Prey

by L. A. Larkin

  Wolfe can’t see either of them from the cabin. Hannah screams. Wolfe has missed her mark.

  Throwing open the passenger door, she scrambles out. Hands shaking, she reloads, then creeps around the rear of the now stationary vehicle, to avoid being blinded by the headlights. She peers around the corner. The man straddles Hannah. She fights him off, clawing at his mask. He raises the butt of his rifle and smashes it down into the woman’s face.

  ‘No!’ Wolfe yells.

  He throws himself to one side of the unconscious woman. Wolfe fires. His left arm jolts. He rolls, jumps up, and charges. She has no time to reload. Instead she swings it at his head. He ducks. Grabs her rifle. Yanks it from her grasp. Chucks it away. She unclips her metal water bottle from its carabiner and, gripping the plastic ringed stopper, swings it like a club at the man’s head. He blocks her with his arm, but stumbles backwards, his heel catching on a root or stone. He grabs her jacket and they both fall sideways into a dry ditch. She loses her grip on the water bottle. It rolls away. Too dark to see where. Wolfe scrambles out of the ditch. Her boot smacks into his discarded rifle. She recognises the H&K G28 semi-automatic from her time embedded with US Marines in Afghanistan. She scoops it up. Swivels and aims it at the ditch where her assailant was mere seconds ago. But he’s gone. She swings the rifle around, searching. No sign of him.

  With sickening clarity, she realises it can only be one person. He’s followed her here. He has a marksman’s rifle. He’s brutally attacked Hannah. And now he wants her.

  Samuel.

  Wolfe races to Hannah’s side. Her face is covered in blood. Wolfe checks for a pulse. Finds one and feels Hannah’s breath on her face.

  ‘Hannah, wake up,’ Wolfe whispers. Then peers around into the night. Where is he? Increasingly desperate, Wolfe shakes the injured woman. ‘Hannah! We have to go.’

  Hannah opens her eyes, but is unable to keep them open for more than a few seconds. Wolfe has to get her into the Land Rover. It’s their only chance. She grabs her under her arms. Wolfe is strong for her size, but Hannah is a dead weight. Wolfe struggles to lift her high enough to get the semi-conscious woman half onto the seat. There is a startling ding. The front bonnet. Shit! He has another rifle. But there was no report, so he must be using a suppressor. Wolfe ducks and shelters Hannah with her body, using her backpack with its bulletproof plate to shield the injured woman. Another bullet punctures a tyre and the vehicle lists to one side like a ship taking on water. He’s disabling their means of escape.

  Two more shots and the headlights go out.

  77

  Fear is paralysing. Freezes the mind and body. Wolfe can’t let her fear take over.

  Think methodically, that’s what Butcher would say. Wolfe takes stock of the situation. Apart from the moonlight, they have been plunged into darkness. Her go-bag is still on her back. She has a semi-automatic. If she drags Hannah into the bush, perhaps they can hide out long enough to be rescued? If Hannah lives that long. Wolfe doesn’t know how bad the woman’s injuries are. But she knows that Samuel will find them. He’s a professional.

  Wolfe spots the two-way radio inside the cabin. She lunges for the handset. With no idea which frequency to use, she presses the talk button.

  ‘Emergency. Help us. Gunfire. Hannah is injured. Section three, near the fence.’

  A bullet zings past her hand and smashes into the dashboard.

  Wolfe drops the handset. Ducks down. That was close. But he missed the radio.

  Wolfe pants. Picks up the handset again.

  ‘This is Olivia Wolfe, over. Emergency. Section three. Can anybody hear us? Hannah is badly injured. We’re being shot at…’

  The rapid thud of boots on hard ground, closing in on her. She sees him, the silhouette of a man running, rifle in hand. His legs and arms are skinny, but he’s bulky across the chest. Of course, he’s wearing a bulletproof vest.

  Wolfe’s hands are empty. The semi-automatic lies on the ground next to Hannah. A mistake. She scrambles out of the vehicle and dives for the G28. Her hands are soaked with sweat. She picks it up, hopes to God the magazine has bullets left, aims and fires. Samuel ducks behind some trees.

  Wolfe can’t leave Hannah behind. But she can’t save her if they are both taken. She’s a fast runner. Calculates the distance to Hannah’s house at a steady jog. Twenty minutes maybe. Too long.

