Fight (Book Three, the Hunted)

by Patti Larsen

  An enormous rottweiler collapses on top of Reid, panting out a gush of white foam as it dies. He shoves it free, scrambling around for more of the drug. The tubes are lost to him in the mix of flickering fire and darkness. He scrambles about, looking up just in time to see a hunter coming his way, and panics.

  Reid’s fingers brush over plastic as he reacts, grabbing the tube as he leaps forward and runs on. And on, leaving the fire behind, the shouting, dying soldiers. He spots a flicker to his right and looks, instincts still in control.

  Leila is running, a hunter right behind her. Reid’s heart swells and explodes outward, his rage giving him the strength he needs.

  “Hey, freak!” He waves his arms, sees Leila’s shocked face turn to him, but more importantly, catches the attention of the hunter. “I’m right here!”

  It leaves her, comes after him. He laughs, terror trying to find a hold. But he is beyond that, past all feelings except the anger that consumes him and drives him onward.

  Only the sound of her voice has any impact. “REID!”

  It’s too late, he’s drawn the fire to him, and he’s ready to be burned.

  A rush of rightness fills his body as he passes through the gate. The familiar sight of the fence heartens him for some reason. Reid turns right immediately and follows the inside edge of the chain link barrier. He sees other kids up ahead, some darting through the trees, others spinning and killing hunters with the tubes of death they carry. He laughs again.

  His body fails him the first time when he is barely fifty steps inside the perimeter. He stumbles, nearly falls, feels the rush of a hunter’s attack just miss him as he goes down. The thing spins to attack but too late. Someone dives from the tree line and throws a tube in its face. Reid looks up, sees Milo salute.

  Reid is about to thank him when the boy spins, fear killing his cockiness, and runs off again.

  Saved, for now. His luck hasn’t abandoned him completely yet. Reid makes it to his feet and heads out again.

  He hears the screams of kids around him, heart cracking with every cry, wards off a small flying bundle that attacks him out of nowhere, reflexes just fast enough to dash the thing to death against a tree.

  He stops. Looks. A small pile of dust. Reid crouches immediately, gathers the precious stuff into the palm of his hand. This will save his life, give him the power he needs to finish the job. He needs it, wants it so much, knows he can save them if he just gives in and lets the darkness take him over again.

  Reid’s hand is shaking as he tips it, the powder drifting from his palm to the ground. No more. He decides to live or die as himself.

  He thinks his father would approve.

  As he stands to run again, he hears Leila screaming his name. Reid spins, trying to find out where she is, how to get to her, when her last cry is cut off suddenly. With finality.

  Reid’s heart breaks for the last time.

  There is nothing left for him if she is gone. Everything in him demands he turn around, save her if he can, but he is sure she is already dead.

  He feels them around him, knows the hunters are coming even without his hyper senses. His friends have failed, he has failed. And there is only one thing left for him to do.

  They have indeed trained him well. Reid runs.

  ***

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Reid crashes through the underbrush, knowing in his bones he is barely ahead of his pursuers. He can’t hear them but he knows they are there, sees flickers of shadow deeper than the dark. He clutches his right hand to his chest, the precious tube held close, hiding it from them as best he can, keeping it sheltered until he can use it to the best effect.

  If they find out about it, know of it, he is lost. It’s his last line of defense. And once it is gone, he is done. He has no other way to fight back. So he runs on and hopes he can take enough with him that it makes a difference.

  Reid fully expects to die tonight, lost in the darkness, with no one left to save or mourn him because his friends will all be dead, too.

  His body fails him the second time, blood loss making it more and more difficult to breath and focus and run. He stumbles over a tangled mass of brush, crumpling to the ground. Reid howls in agony, his left thigh on fire. He jerks back on reflex, looks down, the moonlight shining on a broken branch slick with his blood. A puncture the size of a silver dollar oozes black liquid from his leg.

  Reid staggers upright, tries to run, but the damaged muscle won’t obey him. He is forced to drag himself forward, using the surrounding trees for stability, his useless left leg screaming pain until he can’t ignore it.

  It’s finally happening. Reid is dying.

  He hears them chuffing now, their deep and horrible voices calling to each other. They are all around him, taunting him with just enough noise he flinches and jerks every time. Reid scans the trees as best he can, desperate for a place to make a stand, his last chance to take them with him when he goes.

  There. Up ahead. A large and lumpy shadow waits for him. Reid’s lungs protest as he drives himself forward, throwing his body against the moss-covered rock. He hops in a half circle, pressing his back to it, the precious tube still clutched to his chest as he pants his heavy breaths into the night.

  They ooze out of the darkness to face him, four of them, smiling their shark smiles, silver eyes gleaming in the moonlight. The leader snarls at Reid, taps its teeth together. Licks its slick claws, wet with something Reid knows must be the blood of one of his friends.

  White spots dance around the edges of his vision as his terror finally returns, driving his heart to beat even faster, forcing the blood from his wounds so quickly he can’t stay upright. The weakness is like a disease, eating away at his physical strength but more than that. It attacks his resolve, his need to kill the hunters. As his life leaves, his fear fades away again. He crumples to his knees, sliding down the soft moss with a whisper of sound. He grunts as he hits the ground, the pain bringing him back, briefly.

