The Huntsman

by Rafael

  CHAPTER 25 Resident Alien

  Miranda stared at what the orange glow had illuminated. Revulsion and disgust threatened to empty her hungry stomach. A woman’s desiccated face, punctured between the eyes, framed by dry, cracked blond hair sat above a skeleton picked clean except for blackened hands and feet. She turned back to the creature standing rock-still ten yards away. Enormous wings sprouted from either side where hands, clenched fist-like, jutted from the main joints. Black, soulless, owl-like eyes opened halfway, stared at her, then closed again.

  A metallic, reflective sphere hovered just before the stomach area where a gaping wound dripped what she thought might be infectious puss. Yesterday, it had shocked her speechless when, through the orb, it spoke English. “Are your Unwinged also four-legged?” Still in an insensate state, she had not responded.

  The globe turned a lavender color. A process already undertaken higher on its torso and on its leg repeated itself. Before her eyes, the wound began to heal. Discoloration turned pink. Skin closed on itself. Against all reason she could not withhold her fascination. Professor Akiyama had been right. Her zoologist side remained fixated on what she too concluded had to be an alien. Curiosity overwhelmed her.

  Crouched low, she duck-walked step by careful step closer to the sphere. The alien’s eyelids lifted to a halfway position. She froze. They closed again. She inched closer to within reach of the orb. A fuzzy down sprouted from the wound. She extended an arm, index finger pointed at the glowing globe. The huge bird’s eyes remained closed.

  “What is that?” The sphere changed to orange. A flat, monotone, gender-neutral voice spoke.

  “That is a finger.” Its color returned to lavender. Despite the heart in her throat, Miranda almost laughed. Feathers now sprouted from the wound area. The bird fluffed then carefully folded its wings.

  Of course, Miranda thought. Why would an alien understand any Earth-centric gesture? The accumulated assumptions built into every Earth culture would hamper communication. How to recognize them? Start simple, she thought. Me Tarzan, you Jane.

  “Who are you?”

  “I am a Seer.” Miranda puzzled at the response.

  “What does a Seer do?” The sphere’s glow swelled and contracted.

  “Process data.”

  “How much data do you have?”

  “I contain all Earth’s data.”

  Miranda felt chagrined. Beyond the astounding declaration, she had assumed the alien spoke through the globe. The orb interacted independently. “Who is behind you?” A shriek, click, whistle, and hiss combined to form an unpronounceable sound. The alien’s eyes opened briefly then closed. “Please translate to English.” Two high-pitched syllables sounded. “Kreetor?” Miranda guessed. As if to correct her accent, the sphere repeated.

  “Kreetor.”

  “Who is Kreetor?”

  “Warrior Priestess to the High Council, Grand Dominant of the Winged.”

  “Where is Kreetor from?”

  “Sorke.”

  Miranda mulled the responses. She had no way of knowing where or how far Sorke might be. Though burned twice already, she felt safe assuming they had sent a person of some importance. A Seer reflected as much. Or did they all have one?

  “Why is Kreetor here?”

  “To destroy the Gate and all who possess it.”

  The chilling declaration evoked images of armless humans hanging by their faces. She glanced toward the intact skeleton. What had been her sin? The “Gate”, an obvious metaphor, had to be Professor Ang’s project. Had he been in contact with Sorke? Had he duplicated some technology of theirs? Or worse, stolen it?

  “What is a ‘Gate’?” The globe waxed and waned.

  “That through which one enters or exits.” But of course, Miranda thought.

  “To go where?”

  “Anywhere.” Clearly a technology. A doorway to anywhere would be invaluable.

  “Why does Kreetor wish to destroy it?”

  “It endangers Sorke.”

  Why? Could the “Gate” lead back to Sorke? Did they fear human invasion? Lightheadedness swelled and almost made Miranda swoon. She had had nothing to eat or drink for more than twenty-four hours. The strain weakened her.

  “I must have something to eat and drink.”

  “Soon. Kreetor must first heal.”

  “May I speak to Kreetor?”

  “Soon. Kreetor must first heal.”

