briefly of Nina, wonders whether she went out with Matt Davies last night. He’s not that bad, not really. It’s just… well, Nina’s his mum, isn’t she? Then he starts thinking about Leah. He imagines telling her what’s happened. She’d listen and her eyes would go even bigger and rounder, and maybe she’d giggle a bit, and she’d think it was really scary. Maybe she’d say something like ‘Let’s go back there together, to the burial chamber, and see what we can find.’ And once they were inside, she’d grab his hand and they would be standing really close to each other and then…

  A sudden gust of wind channels smoke right into his face. He coughs and stumbles up, away from the smoke, and knocks the billycan over on to the grass.

  ‘Damn!’

  As he bends to pick it up, something makes him look round. A tiny noise, or just some intangible change in the air alerts him. Someone’s there. He knows they are. Watching him.

  12

  Simon freezes.

  He scans the ground for stones the right size for ammo. There’s one near the fire. Very carefully, he stretches out one foot to nudge it close enough to pick up. Silently, he loads the catapult. His heart’s thudding again. Dan and Johnny sleep on, unaware. How vulnerable they are, Simon thinks. How stupid. They should have thought before about keeping a nightwatch, doing shifts. Simon edges himself round. He’s armed, ready. He waits. Nothing.

  The newly risen sun is flooding the fields with golden light. It’s breathtakingly beautiful. But something’s there, he’s sure of it. All the tiny hairs on his arms and the back of his neck are standing upright. Alongside the stone wall, there’s deep shadow where someone could be hiding. He can’t see from here.

  Another sudden movement. He swings round, ready to fire. Three small rabbits bound out from the shadow, race round, then settle to graze. Simon almost laughs aloud with the release in tension. Was that all it was? He waits. He could easily get the rabbits. They could have them for breakfast, spit-roasted over the fire. But he doesn’t even try. For one moment, he’d identified with the rabbits; they’re on the same side.

  Just as he gives up and sits back on the ground near the fire, a shot cracks out. One rabbit keels over, the others race back to the wall.

  ‘Whazzat?’ Dan sits up, rubbing his head. Johnny’s woken too.

  ‘Sshh,’ Simon whispers.

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Can’t see. Get your ammo ready.’

  ‘Hang on,’ Dan says. ‘You crazy or what?’

  ‘Sshh,’ Simon says. ‘It’s that mad bloke. For real.’

  ‘He’s just potting rabbits,’ Johnny says. ‘Cool it, Si.’

  ‘He’s got a gun,’ Simon says, ‘and he’s been watching us. Who knows what he’ll do next?’

  Dan gives a very loud and dramatic yawn.

  ‘I’m serious,’ Simon hisses. ‘Idiot.’

  Johnny half laughs. ‘What are you going to do? Shoot him with a catapult?’

  Dan does an impression of someone getting shot in the head: he writhes in agony and collapses on the ground with his tongue hanging out. Johnny starts to laugh again, but stops mid-laugh and looks nervously at Simon. ‘What was that?’

  They listen. It comes again, a dragging sound.

  Johnny grabs at Dan. ‘Shut it. Listen.’

  Fear is contagious.

  ‘Get ready,’ Simon says in a low voice. ‘Load your air rifle.’ He holds his catapult taut, aimed at a patch of wall, beyond which the noise has stopped. One stone might not be enough and he can hear Johnny fumbling with the tin of pellets, trying to load the air rifle with shaking hands.

  He’s imagined the scene often enough. Now it’s for real.

  ‘Perhaps we shouldn’t…’ Dan starts to say.

  ‘Shut up!’ Simon hisses. ‘Ready?’ He glances briefly behind him towards Johnny, who holds the air rifle to his shoulder, eyes trained along the barrel. He hears the safety catch click off. This is it. There’s a sudden crack of shot firing out, and then another, and Simon feels the catapult twang as his stone flies through the air. Someone yells out, though in the muddle Simon can’t tell who. He moves stealthily, like a trained soldier, into position next to the wall and then slowly raises himself up so he can see over the top. A man is bending over a dead rabbit, picks it up, holds it by the ears so that the limp body dangles down and bumps his leg as he walks away over the field towards the next stile. His boots leave a line of flattened, damp grass spotted with blood.

  Simon’s heart is still thumping manically. He turns to look at Johnny. He has lowered his air rifle, looks dazed. Dan’s huddled over on the grass, rocking slightly, his hands over his ears.

  ‘What happened?’ Simon asks.

  ‘I don’t know! When I heard the shot I just panicked and fired.’ Johnny joins Simon at the wall, looking over at the figure disappearing from view. ‘Who was it? Did you see?’

  ‘That bloke. I told you! Shot the rabbit deliberately to scare us off. Make sure we knew he had a gun. Really dangerous. So close. Stupid idiot. Nearly got himself shot. Serves him right.’ Simon’s hands are trembling.

  A funny whimpering sound is coming from Dan. He’s still rocking back and forth.

