The Tracker

by John Hunt

  “Hey sugar. Need some company?”

  She stood in the doorway, a hip cocked to the side, smiling with crooked, yellow teeth. Up close, she was older than he initially thought. There were deep lines in her smile and on her forehead. Her hair framed her face like greasy cords.

  Boom-boom-boom.

  He peered over her shoulder expecting to see the Tracker walking across the lot towards him. Nothing. But he was closer.

  “Uh, no thanks.” Taylor moved to walk past her and she sidled to block him.

  “C’mon big boy. I don’t bite. Well, not unless you want me to.”

  She batted her eyes at him and her smile deepened. He could see the desperation in it as well as dark and broken teeth.

  “Sorry, I gotta go. Like now.” He pushed past her and turned, tossing her the key to his room.

  “You can have my room. It’s good until eight.”

  She jumped and cringed, as though she thought he would hit her and instead the key hit her hand and dropped to the ground. In another circumstance, he would feel sorry for her. He turned his back to her but before he did, he saw her bend down for the key.

  Boom-boom-boom.

  Taylor’s head spun trying to catch sight of the Tracker as he jogged away. He felt his man-boobs, or what some wit had called them when he thought Taylor wasn’t listening, moobs, bouncing with his run.

  Boom-boom-boom.

  Closer now. How did he find him so fast? Where was he?

  Taylor wanted to slow down. His lungs and muscles weren’t prepared for arduous activity. Too heavy to run, his knees protested the punishment. He didn’t know where to go or what to do. He thought of calling a taxi again, to create distance but he would have to stop wouldn’t he? So the driver would know where to pick him up? And he was afraid to stop now. The game was on and he wasn’t safe.

  Boom-boom-boom.

  Taylor turned a corner and ran for the brightest lights. A Wal-Mart plaza glowed like a beacon in the night. Taylor, his legs and lungs burning, ran for the lights. He could feel his pulse in his eyeballs and his chest ached with each bump of his frantic heart. He couldn’t keep this pace up. He’d die of a heart attack first. His vision dimmed on the edges and he couldn’t get enough air. His breathe was hot and broken out of his mouth. He had to slow down. Taylor dropped his pace to a fast walk and concentrated on his breathing. It had gotten out of control and he thought, Stop, just for minute and breathe, and he did. He bent over, grabbed his knees and drank in the night air. His body shook under his hands and his thigh muscles trembled and spasmed. He straightened and inhaled through his nose and exhaled through his mouth. He concentrated on it and stole glances around him. He didn’t want the Tracker creeping up on him while he recovered from his mini-sprint if that’s what you call what he did. More like a bowl of Jell-O with legs trying to make a getaway.

  The dark edges to his vision receded and his pulse, although fast, wasn’t about-to-have-a-heart-attack fast. He could walk now, at least and maybe he could call another cab to meet him at Wal-Mart. He had to do something. Standing still meant death. He moved towards Wal-Mart, his exhausted feet scuffing the pavement and his breathing the only sound on the quiet street. If he lived through this, at least he’d be in better shape. He laughed at the thought. A short bark in the night and he stopped, his face pinching in on itself, wanting to cry and wondering how the hell would he last two days? He punched his own stomach, mad at it and himself for not taking care of his own body. If he died, he knew a big part of it would be because he was a fat slob and couldn’t run worth a shit. What a pitiful, preventable reason.

  He drew closer to the Wal-Mart. Taylor could see a large delivery truck parked at the back doors with the headlights on. He pulled out his cell phone to call a taxi to meet him and at the same time he looked over his shoulder.

  Boom-boom-boom.

  The Tracker stood under a street light. The orange sodium lights shone down on him from above. He was far back enough so that if Taylor wanted to pinch him between his thumb and index finger, he could but still too close for Taylor’s liking. Taylor could feel him smiling.

  Damn-it. Taylor ran. The backpack jiggled on his back and he clutched his cell phone in a death grip.

