Rae

Cash was antsy. I didn’t need to be with him to know. His energy laced the wind in my face, I could taste him on the winter drizzle, and it left me impatient for the day to be over so I could get back to him. Lord help any wanker who got in my way.

It took a moment for me to correct myself. Cash had made his position plain, and the shut down part of me had accepted it. Understood it, even. The rest of me would just have to deal.

Paradoxically, hunt day made that easier. Sprig and I ran a loop of the woodland, on alert for any sight or sound that a pursuit had begun. It was cold, and frosty. The uneven ground made my ankles ache, and I welcomed the distraction, absorbed the sensation of my heart pounding for a different reason, and threw myself, body and soul, into our mission.

Half an hour later, Cash came on the radio, shattering the illusion that I could get through today without him making me weak at the knees.

“This shit isn’t right,” he growled.

His tense voice did odd things to me, always, but he had a point. We were on our third circuit and had found nothing except a strong scent of citronella that we’d gladly added to. Scouts had radioed in every ten minutes, confirming no activity at local hunting stables, and there was still no sign of the hounds. Where the fuck was Goon and his band of merry killers? It was almost as though he’d picked up his hunt and moved it—

Fuck, no.

I skidded to a stop and pulled out my phone, jabbing Cash’s contact listing with my thumb until the call went through, thankful we both had service

“They’ve moved it,” I blurted before he had a chance to speak. “Think about it—the Bucks sabs came over to help us today because their hunt never runs the last week in November. Goon’s knobbed off and borrowed their land, knowing we’d all be over here waiting for him. That’s where the hounds are, in the next fucking county—”

“Rae.” Cash cut me off as Sprig jogged up beside me. “Slow down and say all that again so Meg can hear you.”

I repeated myself, for Sprig’s benefit as well as Cash and Meg, with less expletives to save time. “We’ve gotta go,” I said. “We’ve got to round everyone up and go.”

Cash agreed and hung up. I turned to Sprig. “Sab on, let’s move.”

We raced back to camp. Cash was already there with the van, and a couple of furious Bucks sabs in tow. “I left Meg with the police,” he said. “Fletch too, distraction tactic. If we hit these wankers mid hunt, it’s gonna get messy. We don’t want the old bill involved.”

“Where do they think you went?”

“Home. Me and Meg faked an argument about it being too cold to fuck around in the woods. Think I got away with playing the lazy son.”

“Nice.”

“Is it?”

Cash’s grim expression was different to anything I’d ever seen in him before, as if he’d stepped up a gear. Though I’d fought for it from the start, it scared me. “Police might already be there,” I said. “If the Beds and Bucks forces have communicated on this.

A Bucks sab shook his head. “Fat chance, and not on our patch. I don’t know what you lot have done to warrant so much attention, but we’re lucky if a PCSO rocks up to our hunt.”

Lucky wasn’t a word I’d ever used on hunt days.

Cash drove like a rally driver across the county, following the direction of the Bucks sabs, who knew the rural shortcuts. A journey that should’ve taken forty minutes by road, was done in twenty-five, thanks in part to the huge, obnoxious wheels Cash had fitted to the van when he’d convinced himself this life wasn’t for him.

We parked in a layby, and as soon as my feet hit the ground, the racket of an on-going hunt slammed into my senses.

There was no time to do anything but follow the orders Cash and the lead Bucks sab had cobbled together on route. I wasn’t used to being sidelined, but this was war, and if Cash wanted to be my general, I wasn’t gonna stop him.

We split into teams of two, each with a sab from each county. I got partnered with a hard-as-nails Scottish bloke, Sprig with a dude that was pretty much their version of me, while Cash shot off with a young woman who moved like lightning.

They charged over the hill, literally chasing down the horses, leaving the rest of us to engage the quad bike gangs, and distract the hounds. Sprig’s team spotted the quads first. I turned my back on them, shouted to my partner, and ran west of the direction Cash had taken in the hope of cutting straight into the hound pack’s path.

