It quickly became habit that Hunter would drift through the men and women that fought barehanded, or with short poles. He would offer correction and advice where necessary, but on the whole, it was uplifting to see the level of skill.
A couple in particular impressed him. A sergeant from the army, Ian Grimshaw proved unbeatable in hand-to-hand combat, grappling and flooring every opponent. When Hunter spoke to him, Sergeant Grimshaw was a very quiet man in his late thirties, who just happened to turn his hand to martial arts from a young age.
The other was a 3rd gen witch-hunter, Alannah Winton, a petite brunette Welsh girl who was scarily accurate and fast with the poles. When asked about her background, she just grinned mischievously and told them that they should see what she could do with real knives!
Hunter quickly promoted them to step in and help the others, he watched as Ian and Alannah moved through the others with purpose.
Near the end of each session, everyone began to wind down, and stayed to watch Hunter. It had been annoying at first, to have the audience, but Hunter quickly shut them out.
Normally he fought James, but today both Ian and Alannah faced him. All three held the short poles and stood as the three points of a triangle. Ian and Alannah were kitted out with padded vests and gloves, but Hunter shunned the safety equipment. He knew that he was too strong and fast to allow anyone to actually land a hit, he allowed himself to be more than a little arrogant in that respect.
Hunter took a deep breath, letting his shoulders drop down and relax. He felt his usual wave of calm and confidence wash over him; he raised his eyes to look at his opponents, waiting for them to attack.
Alannah was the first to move, and she didn’t hold back. For someone so young and standing half a foot shorter than Hunter; she was strong and fast – faster than he expected a 3rd gen to be. She swung her pole at his right side, which Hunter deflected with a resounding crack; then brought her knee up to his exposed left side. Surprised at her dirty move, Hunter barely got his arm in place to stop her. He went to grab her leg, but Alannah read his intention, and pulled back before he could unbalance her.
Before Hunter could recover, there was a blow to his right shoulder. For a man so big and looming, Ian could move bloody quietly – Hunter hadn’t even noticed him! Ignoring the spike of pain, Hunter spun round, raising his pole just in time to deflect his second strike. He threw his weight behind the move, pushing Ian back.
Hunter rolled his injured shoulder, and smirked at his own over-confidence. It was going to get him killed one day.
This time they both came at him, Alannah forcing him to block high, while Ian tried to slip past his guard. Hunter grunted as Ian’s hastily deflected blow caught a rib. ‘Move faster,’ Hunter scolded himself.
He twisted away, causing Ian to unbalance, and catching Alannah with a bruising crack on her outstretched arm. Alannah was the first to reach him again, she moved quickly and rattled out a few sharp attacks that Hunter had to focus to parry. The Welsh girl was more than impressive, despite her youth.
Partially distracted by having to stop Alannah knocking his head off, Hunter had momentarily forgotten Ian and was shocked to feel a pair of arms pin around his chest. He struggled against the iron grip – he had seen others unable to break out, but it surprised him that neither could he. He took a deep breath and prepared to throw Ian over his shoulder; he felt Ian’s muscles tighten and lock down in anticipation for the move.
Hunter closed his eyes and… and no longer felt the constricting arms around his torso. There were gasps all around, and Hunter opened his eyes to see that he was standing behind Ian…
Hunter glanced around and saw only shock on the faces of the audience. Ian span round, his expression one of confusion, as he looked from his hands to where Hunter now stood.
It finally dawned on Hunter that he had instinctively blinked the short distance to escape the grip. That was useful, but-
“That’s cheating, Astley.” Anthony Marks stood in front of the crowd, his arms crossed over his chest, as he assessed the other witch-hunter. “But it looks like you’re ready for duty. Report to myself and Hayworth when you’re finished up here.”
Hunter nodded, and watched the older witch-hunter retreat. He turned back to his opponents, who stood a little dazed, and looking a little cheated.
“Ah, no hard feelings guys?” Hunter asked.
