by Eddy Will
Anna froze in mid-step, staring at the tracker heading for her, on a direct collision course. He did not see her yet, for his eyes had not adjusted to the dark, but he would any moment. Thin branches and twigs snapped under his heavy foot as he forged ahead. Anna’s heart pounded in her throat and terror filled her heart. And still, she was unable to move, rooted to the ground beneath her feet. She stared at the tracker as he barreled towards her. ‘Oh God, please,’ she thought. The man stopped abruptly and stared at the woman less than twenty feet away. He screamed in a high pitched voice and jumped. But he recovered quickly and his glassy eyes narrowed. He moved forward, his hands preparing to grab. Anna raised her bow and pulled the string back. The man did not slow. The arrow exploded forward. She missed. The arrow flew by the tracker and disappeared into the night. The man growled at the failed assault and charged the now defenseless prey. Anna spun and ran, but the tracker had the advantage of momentum. The tracker’s body slammed into her legs and his strong arms wrapped around her thighs. Anna screamed in panic, kicking her legs to get free and scrambling to stay on her feet. But the weight of her attacker proved too much and she fell forward. Her attacker viciously grabbed at her body looking for better purchase. Anna’s hands dug into the dirt, clawing at the ground, pulling herself along. She kicked at the man whose big hands dug into her flesh. Anna grunted like a beast of burden reeling under a heavy load and scrambled forward, twisting and kicking to get free from her attacker. She needed only a moment. But the tracker smelled victory and tore at the woman’s clothes pulling his heavy bulk on his prey one inch at a time. Anna slammed her elbow into the man’s head. He screamed in pain, but did not let up. His hand clamped on her shoulder. Anna roared in frustration as the attacker pulled his body on her, his fist pounding her back. She twisted violently and kicked her legs hoping to inflict an injury that would loosen his grip. She gasped at the searing pain in her back. The attacker pushed her face into the ground, his big hand on the back of her head. Anna panicked as she inhaled dirt. She could not see, could not breathe. Her body roared in one final attempt to change the inevitable outcome, twisting, kicking, bucking, and then her mind numbed and her sight went dark.
‘He won,’ she thought as she felt her life drain from her body. ‘Here it comes, this is what its like to die.’
Her attacker brutally flipped her around and sat on her, holding her arms down with one hand. Anna sucked in air in aching gasps, her mouth open wide pulling in all the cold air in the forest. When her vision returned she stared into the face of her attacker whose glassy eyes were only inches from hers, studying her death struggle with great fascination. She felt his tobacco-stained breath on her face, the stench causing her stomach to turn.
She saw the change in his eyes. The rage and anger and the impulse to watch her die gave way to another base impulse. She saw lust in his glassy eyes, felt desire in his short staccato breath. She wished he had let her die, face down in the wet dirt. The tracker tore at Anna’s clothes with his free hand. The rough touch was different from his previous clawing, the purpose clear. Frustrated with the thick fabric of her tunic, he began pawing her, slamming his rude hand on her breasts, moving down, grabbing her hard. Anna screamed in pain and shame, but the attacker cackled a brown-toothed laugh and lowered his face to hers, his tongue greedily flicking from his mouth like a lizard’s might, tasting the air for prey. Anna’s senses revolted. She shot her head upward and baring her teeth, she bit hard into his nose and cheek, digging her teeth into his flesh with ferocity. The man screamed and yanked back his head, but Anna’s jaw had locked and his jerking movement tore at the flesh trapped by her teeth, filling her mouth with his blood. Anna roared a primal scream and snapped her head left and right, ripping her rapist’s nose from his face. He screamed again and let go off Anna’s hands in an effort to protect his ruined face. Blood spewed from his gashing wound, spilling over Anna’s face. She grabbed the man’s jacket and pulled hard, yanking him towards her and at the same time she slammed her fist into the hole where his nose had been. And he screamed again, the shock numbing his mind, keeping him from reacting. He scrambled in panic, his only goal to get away. The tracker swung his fist at the woman below and connected hard with her face. The impact stung, a searing sharp pain shooting up her cheek. The blood-gushing attacker aimed for a second blow. Anna slammed her fist into the man’s throat crushing the thyroid cartilage of his larynx. The rapist gagged and grabbed his neck, unable to breathe. He twisted his body free and scrambled to his feet, pushing out grunts and groans, fighting for breath. Anna jumped up, her rage complete, and tore the knife from its sheath. Days of terror and humiliation found release and she roared like a primeval creature as she plunged the sharp blade into her rapist’s chest. The man stared at his prey in shock and disbelief. They stood motionless for a moment their faces inches apart before he sank to his knees, the shock in his eyes giving way to confusion. Anna pulled the blade from the dying man’s chest and kicked him hard. The tracker fell backwards into the mud and Anna stood over him, her knife ready for a second strike.