I lost sight of Cash, and was fleetingly glad of it. We were all in danger right now, and watching him get hurt would’ve been the biggest distraction of all.

My partner shouted in the wind. “Sab! Sab! Sab! On your six!”

I whirled around, grateful for the caution of rarely using each other’s names in the field. A hunting horn sounded, signalling that the hunt was following a scent, and the hound pack appeared behind me.

Adrenaline propelled me forward. A flash of auburn fur streaked through my peripheral vision, and every negative emotion I’d ever had morphed into anger so bright a red haze descended over my vision.

Horses followed the hounds into the next field, leaping the hedges in their path. My body burned to intercept them, to rip riders from their mounts and inflict on them the kind of pain they called sport, but that wasn’t my job today. The hounds were mine.

I called to my partner. “Sab! Follow me.”

We doubled back and leapfrogged a stile, putting everything on the fleeing fox shooting through the hedge by the stream. Still undetected by the hunt, we crouched in the brambles.

I grabbed my partner’s coat sleeve. “On my call.”

He nodded. “Aye.”

A moment later, a bolt of orange dashed past my feet—a young vixen, still tearing the ground up. Hope hit me, and as the hounds came up on us, we burst from the bush, hollering and waving, and threw ourselves into the pack.

My wingman produced two freezer bags of raw meat. The scent hit my vegetarian nose like sewage on a hot summer day, and the first wave of dogs fell on him, frantic, as if they hadn’t been fed in days.

The scenario was too likely for me to contemplate for long. I turned away from my partner and ran a wide circle, driving the rest of the pack towards him, praying he had enough meat to keep them occupied.

Hooves thundered behind me. I glanced over my shoulder. The hunt was approaching fast, Goon at the front, flanked by two red coats. A sea of tweed, blue, and black was close on his tail, and for the first time all day, fear hit me. There was no way this was just one hunt—the Bucks hunt had run after all.

Bastards.

I sprinted towards the last wave of straggling hounds, no longer coherent enough to drive them to the impromptu chicken feast the others were having, just desperate to disband them too much for Goon to regain control.

The ground seemed to shake beneath me. Goon and his crew hurdled the final hedge, heading straight for me. I waved my arms and stood my ground, bracing myself for impact, but they never reached me.

A furious shout rang out above the tattoo of horse hooves. Cash charged into the field, his partner a heartbeat behind him. He shouted again, caught Goon’s boot, and pulled the bastard from his horse.

***

Cash

A fist fight with Goon hadn’t been on today’s bucket list, but on hunt day we had to be ready for anything, including a row with an out of shape and out of luck master of the hunt.

Goon fell like a sack of shite, but scrambled quickly to his feet to avoid his pals riding over him. I could’ve run away, but the masochist in me stood my ground, almost as though I wanted him to hit me. As though the pain of a good hiding would drum some sense into me.

Trouble was, the conclusion I longed for was one I’d already put down. Add in the fact that Goon couldn’t swing a punch to save his life and I was fresh out of luck.

I dodged his clumsy blows, then his horse got between us. Goon roared and grabbed a thick branch from the ruined hedge, swinging it like a madman. His horse shied badly, stumbling over the soft ground. Its pained whinny broke through the madness consuming me, and I caught its reins, tugging it gently from Goon’s path. “Seriously? That’s how you’re gonna play it? Attack your own horse to get to me?”

“Irish filth,” Goon spat, lunging for the reins. “Your lot course hares on my land all the time. Go back to your fucking caravan.”

I laughed, sidestepping his inelegant attempts to reclaim his horse. Like I gave a toss if he thought me a Traveller. He was halfway right, and I was damn fucking proud. “Try again, old man. Hurt this horse, I dare you.”

Goon’s wingmen rode up on us. One dismounted, and I braced myself for a tag team attack, but the red coat grabbed Goon, tearing the heavy stick from his hand and chucking it away.

“Are you fucking mad? That horse is worth twenty grand at stud. Leave this little prick. The rest of the hunt will ride right over him.”