Alannah shrugged, pushing her sweaty fringe out of her eyes. Ian stared towards Hunter, but then gave a rare, crooked smile.
“Hey, we’re on the same team. Can’t wait to see you pull that shit out on the witches.”
As Hunter approached the dining room, he thought about knocking, but it seemed ridiculous to knock in his own house, so he walked straight in.
General Hayworth was standing in the room with another man that Hunter found familiar.
The General looked up to see Hunter, then turned to speak to the other man. “Sergeant Dawkins, can you send for Marks. And bring the list.”
Hunter watched Dawkins leave, suddenly remembering the sergeant that had played the guinea pig when Hunter had been experimenting with transporting himself and others in a blink. The man appeared different now he wasn’t looking pale and nauseated.
“Anthony told me you’re ready to go?” General Hayworth took a seat at the dining table and motioned for Hunter to join him.
“As ready as I’ll ever be, sir.” Hunter replied. He found it odd that he should be invited to sit in his own house, but everyone was quickly signing up to the attitude that this was just another base for the MMC, in which Hunter was just another witch-hunter.
The far door opened, and Anthony Marks and Dawkins walked through. Dawkins carried a thick folder, which he promptly set on the table.
“Dawkins, this is your project, so if you wouldn’t mind.” The General said, opening the floor to his second-in-command.
Dawkins nodded, his hand resting importantly on the folder. “After the fall of your MMC, we’ve been trying to recover as much data as possible. I’ve been heading the team in charge of listing MMC employees. This is the most current list of witch-hunters and last known locations.”
Dawkins opened the folder and lifted the first few sheets, setting them aside. “These are confirmed fatalities.”
Hunter looked at the papers covered in dense writing with morbid curiosity. He didn’t really want to concentrate on those they’d lost.
Dawkins took a slightly thicker wedge of papers from the folder. “These are witch-hunters relatively local to Little Hanting. We’ve already sent teams to attempt contact, with varying success.”
The Sergeant tapped the still-considerable stack. “And these are the ones further afield.”
“Now that you’re up for travelling again, we need to make use of your… talent.” The General broke in. “We need real time communication and answers, not wasting fuel on days of travel with no promise of result. You will co-ordinate with Sergeant Dawkins, who will prioritise the most likely locations. You will establish communication protocols with any groups, and bring individuals here. Plus, I want reports on any updates about the witches and their leader.”
Hunter sat a little perplexed by his orders. He was a witch-hunter, the MMC sent him targets and he took the necessary actions. He wasn’t a soldier, but Hayworth was treating him as one. Maybe that would be a good thing, making the MMC a more controlled, and militarised establishment.
Marks cleared his throat. “We’ve assigned you a team. Alannah Winton, 3rd gen; Sergeant Grimshaw; and Lieutenant Coulson. You leave tomorrow on your first assignment.”
Hunter looked up at Marks. “With permission, sirs, I’d like to include James Bennett in my team.”
Marks looked over to Dawkins, questioningly.
The Sergeant stayed quiet for a moment, then shrugged. “I suppose I can spare him from my team. If the famous Hunter Astley insists.”
Hunter didn’t know how to take Dawkin’s comment, but hoped it was misunderstood hu
mour. He was surprised that someone else valued James, when he had only ever been a lowly 1st gen to the MMC. But then Hunter felt guilty for his surprise.
“Is there anything else, gentlemen?” Hunter asked.
After a chorus of ‘no’, Hunter stood and excused himself.
Chapter Five
The following morning, Hunter met the rest of his team at breakfast. The five of them were quiet and awkward. How did one act when suddenly expected to work with, and put their life in the hands of four strangers?
Hunter glanced over towards Ian. The sergeant was the calmest in the group. But as he was also the oldest, in his late-thirties, Hunter wondered if that had anything to do with it.
