by Patti Larsen
The cramps are inevitable and he accepts them with only a minor flinch of regret. Most of the water surges back up and out of him in a gush that makes his ribs ache and his throat even more raw than it was before he drank. Reid waits until the heaving is through and returns to the water. This time he goes slowly, forcing himself to take only a mouthful, sitting back to roll its lovely coldness around his tongue, feeling the zing of it against the fillings in his molars. He swallows after a ten count and waits another five seconds before taking another drink. And another. He waits each time, making sure the last will stay with him before risking the next and grateful for every single drop.
At last he is full of water, but not painfully so. He splashes some more on his face and blots his skin with the corner of his dirty T-shirt. This is his first opportunity to get a good look at himself and he does so carefully. Someone dressed him in the clothes he had on when Lucy picked him up. He wonders about that. Reid is dismayed by the tears in his jeans, the dirt ground into the elbows and knees of his navy blue hoodie. He takes a moment to rip off a strip of his T-shirt and clean the wounds on his knees. It’s not like he’s never skinned them before, but not without access to medical attention. The last thing he needs is to get an infection.
When he is done, he is satisfied. The skin is pink, some scabbing over, but neither knee is hot to the touch. Any rise in temperature would be a sure sign of trouble. Reid sighs deeply at his good luck just as his eyes drift to his sneakers. They seem to be holding up all right, though something brownish stains the top of his right one. He panics as soon as he realizes it’s blood, plunging his whole foot into the water to get the last remains of the boy’s entrails off of him.
Reid shudders and does his best to pull himself together after that. His eyes trace the path of the stream and he knows, before making a firm decision, he has no choice but to follow it. He has yet to come across another water source and worries there might not be one. There is the concern that the hunters will know this is a prime location to search for him, but he has to take the risk. Whether they kill him or he dies of dehydration, he’s just as dead.
Of course, that’s how he feels now. He’s pretty sure if one of the hunters shows up he will bolt for freedom and not think twice about water. Reid bends over the stream for one more drink and looks up, not knowing that very thought is about to be tested.
There. Across the dancing, happy brook that glitters in the morning sunlight, slightly down stream. A man dressed all in black crouches, watching him.
Reid’s panic drives him to run while his need to survive forces him to stop and observe. There is something wrong with the way the man looks. Something odd about how he hunches in place, observing Reid. And when the black-dressed hunter lifts his head and calls out, the cry he utters is the same as the cry from the night before, that terrifying and soul-slaying howl Reid was sure came from the throat of some horrible beast.
Reid is all out of luck. He was right after all. There is no time for a second though about the stream. He runs.
The hunter is right behind him. Reid is sure of it. He can feel the man breathing against his neck, his knife brushing against Reid’s lower back, just above the kidneys. His life is over all because he lost his focus over a stupid pair of sneakers. And now Reid knows daylight is no deterrent. That particular disappointment cuts deep. His only real regret is that he was unable to find and save his sister. Lucy’s name is on Reid’s lips as he spins to stand and face the death that is right behind him.
He is alone. Reid gasps from the truth of it. But wait. There, in the trees, just visible. The hunter. Following him, but keeping his distance. Never before has Reid felt so much like a mouse being toyed with by a stalking cat. Now he understands how it feels to be nothing, inconsequential. Something to be played with and discarded when his usefulness is done. And yet, the hunter holds off and Reid takes advantage of the fact. Knowing it is useless, that he will die when the hunter chooses to kill him, Reid turns and runs on.
These trees are just thick enough to offer cover but are sparse in undergrowth and so are easy to maneuver. Good for Reid and better for his pursuer. He wonders how much time he has left and what the hunter is waiting for.
Reid can’t help himself. He glances back over his shoulder. What he sees almost drops him to his knees in terror.
There are two of them, now. As he tears his eyes away from them he hears their communication, soft chuffing and growling, more expected from the throats of animals than humans.
