The Hunted

by Gabriel Bergmoser

  And the girl.

  She didn’t move. She couldn’t. The silence was closing around her.

  She made herself breathe. Like the counsellor had said. In and out, five times.

  She reached over and picked up the shotgun. It was heavy, much heavier than it looked. She shut the passenger-side door, then rounded the car and shut the other door. She turned to the house. In the night it didn’t look comforting. A looming, evil shadow in which waited something deadly.

  Allie’s hands tightened around the gun.

  She walked back inside.

  The girl lay still on the couch. Allie looked for any sign of movement. Any sign she was faking. But she might as well have been dead.

  She walked down the hall and into her tiny room, and closed the door behind her. There was barely enough space here for the few things she had brought with her from the city. Her clothes were piled all over the floor. A few books sat on a cramped desk.

  She got to her knees, then lay down on her side, facing the door and slid under the bed, where she could clearly see the bottom of the door. Trying not to make a sound, she pointed the shotgun outwards. If seconds or minutes passed, she had no idea. Time had lost meaning.

  She heard a floorboard creak.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Then

  The stench was the first thing Maggie noticed. It was pungent, rotten, like meat left out in the sun too long. She squinted in the dark, trying to make out what she was looking at. There were shapes hanging from the roof. She took another step forwards.

  It was as though someone had punched her in the stomach. She staggered, then her knees hit the ground and she was vomiting. Her heart was pounding in her ears and her body was shaking. A hot horror filled her. She retched again.

  Across the rough ceiling, from wall to wall, was a long metal bar, over which hung several thick chains with large hooks attached. And on the hooks were bloodied, misshapen lumps of flesh that had once been people.

  Some had been here longer than others. The skin was cracked and brown, hardened and leathery. Those were the easiest to look at. They resembled humans the least. It was the fresher ones, the ones that still had arms and legs and heads, that made her sick again.

  In total there were six bodies. Four hooks still hung low to the ground and empty. Following the chains with her eyes, Maggie saw that they led to winches at the far end of the room, placed on the dirt floor, the dirt floor that was mostly dark red with blood.

  It took Maggie three attempts to stand. Her brain was working overtime putting it all together. They brought people here and strung them up on the hooks then . . . Then bled them dry and cut bits off until—

  She had thought she had nothing left to throw up. She was wrong.

  She had to move fast. Nobody knew she was here and that meant she could use the cover of the trees to run until she found a road again. The moment she could flag down a car she would get as far down the road as she could in any direction and—

  She stopped. Her heart had slowed but still felt loud, every beat making her body shake more.

  Her bag, with her money, was back at the house.

  She pushed that away. It didn’t matter. Losing her money was nothing compared to ending up on one of these hooks.

  But a frantic voice in her head persisted: You’re fucked if you leave it, too. You can’t get a job, you’ll be found and—

  She shook her head, trying to push away the thoughts, but as she did, she heard a sound behind her.

  She spun. Kev, still in his singlet and jeans, stood in the doorway. He didn’t look angry. On the contrary he looked amused as he took her in, hands in his pockets, as relaxed as if he was overseeing another barbecue. ‘Having a bit of a stickybeak, are you, love?’

  Maggie started to back away.

  Kev didn’t move. ‘The hunting bounty is never pretty. We try to keep the sheilas from seeing it, you know?’

  ‘They . . . The women don’t know?’ Maggie’s voice sounded steadier than she felt.

  Kev seemed to be considering her. ‘Tell me. That limp dick you came in with. He impress ya? Excite ya?’

  Maggie wanted to look at the door, to gauge the distance, whether she could make it, could get past Kev. She didn’t like her chances if he saw that.

