Hurt World One and the Zombie Rats

by Stuart Parker

  *

  Mas was following Hopital’s progress away from the Leanov Clinic. The Ferrari A40 was cutting neatly and at speed along the sharply winding mountain road, ducking in and out of the sparse traffic with a ruthless indifference, clearly not restrained by the traffic-control satellites, which only specially licensed vehicles were permitted to disengage from. The images were being transmitted with sharp resolution onto the lenses of Mas’s tech glasses. She was perched on a steep slope overlooking the Leanov Clinic and she was aware she needed to be focusing her attention in that direction rather than on Hopital. But she was only plotting the demise of Blast because she had to. With Hopital, it would be a lot more pleasurable. She would have done it with the first glimpse of his departure from the clinic if not for the risk of betraying her presence on Par Mountain. She was still hopeful that Blast would make an appearance while Hopital was still in range, giving her the chance to take care of both in the one moment. It was a thought that kept her warm as she huddled behind a cold jagged rock in the snow with her hunting rifle in hand. It was a good vantage point, giving her a comprehensive view of the clinic’s front and quick access to the rear should Kaptu attempt an escape that way. Mas had been encouraged by his arrival by parachute. There had been nothing subtle about it and did not give the impression he was the type to sit around for any length of time. An adrenaline junkie. And none too careful. Mas had come to accept these as the all too typical traits of probably the easiest species she had ever hunted: humans. Even predators as skilled as tigers and lions were not so complacent about their own survival. If an overzealous Hurt World technician got in the way of her shot at the signature dog, it would not mean much to someone who had spent a lifetime fascinated by the cruelty of nature. Mas tried to get more comfortable against the rock. Her thoughts started to drift to the plains of Africa. It had been so long since she had been home crouched in tall grass, stalking a lion in a long steamy dusk. Mas started to pine for her lost youth.

  Suddenly her glasses went blank. It was so inexplicable Mas found herself momentarily frozen. Her initial thought that it was a malfunction was dispelled in an instant. Both the tech glasses and the drone were the best on the market. They simply didn’t malfunction. The likely alternative came with a rush of excitement. A cloaking device had been employed. It seemed this was not going to be a turkey shoot after all. Mas whipped off her glasses and ran, her rifle poised to fire at the hip. There was movement at the clinic’s rear terrace and she fired even before she had registered what it was. Bullets clanged off the terrace’s steel railing with puffs of smoke and sparks. Mas sprinted further along the mountain face, weaving through tall Alpine pines, analysing in her mind’s eye what she had seen: Kaptu Z had been leaping from the terrace on skis, a large, black backpack upon his back. It was the backpack that occupied her thoughts the most. It was bulky and by the way he had dropped so rapidly, it must have had some weight behind it. It probably even saved his life, for if he had dropped any slower, the bullets would have had their target. Still, Mas would only let it be a temporary reprieve. She recognised the kind of bag, having owned a couple herself and she knew that a dog could very well be inside, though she had only used hers to smuggle leopards and cheetahs. If the Hurt World technician was going to put himself that close to the target, he in turn would be the target.

  Mas jumped up onto a rocky outcrop, rifle pointed towards the base of the terrace, ready to finish him off quickly should he have landed poorly. To her surprise, however, he was on his feet and already making great distance down the mountain. Her next volley of gunfire ruffled the snow around him without getting any closer than his ski tracks. And then he was out of range and there was no indication that she would get another opportunity at him anytime soon. He was well balanced and picking up speed. Mas felt the rage of it. When wildlife eluded her on a hunt, she could admire their tenacity. For people, however, she was not so forgiving; she would burn with anger until she had ended her pray.

  She put her tech glasses back on. The screens were still down and there was no interfacing with her drone. Only a minute had passed but a change that could disable this level of equipment for so long was beyond even current recognised military grade.

  Zelda swopped down at Kaptu. She had been trained to pursue anyone that Mas pointed a weapon at. No matter how fast Kaptu might be able to ski, Zelda would keep circling above him in an effortless glide. The tech glasses would not be suppressed for long and then it would be a straight forward shot with the dart missiles tethered to the eagle’s feet. Although one missile would likely be sufficient to obliterate the man and his dog, Mas would fire the entire weapons load all the same. She would splatter their guts across the mountain.

  She brought her telescopic sight to her eye to get a closer look at the technician. He might have been impossible to shoot from her position, but not to remember. And it was quite a memorable face at that. Thick black hair and heavy square jaw. Even from this distance, the intense concentration and air of menace were stark. Not a comfortable enemy to have. Mas felt her finger reflexively drawn to the rifle trigger.

  Kaptu was doing something similar, crouching low on his skis and leaning back while aiming his pistol straight up. With a cold shiver, Mas realised what he was doing and flicked her rifle onto rapid fire. Her wild spray of ordinance zipped noisily around the snowcapped forest and did nothing to prevent Kaptu’s one shot at Zelda.

  The Wedge Tailed eagle dropped limply from the sky. Mas watched it fall. She fired her gun dry at Kaptu. Kaptu kept on skiing.