The tracker died staring at the woman who was meant to be easy prey.
Anna breathed hard, letting the terror and trauma flow into the ground beneath the body of her would-be rapist. When she finally moved she had calmed down, but the rage had not left her.
She removed the tracking device from the dead man and set off in the direction of the hunter’s camp. Anna had tasted blood and was not done.
The light breeze had turned into a robust wind rushing through the foliage. Large trees swayed to and fro, sudden gusts shook the canopy in rustling bursts of movement. Anna hurried through the woods, her face to the wind, following the lingering scent of the hunter’s campfire. The steady run shook the pain of the brutal assault from her battered body. She scanned the dark night for the dim glow of flames and found the camp just as a powerful gust swept through the woods; nature anticipating her daughter’s confrontation with the unnatural. The fire had subsided, reduced to small flames atop a large smoldering ash pile. The older tracker rose from his rock and stretched his limbs. He strolled to the edge of the camp and stared into the night, maybe wondering where his partner was. Anna moved closer, soundlessly hurrying from tree to tree. She stayed downwind from the camp, so the sounds of accidental twigs snapping would not travel to the camp and alert the lone guard. She armed her bow and crouched down below the man’s line of sight. She closed the gap between her and the guard to ten yards. The man reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a pack of cigarettes. He shook one loose, pressed the filter between his lips and struck a match. A bright flame flashed across the guard’s face and cupping his hand he lit the end of the cigarette.
‘Now,’ she thought. ‘He can’t see.’ It was her signal.
Anna stepped out from behind the tree and walked straight at the busy guard, the bow raised, the arrow ready to release.
She calmly approached the man, closing in on her target, reducing the margin of error with every step.
The guard looked up and stared at the approaching apparition of the night.
Anna shot the arrow. The tip bored into the man’s chest with ferocious velocity and pierced his heart. His cigarette dropped to the ground and then he dropped, the arrow having killed him instantly. Anna took no chances and loaded another arrow. She stood over the prone body, ready to shoot again. But the man was dead, his frozen eyes staring at a heaven he would never see.
Anna walked to the smoldering fire and pulled two stoking sticks from the red hot ashes, the ends burning brightly, hungry flames in search of fuel to devour.
‘I’ll feed you,’ she thought and laid one on each opposing corner of the larger tent. She retreated into the dark and took up position behind a burly tree. Anna armed her bow and waited. Nature would play its part, all she had to do was wait and be ready.
Moments passed. The burning stoking sticks laid by the tent corners. A fierce wind battered the dancing flames and pushed them against the
tent. And just when Anna thought the wind might extinguish the burning sticks, the desperate flames found purchase on the synthetic material and greedily crawled up the side of the tent. Once the flames had secured their bridgehead they needed no further encouragement. They raced up the side of the tent and seconds later shouts and screams erupted from within. Anna watched as the zipper tore up the length of the entrance and the first man stumbled from the smoke filled interior. He scrambled to his feet, his sleepy mind struggling to comprehend. Anna took careful aim from her position and released an arrow at the stunned guard. The tip ripped into his side just under his raised arm. The man screamed in pain, his body spinning in reaction to the sudden, brutal punch. He dropped to his knee and continued to scream, adding to the growing chaos.
