The Hunter

by Kurt Robinson

  He looked behind Levinson and saw two other men in the distance through the trees, Travers and Lewis, running in their direction. His eyes widened as he released the gun with his right hand and hit Levinson in the right shoulder three quick times, causing him to yell in pain once more and drop the gun. The pain was so excruciating that he got weak and queasy very fast and sat on his knees with his head down panting. John then grabbed the knife, gave it a quick jerk, and pulled it out of Levinson’s shoulder, ripping apart whatever the gut hook was hung on. Blood flowed in a stream through the air and Levinson gave out a quiet painful gasp.

  John looked up and saw that Lewis and Travers had raised their M4s and then opened fire. John took off running in the opposite direction through the thick trees. Shots rang out and echoed through the trees as bullets ripped through trees, bushes, and the snow on the ground. Splinters of wood were thrown in every direction, as was snow when the aimless bullets made contact. Both Lewis and Travers fired until their clips were empty. They quickly reloaded, but didn’t see John anymore. He had found cover in the thick trees, unscathed. John took off once again.

  Lewis and Travers ran toward Levinson, who had fallen on his back and wasn’t moving. As they ran, they feared they had hit him, but once they got there they saw he was still breathing. They saw blood coming from his shoulder, which he was holding with his left hand. Levinson was holding his ribs as well with his right hand. Coming up on him, Travers, who was good friends with Levinson, slid down next to him.

  “Levinson, you okay? What happened?!” Travers asked.

  “That motherfucker jumped out of a tree, got me in the shoulder with his knife, broke some ribs I think. Shoulder feels like shit,” Levinson told him.

  “Let me look at it.”

  Lewis stood above them looking in the direction John had taken off running, but saw nothing. He turned to look down at Levinson when he heard footsteps to his right. He jerked the M4 around quickly, but saw it was Cavanah coming up on them. Next, he heard, “Hey!” from his left. He swung back around and saw that Adam was about twenty-five feet from his left, but closed that gap quickly as he was running as fast as he could.

  “Fuck, you guys!” Lewis yelled out. “Say something when you’re sneaking up on us.”

  “What the hell happened?” Adam asked as he came to a stop next to the downed Levinson.

  “Your fuckin’ buddy jumped out of a tree like he was fuckin’ Rambo or some shit and got Levinson,” Lewis began. “He took off running that way, we shot at him, but I don’t know if we hit him or not.”

  “Yeah, no shit, not only did I hear you but the whole fucking state probably did too. That’s just what we need,” Adam told him and then pointed his attention toward Travers. “How is he Travers?”

  “Got a few broken ribs and a deep wound on his shoulder. Should be able to stop the bleeding, but I don’t know the damage though,” Travers responded.

  “Alright, we gotta keep moving. I think he took all his orange gear off, he’ll be harder to see now.”

  “Yeah, I found his coveralls,” Cavanah said.

  “We found his hat,” Lewis added.

  “Yeah, he’s smart guy and likes the outdoors,” Adam said.

  “Good-fucking-job,” Lewis commented.

  “Lewis, if you speak again I’ll fuckin’ kill you myself,” Adam told him. “Travers, patch him up fast. We gotta go now.”

  Fifteen

  Saturday - 9:12 A.M.

  John Watkins ran at a high speed through the deep snow and around trees. As he ran, he questioned whether he should have attacked Levinson or made the fake tracks or run until he ran into somebody or something. He knew it was too late to worry about it now, it was already done. He regretted doing it and felt that just pissed them off even more. Now, he needed to run.

  He was breathing hard and fast, fearing that Adam and his men were close behind him. He turned to look behind him when he went around a tree, but didn’t see anyone. Nevertheless, John wasn’t stopping. The deep snow and weight of his backpack and rifle made the run much harder. Luckily, he was in good shape and had good stamina. But that was no match for the frigid air, which made it harder to breath. The cold finally tired him out enough that he was forced to stop to catch his breath and slow down his breathing because his chest was beginning to hurt. He leaned against a tree to rest and for cover.

