Hunted

by DJ DeSmyter

  Alone.

  Trapped.

  And terrified.

  4. Lily

  The piano bench creaked as I stood up and closed the piano; I didn’t like the keys to get dusty. With nothing else to do, I headed upstairs and changed into my pajamas. The soft fabric felt cool against my skin, causing my body to jerk with a shiver. After brushing my teeth and washing my face, I grabbed a book, crawled into bed and read with only the light of my bedside lamp.

  It was a few minutes past eleven when a high-pitched howl echoed outside. Must be a stray dog, I thought, hoping it found its way home before freezing to death. The dog howled again; it was mournful and pained. I had never heard such a beautifully tragic sound.

  And then it abruptly stopped.

  I waited to hear it again, but the dog must’ve moved on, hopefully to its nice, warm home. A few minutes later, the front door opened, then closed with the sound of Dad stomping the snow off his boots. He’s home early, I thought as I closed my book and set it by the lamp. I kicked back the covers and made my way downstairs.

  “Hi, Dad,” I said, descending the stairs.

  Dad was removing his coat and looked up with a tired smile. “Hi, sweetie. How was your day?”

  I shrugged. “It was okay. Same as always. How was work?”

  “It was fine.” Dad never spoke about his job in much detail. I still didn’t exactly know what he did for a living. “I’m going to bed,” he said as he passed me.

  “Okay. Goodnight, Dad,” I called after him. He mumbled a response before closing his bedroom door.

  Sighing and rolling my eyes, I returned to my room and slipped back into bed. I turned off the lamp and wiggled around until I was comfortable. Settled and sleepy, I closed my eyes and waited for dreams to fill my head.

  Q

  Waking me up at the delightful hour of six in the morning, my alarm clock blared at me and I flailed my hand around until it hit the off button. Once the alarm was off and a blissful silence filled my room, I rolled onto my back and tried to keep my eyes open. It was an epic struggle, but once I succeeded, I got out of bed and went to take a shower.

  Clean and clothed, I headed downstairs and the warm, mouth-watering smell of bacon greeted me as I walked into the kitchen.

  “Good morning,” Dad said from where he stood in front of the stove. His bright tone seemed forced and hard.

  “Hey,” I said as rested my elbows on the counter. “Smells good.”

  He nodded and glanced at the clock. “Sorry, we’re going to have to rush a little this morning.”

  “Why?”

  “I just have to finish something up for work.” He handed me a plate of bacon, pancakes, and toast.

  “What exactly do you do?” I asked, keeping my tone light and innocently curious. Maybe this would be my lucky day and he would actually give me a straight answer.

  “Boring stuff.” He grinned and chuckled. He was clearly avoiding giving me an answer.

  I mimicked his laugh. “No, seriously, what do you do?” I knew I was probably pushing it, but I felt like I should know what my dad did to earn money. Was he embarrassed by his job? Did he resent it so much as to refuse to speak about it?

  Dad sighed and took a seat with his own plate. “Well, I just sit in a cubicle all day and draw up proposals and contracts.”

  I was shocked; I hadn’t expected him to give such a detailed description. Sure, it wasn’t that detailed, but it was more than he had ever divulged. “For what?” I asked as the shock wore off.

  “A security company. One of the biggest.”

  “Who?”

  “Silver Security. Our offices are just outside of town.”

  “Never heard of them.”

  “That’s because the company has enough private business to support them.”

  “Oh, okay.” I said, biting into a crispy piece of bacon. I glanced at Dad’s plate and found it empty, not a scrap of food left. “You ate fast.”

  “Told you, we have to hurry this morning.”

  I nodded and ate faster. I prayed I wouldn’t get sick.

  5. Alex

  How long have I been asleep? I thought as I struggled to open my eyes and sit up. It was easier to move, easier to breathe. Finally opened, my eyes adjusted to the dark space, allowing me to see the metal bars that kept me prisoner. The floor was made of a different material, much to my relief.