  ‘What’s wrong with him?’ Simon asks Johnny. They watch him for a moment. From behind Dan’s hand comes a thin trickle of blood.

  ‘Christ!’ Simon says. ‘You shot him!’

  He goes over to Dan to look. Peels his hand away from his head. There’s lots of blood. Thick, dark, oozing. Dan’s shut his eyes. He groans.

  ‘How bad is i
t?’ Johnny kneels down next to him. ‘How the hell did that happen? It can’t have been me, he was behind me. Must have been that mad bloke after all. You were right.’

  ‘It’s bad enough,’ Simon says. ‘Not fatal.’ He bites his lip. He’s seen the wound. But it’s not from an air-rifle pellet. It has the jagged edges made by a stone. Shot at close range by a catapult. Shit!

  ‘What’ll we do?’ Johnny asks.

  ‘Get him home. My house is nearest. Pack up the stuff and come back for it later. We might have to carry him.’

  They survey Dan’s lanky body.

  ‘We need to stop the blood, don’t we?’ Johnny says. ‘Pressure on the wound. What can we use?’ He ransacks his own bag, then Dan’s and Simon’s, searching for something to tie round his head. In the end they tear a T-shirt into strips and it seems to work, sort of. Dan whimpers all the time they’re doing it, like a wounded dog. Simon feels sick.

  ‘I saw this programme,’ Simon says, ‘where they turned the tarpaulin into a stretcher. I’ll see if I can work out how to do it.’

  ‘Can’t he walk?’

  ‘I don’t know. The wound’s deep. He might faint or something.’

  ‘Why don’t you run back and get someone? What time is it?’

  ‘Dunno. Early. You stay here with him, then? What if that bloke comes back?’

  Dan’s stopped moaning. He opens his eyes and stares at them.

  ‘You OK, mate? What happened?’ Johnny says. ‘It wasn’t me, was it? Shot you?’

  Dan grimaces. ‘It was a bloody stone. From your catapult, you moron, Piper.’

  Johnny stares at Simon, open-mouthed.

  ‘I — I don’t know how… the catapult went off just like that… I didn’t see where the stone went… it must have bounced off the wall or something…’

  ‘Does it hurt a lot?’ Johnny’s staring at the blood seeping through the T-shirt.

  ‘Too bloody right it does. Now I’ve got a headache on top of the hangover I already had.’

  Simon kicks out the fire. He scatters the ashes. He bundles the billycans into his rucksack along with everything else.

  ‘What’re you doing, man?’ Dan asks.

  ‘We’ve got to get back. Sort out your head. It looks bad. Do you reckon you can walk?’

  Dan nods. ‘Ouch. Hurts when I move it.’

  ‘We’ll go really slow.’

  They eventually make their way across the fields, stile to stile in a diagonal line all the way back to the lane. Blood begins to drip through the strips of cloth. It’s a relief to get to the road and to see the house. The curtains are still drawn shut.

  Not at Leah’s house, though. She doesn’t miss a thing, does she? She’s standing at her window, practically naked, watching their slow progress up the road. She gives Simon a half smile, flutters her hand.

  ‘Slag,’ says Johnny. ‘Who does she think she’s waving at?’

  Simon prays that she doesn’t open the window wider, or call something out to him. He keeps his eyes down and one arm supporting Dan’s shoulders. Dan’s face is completely drained of colour.

  They stumble through the unlocked back door. Dan slumps on to a kitchen chair.

  Voices drift down from upstairs. Two voices. Nina and a man.

  13

  ‘Si? What’s going on? It’s so early! Is everything all right?’

  From the foot of the stairs, Simon can see Nina at her bedroom door, hastily tying her dressing gown round herself. He beckons her down. ‘Dan’s hurt his head.’

  ‘How bad?’ She nearly slips in her rush down the bare stairs. ‘Where is he?’ Her voice sounds shaky.

  ‘Here. In the kitchen. It’s OK, he walked back, it’s not too bad. Just bleeding a lot.’

  Simon flinches as she bends over Dan, inspects the bloodied cotton strips.

  Nina frowns. ‘Poor you, Dan. We need to get these off and have a proper look.’

  Dan groans.

  ‘How much does it hurt? Can you bear it if I take these off?’

  Dan nods stoically.

  Simon has to look away when she peels back the strips, but he hears Nina’s sharp intake of breath.

  ‘What happened?’ she asks Dan gently.

  ‘A stone. An accident,’ Dan says.

  Johnny looks at Simon, grins. Simon’s shaking. Can’t stop.

  Nina purses up her lips. ‘Hospital job, I’m afraid. You’ll need stitches and a proper clean up. I’ll get dressed and then I can take you. Phone Dan’s mother, Si.’

  ‘No!’ Dan’s voice is surprisingly panicked. ‘Don’t. I mean, she’ll worry too much. Please. They’ll still be asleep.’

  Nina looks severe. ‘I’d want to know, if I were her.’

  ‘But you’re not,’ Simon says.

  ‘Simon!’

  They all look up. Footsteps are coming slowly down the stairs.