  A new plan. She will lead Samuel away from Hannah.

  Wolfe jumps up and bolts towards a thicket. She is fit and agile. But she doesn’t know the terrain. She suspects he does. If she trips and falls, he’ll catch her. It isn’t long before she hears the snap of twigs and the thud of boots behind her. Good. If she can keep this up long enough, perhaps Hannah will come around and call for help? Wolfe almost topples over a clump of tall grass. She keeps going.

  Follow me, she thinks. Leave Hannah alone. Out of nowhere, she collides with a tree branch. Thorns cut her face and snag her hair. She protects her face with her arms and keeps going. But the low, spikey branches are treacherous and slow her down. Her only comfort is that it will also slow the man hunting her. Not far away, a dog barks. Poachers? She’d rather take her chance with them than the psycho hunting her. Wolfe veers right and follows the sound of barking.

  Peering into the blackness behind her, she sees only camel thorn trees. Twigs underfoot crack. He’s out there somewhere. Or is it a wild animal? The clump of trees comes to an unexpected end. She’s in open plain and tall grass. A sitting duck. She catches her foot on a termite mound and stifles a cry as her ankle twists at an awkward angle. She keeps running. The dog, if it was a dog, is now silent. To her left, something large moves slowly out of tree cover. Wide and three metres long, its head down, grazing. It snorts and looks up. The moonlight illuminates the female rhino’s two horns, one large, the other smaller. Then another rhino follows, and another. Despite Wolfe’s terror, she is momentarily in awe of their gentle majesty.

  An idea comes to her. It’s risky.

  Wolfe slows her pace. She doesn’t want to spook them. First the leader, then the other rhinos, lift their heads and look her way. Their eyesight is poor, but they rely on scent and hearing. Their ears twitch back and forth like elliptical satellite dishes searching for a signal. She tries to quieten her ragged breath. She wonders if they sense her fear. If they panic and run, she might be trampled. Wolfe creeps closer. A baby rhino grows skittish. It rushes forward, then seems to change its mind and hides behind its mother. Wolfe stops and waits, even though she desperately wants to keep moving.

  The rhinos shuffle forward in a tight group, then lower their heads and graze. The leader has a huge belly: could she be pregnant? She lifts her head and sniffs the breeze, then moves in Wolfe’s direction. The others do the same. Wolfe can’t believe her luck. Then she remembers she’s wearing Hannah’s coat. It carries Hannah’s scent. Hannah has looked after these rhinos since she took over the day-to-day management of the reserve twelve years ago. They feel safe with her. Wolfe stays still, hoping her own smell won’t cause them to turn and run. The leading rhino sniffs her and snorts, so close, she can feel the animal’s warm breath. Wolfe shifts into the middle of the group, their massive bulk hiding her from the assassin.

  78

  Samuel observes her through night-vision goggles from the seclusion of a clump of camel thorns. The goggles’ long-range infrared and thermal-sourcing capabilities means he can track not just Wolfe’s warm body, but even her hand and foot prints, normally invisible to the naked eye at night. Using them, he has navigated his way through the thorny trees without a scratch. Wolfe is fit, there’s no doubt, and, unlike other female victims, can control her fear. Fascinating. Her decision to hide amongst the rhinos is both daring and clever. He has no idea why the dumb creatures haven’t run away or even charged her. Perhaps because she isn’t afraid?

  Luck is on his side tonight. The crash of rhinos shifts in his direction, and Wolfe with them, ducking low in their midst.

  He considers Venter’s daug
hter lying unconscious where he beat her. He should have tied her up and gagged her. But there had been no time. When Wolfe bolted, he chose to pursue her. She is the ultimate prize. He wonders how long she will endure what he has planned for her? Minutes? An hour? Two at most. A soldier he once tortured screamed like a baby after fifty minutes, begging for death. That was a record. Most last a minute or two. Perhaps Wolfe will break that record?

  The rhinos are very close to Samuel now. Will Wolfe bolt when they reach the trees? Samuel raises his rifle, ready to shoot her in the legs if she does – just enough to incapacitate. The lead rhino stops, lifts its head, ears twitching. It turns away. What is the fucking thing doing? The other rhinos follow, upping the pace. Can they smell him? He has no choice but to wait. If he moves now, the beasts will hear him.