  CHAPTER 26 Two On One

  Janesh had expected the hotel’s location away from Vishakhapatnam’s bustling ports, quays, and piers to provide a quieter space. He hadn’t expected the quiet would bring no peace. Every moment had become a struggle against despair, against the likelihood futility marked his efforts. He’d become a tennis ball between hope and misery, optimism and gloom. One minute Miranda lived, the next he’d never again see her eyes twinkle. Every second had become a challenge, an obstacle. His feet felt mired. Madness beckoned. He turned a corner.

  Ahead lay the park the concierge had directed him to. He needed to run, to bleed off energy, to clear his mind, rekindle confidence. Toward them a man approached. Something about his gait, his aura, separated him from the locals. The dogs sensed it too. They tensed. Twenty feet away he slowed then stopped. “Good morning, Mr. McKenzie.” Five feet away Janesh halted. Without expression or movement, he waited. Eyes fixed on the stranger, so did the dogs.

  “My name is Josh Timson.” Janesh felt no need to introduce himself. The man knew his name. He waited. “I’m a private investigator with the National Science Foundation.” When the statement elicited no response, he continued. “My job is to recover as much of Doctor Ang’s project as possible to indemnify the good taxpayers who funded the research.”

  “How did you find me?”

  “I do have my ways, Mr. McKenzie.”

  “Have a good day, Mr. Timson.” He pulled the leashes and continued toward the park. Beyond leash length, Timson followed.

  “There are only three hotels in Vishakhapatnam that permit dogs and only one which had a late check-in with two. I’ve been here since dawn. Eventually you had to come out.”

  “How’d you know I’d be in Vishakhapatnam?”

  “I didn’t. The CIA did. I’ve been following them. Eventually they’ll be here too.” Fair enough, Janesh thought. He continued toward the park.

  “What can I do for you, Mr. Timson?”

  “It’s what I can do for you, Mr. McKenzie.” Janesh walked on. Timson took the hint. “Bodies pile up around valuable things. Dr. Ang’s project must be very valuable. I’ll offer you $5 million cash for it, no questions asked. You tell me where it is, I hand over the money, we both walk away.”

  “I take it the National Science Foundation then receives a report declaring the equipment lost.”

  “Something like that.”

  “Do you know the people connected with the project have all died, Mr. Timson?”

  “I’ve heard chatter. Bits and pieces. I don’t believe half of it.”

  “Believe it, Mr. Timson. Anyone who comes near the project dies.” Janesh stopped to face him. “Turn around. Go home. You won’t survive the encounter.”

  “$7 million. Cash.”

  “I don’t always make my money legally. But everyone who pays me does so voluntarily. I don’t corrupt the taxpayers’ generosity. I could just take your money. You’d be dead within twenty-four hours. Go home, Mr. Timson. Give your wife and children a hug.”

  The equipment represented his one chance to see Miranda again. He would exchange it only for her or her killer’s corpse. Timson’s expression made it clear the last thing he would do is go home. “I would advise against our paths crossing again in the near future, Mr. Timson. Have a good day.”

  Inside the park he unleashed the dogs. His body ached to run, yearned for it. He eschewed the jogging trail. Without any forewarning, lion hunters racing up from behind tended to frighten runners. Besides, the woods would provide a more challenging course. He leaped lo
w bushes, bent under branches, hurdled fallen logs, dodged tree trunks. Encased in the soothing woods, he found a measure of peace but the forest’s cool shade could not mollify the subtropical heat. Soon muscles rippled beneath a glistening sheen. The exertion prevented thought, reason, or sense. He pushed himself harder.

  A thin creek broke the tree line. With no thought what might lurk within, he dove head first. Its cleansing waters refreshed and renewed. He flattened his dive and thrust for the surface. Once breached, sure, strong strokes powered him against the current. Along the bank, Duncan and Ronan paralleled his advance, barking their joy and giving chase to the occasional wildlife they flushed from cover.

  Again Janesh dove deep before swerving toward the bank. He reentered the woods at a dead run. Lungs ingested oxygen his heart pumped to muscles demanding more. His brain ceased further thought. Emotions withdrew to their sanctums. His body liberated, it ran. Ran to forget, ran to discard, ran to rebuild. A dispirited, confused man had entered the woods. The forest gods returned the Mahān Śikārī.

