The Hunt (The Hunt 1)

Sissy has withdrawn into silence. With quick sideways glances, I catch only her lips, tightly drawn, her eyes squinting against the rain. Strands of her hair are matted down against her forehead, cutting diagonally across her face. A howl sounds across the plains, disconcertingly close. She looks at me and I nod.

She straps the FLUN around my back, grips the other FLUN in her hand tightly.

A snarl hisses, joined by a phalanx of other snarls and jaw snaps. Not behind but now adjacent to us.

Sissy disengages the safety switch.

Thunder rumbles, a deep reverberation in the skies. I snap my head up, suddenly hopeful.

A howl breaks out, filled with displeasure.

And then lightning strikes across the skies, a harsh, overpowering flash. The land is instantly illuminated in an embossed black and white, the eastern mountains riven with black crevices, the river reflective like melted silver. I shoot my head for a look backward, and in that millisecond before the land plunges into darkness again, I see them: an endless number streaming towards us, momentarily flattened like cards against the ground, cowering from the lightning. But so many. So close. A stone’s throw away. Their eyes shining in the glare, fangs glistening.

A violent clap of thunder explodes, shaking the land. It rumbles away, and in its stead, the cries of agony and anger. They’ve all been blinded. By the lightning. That’ll buy us maybe one more minute.

“Did you see it?” Sissy yells at me, her hand suddenly gripping my arm. “Did you see it!”

“I know, I know, but don’t worry—”

“The boat!” she shrieks, and she’s jumping up and down. “I saw it, I saw it, it’s really there!” She spins around, yelling to the others, “I saw the boat, it’s right in front—”

The carriage suddenly hits a mud patch; the wheels sink into the sludge and get caught. Sissy goes flying in the air, disappearing into the night. I’m flung off the seat as well; my feet catch the railing in front, cutting short my trajectory. I land on the horse, his back slick with sweat and rain.

The whole world is spinning as I pick myself up. Where is up, where is down, left, right, north, south, everything has become intermingled and indifferent. The sound of a young boy crying to my right: Ben. I run over to him, pick him up out of the mud. Like me, he’s all covered in it.

“Ben! It’s OK! Does anything hurt? Did you break anything?”

The sound of growls, the snapping of teeth, drawing close.

Ben’s not saying anything, but he’s looking at me and shaking his head. I pick him up. “We have to move. Sissy! Where are you?”

A short flicker of lightning, briefly illuminating the landscape. Too short to see anything but the hepers, all picking themselves up off the ground. Except Sissy, farthest away, still lying in the mud. I run to her as a peal of thunder ripples across the skies.

“You’ve got to get up, Sissy! We’ve got to move.” She’s groggy, but I stand her on her feet. “Sissy!” I yell, and her eyes snap to. Panic and fear clears out the cloudiness in them.

“Where is everyone? Are they OK?” she asks.

“They’re fine, we’ve got to get going. Point us to where the boat is!”

“No! Our supplies, the FLUN, we need them!”

“There’s no time, they’re on us already!”

“We won’t survive without—”

Peals of hyena-like laughter rip towards us, so close that I can hear the individual intonations, the salivary wetness slung between syllables.

“Sissy! Listen to me,” I shout, pointing at the other hepers, “they won’t listen to me. Only to you. Make them run for the boat. Make them—”

A flash of lightning lights the sky and wet land. I see it, the boat, blessedly close by, a hundred yards away. But then I see the teeming masses.

They are already upon us. Even in the short flash, I see their pale, glistening figures bounding towards us with frightening speed, like skipping stones.

In the flash of lightning, they all flatten against the land, like the quills of a porcupine in retreat, howling with anger.

“Now, Sissy!” I shout.

But she’s already running, already gathering up the others, urging them on. I take after them, racing, the muddy ground squelching beneath me. The mud sucks eagerly at my shoes like kisses of death, turning my speed into slow motion.

Darkness again. Then peal after peal of thunder rumbling the sky. Slivery shouts of desire rain down on us again.

They’re coming.

I hear the wet sludge of mud being stepped on behind me. Whispers, whispers, whispers, breathing at my neck.

“Dear God!” I shout. Words I have not uttered in years, words I used to say every night to my mother, her eyes soft with kindness, my clasped hands enfolded by hers. Words forgotten, embedded so deep in me, only the shovel of abject fear dislodges them. “Dear God!”

It is not a single strike of lightning that lights the sky, but a network of intersecting flashes that rips across the dome of the world. So bright that even I am blinded momentarily, the whole world bleached an impossible white. But I don’t stop running, even as my eyes close. Because I can still see the boat, its negative image singed in my shut eyes, black and white.

“Don’t stop, keep going!” I shout, even as the howls of anguish and pain break out all around us. When I open my eyes, I’m at the dock. “Over here!” I shout before I realise they’re all ahead of me, running down the dock, their feet echoing hollowly on the wooden boards. I race down after them. They’re jumping into the boat, Sissy already throwing off the anchor rope, Epap manning a long pole curiously hooked at the top, to push away from the shore.

Because I’m bringing up the rear, I’m the only one who can see what’s wrong. What is so terribly wrong.

I spin around, trying to see up the dock. It’s too dark.

“Get in!” Epap shouts at me. “What are you waiting for?”

I bend my knees to jump in, pause.

“Get in!”

And I’m frozen in place, unable to push off my legs. I spin around again. The dock is still empty.

The howls of anguish are building. Soon they’ll be on their feet again. On us in mere seconds.

“Start without me,” I shout. “Keep going, I’ll catch up with you!”

“No, Gene, leave the horse, don’t be stupid—”

But I’m already sprinting up the dock.

Small flashes of lightning, aftermaths of the apocalyptic one, sweep across the sky. Enough to keep them at bay for a few seconds more, to give me the light I need to see.

There. In front of the carriage. Not the horse.

But Ben.

Frantically working the reins, trying to untie it, his face covered in mud except where rain and tears have smeared it away. His mouth is open, and random odd sounds escape: “Ahh ahh no no please ugg . . .”

I grab him by the chest and heave him over my shoulders even as I spin around to race back to the dock. As I do, he undoes the last knot, and the horse breaks free. Its eyes are bulging with fear; it’s ready to bolt. An idea comes to me; I grab the reins before the horse can get away.

From around me, I hear the sloshing of mud, mewling sounds of desire.

I throw Ben atop the horse.

Piercing, ear-shattering screams fall all around me. Behind me, behind me, they’re leaping for me.

I bend my leg, readying to mount the horse.

The horse shoots off into the dark, leaving me behind. I see Ben clinging around its neck for dear life, then they quickly disappear into the darkness.

I grab the FLUN strapped around my neck, disengage the safety.

Primal screams fill the air.

I start sprinting, hands at the ready on the FLUN, head turned back, on the watch. Don’t get disoriented, don’t lose your bearings. I shade closer to the riverbank on my right.

Be quick.

I steal a look backward. Dark shapes bob like floats in a pool, a wave of them flowing t