  “Jesus, John! What the fuck are you doing?” he asked himself, catching his breath. He glanced around the tree. No sign of Adam yet. He tried to take control of his breathing. He put his hands on his knees and closed his eyes, which were watering from the cold air piercing them as he ran. He slowed his breathing and calmed himself down.

  With his eyes closed, John thought of his wife. He imagined lying in their warm bed with her, his arms wrapped around her from behind as they both lie on their sides. What if I had stayed in the bed with her this morning instead of getting out in this deep snow? John thought. He wanted to be with her so badly right now. It almost brought a tear to his eye. But he couldn’t do this right now. If he wanted to get back to her, he had to stay strong and focused. He wanted to see his wife again, he wanted to hold her, make love to her, and he wanted to see their future child. That was it, that was his motivation and he would use it.

  All of the sudden, he heard snow crunching and voices of men coming from behind him. He swiftly looked behind the tree and saw Adam and the other men running toward him. “Fuck,” he said aloud and then turned forward and took off running again.

  “There he is!” Lewis yelled as he saw John running about thirty-five yards in front of them. They all saw him too, including Adam, and they ran as fast as they could through the snow.

  John lifted his knees high and shoved his feet down hard into the snow to push himself along faster. He had no choice, they were right behind him. He came to a slight hill and moved up it as fast as he could. Once he reached the top, he saw that it got very flat. It looked like a clearing with trees along each side, but it didn’t seem natural because it curved out of sight in both directions. It looked like a road, but the snow was so deep he couldn’t tell for sure. If it was a road it hadn’t been touched by salt trucks and no one had driven on it. He saw no street signs either. Regardless, he didn’t have time to ponder it. He had to move because Adam and his men were getting closer, so John ran right across the flat untouched snow.

  Adam, Cavanah, Lewis, Travers, and Levinson reached the bottom of the same small hill and were out of breath from the cold now. It was beginning to take a toll on them, but they pushed forward. The little climb was a struggle for all of them, especially Cavanah and Levinson with their wounds. Once they reached the top, they noticed the flat long surface in between trees as well. They had fallen further behind John because of the cold air penetrating their lungs and the little snow-covered hill. They had no choice now but to rest a second to catch their breath.

  “Fuck this cold,” Travers said, breathing heavily.

  “Damn, tell me about it. But we gotta go now…” Adam said and then heard a rumbling sound.

  “What the hell is that?” Cavanah asked.

  The rest of them heard it as well and looked to the left, which was where they thought it was coming from. Then, through the trees, around the curve, they saw snow flying up from the ground. A snowplow truck was heading toward them, finally getting the road. It was coming fast and before they knew it, the truck was making its way around the curve in the road just before them. The driver appeared to have seen them standing in the middle of the road because the truck was slowing down.

  They all faced toward the truck as it came to a stop in front of them. They could see the driver and he looked stunned like he didn’t know what to do. At first, the driver thought they were hunters, but the tactical weapons made him think otherwise. No, something was going on and he just accidently drove right into it.

  Adam looked at Lewis who glared at the driver and Adam knew there was nothing else to do. Without asking, Lewis brought
up his M4 and fired at the driver’s side window. Bullets destroyed the windshield and sections of the hood. Blood, tissue, and brain matter sprayed all over the cab of the truck as the driver’s upper torso and head was torn apart. When Lewis was finished, steamed rolled out of the broken windshield and the driver was covered in holes and blood.

  “Okay, now we really gotta go. This is a road. Let’s go now! John can’t be far, not in this snow and cold,” Adam told them.

  “Yeah, feel like it’s dropped at least ten degrees in the last few minutes,” Travers observed.

  “Let’s move,” Adam commanded.

  John continued his hard run through the snow, which was beginning to take its toll once more. As he ran this time, he tried to stay parallel to the road but at the same time, back far enough to stay hidden from Adam. However, he realized how useless that was with his footprints being left behind him. He had hoped, staying near the road, that it would take him to a house, store, or somewhere that would provide him help.