But they must be human. They look human, don’t they? Again that feeling of wrongness washes over Reid. How can it be? They are one or the other. His logical mind refuses to bend while his fear whispers to him. Why can’t they be both?
Another howl joins their chatter from the distance, off to the south. Reid’s breath comes in whispered whimpers as he tries for more speed, more distance, knowing it is useless, that he is useless and nothing he can do will save his life.
One he may have outrun. Two is a slice of impossible. Three? He might as well just give up right now and let them take him. Pack animals don’t quit until their quarry is dead.
He staggers through the edge of the trees and into a clearing. Reid blinks against the brightness of the sun, missing the canopy of the forest and hesitates only for a heartbeat before plunging forward. He is a deer chased by wolves, vulnerable and fragile. He knows he is exposed, but for the moment his only friend is speed and the empty meadow offers him a chance to go even faster.
Reid crashes through the tall grass, every step steeped in fear. It seemed like such a short distance when he started out, a brief and rapid way across. But the tangled meadow foliage grabs at his sneakers even more than the underbrush in the forest and he is sweating from the heat of the sun. The safety of the trees seems so far to him, he sobs once in frustration and fear. All of his focus is on the line of trees, the relative darkness of the woods and he throws himself toward it like it is his salvation.
He is suddenly over the threshold and back into the forest, his lungs ready to quit, legs quivering from strain. And yet he runs on. Reid has no choice. He strains to listen, to hear them and realizes he hasn’t picked up any sound from them since he crossed the clearing. Could it be he lost them? His heart doesn’t want to dare hope it is true and his mind refuses to believe.
A glance behind shows him the truth. They ease toward him, soft shadows moving like ghosts, holding back. There are three of them now. Silent because there is no longer any need to communicate. They have him and they know it. They will toy with their prey for as long as it amuses them and then they will swoop in and kill him.
Reid wants to scream, to fight back, but instead he gathers what remains of his strength and runs.
He tries to focus on moving forward, but knowing they are behind him terrifies him. Reid stumbles more often, his feet tangling in the brush and on roots. He is thinking too hard, about running, escaping and it is destroying his speed.
Reid doesn’t want his end to come when he isn’t looking, but he is terrified to stop and let it be over like this. His father’s voice tells him he needs to face his death like a man, to stop, turn and fight for as long as he can and never, ever quit.
He looks back without thinking about it, obeying his father’s words in that small way. Reid can’t see them anymore, but he knows they are back there, stalking him. He scans around for something to fight with, anything, but he is moving too fast and refuses to slow until he can’t run any longer. Besides, he knows he will never win this fight. He silently begs his father’s forgiveness for being a coward and continues to stagger onward.
Was that a sound? Reid can barely hear above his own pounding heart and the wheezing rattle that is his breathing. They are getting closer, that must be it. They are on top of him, he is certain. Any second now a knife will bring him down and his entrails will fall to the path, his body hung lifeless as a warning to the next poor unfortunate kid to get dumped in this hell.
He risks
it and scans behind him one last time. He is alone, blessedly alone. There is no sign of them, not even a glimmer. But why did they give up the pursuit? They had him, they must have known it. Did they find more delectable prey to chase? He wishes he didn’t feel so happy about that idea, knowing if that is the case his salvation comes at the loss of another life.
Reid chooses his survival over compassion, at least for the moment, and spins to make a final sprinting effort.
Only to collide full on into one of the hunters.
***
Chapter Eight
Reid lashes out immediately before his tortured brain can register these men aren’t dressed in black, but camo-green.
“Whoa, there, kiddo!” He is grabbed, shaken slightly. “Where’s the fire?” The man who grips him is burly and broad shouldered, a massive handle bar mustache drooping to his chin. But his brown eyes are amused and there is no fear in him.
“Not exactly the game we were looking for,” his friend smirks.
It is Reid’s turn to grab on and not let go. The first man staggers backward a step as Reid throws himself forward, clutching at the front of the camo jacket, fingers twining in the straps and bulging pockets. He is stunned to find the men are real after all. His sense of touch proves it.
