by Eddy Will
She reached the edge of the rocky barrier and huddled behind a big bush that had grown from a tiny crevice. She looked back beyond the rock slide and up the steep incline from which she had tumbled in a mad fall. She searched the top of the cliff, looking for the men, looking for Remington himself. There was no-one. All was quiet, no mad chase, no trackers shouting commands, no men racing over the hilltop, fingers pointing. She was alone again and yet she knew she was not. The hunters were not far behind and she could not know their plan or strategy. Anna took inventory of her battered body. Scrapes and scratches littered her arms and legs, blood trickled from a facial wound she could not see. The satchel had been punctured by Remington’s bullet. Anna found the long bullet inside the bag and she thought of such a projectile plunging into her body.
‘You bastard,’ she thought, rage filling her mind and hate growing in her heart, as she rolled the bullet meant to end her life between her fingers. She scanned the hilltop and saw a man. It was too far to see clearly, but the man appearing over the crest looked very much like the tracker who had stalked her during the night. He was of slight build and on the short side, but it was the familiarity of his movements that tipped off Anna. He slowly moved out of the fog and from tree to tree until he had a good view of the rockslide area. Anna suddenly felt naked in the vast forest. There was no need to come charging after her, they already knew where she was. Somewhere on her body had been placed a device that would never allow her to disappear. Seconds later the contents of her satchel lay dumped on the ground. She studied each piece including the satchel looking for a small metal chip that sent out a signal to receiving units. Having found nothing she inspected the knife and the leather sheath, even the strap. The chip would be small, but not invisible. She would find it if she looked in the right place. Next came the bow and the quiver and again she was not able to locate the device. Having cleared the satchel and her weapons, she stared at her clothes. Everything on her body had been supplied by Diana’s henchmen. It could be anywhere in the fabric of her clothes. She frantically began padding down the jacket, her fingers pinching the fabric, moving methodically but quickly across the material.
Rocks rolled and bounced on others, making a distinct sound as they skipped downhill. Anna froze. The tracker had been moving across the rocks at a fast pace, silently until his foot caught loose rubble. He was less than thirty yards away, working his way across the uneven ground, heading for her hiding place. He raised his hand to his mouth and quietly talked into a radio. Anna’s heart pounded with panic. She had screwed up. Again. She should have kept running until her lungs gave out. She would never be far enough away, she realized. But she should have fled further. Now it was too late. If she bolted from her hiding place like a startled deer running from a predator in the last possible moment, the tracker would see her. He might not kill her, but he would keep following her until Remington and his hunting rifle caught up. It was not fair.
She was trapped. If she ran he would follow, if she stayed he would find her. He might even hold her down until the hunter showed with his long knife and made good on his promise to cut her throat slowly. The thought of Remington’s face being the last thing she saw in her life disgusted and enraged her.
The tracker slipped and almost fell, but quickly caught his footing. Anna prayed for the man to stop and return to his team or turn and head in a different direction. He would not.
She panicked and wanted to scream. But she bit her lip hard, forcing control over her fear and terror. She laid an arrow in the bow and pulled the bowstring, moving slowly and deliberately. Rising to her knees soundlessly, she spread her legs for balance, wedging her feet into the dirt for support. She raised the loaded bow and exhaled slowly. She would have one shot. If she missed he would turn and run, alarming the others with his radio or he might attack her in which case she would not have time to load another arrow. She pulled the knife from its sheath and stuck it between her teeth. Then Anna took aim again, pulling back the bowstring all the way.
She heard the grunts of exertion before she saw the head of the tracker appear over the rock that was her hiding place. He would see her any moment. Anna pushed out her breath to steady her hand. The tracker stepped on the rock, his eyes locking with Anna’s. His shoulders slumped imperceptibly as his mind realized he was dead.
Anna’s arrow whipped from the bow and plunged deep into the tracker’s chest. His eyes widened in shock at the impact, but did not leave Anna’s. He exhaled and seemed to nod before he sunk to his knees and tumbled off the rock. She watched in shock and terror as the man she had killed fell. He landed on his back, his frozen eyes staring at a sky they did not see. Anna fell backwards, scrambling in horror to get away from the corpse. She wanted to scream, but bit her lip.