  After another three minutes, his wish came true when he saw smoke going up through the trees, which led to a house. He stopped next to a tree and saw the two-story brick home with lights on in its windows. The house sat in a small clearing surrounded by trees with a long driveway that cut through more trees in front of the house. He could tell these people liked to be isolated from the rest of the world and be surrounded by piece and quiet. He hated to ruin that today, but this was his chance to get help. There was a car sitting outside next to the garage that was covered in snow, no tire tracks led out, so John knew that the people were home. Without wasting any more time, he ran toward the house.

  As he neared the front door, he yelled out for help. He yelled until he reached the door and then proceeded to bang loudly and continued to yell for help. “Hello! Anyone home? Please help me? It’s an emergency! I need help. I’m not here to hurt you! There are people after me! Please help me!” John banged on the door and suddenly the door opened and a man in his early seventies appeared holding a pump-action shotgun, pointing it at John.

  “What in the hell is going!?” The old man yelled at John as he stepped back with his shotgun ready to fire.

  “Sir,” John began with his hands in the air. “Please, you must help me. I was out hunting and saw something I shouldn’t have and now these men are after me and trying to kill me. I need to use you phone to call the police. You’re the first house I’ve seen in hours.”

  “Hold up there, son. Why should I believe you? Why should I let you in my house? For all I know this could be a trick. I could let you in here and you could kill me and my wife and rob us and take off.”

  “Look at my hand,” John said as he held out his right hand, which was wrapped in a bandage and stained with blood. “They’ve already shot me once.”

  “How do I know that’s a bullet and not just a cut or something else?” The old man asked.

  “Here,” John said and unwrapped the bandage revealing the bullet wound, that still hurt badly, and showed the old man. “See, they shot me. Please, I need to call the police.”

  Seeing the desperation on John’s face, he realized John was telling the truth, so the old man stepped back and motioned him into his house. John walked in and the old man closed and locked the door behind him, deadbolt and knob. “Um, I should mention, our phone has been dead for a while now because of the snow. We have cell phones, but they only work every now and then way out here.”

  “Shit, well let me try your cell phone. Hurry, I don’t think they’re very far behind me,” John told him.

  The old man walked past John, through the entryway, and into the living room. John followed him and saw that the old man’s wife was sitting in her rocking chair looking concerned and holding their small Schnauzer in her lap with her arms wrapped around it. The dog’s tail began to wag when it saw the old man and John and tried to escape his owners grip, but she was not letting go. She appeared to be drinking hot chocolate out of a mug with a picture of their Schnauzer on it and the TV was on The Andy Griffith Show re-runs.

  “It’s okay, dear. This man needs help; he needs to call the police. Something has happened,” the old man told his wife who looked a couple years younger than he was.

  “Hi, ma’am, I’m so sorry for this,” John told her.

  “It’s alright, we’ll help you as much as we can,” she said and gave a grin, but that went away quickly when she saw his blood soaked bandage, which was back on his hand now. “Let him borrow you cell phone, Henry.”

  “Here it is. Here’s my cell phone. I hope it has service,” Henry told John as he grabbed his flip phone off the end table and handed it to John.

  John took it from him, opened it, and dialed 911. He looked at signal bars and saw that only one was lit up. He hoped that was enough and held the phone to his ear. He waited for it to ring, but then nothing happened. He brought it back down to look at the screen and saw that the one bar had gone away. He had no signal now.

  “Anything?” Henry asked as he made his way to a window in the living room to look outside.

  “No, lost the signal. I’ll try again,” John began and then noticed Henry was near a window. “Sir, be careful by that window!”

  “Please, son. I survived Vietnam, I think I’ll be fine looking through a window,” he told John sternly.

  John looked back down at the phone and began to re-dial 911, but he got the same result and was getting frustrated, “I still got no signal.”

  “Try going upstairs, that works sometimes,” Henry told him.

  “Okay, where are the stairs?” John asked.