Lieutenant Maria Coulson leant against the kitchen top near Ian. Her blonde hair was scraped back into a hasty bun, and her blue eyes were half-closed over her coffee. Hunter hadn’t personally met Maria before, but had heard good reviews about her. She was supposed to be one of the best gunmen in General Hayworth’s regiment.
James yawned, looking outwardly relaxed as he slumped over the breakfast bar. But Hunter could see his nervous tells as James irritatingly tapped his mug.
Next to James, Alannah was wide-eyed and positively bouncing. When she noticed Hunter looking her way, she grinned.
“It’s my first big assignment.” She spurted out in her lovely Welsh tones. “I’d just finished training when all this kicked off.”
“Who did you train with?” Hunter asked.
“Timothy Jones, near Cardiff.” Alannah replied. Tucking loose hair behind her ear. “He’s on the missing list, so I’m hoping we get to find him.”
“Well, I can talk to Colin Dawkins for ya.” James piped up, beside her. “Get him to bump up the priority of Jones.”
Alannah turned to James, smiling at his help; just as Hunter rolled his eyes at his friend’s chumminess with the sergeant.
“Sorry to interrupt, but when are we going?” Ian suddenly asked, looking over at the three witch-hunters.
Oh yes, the business of the day. Hunter glanced round his team. “Get kitted up and meet me back here in ten minutes.”
Hunter checked and re-checked his gear. The black stab-vest was comfortable and familiar, his hands traced over the guns and knives that were MMC issue; finally his hand rested on the ever-present dog tags at his neck. This tarnished accessory wasn’t just a memento from the last World War, it had come from the Astley collection and was charmed to protect the wearer from certain spells.
Hunter tucked the dog tags into his shirt and made a detour to the vault that lay beyond the library. Taking a lamp with him into that windowless room, he quickly picked out a few suitable pieces. Hunter made his way to the kitchen where everyone was already waiting for him.
“Here, take these.” Hunter handed out a necklace to Alannah; a brooch to Maria; and a bracelet to Ian.
Alannah looked excited, understanding the gift immediately, but the two soldiers looked a little confused.
“Uh, thanks?” Maria replied, turning the bronze brooch with amber stone in her hands.
“They’re charmed items for extra protection against witches.” James explained with a chuckle. He raised his right hand, showing the thick gold ring that he never went without. “You’re part of a select group now. Hunter doesn’t openly share his treasures.”
Hunter stood quietly by the kitchen door. Since he’d taken charge of Astley Manor and its contents six years ago, he’d only given out a very few of these items. James Bennett and Charlotte King had been the first. Sophie Murphy had been the most recent, Hunter wondered whether she still wore the silver and opal necklace.
“Come on, if everyone is ready, we should go.” Hunter closed the topic.
Maria pinned her new brooch onto her shirt, then looked up at Hunter, nervous for the first time. “So… what do we have to do? Set candles? I can’t promise to be any good at chanting.”
Hunter ignored James who immediately burst into laughter at Maria’s naivety.
“No, it’s not magic. And not that type of magic – that’s casting you’re thinking of.”
Maria blushed, but remained defensive.
“Well I didn’t know. Two months ago, I didn’t know witches existed, so give us a break while we catch up.” Her eyes narrowed in the direction of James, who was gaining control of his mirth.
“All you have to do is hold onto me, I’ll do the rest.” Hunter explained calmly. “Close your eyes if you want. It can be a, ah- disorientating experience the first time.”
“Tell me about it.” Ian muttered. He was pale from the mere memory of it, having been part of the regiment Hunter had brought to Little Hanting to face the Shadow Witch.
Hunter sighed and held out his arms. Once he felt four hands gripping him tightly, he closed his eyes and let his mind refocus.
The next moment they were gone.
They reappeared in the middle of a field, the rain pouring relentlessly down and soaking each man and woman to the bone within minutes.
“Right, we’re five miles outside of Newcastle, there’s a small MMC branch a mile to the East of our location.” Hunter stated, looking up to see the Angel of the North to confirm his bearings, but only seeing grey cloud. He hoped he wasn’t too far out.