“Oh, Lord, forgive me,’ she said, pushing out the words in an impromptu prayer. She stared at the body of the tracker, her mind unable to accept what she had done. She had killed a human being in cold calculation. She had to get away, could not look at the evidence of her deed. She scrambled to her feet and grabbed her satchel and weapons. She stopped and looked back at the body and the arrow sticking from the dead man’s chest. Her mind told her to retrieve the arrow. She would need it. She groaned hard in frustration and stepped to the body. Placing her knees on the man’s chest she pulled on the arrow but it would not budge. The point had two hooks at the back of the tip, which did not allow her to remove the arrow, unless she pushed the projectile through the tracker’s body and out the back. That she knew she could not do. But she did remember the tracker’s radio and rifled through his pockets until she found it. She stuffed the radio into her pocket and rose. The hilltop was quiet. No one else was running over the crest in search for her.
Anna turned and ran, away from the rockslide and away from the dead man, whose life had been taken by her arrow. She raced through the trees, her long legs flying over the smooth soft ground. And with distance her mind emptied out the images of the deadly battle and analyzed the confrontation. She had fought back and it had worked. It occurred to her that she might reverse the deadly hunt and turn the hunter into the hunted. As her legs carried her farther away, she thought about strategies. How could she turn the inevitable into a game-changer? She knew little about the hunting party following her tracks and her GPS signal. She knew Remington had at least one tracker, probably more, and she decided to assume that there had to be at least a couple of support personnel, to set up a tent and maybe cook for the rich American. Could she devise a plan to draw out Remington? If the hunter died, was the hunt over? Would she be declared the winner and allowed to go home? Diana had said to get the bastard. And what if she did? She had not lured the tracker to his death, he had created the trap by showing up at her hiding place, but what if she could set a trap?
The trees gave way to a vast field, the grass tall and thick. Anna cut a straight path through the wet grass, leaving a clear trail of bent grass in her wake. She did not care, Remington had the advantage of a GPS and won’t concern himself with reading the tracks she made.
On her path she chased up rabbits in the grass, their furry white tails flashing during their haphazard flight from danger. Anna needed food soon, but she did not have time to catch a rabbit. The forest was abundant with berries. But as she trotted through the field chasing up rabbits, she came across one slow moving animal. Maybe it was injured or maybe it was sick, but it only hopped a few yards and stopped. Anna followed the animal and it repeated the same process: hop a few yards then stop. Other rabbits quickly raced from sight. Anna stood tall and looked back from where she had come. A thin line of trampled grass ran to the tree line as straight as an arrow. Her eyes scanned the trees for signs of the hunter. Anna loaded an arrow and followed the slow rabbit. She raised her arms, taking aim, as she moved forward, inching closer to the animal. Having studied the rabbit’s rhythm, she shot her arrow just before the animal moved. The arrow exploded from the bow and pierced the small animal, the force of the projectile throwing
the light creature into the air. It was over thankfully quickly. Anna could not bare to look at the brief death struggle. She picked up the dead rabbit, pulled out the bloodied arrow and tied the animal to her belt.
She continued across the plain, in the distance a forest rising from the horizon. She had to get enough distance from Remington and his team to search her clothes for the GPS transmitter, for as long as Remington could track her from the comfort of his sleeping bag, it was only a matter of time before he would surprise her again, and then he might not miss.
She reached the forest and entered the tree line. The grassy field was maybe a half a mile wide, giving her enough warning should the hunting party break from the forest and cross the field.