  “Here, I’ll go with you,” he said and then walked past John, into the foyer, then took a right down a hallway, and the stairs were on the right. John followed Henry up the stairs, who went slower than John wanted to go right now. Finally, they reached the top of the stairs and the Henry led him into a spare bedroom that had several toys on the floor and a small twin bed against the wall. It must have been a room for grandchildren or great-grandchildren when they came to visit. “Try it now,” Henry said as he once again walked over to the bedroom window to have a look.

  John brought the phone up and tried to re-dial 911 for a third time, when suddenly the power to the house went out. The lights went out and they could no longer hear the laugh track from the TV downstairs. It was not pitch black because of the brightness from outside, which was brought on by all the snow on the ground. Both of them looked around for a second and then Henry looked outside once again, but all he could see was white. Then his wife called out from downstairs.

  “Henry! The power’s out!” she yelled yelled.

  “I know dear, we’re-“

  A hail of gunfire interrupted Henery as bullets pierced the house through windows, doors, and once a section of brick had been hit enough, the walls. John dropped the cell phone, grabbed Henry, and forced him down to the ground, where they both lie flat on their stomachs. Glass, shards of brick, pieces of drywall, and anything else that was ripped apart by the bullets covered them. It was loud and just as quickly as it began, it ended. It was as silent as a tomb. They had to give themselves time to recover, but not too long - they had to get up and prepare themselves. John was about to give Henry instructions, but he had his wife on his mind.

  “Okay, listen…” John began

  “Ida!” Henry yelled out then stood up quickly. With his shotgun still in hand, he jolted out of the room.

  “No!” John yelled. He tried to grab Henry as he got up, but there was no stopping him. John swiftly got up and followed the man downstairs. However, John left the cell phone laying on the ground, opened.

  The old man was faster than John thought - he was down the steps and down the hallway by the time John got to the bottom of the stairs. John made his way down the bullet-riddled hallway, past the foyer, where the front door now looked like Swiss cheese, and then turned into the living room. He saw that the TV was destroyed, pictures of their family on the fireplace mantel were broken on
the floor, lamps had fallen with holes in the shades, and then he saw, Ida.

  It all happened to quickly that she still sat in her chair with their dog clinched in her arms, but now she was lifeless, as was the dog. She had been shot multiple times in the torso and at least three times in the head, her body now covered in blood. Their dog had also been hit multiple times throughout its body, including once through the eye. It was a horrific sight to behold and John would more than likely remember it until his dying day.

  An innocent woman and her dog now dead because of John. He began to feel the guilt going through him, but there was no time for that if he wanted to live and save Henry’s life. He walked up behind the old man, who was holding his dead wife’s hand and crying, and placed his hand on his shoulder.

  “I am so sorry,” John told him. “But we need to go; those men will be coming in here.”

  “She’s dead,” Henry sobbed.

  “I know. I’m so sorry. It’s my fault, but let me save you so you can see your family again. We have to go, is there a basement or some other door so we can get out of here?” John asked and then looked up out the window and saw Cavanah moving toward the house. He had no idea where everyone else was. “Shit, let’s go Henry, we need to move now!” John commanded and pulled the old man back from his wife’s corpse.

  “Goodbye, my love,” Henry said and then, reluctantly, joined John.

  John led the way as they walked back to the front foyer area. As they reached the doorway that led to both the foyer and hallway, John asked the old man, “Henry, do you have a-“

  The front door was suddenly kicked opened by Levinson, who saw the two men in front of him as soon as he stepped in the house. John and the old man’s head jerked in that direction and John yelled, “Run!” John took off down the hallway, but Henry did not. As sadness turned to anger, the old man attempted to raise his shotgun and kill Levinson, but was nowhere near fast enough. Levinson was already ready to fire his weapon. Levinson aimed his Benelli tactical shotgun and pulled the trigger. The shot hit the old man in the neck and face, sending him, and a splatter of blood, bone fragments, and pieces of brain into the living room. As the old man hit the ground violently, John turned around to see his legs sticking out from the doorway to the living room. He was a little shell-shocked and stood there for a second, which was a second too long because Levinson appeared from around the corner.