  Wolfe has her back to him. The wind has picked up, blowing across the arid open space, hitting her square in the face. He is downwind, so the rhinos won’t pick up his scent. If he creeps up behind her, she won’t see him approach. He looks down, planting each foot carefully, the shuffling of the animals’ giant hoofs masking any sound he makes. Perhaps the smallest rhino senses him? It moves away from the back of the group towards its mother, exposing Wolfe in the middle.

  His rifle is slung over Wolfe’s shoulder. Silly girl. She should have it in her hand. He is so close that if he stretches out his arm, he might just touch her. She has a fruity shampoo smell, mixed with deodorant and warm skin. No rancid stench of fear. Unable to resist, Samuel brushes his fingers across the very tip of the hair above her neck. Then retracts his hand fast.

  Wolfe brushes the back of her head with a hand, as if checking for an insect caught in her hair. Samuel smiles. Enough foreplay.

  Samuel draws his knife and bends down. He intends to cut the tendons in the back of her legs.

  She’ll collapse like a rag doll.

  Wolfe shudders, as if somebody has blown on the back of her neck.

  The baby rhino is skittish and runs from the back of the group to be closer to its mother. Why is it nervous when the others are calm? Wolfe snaps her head round and out of the corner of her eye, sees a human shape right behind her. Something dark and lumpy protrudes from his face, like he’s a robot. Has to be night-vision goggles. In his hand, a knife. He bends, aiming low. Wolfe spins round and kicks, smashing her boot into his goggles, knocking them off-centre. Samuel grunts as the solid equipment gouges his cheekbones. The force of the kick propels him to the ground. The rhinos scatter, leaving Wolfe alone. He recovers fast, throws the goggles to the ground and lunges at her legs with the knife, holding the weapon low.

  Wound, but don’t kill, Wolfe thinks. Samuel wants me alive.

  Wolfe jumps sideways, then tries to grip his knife hand, pushing it away from her. With his other hand he punches her stomach. Winded, gasping, she collapses to the ground. He grabs her hair and holds a hunting knife against her cheek.

  I will not die like this.

  Wolfe bites into his knife hand with every bit of strength she has. He yelps.

  So focused is she on the blade, she fails to see his fist swinging into the side of her face. A moment’s agony, then nothing.

  79

  Hide in plain sight. That’s one of Samuel’s tricks.

  Some years ago, after a particularly difficult kill, he hid in his victim’s home for two days while the police swarmed through it gathering evidence. When they’d packed up and left, he came out of his hiding place and simply walked away.

  He plans to hide Wolfe in plain sight. He’s selected the hut Hannah uses as a classroom for students and volunteers. The camp is empty. It’s miles from any habitation. Nobody will hear her cries. By the time anyone realises she’s missing, she will be dead, and he’ll be long gone.

  Samuel looks askance at Wolfe lying on the passenger seat next to him, blood dribbling from her mouth. On her forehead, several cuts from thorns. Red blood on white skin and black hair. He has his very own Snow White. That would make a good theme of his next artistic creation. Snow White in seven pieces. It has a certain ring to it.

  This is the first time since he began working for Nguyen that he’s taken a prisoner because he wants to. Not because he’s paid to. Which makes it all the more exhilarating.

  He drives past the largest hut where students and volunteers eat and socialise. It has a viewing deck which overlooks one end of the semi-circular watering hole. He keeps going. Past the rain water tank on stilts. Past the toilet block. He pulls up between two tents, hoping to keep his pick-up hidden. Somewhere in the distance a black-backed jackal whines, its call plaintive. The lecture hut is ahead. It overlooks the farthest end of the watering hole. At the water’s edge, some zebras are drinking, the white of their stripes seemingly reflecting the moonlight. When he opens his door, the screech startles them and they bolt.

  Samuel carries Wolfe into the classroom, kicking the unlocked door open. Chairs and benches are arranged in rows. At the front of the room are two whiteboards and a chunky, rectangular farmhouse table on heavy wrought iron legs in the shape of an X. One cross at each end. Placing Wolfe on the floor, her back to one of the X-shaped legs, he checks she’s still unconscious, then he uses handcuffs to secure her to the table. He smiles at the irony that she’s wearing Thusago’s handcuffs. He knew they’d come in handy.