“Please!” His voice scares him, it is so high pitched. The whine of a terrified animal. He sounds way younger than he feels. “They’re going to kill me!”
Neither man moves for a moment, as though this information is some sort of spell trapping them and keeping them from the truth. In that moment, Reid feels helpless all over again, a victim without recourse. For all he knows, they are in on it.
While his panic tries to drag him away again, the first man starts to laugh.
“Kid,” he says, winking at his friend, “you’ve got some sick sense of humor on you.”
They both chuckle. Reid’s jaw feels unhinged. Laughter is so foreign to him he can’t take it, not for another second. How can they find humor in this? They haven’t witnessed what he has seen. Does their laughter mean they don’t believe him? That can’t be. Not after everything he has been through. They need to believe.
“You have to help me, please, you have to.” The words blurt out ahead of his silent scream for them to save him. Only then does he notice they are armed. Nice big rifles and backpacks he hopes are full of bullets. “They’re right behind me.” He forgot in the shock of finding the men there. His terror flings him around as Reid spins and scans the trees.
Nothing. Had they gone, then? Did he lose them after all? Reid’s confusion makes him tremble and hesitate.
Still, his obvious fear has managed to stir these men to concern.
“Kid, you on something?” Mustache backs off another step, his gun slightly raised and swung in Reid’s direction.
They think he is a threat, really? He has no way to defend his actions but to beg.
“Please.” He feels tears rise, his hands trembling from the effort it takes to make them understand. “You have to believe me.” They just have to.
The men exchange a look. Reid can feel their lingering doubt but they swing their guns forward now, away from him, and look more alert.
“I know real fear when I smell it,” Mustache mutters. Reid is so grateful he doesn’t know what to say.
“What are you doing way out here, kid?” That is the second man. Taller than his friend, leaner, with a nasty scar on one cheek that dimples the skin under his eye so he looks like he is constantly squinting. His blue eyes are hard and cold, and only skim over Reid as he speaks. The rest of the time he scans their surroundings. He reminds Reid of a gun-slinging hero from an old Western and he feels a surge of relief so big it takes his breath away for a moment.
“I don’t know.” Reid’s words come tumbling out of him when he finally manages a breath, relieved they are there and real and are listening to him. “I was kidnapped and drugged and they dumped me here. There was a dead kid, I saw him and the hunters in black killed another kid, then the girl Monica and now they are chasing me!”
“Okay, you’ve got to slow down, boy.” Mustache glances at Scar who nods once and starts a slow rotation of their position, gun held low but his finger near the trigger. He looks like it’s a part of him. “What hunters? Like us?”
“No.” Reid’s hurried fear wishes Mustache would stop asking questions and take the threat more seriously. “We need to get out of here right now. Before they come back.” Where are they? He knows they were right behind him. Why did they leave?
Maybe they are scared of the two men with the guns. Reid can only pray he is right.
“Let them,” Scar says, voice a growl. “We’ve got lots of bullets. What are you thinking, Rich?”
Mustache just stares at Reid for a while, eyes narrowed to slits. “Not sure. Kid seems scared enough, might be telling the truth.”
They don’t have time to doubt him. Reid can’t see the hunters, but he feels their eyes on him. And while it may just be his imagination playing tricks, he doesn’t believe that’s the case. “How did you get past the fence?” If they have a way out and Reid can find it, he will try to convince them to run with him. Or leave them there. At least they will have a fighting chance against the hunters.
Neither man says a word. They just exchange a look. Finally, Mustache says, “What fence?”
Reid resists the urge to shake him, not sure the man won’t turn the gun on him. As much as this man could be his savior, the way he holds himself and his weapon is its own threat. “The giant electric fence,” Reid says. “Back that way.” He waves off in the distance, not quite sure he remembers where the fence is, but it doesn’t matter. Both men shrug.