  ‘Nah,’ he said. ‘Didn’t think so. Pretty boy from the city, screaming for his Mum at the first sign of anything a bit rougher. Can’t much blame him, though. That’s how the cities breed ’em. What they churn out, they’re weeds. Not men. Nah. Men fight. Men protect. Men hunt and men kill. Men spill blood when they have to and don’t give a shit as long as their family stays in one piece. This.’ He nodded to one of the bodies. ‘It’s about all that and more. You come to this town, you wanna be a part of it: you hunt. And when you taste the hot blood for the first time, you either like it or you don’t. If you don’t.’ He shrugged. ‘Well, that’s the difference between the hunters and the hunted, ain’t it?’

  ‘These people.’ Maggie did her best to emphasise the second word, even though her voice felt about to betray her. ‘They wronged you?’

  ‘Pigs don’t wrong hunters,’ Kev said. ‘They just drew the shit straw. Evolution wise.’

  It was too much. Too monstrous and terrifying to comprehend. Their arrival, the gunshots in the woods, Trent walking back from the shed the night before . . .

  ‘Steve and his girl, Kate, they’re damn good at drawing the pigs,’ Kev said, a note of pride in his voice. ‘Usually they have to get out there and charm the fuckers back here. But you. You came right to us. Practically gift-wrapped.’

  He stepped into the shed. Maggie felt something graze the back of her neck and jumped away, a horrified tremor going through her. She had touched one of the bodies.

  Kev cackled, as if this was the funniest thing he had ever seen. ‘There you go. Better leave this stuff to the fellas.’ He was walking leisurely forwards, but he paused to look at one of the bodies with something close to fondness. ‘Steve’s a natural. Only blooded two years back, though if it was up to him, he would have been out on the hunt the day he learned to walk. And the shit he comes up with once they’re back here in the shed. You wouldn’t believe how long some of these fuckers last. Every now and then the lads end up killing them in the bush . . . but hey, we all get carried away and boys will be boys. I wasn’t much better at their age.’

  His eyes moved back to Maggie. He started for her again.

  ‘You’re going to kill me,’ she said.

  ‘What, now?’ He chuckled. ‘No fun in that. It’s been a while since old Kev got one all to himself. Nah, I’m gonna enjoy myself.’

  He was about to pass under the bar. He took his hands from his pockets. One of them held a flick knife, the rusted blade exposed with a jerk of his wrist.

  Maggie didn’t think. She dived sideways. But Kev’s fist moved fast, way faster than she could have guessed, colliding with her cheek. Before she even knew what was happening, she was in the congealed blood and dust, face throbbing. One of the low hanging hooks dangled in her contracting vision. She forced herself up onto her knees.

  ‘I’ll give you this.’ Kev’s voice, amused but with a bite of vicious excitement beneath it. ‘You’re a tough little bitch. No crying. Doing your best to stand up. I’ve seen blokes out cold after a hit like that.’

  Maggie managed to get one leg under herself. She reached for the hook.

  ‘Gotta say, it’s almost a waste, doing you here.’ Kev was close now, right above her. ‘It’d be something to see you out on the hunt.’

  Maggie stood fast. Kev lurched towards her right as she brought the hook up and through the fleshy underside of his jaw.

  Warm blood doused her hands. She shoved the hook upwards, feeling bone crack as it found home. Kev screamed and Maggie let go as he clawed at his wound. She ran to the winch and turned it hard, again and again. Kev’s screams got louder as he was pulled upwards off his feet.

  She turned, looking past Kev’s kicking feet
to the still-open door. Somebody would hear him if they hadn’t already. Her eyes landed on his dropped knife.

  She snatched it up and, without a moment for thought or doubt, cut his throat. She stepped back from the spray of blood and for just a flash she was back at the top of a darkened staircase as widened eyes fell away from her, a mouth opened halfway in a cry of mingled terror and accusation as something terrible and all too familiar filled her and then it was just the silence, the silence that should have been crushing. Instead it was sweet with the new and intoxicating taste of freedom.

  Everything seemed to slow down. The room was still, as if frozen in time. Kev’s body moved gently as the chain, jostled by his writhing, swayed slower and slower.