  They watch him fall, witness his defeat and laugh at him in their harsh and haunting voices. Reid can’t feel his legs anymore, or his fingers. He knows there is something important in his hand but he can’t remember what it is or why it’s so vital he act.

  Before he can figure it out, his world fades toward black as the hunters close in around him.

  ***

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Luck has one last pass to offer. As Reid slumps sideways, something digs into the cut on his side, the pain jerking him into consciousness.

  He sees them hovering over him, licking their obscene lips and shark teeth, reaching for him with their shining claws. His vision is split, wavering, doubled and as crippled as he is. Reid’s fingers clench as they fall on him, the survivor in him remembering at last what the tube is for.

  The plastic cracks under his final order to his fingers. Reid is amazed they obey him but grateful, too. He’s done his best. It has to be enough.

  It is. The hunters die around him, collapsing on top of his failing body, their faces horrible in their renewed humanity, white foam gushing out of their wide-open mouths. Reid shudders back from them but doesn’t have the energy or the control over his limbs to push them away.

  Still, he’s done it. They are dead and he is alive. At least, for however long he can last with his life draining into the soft earth of the forest. His right hand falls, the tube dropping away, his fingers finding the thing that jabbed him into wakefulness.

  A sharp stick, broken off, possibly from his fall. His fingers close convulsively, without him asking, the rough edges welcome against his palm, just nice to have something real to hang onto while his life comes to an end.

  That’s when he sees he was wrong. A shadow falls over him, a pale face in his as the last hunter crouches. He missed one. The last survived, now grins at him, sharp teeth so close Reid can smell the blood on its breath.

  “You were to be one of us, baby brother.” That harsh and guttural voice. He knows this hunter. Fr
om the tent, the one Dr. Lund spoke to. This one nodded to him, knew what Reid had done.

  “Not any more.” Reid is surprised he can speak, that he has the energy to get the air past his lips when his lungs feel so very heavy. “I’m free of you.”

  It watches him for a moment. One clawed hand reaches out, touches his leg. It lifts the smear of blood, licks it slowly.

  “You could be with us again. Our numbers are few, thanks to the drug you carried.” It doesn’t sound angry. On the contrary. There is a deadly practicality to these hunters that Reid can’t help but admire in the end.

  Not that it’s changed his mind. He’s happy to be human again, even if that means he has to die.

  “And be like you?” Reid tries to laugh, feels it building inside him, the need to, but is finally out of strength. “Never.”

  It nods once. “We will find others then,” it says. “Brothers and sisters to strengthen our race. But none of that matters now. You won’t be here to see it.”

  Reid waits for it to kill him but it just sits there on its haunches, silver eyes watching.

  “What are you waiting for?” He distinctly hears Drew’s voice, so long ago it seems, and yet only days past. Telling Reid he doesn’t want the hunters to eat him. Reid isn’t sure he cares anymore.

  The hunter grins. “Your death,” it says. “Slow and painful. So much better than I can do.”

  “I thought you wanted me to join you.” Reid coughs gently, fingers again clasping around the broken branch beside him.

  “Only the strong survive. You’ve done me a favor, killing off the weak. Those that remain will improve our race.”

  “You’re not a race,” Reid says, anger rising despite everything. “You’re just like us. Only screwed up by some concoction made by a crazy lady.”

  The hunter twitches. “She will die for trying to control us.”

  “You idiot,” Reid says, “she’s one of you. Just better because she doesn’t wear a Halloween mask.” Reid’s sluggish mind makes the connection. “She gave you the horror show version while she gets to stay human.” He knows he’s right. Wonders what the world will be like in five years when she’s done with it.

  He is happy he won’t be around to find out.

  The hunter snarls and gnashes its teeth. “Shut up.”

  Reid’s fury pushes him over the edge of pain and weakness and into a well of strength he knows is the last of him.

  “Screw you.”

  The creature lunges forward, mouth gaping, claws extended. Reid feels both sets puncture his sides at the same time, the spiked talons sliding deep into his chest. He cries out even as he lifts the snapped branch and driving the shattered end into the hunter’s throat.

  It stills, stares down into Reid’s eyes, claws locked in his body, face almost pressed to his. Its silver eyes widen, the pupils contracting to the merest slits as its life ends.

  The hunter’s draws one last breath and exhales deeply into Reid’s face as it dissolves, the stink turning to dust that travels into Reid’s mouth and down into his punctured lungs. He feels it burning him, the rest of the hunter settling over his body, bits drifting into his wounds, and for a moment he wonders if it will save him. Or if he even wants it to.

  Reid tries to draw a breath, feels bubbling inside his chest, chokes, and stills as blood rushes up into his mouth. The hot liquid trickles out from between his lips, spilling over his chin, soaking the front of his shirt.

  He is only alive because of the dust, as it tries to heal him. But it is too late, far too late for that. Instead of repairing his wounds, filling him with the tingle he is used to, it does nothing. His body is cold and heavy and his vision is fading so fast he only has one second to look up and see the moon shining down on him.