“Not sure what you mean, kid. We’re just out for a bit of hunting. Looking for some game, a bit of shooting. You know. Sport.”
How did they not see it? They must have encountered it at some point. Then, Scar laughs.
“Best game is usually kept locked up all neat and tight, right partner?”
Mustache grins and shrugs, eyes never leaving Reid. That is the answer he is looking for. They do have a way out. He intends to find it and use it with or without them. Hope flares up, fresh and powerful, and he finds himself grinning.
“Let’s go!” He risks tugging at Mustache who jerks his arm away.
“Not so fast,” the man says. “If what you’re saying is true,” and Reid can tell Mustache doesn’t quite believe him, “we can’t go just yet.”
“Why?” They don’t get it, don’t understand how dangerous this is. And he has no way of impressing the danger on them without proof. The image of the gutted kid assaults him and he wishes they could see it, too.
“One,” Mustache ticks off his index finger, “we’re here to bag us some game. I didn’t come all this way and fork out all that dough to walk away empty handed.”
“Amen, brother,” Scar says.
“And two,” this time Mustache’s middle finger goes down, “the worst thing you can do is let the enemy get behind you. Best to hit him face on and take him out before he can cause trouble. Am I right, bud-‘o-mine?”
“As always,” Scar says.
Reid doesn’t know what to say. Or what to do when Mustache gestures with his gun for Reid to follow. He hesitates. He could risk it, run for the fence, hopefully find where they broke in. If they are that stubborn and downright stupid, he’s not responsible for their safety.
He is about to run off when he hears it. The howl dissolves his hope, strips away his new found plan of escape and reduces him to a tearful child all over again.
When the last echo of it fades, Reid can barely breathe or stand. His knees quiver so much he is sure he will collapse at any moment. He won’t survive another call, his heart will quit. He looks up and into Mustache’s face. The man is very pale, brown eyes almost blotted out by his pupils, swollen by his own fear.
“What the hell was that?”
“I told you,” Reid whispers. “The hunters.”
Scar is next to them in an instant, voice low and deep, his urgency a cloud that envelops them all. “I’ve never heard anything like that before.”
“Me either.” Mustache chews on his namesake, eyes scanning the trees. “Damn it, we can’t just leave.”
Scar nods. “I’m not running.”
Both men exchange a look before Mustache turns to Reid.
“Come on, kid,” he says. “Let’s go see what all the fuss is about.” His words are confident, but Reid hears the quaver in them. Both men move forward in the gloom.
He can’t go with them. It’s the last place on earth he can go. His feet are lead, legs locked in place. Every nerve and fiber of his body begs him to run the other way. But he only heard one howl, one voice. For all Reid knows, they are surrounded. If he runs, leaves the men with the guns, he could be heading right into a trap. At least with them he has their weapons to protect him.
Swallowing a giant ball of fear, Reid stumbles forward and goes with them.
“Tell us about them.” Scar stays close, eyes never resting anywhere for long.
“They’re fast,” Reid says, flinching from the memory of them. “They move like ghosts. I’ve never seen anything so fast.”
“But they’re men,” Mustache says.
Reid’s breathing tightens, his chest constricting. “They look like men.”
Scar’s hands adjust on his gun. “Well, we’re ex special forces, kid,” he says. “And nothing is faster than us.”
Reid doesn’t say anything. He can’t. It won’t do any good anyway. They are wrong. He watches them move and he knows in his heart the hunters are faster. But are they quicker than a bullet? Reid does his best to ignore the fact both men are criminals, illegal game poachers. He doesn’t care. As long as they kill the hunters, they can shoot whatever the hell they want.
He considers asking them about rescuing the other kids and for the first time Reid actually lets himself wonder how many of them are out there and how many have already died at the hands of the black-dressed men. Lucy’s beautiful face flashes in his head, but he forces her aside. When the hunters are killed, when Mustache and Scar show him the black-clad men can die just like anyone else, Reid will worry about the rest. But not until then.
