Hunters (Out of the Box Book 15)

by Robert J. Crane

  Hunters

  Out of the Box #15

  Robert J. Crane

  Hunters

  Out of the Box #15

  Robert J. Crane

  Copyright © 2017 Ostiagard Press

  All Rights Reserved.

  1st Edition

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced in whole or in part without the written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, please email cyrusdavidon@gmail.com.

  CONTENTS

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  44

  45

  46

  47

  48

  49

  50

  51

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  Other Works by Robert J. Crane

  1.

  “There are hunters and there are prey in life, see,” Charlie Cooper told the clerk behind the counter of the shop, nestled in a corner of East London, “and I don’t figure you for a hunter.” Cooper held his hand up at the clerk; it didn’t shake at all. It hadn’t shaken when he’d fired a blast of red laser beam out of his palm a second earlier, past the clerk’s ear and into the display behind him, and it didn’t shake now, pointed at the fellow’s heart.

  This wasn’t Charlie Cooper’s first robbery. It wasn’t even his tenth. He’d lost count after twenty. London was all in a tizzy, wondering where he was going to strike next. He didn’t care about the stir he was causing. Hell, he reveled in it. Maybe they’d make him a folk hero, like Robin Hood, except he wasn’t sharing any of the loot with the villagers.

  “Hurry up and get the money from the till, Charlie,” Billy Fischer said behind him. Billy was all swelled up, muscles stacked on muscles. When his metahuman power had shown up, it had taken this form, growing three sizes too large, like a bodybuilder who’d gone overboard. Charlie’s was to shoot laser beams out of his hand, lethal blasts that could take the heart right out of this poor, sweating shopkeeper, who actually was shaking, who had his hands behind his head, the poor bastard, a pitiable sort that Charlie Cooper didn’t have an ounce of actual pity for.

  “Just you shut it,” Charlie tossed back at Billy. Why would he want to rush this? It was another fine opportunity to show off a little, give another resident of this east London neighborhood a glimpse at his magnanimity. He stared down the clerk, then pinched his nose at the stench of the man’s body odor, especially keen in his metahuman sense of smell. “You stink, mate. How long’s it been since you left this smelly shop?”

  “This is my shop,” the man said, his eyes registering hurt. “Sometimes I sleep here, as I did last night.”

  That only amused Charlie more. “You slept in this smelly place?” Charlie cackled and waved a hand at one of the displays. He let loose a blast of red beam that sheared the shelf in half. A burnt smell, steel mingled with other aromas, food and wrappings, filled his nose. Charlie glanced over to find a whole display of Terry’s Chocolate Oranges seared into a puddle and he smiled. He could faintly smell the orange and chocolate aroma mixed in with the other burning scents. “There you go,” he said, “now it smells…well, nicer.” He swiped a Mars bar from the counter and lasered off the top, causing the shopkeeper to duck to avoid having his eyebrow singed. “Now empty the till like the man said.” Charlied nodded back at Billy, then took a bite of his candy.

  The shopkeeper did as he was told, but slow and surely, like he was counting every pound and penny as he did so. When he was done, there wasn’t much on the counter, but Charlie didn’t care. Half the reason he did this was fun anyway, not profit.

  Charlie shoved the rest of the Mars bar in his mouth and grinned, showing his chocolatey teeth, then swiped it up, smearing Queen Elizabeth’s serene face with a smudge of brown. He blasted the shopkeeper in the shoulder, said, “You should take some time off, mate. It’d be good for your health,” and laughed as the man fell. Charlie brought his hand around and liberally doused the shop with his red beam. Refrigerated displays popped and hissed as the energy ripped through them, and Billy was forced to duck behind him as Charlie swung around fast. That only tickled Charlie more, and he said, “Come on, you git, let’s go,” as he made for the door and out onto the London street.

  “Stop right there!” The voice was stern, authoritative, breaking the quiet London night and drowning out the sound of cars in the distance. Hearing it, Charlie did pause for a second, a rippling chill running down his back. He looked left; it was a copper, of course. One of the Met’s finest, standing there with a baton, hand raised like Charlie’s if he was about to fire off a beam.

  Charlie grinned. This was going to be a bit of fun. Stupid copper, not even with an armed response team. Charlie pretended to raise his hands like he was going to surrender—

  And lasered the dumb bastard right in the shoulder. The cop screeched, his piggy squeal carrying over the midday street, echoing down the canyon of four-level apartments and shops, a car buzzing by not even drowning it out when the owner stepped on the gas and sped up.

  The copper hit the ground and continued to cry in agony, grasping at his arm, which was hanging loose, a good solid burn running across his armpit. Charlie surveyed the damage he’d caused, quite content in what he’d accomplished. Yeah, it was a good one, might even kill the poor sod if the ambulance didn’t get here quick. “Stupid shit,” Charlie laughed, and yielded to the tug of Billy upon his arm. He hadn’t even felt it when Billy had started to pull him, trying to get him back to the getaway car just on the street.

