Hunter

by ZZ Adams

  Hunter

  A Supernatural Thriller

  ZZ Adams

  Contents

  Foreword

  Hunter

  Afterword

  Also by ZZ Adams

  Foreword

  This is the prequel to Mindstorm, Book 1 of His Storm Blows Out the Light, our new YA dystopian science fiction series.

  Check out Mindstorm on Amazon.

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  To learn more about ZZ Adams (hint: there are two of us!), how we write and where this story came from, sign up to our mailing list and don’t miss a single update, release or freebie.

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  WWW.ZZADAMS.COM

  Hunter

  Erin Shaw nearly tripped in the strong gust of wind as she came out of the Campbell’s ancient, lichen-spotted castle. The frigid breeze buffeted the long grass around the sycamore trees, whipping along the outer stone wall. Fox, the deerhound, was set against the gale, looking out at the snowy highlands ahead. He seemed keen to run. Max, a springer spaniel, pissed against the wall.

  She whistled. “Come on, Max.”

  He finished his business and followed on behind her. Fox didn’t need such instruction. He was always keen to be at her side.

  Her feet crunched on the gravel drive as she walked around to the coach house. On the way, she pulled out her phone to call home, but there was no reception.

  It was a cold December day and she was fully kitted out in the hunting gear George had bought for her when she’d first arrived. It still felt crazy they were together, or even that they’d met at all. Mostly because of the age difference. Just after they had met and gone on their first date, nine months ago, her mother had strongly objected when she found out he was sixteen, but changed her mind once she’d met him and discovered he was aristocracy.

  No, that was unfair of her. Her mother had seen how they felt about one another. That was what had changed her mind—she’d known there was nothing to be done about a fourteen-year-old’s heart once it was set on its path. Besides, a two-year age difference didn’t seem like much to Erin. When they were together she didn’t even notice.

  The coach house sat opposite the stables. Both buildings were constructed of the same off-white stone as the castle, but made of smaller, rougher hewn blocks laden with the accumulated dirt of hundreds of years of history. It was a two-story affair, the upper rooms housing the stable boy and Murray, stablemaster and gamekeeper, who was sorting through a box of broken-down gun parts.

  The dogs ran to greet him, gathering around his feet and wagging their tails as they looked up at him.

  Murray patted them, whispering words of encouragement. When he was done, he looked up and gave her a polite nod. “Good morning, Miss Shaw.” His accent was deeply Scottish but refined by a life of service.

  “Hi, Murray. Busy as usual I see. And, please, it’s Erin.”

  Murray nodded. “Aye, we’ve a big hunting party this weekend. I was just about to clean and service the guns.”

  “I know. I thought I’d get out early and try my luck. The laird said you might have some tips?”

  “I saw some red deer up by the ruins two days ago.” He didn’t stop his work. “There’s a fair chance you’ll have some luck there. Not been able to get mobile service all day; there’s weather coming. Once he arrives, I’ll let George know where to find you.”

  She smiled at him. “You think of everything. Thank you.”

  He gave a single nod. “What’s that over your shoulder?”

  She unslung her rifle and handed it to him. “An early Christmas present from George. What do you think?” It was modern, all gunmetal, and semi-automatic with a twenty round magazine and precision scope, totally alien to the wooden-stocked firearms everyone would be hunting with over the weekend.

  “Are ye going hunting or invading Vietnam?”

  Erin laughed. “It’s George’s idea. I told him last time I felt a little out of place here. He said I should just be myself; not afraid to be a bit different. I suppose this will make me stand out even more.”

  “Aye, it will. And you’re a strange lassie, it can’t be denied. But as I said to the laird, there’s something about you that fits. These dogs can tell family from strangers, and they’ve taken to you and no mistake.” He raised the rifle and looked along the sights. “Shall I line this up for you?”

  “No,” said Erin. “Show me how to do it.”

  She called her mum on the landline before she set out, but got the machine. “Hey, Mum. I got here safely. George isn’t home yet so I’m going out with the dogs. I’ll call you tonight.”

  It was two miles over rough ground to the edge of the woods. All the way there, Fox stayed at her side but Max kept running loops around them as though he was bored by her slow pace.

  From time to time she stopped and scanned the rugged windswept slopes of the peaks with her binoculars, flowerless, green but dusted with snow—no sign of deer.

  As she reached the trees, Max returned to her. “Stay with me now.”

  A few paces into the copse, her footfalls met the woodland litter, which along with the heavy snowfall lent them a perceptible crunch. That would be more than enough to scare off any deer. She slowed her pace and crept as quietly as she could. It wasn’t long before the dark silhouette of the ruined house rose from behind the trees. It had once been a thatched cottage before it had fallen into disuse.

  She’d been there before during the summer on a warm July night. George had the cook pack a picnic for them and they’d set out to get away from the house. All the way there, George sang an old Scottish song as he walked.

  * * *

  O wilt thou go wi' me, sweet Tibbie Dunbar?