  Maggie collapsed against the wall, breathing heavily. She wasn’t sure she could stand, let alone walk. She made herself look at Kev. There was no guilt or revulsion, no sudden weight pulling her down. Just the grim satisfaction of a cleared obstacle. Just like last time.

  She needed to leave. But without her cash she wasn’t much better off out in the world than she was here. She looked down at herself. There was blood on her hands, but none on her clothes.

  In the corner of the shed was a steel sink. She did her best to scrub the blood away; anybody looking at her for more than a second would notice it, but she didn’t intend to let anyone look at her for more than a second. She scrubbed at her hands harder, aware of her breathing picking up, of Kev’s laughter, still loud in her head because she knew that laughter, had heard it before. Hamish on the rock in the bush late at night, arms outstretched and Ted shivering in boxer shorts in front of him.

  ‘It’s just a little jump,’ Hamish had crowed. ‘I do it every time – the water at the bottom is deep.’

  ‘I don’t want to.’ Ted’s voice was cracking.

  ‘Leave him alone, Hamish,’ Maggie, snapping twigs under the tree, said. ‘You’ve never jumped in that pool.’

  ‘Fuck off,’ Hamish said. ‘Just because you haven’t seen it.’

  ‘Ben told us we had to be back at the fire for dinner,’ Ted said. ‘Please can we—’

  ‘What, you think wimps get dinner?’ Hamish said. ‘Jump in the fucking pool. You’re going nowhere until you do.’

  Maggie stood, dropping the twigs. She was annoyed, more than anything. Later, Ted would cry and she would have to comfort him and it was all because Hamish couldn’t tell when a joke had gone too far. ‘Come on, leave it.’

  Hamish took a step towards Ted. In the dark he was a looming silhouette, bigger even than his nearly six feet. ‘Jump, pussy. Come on. You can do it.’

  ‘Hamish.’ Maggie moved for him.

  ‘Jump!’ Hamish yelled.

  Now, in the shed, Maggie looked into the pooling water of the sink, blood spreading through it like ink.

  ‘Hamish, stop!’

  ‘Jump!’

  Maggie running and then Hamish’s hand hard in her chest, sending her sprawling and gasping for air. Hamish charging and with a pathetic yelp Ted stepping back, tripping. Then the scream that ended in a crack which filled the night and sent searing ice through every inch of Maggie’s body as she stared up at Hamish, tall and unmoving on the rock, the stretch of night behind him.

  Once she was as clean as she could manage, she pocketed Kev’s knife and, keeping her eyes away from the bodies, hurried out the door, pulling it closed behind her. Simon had been right, even if he had got away before he understood just how right. If nothing else, there was that. It was Maggie’s fault he had come here, but he had got away. Not like Ted. Not like her.

  It didn’t look like there was anyone near the shed or approaching the field. It was muffled by trees and far enough from the town for her to hope that Kev’s screams hadn’t been heard. But there was no point taking chances. She kept one hand on the knife as she started to walk, concentrating on staying upright as she crossed the rubbish-strewn field back towards the house. Get in, get the cash, get out.

  The first people she saw lingering outside the houses on the main street almost made her turn and run. A couple looked at her and she had to remind herself there was nothing in their expressions that was any different to what she had already seen. She picked up the pace.

  She reached the house short of breath and shaking. Inside, she ran straight to her room and grabbed her bag. She checked inside, more habit than anything. The cash was still there.

  She was heading back for the door when she heard the knock.

  She froze. Her heart seemed to have stopped.

  She took the knife from her pocket. Her hand was steady. She started to move for the door as the knock came again. She reached for the handle.

  She paused. If they knew – or suspected – what she had done, the knocks would hardly be so casual. The discovery of Kev’s body, considering what this town was capable of, would have had them kicking down her door. If she attacked now, in broad daylight, then she was as good as dead.

  In fact, she realised with a swell of panic, if she did just about anything in broad daylight she was as good as dead. She couldn’t steal a car or run into the bushland. Because that would have been exactly what those bodies in the shed had tried.