‘Come on,’ Anna thought, willing the men to leave their tent.
Another crawled from the inferno, hacking and coughing. Anna stepped out from her hiding place and walked closer. She shot another arrow. It missed its intended target, the man’s torso, but shattered his skull and smashed through his brain. The guard spun around, the tip of the arrow had exited the other side of his skull. Anna loaded another arrow, when Remington charged barefoot and without pants from his tent, his rifle in hand. The raging fire and dead bodies pierced with arrows told him the story and he quickly raised his hunting rifle in search for the attacker.
Anna adjusted her aim and shot at the hunter. The arrow missed and gave away her position. Remington spun his rifle and fired twice. Anna dropped to the ground and crawled to safety. Remington fired again, shattering the bark of a tree. Anna scrambled to her feet and took cover behind the tree. She loaded another arrow. Remington fired again. Anna stepped out and raised the loaded bow. Remington was walking in her direction his rifle pointed at her. Anna shot her arrow, Remington fired a bullet. Both missed, but Anna was out of time. Remington approached her with long steps. Anna ducked behind the tree. Remington fired again and again, the thunder of close range gunfire deafening. Anna sprinted into the dark, keeping her body low, cutting from left to right and back, racing for the safety of the night. Remington fired expletives and bullets in her direction. Anna hurled her body over a fallen tree, two bullets tore into the dead trunk. She scrambled on her hands and knees, keeping her body close to the ground and behind the protective barrier of the fallen trunk. She reached brush and staggered to her feet, slipped on the wet ground, the crack of the rifle and a bullet whistled past where her head been a second earlier. Anna’s hands tore at the wet dirt propelling her body forward. She jumped to her feet and raced for the darkness. More shots followed, but Anna knew Remington fired without aim. Her lungs felt like bursting but she did not stop. She sprinted until her legs gave out and she collapsed on the ground, gasping for air. Panting hard, she flipped on her back and looked back. Far in the distance angry flames had attacked the second tent. A large ball of fire shined its bright light far into the black night.
Anna stayed on the ground until she caught her breath, watching the mayhem and chaos caused by her hand. She was only sorry that she had missed Remington. But she had inflicted serious damage to his team and destroyed his camp. She had leveled the playing field. She had struck back and scored a victory in the battle for her life.
Chapter 51
The Carpathian Mountains, Romania, August 5, 2012, 1:57 AM
Diana stormed into the control room in the basement of Okhota Lodge. She wore a bathrobe and slippers and had little in common with the goddess of the hunt she preferred to emulate during waking hours. The lack of careful make-up and the untimely hour betrayed her age.
“What the hell is going on?” she said.
“It appears that Anna Jaeger has attacked the camp and inflicted substantial casualties,” the man on duty said.
Diana stared at the guard, unable to speak. Never has any prey fought back, never mind inflict casualties. Not even she had accomplished that. She had merely had a lucky break when her hunter had stumbled upon her and she had been faster with her spear. And that was decades before the convenience and advantage of GPS tracking devices. No, this was a brand new wrinkle.
“Casualties?” she said. “Remington?”
“Remington is fine. Shaken but fine,” the guard said. “It seems we have lost one tracker earlier today and four in the assault on the camp. A fifth has suffered burns and smoke inhalation.”
“Burns? Did that woman set the forest on fire?”
“No, Ma’am. Just the tents. All dead have been killed with arrows, one his still missing and at this time presumed dead.”
“I’ll be damned,” she said, oscillating between anger and admiration. “How could this have happened? What about the GPS. Were the boys asleep on the job?”
“I don’t know about that, Ma’am, but the GPS-tracker has not moved in several hours and is located over a mile from Remington’s camp. The attack occurred twenty minutes ago,” the guard said, making sure he stuck to the facts.
“Clever girl,” Diana said, “She not only figured out that she had been tracked, but she must have found the chip.”
