The Hunting Tree Trilogy

by Ike Hamill

  From between the two vehicles at the monster’s back, Melanie rushed out, stretching a pistol out in front of her. She locked her eyes on the monster’s back and pulled the trigger. The monster whirled, uninjured by the bullet but surprised. Melanie fought the kickback from the powerful weapon and aimed again. She tightened her grip as she pulled the trigger a second time.

  The monster stalked out a broad circle around Melanie. She had missed the monster twice, but it stayed at a respectful distance, waiting for her to fire again. She narrowed her eyes as she prepared to shoot, but Susan appeared at her side, startling Melanie and making her lose her concentration.

  “Run, Mom,” said Susan.

  “No, honey,” said Melanie, waiving her off with one hand while brandishing the gun with the other. “Go hide,” she ordered.

  The monster reached the perimeter of the car circle, near the gap where the Charger had rested, when Melanie fired a third time. This shot hit, tearing a chunk of flesh from its shoulder. It sneered as it squared itself back to face her again. Melanie felt slightly more comfortable, more in control now that she had a few cars offering her partial cover from the monster. She’d managed to wound it. Her daughter backed away between the cars, hiding, finally obeying.

  Crooked Tree ducked as she fired the fourth shot. Most of his body was now obscured by the front end of Ken’s SUV. When his head came back up she fired three more times in quick succession. Each shot missed.

  “Bihhhh-tch,” Crooked Tree screeched across the distance.

  “Hey!” Davey yelled from the edge of the woods. He had crawled back out to draw the monster’s attention away from his family.

  “NO!” Melanie yelled, waving the gun. She could just see the monster’s eyes as it ducked it’s huge head below the level of Ken’s hood. Melanie knew what was next, she could see it with perfect clarity: the monster would rush back across the clearing, faster than she could possibly shoot. Even if she still had bullets in her gun she would be helpless to stop the creature from getting her son.

  A horrible clang of wrenching metal rang out as Ken’s truck lurched to the side. Melanie hunkered down behind the hood of Chester’s car and watched as the SUV crashed into the car parked next to it. She puzzled at his intention a split second too long. That’s how long it took for Chester’s car to lurch, pinning her daughter between it and the rusty van behind her.

  “Suze!” she screamed. Melanie dropped her gun and squeezed into the gap between the cars. She ignored her own safety and reached out a hand to her daughter. The grinding, twisting noise of bending metal stopped and she could hear Susan’s sobbing moans.

  “I’m stu-huh-uck,” wailed Susan.

  “Oh, baby, I’ll get you out. I promise,” said Melanie. “Are you cut? Can you breathe?”

  “It hurts, Mom,” said Susan.

  “Hold tight, baby,” Melanie said as she pulled back. She skittered back to the front of the car and grabbed the gun from the ground. She raised it up and saw what she expected—the monster had run back to the stand of pines where Davey had again disappeared. Melanie pointed the gun at its broad back. It was likely too far away for her imprecise aim, but she pulled the trigger anyway. After two more shots the gun was empty and the creature had bashed through the branches into the darkness.

  Melanie looked between the woods and her sobbing daughter. Caught between her kids she stood frozen, unable to decide what to do. To her right, the headlights picked out a dark shape emerging from the woods. She raised the empty gun and pointed it towards the figure. It was Morris.

  He saw the tracks across the clearing but asked anyway—“Which way?”

  Melanie pointed and yelled, “There! Near the pine trees. He’s chasing Davey." With Morris on the trail, well armed and capable, Melanie turned back to her daughter. She threw herself to the ground and shimmied under the cars to assess from below.

  “Here, honey, you’ve got to straighten out this leg,” she said.

  “It hurts too much,” cried Susan. “I can’t.”

  “Just try to lift up a little,” said Melanie. “Good, now take the weight off your leg." Melanie pulled on her daughter’s ankle. Susan’s foot carved a rut in the mud and her knee gave a tiny pop, but Melanie was able to straighten the limb out, pointing it parallel with the other.

  “Hard to breathe,” Susan whispered.

  “Hold on,” said Melanie. She raised herself up and wedged her arm between the two vehicles. Pulling on her own wrist with her other hand, she popped the sheet metal of the van’s broad door, giving Susan enough room to lower herself down.

  “Keep going, honey,” she said. Susan and Melanie were able to slide through the dark mud and wriggle free from the trap.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Davey

  DAVEY FLED THROUGH THE FOREST by the starlight, trying to keep to the thickest growth. Behind him the monster crashed through the woods, trading stealth for blind, destructive speed. When Morris got close enough, Davey felt his presence and looped around to get back to him. With each step he knew that the monster was cutting off the turn and gaining ground, but at least this course brought Davey closer to help.

  When the crashing in the woods had nearly caught up, Davey felt the wind of downed tree limbs pounding to the ground. The force behind him seemed inevitable and unstoppable. Davey burst from the woods, back into clearing as Morris’s shotgun erupted again.