  At the front desk Janesh had no messages but the clerk chin-pointed toward a man seated in the lobby area. He turned to see a yellow-shirted Indian rise from a chair and nod toward him. Chatur had called to say he had sent more help. A badge emerged identifying him as a member of the Research and Analysis Wing, India’s version of the CIA. Though Janesh remained impassive, once again Chatur’s contacts had impressed.

  “Good morning, Mr. McKenzie. My name is Daaruk Kapur. You’re soaked. Perhaps you’d like to change cloths before we speak.”

  “I would not delay someone sent by Chatur for such a triviality.”

  “The CIA is in Vishakhapatnam searching for you. R&AW is curious why.”

  “Why don’t they ask the CIA?”

  “I’m sure my colleagues will. I’m here to perhaps…delay them.” Daaruk read Janesh’s expression. “You’re wondering why I would betray my profession and my colleagues. Seven years ago Chatur asked you to hunt a man-eater in Maharashtra, one that had killed my sister and her husband. Knowing karma had been restored tempered my grief. I am indebted to Chatur and the Mahān Śikārī. I do not betray my profession by assisting either.”

  Janesh placed a comforting hand on Daaruk’s shoulder. “Dryer clothes will permit entry into the hotel’s bar/restaurant. I will join you there as soon as I change.”

  As he hurried toward the elevators, Janesh’s mind raced. If the CIA hunted him, he had to move quickly. He glanced at the time—10:38am. The equipment should already be on a Chandrapur bound train. Again he felt the crush of events. He had to rid himself of the CIA dogging his trail, insure India’s intelligence agents didn’t become a problem, block Josh Timson’s ambitions, secure Dr. Ang’s project, coordinate with Professor Akiyama and colleagues to identify its purpose, while securing them from a monstrous, homicidal creature. And despite Nicholas Koh’s specter looming over everything, he couldn’t lose sight of his central focus: Miranda.

  CHAPTER 27 Cross-Purposes

  “Are your Unwinged also four-legged?” Miranda erupted.

  “I will not answer anymore of your questions until I eat. I must eat.”

  “I have brought you food. Why do you not eat?”

  The cow’s half-eaten carcass had begun to rot and fill the air with the stench of decay. For two days Miranda had refused to touch it while Kreetor sliced off strips it swallowed whole. After claiming she couldn’t eat meat in that state, Kreetor had just ripped away chunks then regurgitated green-yellow ooze onto the cave floor. “I have liquefied it.” Miranda dry heaved.

  The once white linen top and shorts now matched her arms and legs blackened by the cave’s filth and grime. She smelled and not just from her armpits. If her weakened state didn’t disrupt it, her menses would commence at any moment. Unwashed, she felt encased in a sticky slime. Desperation grew. If her lack of proper food continued much longer, she’d reach a tipping point she might not recover from. She turned toward the Seer, her tone slow and deliberate.

  “I must eat food and drink water. It must be human-prepared food. If I do not eat I cannot answer Kreetor’s questions.” Rapid-fire clicks, clacks, and hisses accompanied short screeches between the Seer and Kreetor. It stopped and Kreetor placed the Seer in its pouch. A shimmering, glowing hole opened then closed after they stepped through. The cave plunged into darkness.

  Miranda sat quietly, back against a rocky, uneven wall. She’d already looked out the entrance with an eye toward escape. The cave, high up a sheer cliff, looked out over a green, tropical forest. Far in the distance, an ocean expanded to the horizon. Nothing gave a hint at where she might be. With her climbing skills and experiences limited to ladders, descending the cliff would be certain death.

  Janesh’s face appeared before her. Eyes twinkled with some coming sarcasm. His grin hinted at mischief. A jet-black curl fell across his brow. Tears welled. Emotions threatened to burst. Love—pure, simple—rushed through her body, leaving smoldering cells and ignited nerves in its wake. She trembled and shook. Refused to give up hope he sought her, that nothing would stop him. Her head sank, tears flowed. Where was she? Where should he look? How could he find her?