  “Oh, all right then,” Charlie said, slipping into the passenger seat as Billy got in the driver’s. “I guess that’s enough fun for one day.”

  Billy slammed the door and started up the car. It belched a cloud of smoke behind them. An old Vauxhall, it probably wouldn’t pass an emissions test. Charlie grinned again. Who’d dare try and enforce that on them, anyway? “No one,” Charlie whispered, the thought breaking loose and speaking itself aloud.

  “Whassat?” Billy asked, looking at him as he shifted the car into gear, pulling away from the curb and down the street. He wore a worried look, and that made Charlie laugh again. “What?” Billy asked.

  “You, you barmy old bag,” Charlie said, still laughing. “You’re looking like you’re about to piss your pants. Every time we rob a shop you get all worried.�
� He held his hands up and pulled a face, mocking Billy with his expression. “‘Oh no! The big bad coppers are after us! They’ll get us for sure this time!’” Charlie dissolved into laughter once more. “Every time. When are you going to realize—” Charlie grabbed his arm, diverting Billy’s attention from the calm, quiet, London night “—not a sodding person in London—not the cops, not Scotland Yard, not the bloody Queen herself—has got the stones or the power to stop us—”

  The car’s roof collapsed in and the Vauxhall squealed, the tires exploding from the force of whatever had landed on them. Charlie was thrown forward into the dashboard, thumping his head against it hard, while Billy next to him made a rich thump hitting the steering wheel. Charlie’s head whipsawed back into the headrest and bounced a couple times, jarring his brain, shaking it like it was in a cocktail shaker.

  When he opened his eyes again a second later, he found Billy clutching his forehead gingerly, a stream of blood rolling down his furrowed brow. Charlie blinked; his neck hurt, his chest hurt from where the seatbelt had caught him—good job he was wearing it this time—and the whole car smelled like sweat and burnt metal, like the inside of that shop—

  It took Charlie a second to realize the roof of the car was ripping off, something searing its way through the metal. It pulled free and suddenly the sky was black above them, the innards of the car exposed to the cloudy London night, and…something else.

  Someone else.

  She leered down at them, hovering above what was left of the front windshield, her face obvious and familiar from a million times Charlie had seen it on TV. Her hair was just the same, and—holy hell, there she was, and Charlie wondered, Is someone taking the piss outta me…? I just asked…and…she’s…she’s…

  …she’s…

  “Sienna Nealon,” he muttered under his breath.

  She looked down at them, hovering in the air, dark hair hanging around her shoulders and her eyes glistening, bright blue like they were sparkling from amusement.

  And she smiled.

  “Hi.”

  2.

  I couldn’t resist landing on those robbing sons of bitches the moment I heard one of them spout off about how there was no one in London powerful enough to stop them. I mean, really, why would anyone invite the ruin of spouting such hubris into the heavens when they’re nothing but a stickup artist with delusions of grandeur? Man, these metas got arrogant fast. In America, this guy would have been lucky not to have his brains exposed to air by a local cop with a Glock.

  Ahh, the kinder, gentler Brits, and their lack of guns on every corner. What the hell did the metahuman criminal class have to fear over here?

  Oh, right.

  Me.

  “I bet you’re wondering why I pulled your roof off,” I said in a conversational tone as the two guys gawked up at me, jaws practically in their laps. “It was for irony. A little bit because I hate thieves and people who prey on those weaker than themselves…but mostly the irony. Now…” I looked down at them, still staring up at me like I was going to turn into a dragon and burn them out of the vehicle (which I totally could have). “Are you coming quietly, to jail? Or loudly for a brief few moments, and then really quietly, to the morgue?”

  They looked at each other, an almost comedic gesture in the face of what they were up against. I mean, I’d just ripped the roof off their car, after all, and they clearly knew my face, my name.

  The question was, would they take my appearance as an opportunity to retire from this life of crime? Or would they feel that my mere appearance was a challenge to their—I dunno, manhood, or something similarly small and stupid?

  They’re going to view it as a challenge to their manhood, Gerry Harmon said within my head. Here, listen:

  OHGODOHGODOHGODOHGOD—I can’t let this bitch show me up in front of Billy—

  I blinked. That’s really what he’s thinking? But it’s so stupid! What about the other one?

  Not much better, I’m afraid:

  I shouldn’t have come here, I should not have—why did I come here? Why did I let Charlie talk me into this? Into any of this? Mum was right: I am coming to a bad end. I should have married Penny when I had a chance and settled down, become a plumber. Now I’m gonna die on the streets of London under the fist of Sienna Nealon because dumbass Charlie—

  Wait, why is that not better? I asked Harmon. He’s clearly terrified of me.

  Because I abhor whining, Harmon said.