  With a sigh, I looked down at my side and found my injury almost healed, which explained my painless movements. Raising my gaze and looking around, I discovered a pillow and a folded blanket lying a few feet away from me. Where did those come from? I reached out, snatched the blanket, and wrapped it around me. With no clothes on and it being December, the blanket was my only hope of having a source of heat, especially since I had yet to regain my strength.

  Why did he let me live? He could have shot me again where it mattered, where the bullet would have taken my life.

  I sat in the middle of my cage, wrapped in the thick blanket and away from the metal bars. I shied away from them as if they were made of poison. Truth was, they really could kill me.

  6. Lily

  “Move,” Phil, the epitome of a jerk, grunted as he hurried past me in the hall. Walking the halls of Victor Hills High was always dangerous, but I seemed to be one of the lucky few who people actually made a point to move out of their way.

  I’m a junior too, you know, I thought, reminding myself that I had just as much ‘seniority’ as he did. By the time I reached my locker, however, I could have cared less. I was used to being treated like a freshman and as long as no one drastically bothered me, I was fine.

  “Lily?” said a familiar voice behind me.

  I turned around and found my art teacher, Mr. Wesley.

  “Oh, hi, Mr. Wesley. How are you?” Art was my favorite class and Mr. Wesley was my favorite teacher. He always encouraged his students to try new things and always gave honest, but friendly criticism. Out of all my teachers, he was one I would actually call a friend.

  He smiled and folded his arms. “I’m fine. How are you?”

  “The same. Can I help you with something?”

  “Yeah, I was wondering if you had thought about entering a piece for the Artist’s Gallery contest I told the class about last week.”

  I thought I was a pretty creative person, but I didn’t think any of my work would have a chance of winning. “Oh, uh, not really,” I said. “I don’t have anything that would be good enough.”

  “That’s not true,” Mr. Wesley noted. “You’re one of my best students.”

  “I am?” He never told me that before.

  A wide smile spread across his face. “Yeah. I love your paintings, but you’re a wonderful photographer! That photo of the tree branch is beautiful and you know I hate tree photos.”

  I laughed and nodded. “Thanks, Mr. Wesley. I really appreciate it.”

  “No problem. You’ve got a few more months, so think about the contest some more, okay?”

  “Okay. I will,” I assured him. And I meant it. I had as much of a chance winning the scholarship as I did the lottery, but there was no harm in trying.

  “Good.” With a slight nod, he turned and continued walking down the hall.

  Feeling selfishly good about myself thanks to Mr. Wesley’s kind words, I managed to stay in a happy mood all day long. I was amazed that something so small, so simple, could make me feel tall and proud.

  When I got home, I gathered up every single piece of art I had created— photographs, paintings, and a few sculptures— and laid them out on my bedroom floor. An hour passed with me sitting on the bed examining them and nothing had jumped at me screaming, “Pick me! I’m contest worthy!”

  “Looks like I’m going to have to make something new,” I said as I studied each piece one last time. I scooted off the bed and began putting it all away. “But what am I going to do?” I asked myself. It didn’t take long for me to answer the question. A painting would take too long to complete
and I wasn’t a great sculptor, so that left me with submitting an outstanding photograph. “Right, like I can do that.” I shook my head and put the last sculpture on a shelf.

  I kept my photographs out and sat on the floor to examine them more closely. I shot mostly in black and white film, but I wasn’t adverse to digital. Out of the twenty or so photos, the ones I had taken of flowers and people were my favorites and, in my opinion, the best. The ones of people were all shot from the passenger seat of the truck whenever Dad drove us somewhere. I didn’t have friends to take photos of and it would have been incredibly awkward if I went up to people and asked to take their photo. The flowers, on the other hand, didn’t mind my camera being in their faces.

  Raising the corner of my lip in thought, I picked out my absolute favorite photos and put the rest away. I decided to go online and find the application for the scholarship before making dinner. When I logged onto the Artist’s Gallery website, I made the mistake of looking at the artwork that won in the past.