Hunter looked at his team, and was hardly surprised to see the youngest, Alannah, on her knees in the mud trying not to throw up. James hovered next to her, trying to be supportive.
The two soldiers had a little more control, although they looked very pale – but that could just have to do with the rain rather than Hunter’s method of travel.
“And we’ve gotta do that every mission?” Maria gasped, half regretting her promotion to this team.
“There and back.” Hunter confirmed. “But don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll get used to it.”
Maria groaned at his lack of helpfulness.
“Well, what are we waiting for?” Ian asked. “Winton, you good?”
Alannah nodded and with James grabbing her hand for support, she got back to her feet.
“Lead the way, sir.” Ian turned to Hunter.
Hunter recognised the expression that flickered across the usually cool sergeant’s face. It was the same expression that so many wore when first working with Hunter. Doubt. So many people were sceptical of the supposed skill of the 7th gen and questioned his right to lead. Especially when that person was older or more experienced.
Hunter felt his pride flare up. Well, he’d just have to prove to Ian, and anyone else that might question him just why he deserved to lead.
But for now, they had to get out of this rain. It was no fun, trudging across the muddy field, slipping in the harrows and their boots getting heavier with mud and rain. Eventually they hit a road and followed it until it led to the A1. The motorway was eerily quiet, and Hunter and his team jumped across the barriers and walked across the tarmac, the only noise the consistent rain.
On the other side of the main road was their destination. It looked like any other trading estate, with industrial offices standing blandly side by side, and the token car depot. But amongst the boringly normal enterprises here, the MMC had held an office for years.
Hunter led the way to a red-brick building. There was an electronic keypad by the main door, which had been rendered useless along with most other things, when the witches had overturned technology with magic.
But there was a keyhole. Unfortunately, Hunter didn’t have the key. He wondered… Hunter focused on the lock, tried to mentally feel out the latch and give it an invisible shove… It felt like it was about to move, but always slipped at the last moment.
From the back of the group, James huffed and pushed to the front.
“Get out the way.” He muttered to his friend. Hunter might want to experiment, but James was bored with getting soaked and was impatient to get inside.
James took out his tools for the job and knelt by the door. Less than a minute later there was the rewarding sound of a click, and the door d
rifted open. James stood back and allowed Hunter to lead the way into a dark corridor.
“Stop there. Identify yourself.” A voice came from the far end of the corridor.
Hunter’s sharp eyes made out the shape of a person kneeling, a gun in hand. He had no doubt that this person could see them, silhouetted in the doorway.
“We’re from the MMC. I’m Hunter Astley, 7th gen.”
“Really?” The voice remained wary. “Come to the control room, and we’ll see.”
A door opened, letting daylight in the far end of the corridor.
Hunter spared his team a quick glance, then led the way down to the door. He stepped into the ‘control room’, which looked like it had once been the main meeting room for this MMC branch. Now tables had been pushed together and were piled with papers. On the wall were two maps – one local and one national – both had marks and notes covering them.
But more importantly, half a dozen men stood aiming guns at the trespassers.
“Hunter?” One of the men lowered his gun and moved to the front. “James? Christ, I’m glad to see you two!”
“Toby? What on earth are you doing here?” James piped up.
Hunter quickly placed the face. Toby Robson, a 4th gen witch-hunter that had been listed as missing. But they had been searching for him near his home of Oxford, not Newcastle.
“Oh, long story. I was on my way back from a family excursion to Scotland when everything happened. I got stuck here, and well, we’ve been busy ever since. We had no idea if there were other survivors.” Toby replied, his eyes locked on his old friends, savouring the sight of them again. “What about you? I mean, what’s the state of the MMC? What happened after the blackout? Hell – what was the blackout?”
“Sir?” Maria piped up from behind Hunter, the soldier looking amused at the flood of questions. “Perhaps we should check the others off our list while you fill your friend in.”
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