  Crooked Tree’s scream shook the ground and rattled the leaves. Davey saw his mom and sister, huddled near the front of Chester’s car, but he ran on a tangent to the circle of cars to keep the creature from them. Gasping for breath, Davey sprinted. The giant crashed out of the woods as Morris’s gun fired again.

  Davey stole a look back and saw the monster on its knees. Part of its skull glimmered bright-red in the headlights. Its side had been perforated by another well-placed shot.

  Roland stepped from the woods, about halfway between Davey and the creature. Seeing his cousin on the other side, he dropped to the ground and aimed up, to avoid any cross fire. His shot tore through Crooked Tree’s shoulder, expanding the hole made by Melanie’s one good shot.

  Morris circled to get out of Roland’s line of fire and pumped his shotgun, before sending another blast to the monster’s thigh.

  Crooked Tree lurched forward and fell to the earth. He sent one hand in Davey’s direction and clawed at the ground, dragging himself forward a few feet. Roland stepped forward calmly and shot through the monster’s palm. The arm came away from the ground handless and flailed, sending his blood every direction.

  Merritt limped out of the woods as Morris approached the downed giant, leading with his shotgun. Morris raised his gun to about a foot away from the back of the creature’s head.

  “Watch it!” yelled Merritt. His warning distracted Morris at just the wrong time. Crooked Tree’s other hand, which had been lost under his enormous torso, flew out to its entire length and snagged Morris’s foot. When the monster tugged, the man’s shotgun swung up to the sky and he fired his next shot at dim stars. Morris’s foot was in the jaws of the beast instantly.

  Even from his distance, Davey could see life returning to the killer as it bit into Morris’s foot. Morris’s scream was not unlike that of Crooked Tree—low and terrifying.

  Merritt and Roland were on it at once, firing rounds into the giant’s back and side. They avoided shooting at its head, where Morris could be an unintentional casualty. Still screaming, Morris lowered his gun and fired down the length of his own leg, hitting Crooked Tree in the forehead just as Roland jumped away to avoid getting tagged by the ricochet. Roland blinked and shook his head, unable to process what he saw. Each blast tore a gaping hole in the creature’s flesh, but just as it started to bleed, the wound would skin-over and start to heal. Crooked Tree pulled fresh strength from Morris’s gnawed leg.

  Completely focused on their task, nobody saw Davey approach. Even his mother didn’t see until it was too late. Davey ducked down, narrowly avoiding a
blast from Merritt’s gun and thrust his left hand into the monster’s mouth.

  “NO!” Merritt and Roland screamed at the same time. Roland dropped his gun and grabbed the back of Davey’s shirt, tearing it as he pulled him away. Merritt stepped forward and put the muzzle of his gun directly in the creature’s back, where he estimated the heart must be, and fired the final round. As Roland dragged Davey away, Morris clawed the dirt, pulling the remainder of his leg away from the monster.

  The three men backed away. Roland held Davey close to his body and tried to assess the damage to the boy’s hand. Melanie ran over and scooped Davey up.

  The monster had gone still. Merritt backed away a few feet, mindful of its reach, and kept his gun trained on its skull. Roland circled behind Morris and pulled him further towards the headlights before using his belt to make a tourniquet.

  Crooked Tree lurched one more time, but Merritt merely backed away another half-step. The monster’s head came up off the ground and as it wheezed in a ragged breath, something gurgling deep from its chest. Before the head crashed back to the ground, Roland noticed that the flesh around its mouth had turned black and started to peel away.

  “I think it’s really dying this time,” Merritt said. He pointed at the thing’s back and his cousin rose up from bandaging Morris’s leg to confirm the suspicion. Instead of healing as before, a black circle had formed around the gaping wound in the monster’s back. As they watched, fingers of black spread like cracks from the hole. More black lines spread away from its missing hand and injured shoulder.

  Within seconds the black lines had connected into a web of decay, covering the beast’s body.

  Merritt backed away another step and called nine-one-one. As he described the emergency and asked for several ambulances, they watched the giant’s back puff and then deflate. By the time he hung up with the operator, the monster’s corpse had become a flat black spot on the grass.

  Melanie held her son on her lap and used the dew from the grass to wipe the thick blood from his hand. She guessed that most of the gore was from Morris’s leg because she could only find two small cuts in Davey’s hand.

  “You’re very lucky,” she said to her son. “Why did you do that?”

  “My blood had to stop it,” Davey explained.

  Melanie considered that for a second.

  “Well that was very brave, but very foolish,” she said and hugged him close. “And lucky.”

  “Mom?” he asked. She looked into her son’s eyes. “Is he going to be okay?” Davey pointed at Morris.

  “Yes,” she said. Merritt and Roland knelt over their cousin. Morris was either unconscious or incredibly stoic—he laid still on the damp grass. Melanie looked over to see her daughter limping towards the cluster of survivors. “I think he’ll be okay if the doctors get here fast.”