  The dark and the pain swallow him up. Reid’s chest collapses inward as he breathes his last and dies, alone in the dark.

  ***

  Chapter Twenty Six

  He is on his feet. Everything is so clear around him, the sounds of the night painful to his sharp hearing. His eyes flicker to the side, catch the scurry of a small rodent through the underbrush, vivid, crystal sharp in more color than he has ever experienced.

  He takes a moment to breathe, to feel his lungs expand, far past the capacity he is used to, the final twinge of healing tissue almost pleasant in its pain. He looks down at his right hand, claws compact and horribly sharp while his left remains human. He doesn’t find this odd or strange. Never for a moment wonders why he is different from his brothers and sisters, that his skin tone is pink and healthy, not the washed out white of the others.

  He feels the strength of his body and the pure and utter joy of being alive and embraces it. This is what it is like to be perfect.

  The smell of blood is intoxicating. He looks down, sees three bodies, senses the soft organs within them, the tender tissue that will sustain him. He is on them immediately, talons raking them wide open, slicing out the slick livers, the delicious lungs and still-warm hearts.

  His meal is over quickly, the last of the blood licked from his claws and fingers with careful precision. He is up and focused so quickly he only registers as he acts the sounds of something approaching.

  A soldier bursts into view, rifle ready, pointed his way. He smiles, feeling his straight, strong teeth with the tip of his tongue, the taste of the soldier’s fear mingling with the flavor of his last meal.

  He is about to pounce when he feels others approaching. More soldiers. And others who smell so familiar he waits.

  He knows their faces, memories flashing through his mind. Milo with his fuzzy black hair and dark eyes. Cole the shining angel, looking even more so standing there, staring at him. Sarah and Nishka, hugging each other, unable to stop crying. Kieran looking brokenhearted. Marcus. And Leila. Shining Leila who whispers his name and holds out her hands to him.

  Only then does he understand and make a connection. He is something new. There is a difference about him they see clearly, though he knows only this body and this perfection and cares about only this new life he has been given.

  The sliver of him that remains Reid is overjoyed they are alive, just enough of an influence it keeps him from pouncing on them.

  They smell like dinner.

  He shakes his head at the pale girl who weeps and whispers his name while the guy beside her puts his arm around her. Jealousy is gone, love is no more. Maybe once, if given a chance, but not now.

  Not ever.

  He senses the change in the soldiers, the threat they offer, and laughs. They are so slow, too slow and he is powerful. Even as the rifles crack, the bullets fly, he is sliding through the darkness like a part of it. Over the girl’s soft pleas he hears the others calling to him, his siblings, his true pack. And while he is equipped to fight and created to kill, he has been trained to run.

  And he does, flying through the forest, feet skimming the ground, lungs full of the night air. He runs and cries out to his family in answer while his heart soars and he swears to himself he will keep running forever and never look back.

  # # #

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  ***

  Check out this sample of the exciting finale

  Book Four of The Hunted Series

  Hunt

  there’s nothing left to lose

  ***

  Chapter One

  The night air fills his lungs, silky and rich with aromas that drive him to ecstasy. Everything is alive around him, every sense wide open to embrace each gift. The wind rushing past the fine hairs on his arms and cheeks tingles, the scent of blood and hot flesh everywhere. The world is sharp and bright, details so crisp they take his breath away. He can taste the coming of the morning, the subtle shift in temperature as night gives way to the earliest trace of dawn.

  They are around him, his family, his true pack,
as beautiful to him as his freedom. Their silver eyes meet his for winks of time, shining chrome rims haloing gaping black, their pale skin glowing in his vision. Even their gleaming teeth, smiling at him, fill him with a surge of joy. He raises his clawed right hand, swipes at a passing sapling, feels the satisfying impact, the soft sigh of the falling top lost behind him as he runs on and on.

  Freedom is his, theirs, at last. He follows them toward the gate and the world outside. Their destiny sings in his very blood, calling for him to hunt.

  “Welcome, brother.” One of his siblings. She runs next to him, glittering chrome eyes cold fire in his hyper vision. “We bear witness to your victory.” His mind knows she isn’t speaking English but he understands her easily.

  Leadership comes easily and naturally to him. His whole body surges with the dust of his victory. “Send the message,” he says. “Nothing will stop us. Freedom is ours.” It’s like that need burns inside him, built into him somehow.

  Her shark teeth flash as she lifts her head and howls his command.

  The pack answers. The gathering is renewed. It is time.

  But something is wrong. A low thud of sound suddenly echoes from everywhere. He slides to a halt, head cocked, searching for the source of the low whup-whup. He knows that noise, what it means. The snarl of frustration that it tears from his throat is lost in the pounding whir of helicopter rotors. Bright light flashes in his eyes, sending piercing pain through his brain and forcing him back into the trees. Debris whips around the pack, sending them scattering in fury and dashed hopes as the chopper lowers closer, the bottom rails brushing the treetops. A patter of automatic gunfire tears holes in leaves and rips off chunks of bark all around him. One of his sisters takes a bullet and collapses in a sigh of dust.