  O wilt thou go wi' me, sweet Tibbie Dunbar?

  Wilt thou ride on a horse, or be drawn in a car,

  Or walk by my side, O sweet Tibbie Dunbar?

  * * *

  Even though he was two years older than her, he was only a little taller. Still bearing chubby cheeks and some puppy fat. He could still totally outpace her over the rough terrain if he wanted but hadn’t moved an inch away from her side the entire way.

  * * *

  I care na thy daddie, his lands and his money,

  I care na thy kin, sae high and sae lordly;

  But sae that thou'lt hae me for better for waur,

  And come in thy coatie, sweet Tibbie Dunbar.

  * * *

  He’d laid a blanket on the dirty clay floor and they sat together eating hand-raised pork pies, scotch eggs with soft yolks, and sipping homemade apple juice, still cold from the cellar. They caught up on one another’s school terms, and at the end of the meal, George took a jewelry box from his pocket. He presented it to her in two hands and when she took it from him their fingertips brushed and the jolt it sent up her spine was nearly enough to cause her to gasp.

  In the box was a silver heart locket with their portraits engraved on the inside. She stared at the gleaming object, filled with fear that if she averted her eyes for even a moment that it and this entire day might vanish in a puff of dream smoke. But she kept breathing and the locket remained in her hand, heavy, wonderful, shiny, and phenomenally expensive. More a promise than a piece of jewelry.

  * * *

  I offer you nay thing in sillar or land.

  What man could determine the price of your hand;

  But gave you consent we'd be richer by far.

  O wilt thou go wi' me, sweet Tibby Dunbar.

  * * *

  As he sang to her again, she realized he was saying something to her, singing for her. She was the poor one. She was the one who’d needed him to pay for her train ticket from Wembley to Inverness. He was saying he loved her and he didn’t care
she was poor. They kissed then for the first time and that brief exploration had been so warm and wonderful, like the promise of another life, a new and different future. What happened after… Well, that was between the two of them.

  * * *

  O wilt thou be known as a poor beggar's lady,

  And sleep in the heather rolled up in my pladie;

  The sky for a roof and each candle a star.

  My love for a fire sweet Tibby Dunbar.

  It was cold in the house, the thatched roof long decayed and fallen in. The walls did little to mitigate the chilling breeze. Several canvas chairs sat next to holes in the walls that had likely once been windows. This was now a ground blind.

  She took a position at the far side of the house, facing a clearing that had been cut into the woodland for precisely this reason. Once she was seated, she set a cup on a ledge, took out her flask, and poured a generous stream of coffee into it.

  Now began the long wait. The dogs nestled at her feet, which was perfect—that at least warmed her up a little. She slumped, so tired from the journey. Maybe this hadn’t been a particularly good idea. But she needed to know before the weekend. She needed to know that she could pull the trigger.

  She must have fallen asleep. A crunch out in the woods tripped an alarm in the back of her mind and she opened her eyes with a jolt. Rubbing a hand across her brow, she scanned the clearing. Right at its edge stood a buck, nuzzling the ground.

  She picked up her rifle as quietly as she could and aimed. Through the telescopic sight, it appeared so close she might have been standing at its side. “At the body, a few inches behind the shoulder.” That’s where Murray had told her to aim. But she couldn’t stop looking at its face.

  It was such a grand, beautiful animal. Huge eyes so full of life took in the dappled quiet of the woods. She took a deep breath and aimed at the killing point on its flank. Her finger was chilled by the cold metal of the trigger. This was it. All she had to do was squeeze.

  Her hand dropped away from the gun. She couldn’t bring herself to do it. But why? It’s not like she had a problem eating venison or any kind of meat. She rested the gun against the wall. “I can’t do it, boys. What will George think?”

  Max sat up and looked at her, one ear cocked. A voice popped into her head, gravelly and deep: “Of course you can’t. You’re a listener.”

  She grasped her forehead. “I must be going mad. Talking to myself and thinking you can understand.”

  Max: “Of course I understand. Not the silly noises you’re making. But your thoughts and your intentions.”

  She gasped. “This is insane. If you can really understand me, go and walk over to the door.”

  Max appeared to scowl at her but he got up and walked over to the open doorway.

  Fox looked out the window. “Can I go chase down that deer? I’ll kill it for you.”

  She stood up. “You too! No, you can’t. Leave it be. There’ll be plenty for you this weekend. Oh, this is totally crazy.” Can they really hear me? They can’t really be understanding my thoughts, can they?”

  Max: “Are you usually this dim? How have you survived your infancy? Humans are a strange breed.”

  She stopped still. “Unbelievable!” Erin wondered if she was going insane. The dog had followed her commands but even that could have just been in her mind.

  Footsteps in the snow came from outside the house.

  Oh God, it’s George. Just act normally, please.

  She met him at the door. He unslung his rifle from his shoulder and they embraced. It had been two months and that kiss was enough to make her forget all about her earlier failure. What did it matter if she couldn’t kill a deer? He’d already said they could stay away from hunts if she wanted. Their lips touched and they didn’t come up for air for over a minute.