The main pack of riders had escaped my attention. For the first time since we’d set foot on the Buckinghamshire land, I had no clue where the fleeing fox, the hound pack, or the sabs on ground were, either. I didn’t even know where my partner was. Silence hit me; no baying hounds or pounding hooves. A distant horn sounded and I realised with a start that while I’d been brawling with Goon, the hunt had moved on, taking everyone—taking Rae—with it.

Fuck. I dropped the horse’s reins and set off at a sprint, pumping my already exhausted limbs. My bandana cut into my face, making it hard to catch the cold air. My lungs burned, my chest tight. Throwing my last caution to the wind, I ripped it over my head and tossed it aside.

A rider charged me, knocking me off balance with a glancing blow. I stumbled, my ankle twisting, but somehow stayed on my feet. Veering left, I made for a kissing gate that led to a field with hedges too high for horses to jump. Another rider came at me. A crop whipped through the air and struck my shoulder, painting my skin with fire.

I laughed again, manic and wild. Call me a freak, but that kind of pain did it for me. In different circumstances, I’d have been begging for more. I wonder—

Unbidden, Rae’s face flashed into my mind. I’d seen him with the hounds, running rings around them while his partner got down in the dirt. For a brief moment, I’d been lost in the graceful way his long, lithe body ate up the ground. He moved like he wrote, a brutal poetry, and for blissful seconds, there’d been only him.

Then Goon had ridden into my eyeline, and now we were here. The crop struck me again, catching my thigh. Filthy pain bit into my skin, and sunk into my muscle. Dead leg spread through me. The kissing gate was a few strides away, but it was too far.

My knees began to buckle. I braced myself to tuck and roll, jockey style, in the hope I wouldn’t break every bone in my body, but then an angel appeared in the shape of the slight Welsh girl I’d been partnered with. She climbed the gate, leaving enough room for me to career past her, and hurled a bucket of wet shit in Goon’s face.

Safely in the next field, I grabbed her hand. We ran away laughing.

***

Her name was Petra. She had raven hair, alabaster skin, and the dirtiest laugh I’d ever heard.

Leg throbbing, I followed her through woodland too dense for horses until we came to an old shack close to the main road.

“Our rally point,” she said. “There’s zero phone signal round here—the rich twats in the villages keep blocking the mast proposals—so one way or another, we’ll all end up here.”

Fair enough. We’d lost sight and sound of the hunt, so we sat in the open door of the shack, keeping a sharp ear out for approaching footsteps.

Petra shivered and huddled against the wall. “Your crew’s pretty intense. I recognise the other two, but I haven’t seen you before. I usually hang with the monitors, though. That’s probably why.”

“Nah, I’m new. I’ve only been out with Rae a couple of times, never the whole gang.”

“Seriously? I thought you were the boss.”

“Nope. Just a loud mouth.”

Petra giggled, teeth chattering as adrenaline faded, leaving cold and hunger in its place. “A pretty good loud mouth, then. Fred’s our lead man. He’s okay, but he flaps. We’d never have got here in time without you.”

“In time for what?”

She shrugged. “For whatever went down.”

A shiver of my own passed through me, but not from the arctic chill blasting through the shack. Instead, uncertainty had a party with my already frayed nerves and I got up, limping to the doorway to scan the horizon for the hundredth time. The hills and fields were quiet and at barely three-thirty, we were losing light. Wondering turned to fretting. If Sprig and Rae lost their partners, they wouldn’t know to come here, and I had the keys to the van.

I pulled out my phone. As Petra had warned, I had no coverage, and barely any battery. Anxiety clawed at my chest. The day faded away and a murky dusk crept in.

“They’ll be here,” Petra promised, but I didn’t believe her.

I stayed rooted to my spot, chewing my lip, until footsteps and voices drew me up straight.

Petra stood and appeared at my side. She let out a birdcall and an answer came a moment before four figures emerged from the trees. I recognised Rae from the set of his shoulders alone, slumped and desolate. I’d never seen him defeated before, but I knew him.

One look at his shadowed face confirmed my worst fears: we’d lost the day.