  No, no, no, get away from me. You can’t be real, Taylor thought. Stealing another peep over his shoulder, he saw the Tracker running after him with his head down and his hands pumping along. The Tracker was gaining on him. Taylor whimpered and grimaced as his right knee cracked. Taylor stumbled, tears springing from his eyes as he favoured his knee. He pushed ahead and the sharp pain became a dull throb and the only thought in his head was to get to the truck with the lights. He had no thoughts of what to do once he got there. He just knew it was important to reach those lights. In darkness, light meant safety and Taylor, terrified, could not form any real thoughts or strategy other than running to the brightness. Taylor drew closer to the lights and he could hear the truck’s idling engine and smell the exhaust and the oil of its moving parts. But he could also hear steps behind him. Heavy steps and a low growl.

  Taylor’s mind unhinged then. The atavistic primitive part of his brain took over and the only urge was to survive, to run, to get away. Nothing else mattered. Not the twitching of his thighs or the rough pain inside his lungs. A high moan accompanied every exhalation and all he saw were the lights ahead so he ran at them and then he was around them, running down the long side of the semi-trailer towards the back.

  The driver must have heard him coming because he stepped out from behind the back of the trailer. He wore yellow work gloves and carried a box in his hand. A dark goatee framed his mouth. He wore a Toronto Blue Jays cap. When he first saw Taylor running at him he straightened and tensed. When he saw Taylor wasn’t stopping his eyes bugged and his mouth opened. Before he could do anything Taylor collided into him.

  The man flew back, the box rose into the air and Taylor fell on the man and rolled up and over him. Taylor, in his fear-crazed mind forgot all about the rules. He only saw a man, a person and not a crazy being forged from nightmares emerging from the shadows, threatening to eat him. No, this was a person and because of that fundamental fact, they were on the same side right? Taylor didn’t want to die and here was someone who could help him. Taylor scrambled to his knees, the backpack now on his front and the man said, while rubbing his head, “What the fuck, man?”

  Taylor said, “Help me,” and he wanted to say he’s coming but with the running and the fall, he couldn’t squeeze it out and then the Tracker’s shadow fell on them.

  “Tsk-tsk, Taylor. No asking for help.”

  That was when it became beyond a doubt real for Taylor because the man on the ground, the man working a night shift and having the unfortunate luck of running into Taylor, saw the Tracker. The man froze at first then said, “Holy hell” as he pushed at the ground with his feet and hands to get away, to move back from the tall dark shadow appearing and speaking in front of him. The Tracker reached down and grabbed the booted foot of the man, pulling him along the ground as though he weighed no more than a stuffed toy. The man screamed and turned his torso to paw at the ground as he was dragged back. The man’s hat fell off and Taylor could see the thinning hair and stupidly thought, that’s why he’s wearing the hat, and then the Tracker’s hands closed on either side of his head.

  Taylor blurted, “Don’t!”

  The Tracker said, “I told you the rules.”

  The man was on his knees facing Taylor with the Tracker towering above and behind him while holding his head. The Tracker smiled at Taylor and a string of drool plopped onto the screaming man’s head.

  The Tracker shouted to be heard over the man, “I would suggest you start running, Taylor.”

  The Tracker s
tood on the back of one of the man’s knees to hold him still and began turning the man’s head slowly. The man’s eyes protruded from his head while his hands clawed at the ones holding his head in an implacable grip. Taylor heard a groan, a crack and still he turned the man’s head. The man screamed again, a high-pitched wail, a soundtrack of pain. Taylor clamped his hands over his own ears to dull it. The man’s eyes locked onto Taylor and he could see the pleading in them, the desperate orbs begging for help. Taylor, knowing the Tracker would be after him again as soon as he finished with the night worker, ran away.

