Big Game

Jonathan



Candy returned thirty minutes after the sun rose. She arrived cold and exhausted, but full of information. The vampires are no help in the daylight, and Eric, Pat and I prepare to slip through the tunnels to track and capture the hunters. We're each armed with tazers and zip-cords to secure and bring them back for questioning.



Kotsana ranted to kill them on sight, and had to be sedated by the doctor in an upstairs guestroom. Romeo's pack isn't too thrilled with not being included on our upcoming venture, but since they can't access the tunnels or get past the sniper rifles it's a moot point.



Weak sunlight from a cloud-filled sky casts an odd half-light to the outdoors. Approaching these bastards like men, face-to-face, is the only way to subdue them without injury. Pat bitched the entire way here about wanting to put a cap in their asses, too. Shouting he'd like to see how they liked it. His complaining was more for our amusement than anything else.



I don't doubt his integrity. He'll stay the course. Besides, we aren't carrying guns. Despite the possible danger, I feel light-hearted and unafraid. We're on our land-frozen tundra that it may be-and we're going to take it back from the demented bastards aiming to kill us.



As we approach the first location Candy showed us on the map, I signal for the other two to fan out. Adrenaline washes through my system, bringing my wolf senses and instincts closer to the forefront. The yearning to rip and kill runs just below the surface, like a caged beast eager for the slightest provocation to lunge.



Our steps through the brush are slow, measured, and quiet to not reveal our location. Ahead, behind a tall bush, I see the darker shadow of a man. He's covered on all sides by branches, and if I hadn't approached from the right angle, thanks to Candy's direction, I could have easily missed him.



I reach the edge of the scrub and whistle softly. The camouflaged man whips around at the noise, his rifle caught in the branches, a surprised look on his face. My fist snaps forward and cold clocks him once, hard. He goes down like a bag of rocks, as Eric and Pat rush forward, no pretense at stealth needed anymore.



We manhandle the guy out of the bush and roll him over, zipping together his wrists then ankles. Pat takes great glee in biting off a length of duct tape and slapping it over the man's slack mouth.



"That's one bitch down and two more to go. Boo-yah!" His fist pumps through the air.



We search his pockets and disarm him of all weapons, taking clips and knives with us. Eric smashes the hunter's radio and leaves it next to the man's former hiding spot.



"Hustle his body back to the cabin and put him face down on the floor," I say to Eric. "Pat and I will go to the next location, okay?"



"Yeah, sure. Meet you soon." He hefts the unconscious man over his shoulder and runs back the way we came.



"How 'bout letting me take point on this one?" Pat asks, the eager light of the chase in his eyes.



I open my mouth to agree, but something holds me back. The first catch may have been easy, but if anything happens with the next two, I don't want either pup in the direct line of fire. I shake my head. "Not this time. Let's stick to the plan for now."



"Yeah, fine. You're a fucking glory hound is all. Admit it." The crooked-nose bastard smiles and ducks into the woods before I can reply.



I laugh softly and move to catch up. We walk side-by-side, loping deep into the tundra to search for the next hunter. According to Candy, this one is hanging out in a deep fissure where the land pushed up on a frost upheaval.



Forty-five minutes pass before we work our way up behind the guy. The crack in the frozen ground he's hiding appears long and narrow. I step too close to the brittle edge and slip, sending a rock cascading down the interior.



The sound isn't loud, but it's enough to alert the man to our presence. He leaves his rifle on its secure mount and grabs his radio while turning to investigate. He's a mirror image of the first camouflaged guy, slightly bigger with a scraggily, brown beard. He spots me as I try to halt my slide.



One gloved finger punches the radio button and he screams, "Greg, they found me!" He drops the radio and fumbles for his sidearm.



I dive to the bottom of the shallow ravine, watching him take aim. Scrambling to stay moving, I launch myself to the opposite slopping dirt wall, right as the hunter squeezes off the first shot. The bullet misses by several feet and the steaming muzzle takes aim again.



Pat drops onto the hunter from above. The young Were shoves his tazer into the back of the man's neck, zapping him before another shot flies.



The big guy jerks and drops, proving no matter the size, a tazer makes a great equalizer. Eric runs up while we're securing the man's spasming limbs. The sharp, astringent scent of urine fills the air, and a dark, wet spot grows on the front of the unconscious man's pants.



I smile up at Pat. "You used the tazer, you haul the wet one."



He shrugs, unperturbed by the thought, still smiling from taking the man down.



"But it'll have to wait," I say. "You heard the guy. He's already informed the third man we're out here. The advantage is we know where he is and he doesn't know it. Let's get there-and be on the lookout for him heading this way."



The high from successfully stopping the first two hunters feels tight with tension. My slip on the stones almost earned me a slug. While I'd easily heal from a regular bullet that didn't hit my heart or head, I have no desire to test the werewolf ability against silver rounds.



As Jerry illustrated last fall when shooting Ivan, the silver bullets aren't accurate over long distance. If one of the Army's best snipers lands a shoulder wound at a hundred yards, instead of the headshot he was aiming for, you know the accuracy is lacking.



The young Weres run beside me across the tundra. Last night's freezing temperatures still hold, making the cold air burn our lungs with each breath. In a blur of brown and green, Pat breaks to the right and Eric to the left. I take the lead as we close in, under a mile from the last hunter's location.



The uneven terrain shifts day to day, often surprising those of us familiar with its quirks. I slow my pace when I spot the recent frost upheavals, unwilling to fall into one holding a steel trap like Naomi did. The dead grasses reach chest high in some patches, making it hard to discern the swift moving Weres flanking me.



A grunt off to the left pulls my attention, the soft noise dying away almost as quick as it sounded. This close to the third hunter, I don't want to risk calling out Eric's name, so I angle in the direction I last saw him, jogging silently over the terrain.



After about fifty yards, I find him. He lies on the ground, cradling his ankle in both hands. He looks up and motions to a deep hole near his feet. "Broke my ankle. Snapped like a dry twig."



"Stay down and stay quiet," I say, eyeing the bone sticking through his sock. Compound fractures hurt like a bitch, but the young man holds the pain in without complaint.



Eric nods, assuring me to go, and starts to collect twigs and grasses. "I'll brace it the best I can until the doc can get to it."



"We'll loop back and get you after we take down the last one." I get twenty feet when the familiar sound of a round being chambered in a rifle whips my head up.



The last lone hunter stands less than fifty feet away. Dressed like the other two in camouflage and cold weather hunting gear, he's holding a long-range rifle to his shoulder. His sites are set square on my chest. At this distance he could make a big hole in me.



I raise my hands to show I'm unarmed. "Hey man," I call out. "Do you know you're hunting on private property?" I casually walk to my left, away from Eric, drawing the man's aim with me.



"I know what you are," the hunter says.



I shrug, trying to stall as long as I can, hoping Pat hears our voices and flanks behind him. "I'm just a man out here walking."



"No, you're not. You're an abomination." He lowers his cheek to the stock preparing to squeeze the trigger.



I lunge to the side as the crack of the large caliber ricochets across the tundra. Fire blooms in my shoulder, the force of the bullet spinning me around. The burning pain associated with silver courses through my veins, ripping an involuntary scream from my lungs. As I fall to the ground, I hear scuffles from the direction the hunter stood. Blackness creeps in, obscuring my vision as the sucking agony steals my consciousness.