“Unless the chip is defective,” the guard said, keen on covering all options. “It appears we had a glitch last night, when the tracker was unable to get a visual on the woman, even though he should have been standing on top of her,” he said.
“Well, if it talks like a duck and walks like a duck,” Diana said. “My money is on the girl at this point and not on a defective unit.”
“Right,” the guard said.
“Get a second team out there right away,” she said. “Remington is a fool, but we can’t leave him alone out there. I have a feeling she would eat him for lunch if he lasts that long. Not that I would mind, but he is paying for the party, not the girl. So, hop to it.”
“Already on it,” the guard said and picked up the house phone. He would send another team with additional gear, leaving the remaining guards spread thin at the lodge. But there was no chance she would return to the lodge, he figured. She would probably be dead by noon. Tonight was an anomaly.
Chapter 52
The Carpathian Mountains, Romania, August 5, 2012, 2:12 AM
The black night suddenly felt ominous, oppressive. Remington was angry. He clutched his hunting rifle like a security blanket. The last remaining guard was tending to the wounded man, whose body and face had suffered severe burns. Remington could not stand to look at the injuries and had half a mind to put the man out of his misery. The dwindling supply of bullets, however, dissuaded him from that idea. The generous stack of boxed ammunition had perished in the fire, leaving him only with a handful of rounds. But he did wish the guard would spend less time tending to the wounded and more time protecting him and the ruins of their camp. He had paid a fortune to be here and he did not feel he should be standing in the wild on a pitch black night in his underwear and without shoes. It was a disgrace and he was cold. His eyes continuously scanned the dark forest for signs of his prey. He would cherish the moment when he cut her throat, slowly. She had done nothing but humiliate him, but his time would come and they would be even. He willed her to step out of the dark, for he would not miss again, he swore. But his anger was mixing with another emotion, an unfamiliar one for the billionaire who was used to getting his way, in fact had made his fortune by getting his way. Fear had crept into his heart and spread slowly like a cancer. Remington clutched his rifle tighter, his eyes nervously searching the night as he stood barefoot and pant-less by the campfire, shivering.
Chapter 53
The Carpathian Mountains, Romania, August 5, 2012, 2:17 AM
Jack climbed out the car and stretched his cramped legs. It had been a long drive from Cluj and the road had been winding and narrow. They had reached the end of the road as marked on the map, only the road did not end. It continued on the other side of a tall, imposing gate. Tarpov joined Jack to inspect the steel structure. It was built well and operated electronically. It would not open easily. On each side of the gate ran a chain link fenc
e that stood ten feet tall, the upper portion curved inward and topped with barbed wire. The fence disappeared into the forest, a clearing cut on both sides, making it impossible to climb a tree in order to get over the fence.
“I have an idea,” Tarpov said and walked to the back of the SUV. He instructed a sleepy Styx to move the car and light up a section of the fence with the headlights. He retrieved a long crowbar and powerful cutters from a bag. A gusty wind picked up, shaking the trees. Tarpov inspected the lit-up fence until he found what he was looking for.
“The fence is electrified,” he said and showed Jack the thin plastic insulators, separating differently charged parts of the fence. “You see, if you only touch here,” he said, touching the lower part of the fence, “you are fine. It makes it safe for small animals. But if you touch two sections, as if a person was climbing the fence…,” he said and tossed the long crowbar against the fence. Violent sparks erupted shooting off in long arches. Jack jumped back, surprised and stunned. The violent display ended as abruptly as it had begun and the crowbar fell to the ground.
“The system shorted out. We are safe for now,” the Russian said and proceeded to cut the fence.
Five minutes later Styx drove the car through the newly cut hole.
“Alright, we are now in enemy territory,” Tarpov said,
“We are trespassing, you mean,” Jack said.
“You can call it that if you like, but we didn’t hop old man Chuck’s fence to steal his apples,” the former KGB man said, his Russian accent in contrast to the colloquialism. “This is more serious.” He opened the trunk and laid out the weapons he had ordered from Boris in Cluj. The trio assembled by the trunk and each received a handgun and several magazines.