  ***

  Taylor tripped up a curb, windmilled his arms and almost ate dirt. He placed his hands out in front of him and managed to keep his face from hitting the ground. He stood and ran behind the Wal-Mart between a chain-link fence and the store’s exterior. His face a crumpled mess with tears and snot a flowing stream as he cried and blubbered. The man’s screaming carried on behind him. It went on for so long Taylor thought it must be in his head. No one could scream for that long, not without taking a break and Taylor thought he would deserve such torture after leaving the man to die to save his own skin. After setting him up to die. Taylor thought he should feel bad, he should feel miserable sacrificing some stranger to the Tracker to make his escape, only he didn’t. The coward inside was grateful to that worker being there at the right moment, the right time for Taylor. If he hadn’t been. Well, it’s best not to think of that. It’s best to put it all behind him and keep running to save his own sorry life. Then the screaming stopped.

  Boom-boom-boom.

  The sensation wasn’t so strong now. A squawk of relief between deep breaths escaped Taylor. The Tracker was far back now. The connection felt faint. There was slack in the tether. Taylor slowed to a walk. He needed to slow down. The strain on his heart and the burning pain in his lungs sapped his energy. He rubbed his spasming leg muscles and hit them with his palm as he walked. Taylor didn’t want the Tracker to catch him but he couldn’t sustain this pace. He slung the backpack to his front and removed a water bottle. He unscrewed the cap and tipped the bottle back and the water guzzled down his throat. He had never been a fan of water. Water had no taste. Any soda was better. Hell, juice was even better than water as long as it contained a large enough dose of sugar. The water tasted exquisite and it surprised him. Almost like he had never tasted anything so good. Liquid heaven. It snaked into every part of him and his body absorbed it like the greedy thing it was. He emptied the bottle and held it up before his eyes as though he’d never seen one before. Water. Who knew?

  He put the cap back on, dropped the bottle into his backpack and began a jog-walk combo when he arrived at the sidewalk. He would jog the distance between streetlights and then walk the distance between the next set. He thought he must look ridiculous when he jogged. A floppy, marionette with no one holding his strings. He was fading fast and he knew it. He needed to find a place to sleep. It had been awhile since he felt the Tracker so now would be a good time to rest. He searched his memory for a secluded place to lay down. Hotels and motels were out. The Tracker looked for him there first and of course found him. Who knew how long he had been playing these games and if he had ever lost, if he ever failed to obtain his meal at the end. Don’t think about that now. Find a place to sleep.

  The sports fields! No one would be there at this time of night and maybe not until later in the day. Interspersed between the baseball and soccer fields were little islands of trees and bushes. It was the spot where the beer-league slow pitch players would drink their beer thinking they were being secretive about it while everyone knew what they were up to. He remembered the spot from when he was in high school and forced to participate in supporting the school teams. He liked the cool spots in the trees where the sun’s harsh rays didn’t reach and the eyes of his peers wouldn’t roll over him with disgust or pity. He used to hide in there with a book, sitting on a log or on the ground away from the beer cans and cigarette butts littering the area. He could hide there now.

  He patted his pocket and feeling the hard outline of his phone, smiled. He didn’t remember putting it back in his pocket. He pried it out and after learning the street he was on from a sign, he called a taxi and waited. That had been the worst part. Waiting for his ride, having to stay still, anticipating the boom-boom-boom to start and the Tracker striding towards him from the shadows in between houses. The Tracker didn’t show. The taxi did.

  Taylor slid in and told the driver where he wanted to go. He saw the driver’s eyebrow arc up before he accelerated. Probably he had driven people to weirder places in the middle of the night. Exhaustion pulled Taylor into a dazed sleep. He saw headlights passing then he’d close his eyes and they would be somewhere further along, Taylor having no memory of crossing the distance in between blinks. They stopped at the entrance to the sports park. The gate was closed. Of course it was closed. It was the middle of the night.

  “Twenty bucks, bud.”

  Taylor paid him and stepped out of the car. His legs buckled and he held onto the door until the shaking stopped.

  “You alright, man?”

  Taylor said, “No,” and closed the door.