  Confident she’s going nowhere, Samuel takes his time collecting his tools from the truck. He calls the duffel bag his surgeon’s bag, given most of the items inside are designed for surgical use. A second bag, hard-cased like a toolbox, contains syringes and drugs, chosen for their pain-inducing and hallucinogenic qualities. He particularly likes combining the mind-altering drugs with one that sends the body into agonising cramps, the victim’s limbs spasming uncontrollably.

  80

  Wolfe opens her eyes. Everything is monotone, dark, blurry. Something tickles her cheek. She imagines she hears the beat of wings. She moves her head to one side. Her jaw throbs but whatever was tickling her face has gone. The ground is dusty, smells of warm, old wood. She blinks. Where is she?

  Wooden panels above her. Too low to be a ceiling. Something cold and hard against her hands. Her hands? Above her head. She tries pulling them down. Muscles ache. The clank of metal on metal. Something sharp and cold cuts into her wrists. She tries again. Clink. Looking up, she waits for the rocking motion to pass. Focuses hard. Sees handcuffs encircling her wrists.

  Adrenaline rushes through her body.

  What does she remember? Gunshots. Hannah screaming.

  Samuel.

  She tries opening her mouth to scream. The stab of pain is intense. Is her jaw broken? The room rocks back and forth. The room? What room?

  She is his prisoner.

  She shifts her legs. No chains, she can move them freely. Where is Samuel? Is he in the shadows watching her? Why doesn’t he say something? Instead of pulling her arms down she stretches them out. Touches the wooden surface above her. Is it a table?

  In the distance, a car door creaks. Rusty hinges. His vehicle. He is nearby.

  She knows what he does to his victims. She’s seen the photos. She breaks out in a sweat, her heart pounding.

  I’m not his victim. I won’t be his victim.

  Wolfe tries to slow her rapid breathing. Think! You can get out of cuffs. You know how to do this.

  Wolfe pushes against the iron table legs. Something cushions her back. Lumpy. She still wears her backpack. Thank God. Her fingers pick at the strap over her right shoulder. It has what appears to be an overlap of fabric with a machine-sewn seam. She digs a fingernail under the flap and finds what she’s looking for. A lock-pick. Teases it from its hiding place. Breaks the single stitch that holds it in place. Don’t drop it.

  She can’t see the tiny keyholes in each cuff. She must do it by touch alone. She only needs to unlock one cuff, then she’s free. After several stabs, the pick finally slides into a hole in the left cuff. She struggles to grip the tiny pick between her slick fingers. Struggles to turn
it. Finally, a click. She pulls her left hand free.

  A car door slams shut and she almost yelps. He’s coming.

  Wolfe clambers up, using the table to steady herself. Fumbling in the semi-dark, she feels for a window latch, finds it, opens it wide, sees dirt on the other side. Head first, she wriggles through the narrow gap, landing in the dirt.

  She tries to get her bearings.

  At first Wolfe thinks she sees little cabins with pitched roofs, but these roofs sag and the walls flap in the breeze. Tents. To her right, ripples of moonlight dance on a waterhole. She knows this place. She flew over it two days ago. The volunteers’ camp. And it’s empty. She runs.

  81

  A smile stretches Samuel’s thin lips and a rush of anticipation warms him like a shot of whisky on a cold night. Wolfe is a worthy opponent. She must have had a lock-pick on her. Clever minx.

  Samuel does not have feelings in the way he understands others do. Anger and hatred he can do. Sexual arousal? Of course. Love? Compassion? Empathy? Never. They are weaknesses. Weaknesses that can be exploited. Admiration? He’s come close to it a few times. Samuel’s pretty sure he admired his father, although he’s never quite sure where fear ends and admiration begins.

  His victims always disappoint him. Not one has earned his admiration. But Wolfe shows potential.

  He leaves his two bags on the table and peers out of the open window. If she runs straight ahead, as they usually do, she’ll pass some tents and end up at the kitchen-dining hut. Beyond that, there’s very little. Open terrain. Nowhere to hide. From his toolbox he takes a filled syringe and pops it in a coat pocket. Checks his hunting knife is on the back of his belt. No more shooting. Too much risk the noise will carry and somebody will hear it.