  “Where’s my brother?” Merritt asked, swiveling his head around as he realized the absence.

  Susan had just pulled even with the men. She pointed back to the circle of cars. Merritt trotted off towards the headlights, leaving Roland to tend to Morris.

  “I,” Davey started, swallowing hard before continuing. “I don’t want to die.”

  “You’re going to be fine, honey,” she said. “You’ve barely got a scratch.”

  Davey frowned at his mother, holding her gaze, and slowly shook his head. She was puzzled. A tear leaked out of her boy’s eye and traced a line down his dirty cheek.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked. Her daughter lowered herself to the ground, making their family complete again. Susan tenderly stroked the back of Davey’s head as another tear escaped down his sad face.

  “Honey? What is it?” she asked again.

  He looked down at his hand.

  Melanie followed his gaze and blinked several times. She saw nothing wrong with his perfect hand. She blinked because she knew that she should see the two small holes where the giant had punctured his skin. When she blinked yet again she saw that the wounds were there, as they should be, but were now circled with dark black.

  Tiny lines crept out from the black circles as she watched, and covered her son’s hands.

  “No, Davey! No!” she said. She held his hand up, like it was something he was trying to steal from her. Roland looked up, still keeping pressure on Morris’s wound. He dropped his cousin’s leg when he saw Davey’s hand.

  “What’s it mean?” Susan asked, face filled with fear and awe.

  “Davey,” Melanie said, sobbing. She held her son tight against her body while using her other hand to hold his black hand away. “No, baby. Fight it. You’ve got to fight it.”

  Roland approached fast and pulled a long knife from his belt. “We’ve got to cut it off,” he yelled. “You saw how fast it happens.” He reached for Davey’s hand.

  “NO!” Melanie screamed, pulling his arm in tight. “We need a doctor. GET A DOCTOR!” she yelled. Davey’s head flopped around as she shook.

  “Mom,” Susan pointed.

  Davey’s eyes were lidded, hiding his pupils. Tendrils of black streaked up from his collar and encircled his face.

  “DAVEY!” Melanie wailed.

  Morris stirred and moaned. Merritt ran back towards the group, casting long, dancing shadows in the headlights.

  Melanie pulled her son even closer, hugging him tight.

  As she clutched his motionless body, his skin turned black and dried out. Her tears fell on his face sending up puffs of ash into the beams of the headlights. His sagging lips revealed his shiny dry teeth—the only part of Davey that hadn’t turned black. Melanie pulled one of his limp hands to her face and kissed his palm. Her lips were stained black with the residue of his burned skin. She sobbed and tried to rub the ash from his cheek. She found only more blackened skin underneath.

  Roland knelt next to mother and son.

  “I think he’s gone,” Roland said.

  “No,” said Melanie. “You’re wrong.” She bent her head and heaved with sobs.

  Roland reached out and took one of Davey’s wrists between his fingertips. Davey’s skin crackled under the pressure.

  “He’s got a pulse,” said Roland.

  EPILOGUE

  Davey

  THE PARAMEDICS RUSHED DAVEY to the pediatric burn unit where they placed him in a special tub to evaluate his wounds. When they cut away his clothes, Gerald—a nurse with fifteen years experience treating horrific burns—fainted at the sight. The boy’s entire body looked like a piece of chicken that had been left under the broiler all night, Gerald later told his sister.

  When the remaining staff first started to clean Davey’s skin, one of the doctors sighed and said, “Oh, thank God.” With minimal effort, the blackened skin wiped away, revealing clean, healthy skin. In disbelief, they sent one of the aides to fetch a camera halfway through the procedure.

  Davey regained consciousness while they cleaned the bottoms of his feet. He squirmed and laughed until they finished.

  After visiting with his mom and sister, Davey wanted to see Morris. He had to settle for thanking Roland and Merritt; Morris didn’t regain consciousness until later that week.

  Both Davey and Melanie warned the hospital staff that Davey might be contagious, but tests revealed no known pathogens. He was released three days later with a clean bill of health.

  # # #

  The Hunting Tree

  Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed “The Hunting Tree” as much as I enjoyed writing it. The ideas for this book came from a couple of sources. I read somewhere about a tribe of Native Americans committing mass suicide by jumping off a cliff and I wondered if they might be exhibiting the same behavior as marine mammals (who occasionally beach themselves for no apparent reason). Around the same time (as reading that piece about suicide), I had a dream about a kid who was constantly dirty, and I wondered if he was somehow marked by nature. When I put those things together, I ended up with Crooked Tree and Davey.

  Contact me any time!

  ikehamill@gmai
l.com or @ikehamill on Twitter.

  You can find my novels and my blog at www.ikehamill.com.

  Please take a minute to review this book on Amazon.com, and tell a friend. If you do leave a review, please drop me a line at ikehamill@gmail.com and I’ll email you a copy of my next eBook.

  Read on for previews of my other books available on Amazon.com

  Thanks,

  Ike

  # # #

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