  He walked in between the gap of the gate. The gate was to stop vehicles from going in after hours, not people. Taylor’s feet crunched on the gravel. The clouds covered the moon and the trees along the road were vague black shapes swaying in the wind. Taylor heard the cab accelerate away until the drone of the engine faded into silence. So tired. Taylor thought he knew what exhaustion was, not being able to get a decent night’s sleep since his mother died for almost a year had given him only a rudimentary education in weariness. Like so many things we think we know, it can take a single different experience to be proven wrong. This exhaustion he felt in his bones, his throbbing muscles and even in his ribs from breathing so hard. His shoulders ached, hell, everything ached and begged him to stop, begged him to rest. Only a little farther now, then he could rest. The gravel road turned a corner, the trees disappeared and opened up into a large area with baseball fences towering high behind home plate and the metal skeletons of soccer nets dotting the distance. One light was left on over the concession stand to deter people from breaking in.

  Almost there. He could see the area he would hide in. His heavy feet skittered on the ground, scattering gravel and dust ahead of him. He found his spot in amongst the dark trees and dropped his backpack on the ground. He zipped up his coat and pulled his hood up over his hair. Using the backpack as a pillow he curled up on the ground and closed his eyes. He hoped he would wake up if he felt the Tracker coming but he was so tired, he almost didn’t care. Almost.

  He did wake up as the sky became a lighter shade of black, shivering on the ground. Although hot during the day, the night got cool and the sweat on his body turned cold and chilled him. He rummaged in his backpack and removed the hat and mitts. He put them on, stuffed his hands in between his thighs and thought it was a good thing he thought to bring the winter items. Always good to be prepared.

  -13-

  That lawnmower was really loud…

  Taylor awoke thinking a plane was about to land on him. His eyes popped open and his body jerked as the noise startled him awake. His body didn’t like the movement and let him know by seizing up on him. Legs, arms, shoulders and that spot right below the neck and between the shoulder blades took particular exception to the sudden movement and Taylor uttered a strangled, “Gak,” as his hands twitched into claws.

  He stopped moving, trying to be still. When he was still, it didn’t hurt as much. He froze his body, his hands looking like raptor claws and his legs straight out and stiff and Taylor, looking down at himself, thought you could iron clothes on those legs. Keeping still, his eyes roved toward the source of the noise. A riding mower drove away from him. The person must have started it up right beside his hidey-ho
le scaring him out of sleep. The pangs receded, and the sharp pains became dull throbs. Taylor gingerly stretched his limbs. His hat, coat and sweater sat in a ball beside him. He must have taken it off when he slept as the day got warmer. It was hot now and Taylor estimated it to be mid-morning, maybe closer to noon.

  Dirt clung to his shirt and his arms. He must look a sight. Good thing the city worker on the mower hadn’t seen him. Might mistake Taylor for the legendary Sasquatch if the worker saw the dirt and debris covered Taylor emerging from the bushes. He smiled and cringed. Even that hurt. How can a smile hurt? The sound of the mower drew near and receded. The pleasant smell of cut grass drifted to him. Taylor parked his butt against a tree, out of sight of the person on the mower and opened his backpack. He took out an apple, a granola bar, a bottle of water, a can of Coca-Cola and, as an afterthought, the box of Double-Stuffed Oreos. He inhaled the apple, didn’t even taste the granola bar as it passed his lips, finished off the box of cookies and ate another granola bar before draining the can of Coca-Cola. He sipped on the water. It sloshed against the food in his stomach but he didn’t mind. His spent muscles vibrated and his skin crinkled with sticky sweat and dirt. He closed his eyes and with the drone of the mower and the earth smells he thought this moment wasn’t so bad. Despite the dirt, the heat, the over-full belly and the thing chasing after him, he could imagine himself at the park with a book in his hand and pretending all of it had been in his head. Taylor burst into tears. The night worker’s eyes staring at him as the Tracker twisted his head was real. He had been a real person whose only mistake that night had been going to work. If he had been sick that night, he never would’ve been there. Crossing Taylor’s path at random had been his doom. Did he have kids? Was there someone waiting for him at home? Did someone get a call in the night telling them someone they loved had been murdered?