  She closed her eyes and forced away the feeling that she might be sick again. She had no use for that. At least for the next little while fear and revulsion had to take a back seat to survival. Neither of them would be any use to her if she was caught. Later she could cry and throw up, tremble and lie awake traumatised by what she had seen. But that would only work if she did escape, and to do that she had to be smart.

  This was a town of hunters, and hunting was a game. People who were good at games knew how to play off the weaknesses of their opponents, and there were few weaknesses as overpowering as fear. Fear made people stupid and predictable. Fear sent people running from hunters through a landscape the hunters knew intimately. Every instinct in her body was telling her to crawl out the back window now and disappear into the trees, and that meant she would have to do precisely not that. Not when the people she wanted to escape would expect it. To win this game, she would have to act like someone who was not afraid.

  She heard a shuffling of feet on the verandah. The knocking had stopped. She tried to think. Whoever was looking for her had probably seen her enter the house, which meant they knew she was in here and not replying which implied she was either trying to hide or—

  She glanced over her shoulder.

  Or she had escaped through a back window.

  Footsteps light and fast, she moved back to the bedroom and eased the window open as quietly as she could, before hurrying back out into the hall, to the front door. Holding the knife, she put her ear to the door. Not hearing anything, she opened the door a fraction. The street was empty now, but she could hear the crack of dried grass and the rustling of bushes from behind the house.

  The scared pig was predictable. Or so they thought.

  Across the road was a ute and, like many of the others she had seen in this town, its tray was loaded with various things: toolboxes, a tarp, a couple of steel drums. Squeezing through the door and then quietly pulling it closed behind her, she scanned the clear street again then moved low and noiselessly across the road. After a furtive check down the side of the house to confirm that nobody had returned yet, she crawled into the ute’s tray, pulled the musty tarp over herself and lay down flat on her back between several metal boxes. The steel beneath her was hot from the sun. With every breath she was inhaling dirt. Early evening light penetrated the flimsy tarp, making her close her eyes.

  It seemed like suicide even to her. But if they guessed she had run, then the whole town would be looking for her, especially if they had found Kev and, after years of hunting, nobody would question basic human instinct. She had run, and so they would look to the bush. Not the heart of their home.

  Being here while all eyes looked outwards was a good place to start, but it did not provide a clear way free. She forced her brain to focus; there was scarcely any
sound on the street, which surely meant that Kev hadn’t been found yet. That meant her advantage hadn’t yet reached its strongest point. That would come when the enemy was angry. Because rage could be just as overpowering as fear.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Now

  Frank knew this feeling. He knew it and he hated it.

  It had been different, back then. As he lay side by side in the dark of the trees with his mate Wayne, scope to his eye and heart pounding a rhythm in his ears. Waiting for the deer to cross his sight. His finger hard on the trigger, ready to squeeze.

  ‘It’s about the waiting,’ Wayne had said earlier that night, passing Frank the bottle as he bent over the table to rack another line. ‘Being still and focusing and putting everything into that fucking moment. Then – bam!’ He clapped and did the line. He sniffed hard, ran his little finger around his nostril and winked at Frank. ‘The moment’s yours.’

  The moment’s yours. Frank had repeated that to himself, lying in the dirt as the booze and the speed pulsed through his veins and everything vanished except the wait for the flash of movement that told him it was time to act, that took him a million miles and years away from the screaming baby and Amber crying back home, away from the things that had made him so angry, the things that sometimes he imagined when he pulled that trigger and the moment became his.

  Back against the wall, staring at the inside of the counter, Delilah silent next to him, Frank tried to focus. Waiting was different when you weren’t in control. When you weren’t waiting for your moment, but for the moment to come for you. The air was charged, ready to ignite. The minutes were racing by, far too fast. Five had passed since the ultimatum had been given. Five precious minutes already gone, and he was no closer to figuring out a solution. He felt trapped in a terrible stalemate; he didn’t want to move from this spot in case they decided to bring the ultimatum forwards.