  “Super,” I said with a sarcastic grin. “Just super.”

  The pieces of art were extraordinary— many with color combinations and uses of space I would never have thought of. Even though my confidence level dropped with each picture of scholarship-winning art, I continued browsing through the pictures with self-deprecating amazement. By the time I actually downloaded the application and printed it, it was six thirty and I hadn’t done any of my homework or made anything to eat.

  “Food first, homework second,” I resolved as I made my way to the kitchen. I didn’t want to spend too much time making dinner, so I made a quick sandwich and took it up to my room so I could eat and work at the same time. Dad would just have to find something to eat on his own. I was already in bed reading when he came home around ten, which was early for him. I heard his truck pull up, but he didn’t come inside until fifteen minutes later.

  Wonder what that was all about.

  7. Alex

  A strange humming sound seeped into my ears and woke me up. Now that I was almost healed, I no longer had to wait for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, making it easy to find the small space heater sitting near the cage. Confusion swept over me. It unnerved me that I hadn’t woken up when the hunter had come and set up the heater. Why would he want to make sure I was comfortable, let alone alive? Fearing the worst, I did not want to know the answer.

  Ignorance is bliss, I thought bitterly.

  No longer needing the blanket, I let it fall off my shoulders and sighed. My head was swimming with thoughts, mostly concerning my family, and I grew restless. Luckily for me, the cage was tall and I could stand up without touching the top. I paced around, which was becoming a regular activity, and thought about my family, about how far they had gotten, and if I would ever see them again and whether I would ever return to my semi-normal life.

  At least I was healing and still alive. My temperature appeared to be almost normal and my bullet wound was slowly healing and changing from a bloody mess to new, pink skin. The scar would be the only reminder of my first time being shot. Dad had been shot once, but hunters weren’t common, so I never thought I would come face-to-face with one. There were enough hunters to pose a threat, though, and instead of being the top predator, we were the prey.

  Q

  I didn’t know if my voice worked anymore. I hadn’t spoken aloud since the day before I was shot and as a result, my thoughts became my voice. I felt no urge to speak. It was pointless, really, since I had no one to speak to and I wasn’t about to start having conversations with myself.

  Given the circumstances, I was pretty bored. I could only pace so much. If I had been comfortably at home, I would have picked up my acoustic guitar or a book to pass the time. But I had no such luxuries in the cage. I had no luxuries period. Everything I owned sat untouched in our house. We won’t be able to go back, I thought. Not until we know it’s safe.

  I lay down and stared at the ceiling of my cage. I wished the cage were out in the open, so I could see the sky. I would have given anything to stare at the stars instead of the metal bars that taunted me. Suddenly, an idea bloomed in my mind, causing me to sit up.

  I could shift. It would give me something to do at least.

  Normally, I shifted on a daily basis, but I hadn’t done so since getting shot, so even the mere thought of it appealed to me and offered a sweet release from lying on the cage floor. Pushing the blanket and pillow to the side, I closed my eyes and let my bones shift and the rest of my body change. Shifting was second nature and required no thought or concentration; it felt as if I was merely stretching. Within seconds, fur covered my arms and my hands became paws. The sound of my claws tapping against the cage floor echoed. The rest of my human features disappeared and were replaced by those of a wolf.

  My ears caught a sound and a rush of cold air hit me. I looked up to find a man in the doorway of the shed wearing an expression of surprise. I searched his face, his eyes, and found a trace of sorrow. Instinct told me to prepare to attack, to defend myself if necessary, but I didn’t. Behind him, I saw nothing but darkness only the night could bring.

  I raised my nose in his direction and sniffed the air. He was not the hunter; the hunter had a cruel scent and I smelled nothing of the sort from the stranger.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said as he slowly approached the cage. “Do you understand me?”

  I nodded. Some human characteristics remained when I shifted, but others became lost. I was still able to understand the human language, but my method of speaking was reduced down to barks, growls, and howls.