“Let’s do it, then,” she said to the trees and quickly stripped off her clothes, piling them on the ground. The cold breeze bit at her naked skin. She shivered, but she had a job to do. She had to find the GPS tracking device hidden somewhere in the clothes. She only put on the clothes that did not contain the small chip. Her undergarments and socks were a quick search and turned up nothing. She picked up the brown pants and ran her fingers across every inch of the fabric. At regular intervals her head snapped up and searched the distant tree line and field for signs of the hunting party. She would not be surprised again. She searched the pants twice and found nothing, nothing sewn into the fabric, nothing hidden inside the pockets or behind the belt loops, and nothing inside the hem of the pant legs. She slipped back into the pants and set to work on the heavy sweatshirt. The fabric was thick and could easily hide a device as small as a chip, but the shirt was also soft and finding a small piece of metal would not be hard. She moved her fingers across the soft cotton and finding nothing after two searches slipped the shirt over her head.
She looked at the diminishing pile of clothes on the floor: the jacket, shoes and belt. She repeated the process with the jacket, taking extra care as the material was thick. Again she came up empty. That left the belt and shoes.
Anna put on the jacket and scanned the field and the tree line beyond: no sign of Remington or his trackers. The belt was an easy search and did not contain the chip she was looking to find. Frustrated and doubting she would find the small chip, she sat on a fallen tree and began inspecting the shoes, one at a time. They were made from leather and came up to her ankles, sturdy laces ran across the top of the shoe. Anna shoved her hand into the shoe and felt the sole for anything out of the ordinary, any bump in the material that did not belong. She ran her fingers over the interior leather and pulled back the upper part. There was nothing. She finally turned over the shoe and inspected the thick rubber sole. And there, between heavy-duty treads an incision had been made at the front of the heel. The cut was two inches across and entered the top of the heel. Anna took her knife and poked the tip into the slit. She cut through a bead of silicone, squeezed into the opening to seal it from water and dirt. And there, beneath the silicone was a small flat chip.
“I’ll be damned,” she whispered. Her suspicions had been borne out. She worked the tip of the knife into the opening until she pried out the small chip. She stared at the small piece of metal which was transmitting her position as she was looking at it. She had a powerful impulse to throw the tiny chip into the deep wet grass and leave, but she stopped herself and considered her options. The chip was a valuable weapon only as along as the hunters did not know that their prey had found it. She would be able to use it to her advantage. Keeping it was more valuable. It would only be a matter of time before Remington and his trackers would realize that the tracking chip had somehow been compromised and they would have to make alternative plans. But if Anna kept the chip, she could wait for an opportunity to maximize the effect, by using the tracking device to deceive or lure Remington and his men.
The bark of the tree by which she had been standing snapped violently and chunks of shattered wood punched her face. The distant clapping sound of a faraway gunshot followed the deadly projectile across the large field and reached Anna’s ears a brief second later. Anna ducked behind the trunk, stunned by the accuracy of the long distance shot.
“Oh, Christ,” she said, struggling to get her feet into the shoes and tie the strings. Her hands were shaking making the tasks harder. Another clapping sound traveled through the misty air. Her eyes searched for a way out or for a hiding place. Thirty yards into the woods ground brush piled high around a fallen pine. It would be a thirty yard gauntlet giving the shooter ample time for one well-aimed shot.
Another sharp clap, another deadly bullet flying her way. She had to time her run just right and waited for the next shot. The gunman would be re-focusing on the new target after his next shot and that would give Anna the fraction of a second of an advantage.
A bullet smacked into a tree nearby, the crack of the rifle following with a short delay. Anna jumped to her feet and sprinted for the fallen tree and the protective brush. She snapped to the left and moments later sharply to the right, fallen leaves and muddy dirt exploding around her, followed by a quick succession of sharp claps from across the field. Anna screamed as she frantically changed direction, instinctively throwing her arms up to protect her head. She had miscalculated again, expecting one shot, maybe two, but the killer was firing in rapid succession, choosing quantity over quality. A bullet whistled by her ear missing her by inches. Anna screamed again, her mind filled with panic, her body waiting for the brutal punch of the long narrow bullet boring into her flesh and ending the mad chase. She hurled her body over the dead trunk, crashing into the muddy ground beyond. She flipped on her back, pushing out primal grunts as she inspected her body for evidence of a hit. Luck had been on her side, the barrage of death from across the field had missed. She was still alive.