  “It’s so great to see you,” he said. “I’ve been pining away for you for the last two months. School has been so hard to concentrate on. My friends think I’m losing my mind, but I’ve just been missing you.”

  She looked him in the eyes. “Lovesick?” She laughed and gave him a playful punch in the chest. “I know what you mean. I hate being without you. I’m so glad I’m here. This is going to be the best Christmas ever.”

  He placed a hand on the small of her back. “Any luck with the deer?”

  “No, not yet. Now you’re here I’d rather go do something else if I’m honest.”

  “Do you like the gun at least?”

  She picked it up. “Oh yeah. It’s amazing. Murray wasn’t so impressed. He thought I was off to war.”

  George laughed.

  The dogs sprang to attention.

  Max: “Someone moving around outside. A stranger. He smells wrong.”

  Fox: “A dangerous pack.”

  Something didn’t feel right. It was as though she was about to play a game of hockey and her nerves and adrenaline were suddenly ratcheted up to full flow. She grabbed George by the collar and pulled him down to his knees.

  “Well,” said George, “you don’t waste any time.”

  “Shh. Something’s wrong.” She crept to the window and looked out.

  Through the foliage, just beyond the treeline, a man stalked through the woods. He wore a black waterproof uniform. Polished gunmetal gleamed in his hand. Another pistol clung to his hip, holstered at his side.

  She whispered. “What the hell is going on?”

  George joined her at the window, then ducked in.

  The first man was joined by another, and then by a third, all of them walking some distance apart. They moved methodically but quickly through the woods as if looking for something or someone. Her breath caught. They were coming this way.

  From the distance came the sound of gunfire.

  “Those are handguns,” whispered George. “It’s coming up from the house.”

  The gunfire was over in a moment.

  One of the men raised his radio to his mouth. “What’s going on up there?”

  “We’ve been spotted. We’re going to clear the castle.”

  “Understood. No loose ends.”

  “Roger that.”

  Tears dripped onto George’s cheeks as he raised his rifle. “Did you hear that? They’re going to… We’ve got to take them out and get up to the castle to help. They’re coming after my family.”

  Erin nodded. “I heard.”

  “There are too many for me to deal with alone. I’ll need your help. Can you manage it?”

  She thought about her failure with the deer and knew why she couldn’t bring herself to shoot—it was an innocent, beautiful life. But these men were killing people she knew, people George loved. She looked over at him. George’s knuckles were white where they clutched his rifle. His shoulders shook with each breath.

  She nodded and started to raise the rifle. Had it always been so heavy? She lined it up. Her hands trembled. It’s fine. It’s fine. The words turned circles in her mind. I can do this.

  George looked at her, his expression soft with something that might have been pity or love. It was hard to tell. “Erin…”

  “I can do it.” She said, giving him a smile she hoped was reassuring. She would try her best. For him.

  “Over there,” said one of the men. “The cabin.” He made a gesture with two of his fingers and the other men peeled off and stalked directly towards them.

  “It’s OK,” said George. He smiled and put a hand on her shoulder. “We should run. Leave the rifle. Run to the road. Use the path by the stream, they won’t likely know about that. And don’t stop until you reach town.

  “They’re in there. Go around back. Cut off the exits,” came a man’s voice.

  George’s fingers were iron bands on her flesh. “I won’t lose you,” he said.

  She didn’t look at him. He wanted her to run, thought her weak and frail. Maybe she was. She’d not been able to kill the buck.

  “No survivors,” said the man.

  Gritting her teeth, Erin lined up her
target in her sights. He was large in her scope, an easy shot.

  Whatever worry she’d had about being able to kill had drained away, replaced by a dark pool of fear about what might happen to George if she didn’t conquer her weakness, about what might be taking place at the castle, and about which of her friends were still alive and which had been murdered. Her fingers gripped the rifle. This time she didn’t hesitate.

  Beside her, George had also lined up his shot. They fired simultaneously, two angry barks ringing out as one. The retort echoed from the walls followed by a deep silence. The two men fell without a word as the third, now out of sight behind a tree returned fire at them, emptying his magazine.

  Erin didn’t miss a beat. “Fox, go bring him down.”

  Fox growled and leaped through the window, making his way like an arrow towards the man.

  George watched him for a second then turned to her with a question in his eyes.

  “Come on!” she said, standing and pulling him after her.

  As dangerous as it was, she trusted the deerhound to be more than a match for the gunman. They were halfway to where the shots had come from when the man let out a scream.

  Fox was on him, growling long and low. His jaws were fastened firmly around the man’s right wrist. The man moaned. Blood poured from a wound on his cheek where Fox had apparently removed a chunk of flesh. His gun lay half-buried in the leaf litter.

  “Release!” said George.

  The man gripped his torn cheek, trying to staunch the flow of blood.

  “Why are you here?” Erin pointed her rifle at him. “What did you come for?”