  “Billy, Charlie,” I said, plucking their names out of their respective internal dialogues and causing them both to look up at me as though I’d just goosed them both unexpected, “I’m gonna need an answer on whether or not you’re ready to die. Sharpish, as you Brits say.” I thought about it a sec. “Actually, I think maybe I’ve only ever heard a Guy Ritchie character say that, so I’m not so sure you Brits actually do say that on the regular—”

  “I give up!” Billy threw his hands in the air. “I don’t want to die. This weren’t even my idea!” He looked about two seconds away from collapsing into a sobbing pile.

  “Cool. We’re understood, then,” I said and yanked him out of the car by his collar. My Wolfe-enhanced speed and strength made it an easy thing, sending him flying with but a cry, and I hit him with one of Eve Kappler’s light nets, binding him to a nearby light post. He didn’t really resist, and within a second he was just hanging there, whimpering a little in the night.

  I never took my eyes off Charlie as I was tossing Billy away, and it was a good thing I didn’t. I could still hear his thoughts in my head, and they took an ugly turn:

  This bitch thinks she’s going to take me in, she’s got another think com—

  “Lemme stop you right there, Charlie,” I said, and blasted him with three nets that bound him to the back of his car’s seat, like spiderwebs of glowing light. They wrapped him tightly around the chest before he could do anything immensely dumb, like attack me with his powers, whatever they might be. The strands of light that wrapped him around the face cranked his neck back, and now he was unnaturally mated to the seat, stuck there in a very uncomfortable position until the cops arrived. “See, my job is to try and avoid killing you. Not that you deserve that mercy, but the idea of me being here in London is low profile. Or medium profile, maybe. But not ‘bodies everywhere in the streets,’ see? That’s kind of a condition of my asylum here, to not make a massive mess, or else they’ll have to try extradite me to the US and I’ll have to deal with the inconvenience of making your law enforcement officials look like idiots—it’s all a huge bother, and I’d rather avoid it than kill you, frankly, Charlie, because—although you don’t seem like a nice guy, you’re not quite bad enough for me to put you down like a rabid dog, so…” I waved, and dismounted the hood of the car, stepping off lightly as I killed my hover capability with but a thought. “Enjoy your time in HMP Belmarsh, Sir Douchenozzle. May it make you a better person, or at least last until you’ve got no more starch left in your shorts.” I waved at him, already putting thoughts of this ass clown out of my mind, my business with him done—

  This isn’t over, Harmon said.

  “I just bound his ass to the car seat,” I said. “I’m pretty sure ol’ Charlie here is clocked out.”

  Never turn your back on a foe, Little D…Sienna, Wolfe whispered in his gravelly, guttural voice.

  I rolled my eyes. “Have I mentioned how happy I am to have shed that particular nickname?”

  His power, Harmon said, voice rising in urgency, it’s—

  The car exploded before he could even finish his warning.

  3.

  The car exploded, and I hit the curb and caught myself on both hands. My wrists decried the pain I’d just put them through, and a woman’s laughter echoed in my head while shards of glass rained on the curb all around me, ending that whole quiet London night thing I’d been sort of enjoying up to now. “Laugh it up, Eve,” I said, dusting myself off as I rose. “This is clearly cause for it.”

  You w
ere so stupid and arrogant, Eve said, still cackling. Did it not occur to you he might use his energy projection abilities to cut his way out of his bindings through the car?

  “No,” I muttered, “it did not occur to me.” I looked over my shoulder. Charlie had, indeed, cut the car in half. What I’d perceived as an explosion was actually just the car sheared into pieces by his powers, the metal smoking where he’d ripped through the seat, the frame, and everything else in the way to secure his freedom. Now he stood there, the car neatly sawed in half, pulling himself free from the last strands of my light web and looking around for me, half-blind in his panic. He saw me at the same time I saw him, and we both raised our hands—

  QUICKDRAW! Roberto Bastian shouted with apparent glee as I released a blast of compact fire, like a bullet of flame, at the same time Charlie sent a sizzling beam of a laser at me. I dodged, my shot already fired, my aim already certain.

  My arm hairs singed as the laser caught the faint, blondish hairs on my upper arm and sent the smell of them burning up to my metahuman-enhanced nose. They stunk, and the feeling of the laser passing was like a sunburn, as close as it got to me. I staggered, bumbling my way back up onto the curb and off the street.

  The flaming shot I’d sent at Charlie hit home, dead center in his chest, as he cranked his laser beam, a continuous scarlet stream of hissing energy, back at me. When the fire shot impacted, the laser just sort of…fizzled out, and Charlie jerked once, then twice, keeping his feet.

  That wouldn’t last.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, watching him, genuinely contrite. I would have liked to have left him be, to have bound him and had him stay bound for the London police to take him away to serve his lawful sentence. Maybe things would have gone badly for him in prison; maybe he would have continued to make stupid, arrogant, bullheaded choices that would take him out the doors of prison someday and into a worse situation, one where he actually killed someone.