‘What the hell had happened,’ she thought, panting hard, fighting to catch her breath. The killer behind the rifle had not been deterred by the distance. Quite the contrary, he had unleashed maybe a dozen bullets. Anna rolled back on her stomach and crawled through the muddy dirt pushing her body forward with her arms and legs. More shots shattered the air. The gunman could not possibly see her, his vision blocked by the fallen tree and ground brush, and yet the killer continued to fire. Anna scrambled along, deep grunts pushed from her throat with every move. Her arms and legs moved quickly and when she had pushed deeper into the trees, she scrambled to her feet and ran. She ran through the forest without stopping or looking back. She was the prey and did exactly what prey did: run until she could run no more, run until the hunter caught up with her and ended the gruesome game. She roared in rage at her helpless predicament, but her legs never stopped moving.
Anna moved without a break for at least an hour, her lungs burning, her legs weak and rubbery. The ground had been turning steadily uphill and soon she had left the dense forest for open terrain, large rocks and tall lone pines taking the place of the woods. Low clouds hung heavy and pregnant, their color turning from dark grey to black: a gusty breeze the messenger of rain. Anna was sweating from the long run, but the chilly air was unmistakable. She found a perch behind a rocky outcrop and stopped to rest. The spot afforded her a downhill view of the distant forest which she had left earlier, making it difficult for the killers to sneak up on her. Her back, however, was exposed. Anyone coming over the crest a quarter mile from her camp would have the height advantage. This was as good as it was going to get, she decided. She was tired and needed rest. Millennia of weather had carved out the rock creating an overhang and some protection from the elements. Anna collapsed into the granite nook and tore into power bars, one sporting a bullet hole.
“They killed my power bar,” she said to the rock. She pulled the dead rabbit from her belt and placed it on the rock. She stared at the animal while she ate her power bar, her mind struggling with the inevitable: how would she get the furry carcass to an edible state. The thought was unappealing, but she had no choice. She needed the food, she needed the fuel. If she didn’t eat she would grow weak and Remington would find her and end he
r. That’s not how she would go, she decided. She would go down fighting, if she went down at all. A rage had been simmering in her heart and was reaching the boiling point. She did not enjoy being the helpless prey, running from her hunter until she could run no more, only postponing the inevitable, instead of altering the outcome, changing the game, taking charge of her fate. And she decided that she was not done yet.
“God damn you,” she said and grabbed the rabbit by its ears. She pulled the knife from its sheath and began the ugly job of cutting off the skin. She had never skinned anything, she only knew the fur had to come off the flesh. And clenching her teeth in disgust, she cut into the dead animal. Twenty minutes later, her hands bloodied and the granite soiled with blood and guts, she had laid out a row of strips of meat. She was not proud of the job, much meat was still on the bones and skin, but it was the best she could do and so there it was. She paused the unpleasant task and studied the forest below, her eyes searching for telltale signs of human activity: men sneaking from tree to tree or leaving the tree line and slowly working their way up the hill in search for their prey, the GPS transmitter a constant and accurate guide in their hunt. The tree line was calm, but Anna was not satisfied. She needed to know the terrain better, in case she had to move quickly. She hastily collected her belongings and packed the strips of meat into her satchel and trotted up the hill heading for the crest. Knowing what was on the other side of the hill could prove vital and she needed every advantage. A cold wind blew at the top, chilling her face as she studied the land below. In the far distance the mist of the tall waterfall rose into the air. A dense canopy of green foliage below was intermittently disrupted by the first colors of fall. Reddish and yellowish tones spotted the otherwise uniform green announcing the change in seasons to come. The barren rocky hillside afforded her a clear view for a long distance, but also made her vulnerable, for if she could see far into the distance, so could the hunters. Which way she chose could make the difference between life and death. The open ground seemed to suit Remington and his long range rifle, while her chances improved in the thick of the woods. It certainly reduced the capabilities of the rifle.