  The air flickered and shimmered. It ruptured and the Seer floated through, glowing orange. “You must eat. Kreetor commands it. Follow me.” Eyes wide and mouth open she did so. A compressed image surrounded her. She stepped from the cave, stepped across the air, past the forest, to a ranch, and into a kitchen. Kreetor filled the entranceway between it and the living area. Beyond, a man, woman, and two children hung above a blood-soaked sofa, their arms pasted to their backs. Outside, dogs barked without let up.

  Miranda shuddered but could not ignore her stomach’s clamor for survival. She opened a faucet then the refrigerator. Containers of every size and shape occupied the shelves. One held a brown stew, another peas and carrots. She found wild rice and fried chicken in another. All three entered a microwave she set for three minutes. She found sliced bread along with a stick of butter that awaited its toasting. As she walked back to the faucet a sight made her momentarily pause. She forced her hands not to shake or her demeanor display nervousness. On the counter, two mobiles lay charging.

  She filled a tall glass and sipped the cool, delicious water, wary of crippling herself with cramps. Casual steps moved her between Kreetor and the mobiles. A finger pressed against one. Its display opened and requested a password. Miranda closed her eyes and fought not to scream. She pressed the other. It illuminated a recipe for baked chicken in a pineapple sauce. Miranda imagined the mother, in the midst of planning the evening meal, stepping away to investigate a commotion, never imagining the coming horror.

  She took another sip. Blood pounded ear drums. Her finger pressed mute, dial code, connect, then video. Hours passed before Janesh’s face appeared. Shock and surprise rattled his expression. Lips shouted soundless words. Slowly she pressed a finger to hers. Another sip cooled her parched throat. Relief washed over her as she watched Janesh’s arm move in response to finger taps. Yes, my love. Come to me. The microwave dinged.

  Renewed hope deepened her hunger. She dumped everything into the stew. Slow, she reminded herself. Eat slowly. Chewing a mouthful, Miranda began filling a garbage bag with anything bagged or boxed that didn’t need processing. Fruits and bottled water followed, along with the mobile, before she returned to finish her meal.

  Still chewing, she stepped toward the entrance. “Tell the Grand Glorious Kreetor I must wash. If humans do not wash, disease and infection follow.” Moments later, the Seer glowed orange. “Kreetor agrees. Air Givers must be pure.”

  Miranda made her way past the nightmare that had once been a family to the upstairs bedrooms. Hot water and a full belly combined to chase away her reality. Dressed in a larger woman’s jeans, flannel shirt and jacket, she could now concentrate on sorting out all this Winged, Unwinged, and Air Giver business. She might learn some way to neutralize this monstrosity.

  Miranda, individual,
protested. A staggering truth had arrived from another world. It would force a re-examination of every principle, ethic, and morality undergirding an Earth-centric civilization.

  Miranda, zoologist and scientist, protested. A life form existed unlike anything evolved on Earth. It would expand understanding, learning, and discovery in ways as yet unimaginable.

  Miranda, sapient, cared not one whit. A homicidal creature roamed the land killing at will and with impunity. It posed an existential threat by its potential for a technologically superior race to invade the Earth. An anonymous, innocent family had witnessed the danger.

  Miranda hefted the bag and followed Kreetor back through the wormhole. Rationing had become essential. She would starve before ever asking Kreetor for food again. For now though, her thoughts remained fixed on the blankets and pillows stuffed in the bag. She set about clearing a space to satisfy the drowsy sleep her first solid meal induced. When her eyes closed the Seer glowed orange.

  “The Air Giver has communicated with an Unwinged. Perhaps her Seeder.”

  “The one who guards the Gate?”

  “Yes, Priestess.”

  “It is well. I lost contact with the Gate while healing. Can you take me to the Seeder? Wherever he is so will the Gate.”

  “I am the Seer, Grand Dominant. I see all.”

  “He may come here. If so, I must know of the Unwinged that accompany him. Their intelligence is dangerous. They can see me even when I am masked. It is why I brought the Air Giver here, to discover their weaknesses. Can you not tell me more?”

  “The Unwinged call them dogs. They have a great many varieties but they all bark. It is difficult to know how the Unwinged understand bark but do not speak it.”

  “I will ask the Air Giver when she wakes.”