  Oh no! Simon thinks, Please no.

  Too late. A familiar voice rings out. ‘Everything OK, Nina?’

  Mr Davies, art teacher, walks into the kitchen. He pauses. ‘Ah.’

  Stunned silence.

  Someone coughs. Simon knows Johnny and Dan are staring at him. He won’t look. As if things weren’t bad enough already!

  ‘I need to get Dan to the hospital,’ Nina says.

  ‘What’s happened, Dan?’ Mr Davies peers at the bloody wound. He rests his hand briefly on Dan’s shoulder. ‘Ouch. Looks nasty. How did it happen, Dan?’

  Nina gives him onHe of her looks.

  ‘Shall I take him in?’ Mr Davies offers.

  ‘No, I’ll do it. You could stay here with the boys, if you want. I think you all know each other already.’ She grins, sheepish.

  How could she? ‘We don’t need looking after,’ Simon mutters.

  ‘Don’t be rude,’ Nina says. ‘The evidence goes against you, I’m afraid. Look at Dan.’

  She looks sad. They’ve ruined her morning, of course. She wasn’t planning on them coming back while he was still here.

  ‘We could come to the hospital,’ Simon suggests. ‘Johnny and me. Dan?’

  Dan shrugs. ‘If you want.’

  ‘No,’ Nina says. ‘Absolutely not. You two stay here. You’ve already caused enough trouble.’

  ‘What!’ Simon’s indignant.

  ‘Don’t think I don’t know! It was that bloody catapult, wasn’t it?’

  ‘No,’ Johnny and Dan both say too quickly. But Nina’s not listening anyway. She’s running upstairs to get dressed, while Mr Davies holds a pad of dressing he’s found in the first-aid box to Dan’s head, telling him to relax.

  Johnny’s looking at Simon in a very strange way.

  ‘What’s he doing here?’ he asks at the first opportunity, when Mr Davies goes upstairs to say something to Nina.

  Simon looks at his feet helplessly.

  ‘Your mum, shagging a teacher!’

  ‘Piss off!’ Simon says. It’s all a complete nightmare.

  ‘I’ll make us all a cup of tea,’ Mr Davies says, coming back in and filling the kettle, just as if he lives there all the time. Bloody cheek. ‘Except you, Dan. In case you need an anaesthetic. Sorry.’

  Simon shakes his head in disbelief. He slopes out into the garden. Johnny follows him. They lean against the back wall. Neither speaks for a while. Simon’s headache’s worse.

  Nina appears, manoeuvres Dan into the front seat of the car, then goes back to speak to Mr Davies and finally gets into the car herself. She winds down the window.

  ‘You stay right here till I get back, Simon. Don’t go anywhere, understand? And the least you can do is be polite to Matt while he’s here. He’s not staying after all. You just keep out of trouble till I’m back, OK?’

  Dan does a V-sign at them through the window as the car pulls away.

  ‘Your mum’s pretty stressed out!’ Johnny says.

  Simon feels suddenly angry, defensive. He doesn’t like anyone else to criticize her, even if he does. ‘She just worries,’ he says. ‘She does it for
two, since my dad died.’

  That shuts Johnny up all right.

  ‘Think I’ll get off home,’ Johnny says after a while. ‘Crash out for a bit. We can get the gear later.’

  ‘Yeah. Right.’

  ‘Give us a ring later?’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘If she lets you.’

  Simon scowls. They stand facing each other, silent.

  ‘You could have said it was your stone that did it, when you first saw. Why did you let me think I did it?’ Johnny asks eventually.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Simon’s voice comes out small and pathetic. ‘I got scared.’

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘But he’ll be all right?’ Johnny adds after a while. ‘Won’t he?’

  Simon nods. ‘Luckily. But it was close. Too close. Did you see? Just a few centimetres either way and it might have been different. I could’ve killed him, Johnny.’

  ‘Nah. Not with a catapult. Now, with an air rifle at that range… Makes you think!’

  They both look serious for a bit, as if they feel they ought to, then Simon starts to laugh, and Johnny joins in, and once they’ve started neither of them can stop, so that they’re doubled over with laughter when Matt comes out to see what’s going on.

  ‘What’s the joke?’ he asks.

  They’re still too paralysed with laughter to be able to speak.

  He gives up. ‘Tea’s inside. Tell Nina I’ll give her a ring later. I’m off. Sure you’ll be OK?’

  Johnny and Simon look at each other again and that sparks them off even more. They’re still laughing when Matt Davies drives off.

  ‘I’m starving,’ Simon says finally.

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘Let’s have a big fry-up.’

  They raid the fridge for bacon and eggs. Then they find croissants in the bread bin as well, and a new jar of apricot jam, some expensive brand, and a bowl of strawberries on the dresser. As if Nina’s planned a special breakfast just for them.

  It dawns on Simon who the special breakfast was really for.

  ‘Should we eat all this?’ Johnny asks. ‘Won’t your mum mind?’

  ‘No,’ Simon says. ‘She’s nice like that.’