  Pointing my nose in his direction, I breathed in his scent. He smelled familiar, but I didn’t know why. I titled my head as if to ask, “Who are you?”

  The man understood my gesture. “My name is John Atwater. I know what you are, but I’m not the one who shot you. I saved you.”

  8. Lily

  “Hi, Dad,” I called out as he came through the front door.

  “Hey, Lils. How was your day?” His tone was bright, happy. He came into the family room and joined me on the couch, where I was recuperating from doing homework by watching T.V.

  “It was fine. Yours sounds like it went well,” I said, nudging him with my elbow.

  He sighed and when he spoke, his tone lost some of its brightness. “Yeah, but nothing too exciting.”

  “Oh.” Again with the vagueness, I thought.

  “Well, I’m going to bed,” he declared after a moment of semi-awkward silence. “You comin’ up too?”

  “Yeah.”

  With a hand on my knee, he pushed himself up and gave me his hand to help me up. As he made his way up to his room, I scurried around shutting off the lights and double-checked that the doors were locked. Once the house was dark and secure, I retreated to my room and happily got ready for bed.

  As I went to turn off my light, a howl disrupted the silence of the house. Surprised, I froze, my finger still on the light switch. It sounds like the same dog as the other night, I thought as I listened to the eerie sound. Suddenly, something inside me broke and a wave of emotions consumed me. The howling stirred me, making me feel sad and alone. I had the urge to run out into the freezing night, find the dog, and bring it home.

  And then I started crying.

  Flicking off the light, I stumbled to my bed and crumpled into a ball underneath the sheets. I cried for the dog and it’s loneliness and I cried for my own loneliness. I had no mother, no friends and a Dad who was barely around. I didn’t know any of my cousins, aunts, uncles, or grandparents. I didn’t think I even had any. One time I had rummaged through Dad’s closet and the basement in search of family photos or anything else that would tell me I had relatives. My search had been a waste of time and I never bothered looking again after that.

  All I wanted was someone to talk to, someone I could have called to stop my tears.

  All I wanted was someone to fill my empty space.

  Q

  I felt incredibly st
upid the next morning. I couldn’t believe I had cried myself to sleep. I wasn’t the kind of girl who buried my emotions or refused to acknowledge their existence, but I also wasn’t the kind who cried over something like feeling lonely. In a sense, my loneliness was my own fault. I didn’t go out of my way to reach out to the other students, I didn’t go to parties, I wasn’t on social networking sites twenty-four-seven, and I didn’t go on dates.

  Not like any of the guys at school would want to date me anyway, I thought as I sat up. Shaking my head, I stopped myself from thinking any more self-degrading thoughts and turned to look out the window.

  It was Saturday and outside, sunlight poured over the trees, making Dad’s and my tiny part of Victor Hills look like it was made of diamonds. The bright and dazzling look of the outside world managed to lift my spirits from their darkened place and with a lighter attitude, I slipped out from under the covers and went about my morning routine and all the while, I tried to ignore the longing that still lingered within me.

  9. Alex

  I was still a wolf when John came back the following day. This time, he brought me some food. Raw meat, to be exact. A few feet separated him from the cage.

  “Good morning,” he said as he tossed my breakfast in the cage.

  I hadn’t eaten in days, but I had yet to figure out if I could truly trust this John Atwater.

  He held his hands up in the air. “I swear it’s safe to eat.”

  Eyeing him, I slowly approached the meat and sniffed it. As soon as I deemed it safe, I devoured it. He threw in another piece, but it landed just inside the cage and sat too close to bars. I stared longingly at the meat, but restrained myself from rushing for it. I still hadn’t figured out whether the bars were made of silver or not. I looked up at John and hoped he would give me an answer.

  “What is it?” He tilted his head in confusion. And then he understood. He slowly approached the cage, reached towards the meat and tossed it toward me. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You never know if the wolf is going to be friendly or not,” he explained while I ate.