The Hunted

by Steve Scheunemann

  “They’re at the monastery! Everyone back to the monastery now!

  Grabbing his PDT McLeish quickly contacted the bunker. “Depardieu, they are at the abandoned monastery! Lock onto my position and bring all the troops you’ve got.”

  Less than a hundred yards separated them from the well house when the first troop spotted them. It might as well have been a hundred miles. Suddenly the air around them was filled with gunfire. Driven from their goal, they managed to make it out of the courtyard and into some boulders where they could hide from the withering onslaught of explosive rounds. By some miracle neither was hit and they found a place of shelter. The boulders where they took shelter would prevent anyone from getting close to them without exposing themselves to fire from Matt’s rifle, but there was no way out. They were in a kind of depression so that the slope blocked fire from below. In order to reach them the Hunters would have to top the rise and come down into the depression and around the boulders.

  For all the cover in their current position they were trapped. There was no way to go up the mountain. The slope was bare and they’d be picked off before they made it ten feet. Below them were the hounds, a Hunter, and at least twenty uniformed troops. To either side the slope was as barren as above. The small cluster of boulders in this depression offered the only cover in any direction.

  “We have to take out the hounds. If he sends all five of them they’ll swarm over us before we can kill them all.”

  Matt unslung the 7mm from his shoulder and made sure it was loaded with a round chambered. Squirming on his belly to find a shooting position that did not expose him to return fire, Matt built his firing position. Bone support instead of muscle. Muscles tremble and throw off the aim. Rock to bone to weapon, Matt made sure he was steady. There was almost half a mile between him and the nearest of the hounds, but these beasts were fast. A half-mile would disappear in under a minute.

  Sighting on the first Hound, Matt estimated its distance, adjusted for windage and elevation, and squeezed the trigger. As always he was surprised when the rifle bucked against his shoulder, but was not surprised when he saw the hound go down. The 175-grain bullet hit at 400 yards with over 2000 foot-pounds of energy. In that distance it had dropped 42 inches before it slammed into the hound just below the head. Matt had been aiming for the chest, instead he hit the neck and severed the spinal column. The huge beast hit the ground, slid to a stop, and never twitched.

  Rolling onto his left side Matt quickly worked the bolt and slammed a new round into the chamber.

  Rolling back to his firing position Matt found the second hound. He dropped this one with a shot to the head, a shot that was more luck than skill as the head of a running Great Hound at over 350 yards is a target so ridiculous as to be stupid to aim at. Matt had sighted on the chest again.

  By the time he sighted on the third animal it had closed to less than 250 yards and the other two were right on its heels. This time the round did not kill it outright. Instead it tore through the right front shoulder, making that leg useless. Dragging itself back to its feet the vicious beast limped in pursuit of its pack mates.

  The fourth and fifth had closed to 75 yards by the time the rifle bucked again. The bullet passed completely through the hound’s body, entering the chest, it missed the heart, perforated the left lung and bowels, but barely slowed the huge animal. Along with its partner they closed the remaining distance.

  As they leaped into the small clearing, the wounded one was hit full in the chest with fire from the two BGP sidearms Abbey was carrying. Both were set to full auto, and the explosive charges literally evaporated the animal’s entire front half.

  Raising his arm to protect his throat, Matt clawed for his belt knife with his free hand. The armor Matt had devised to protect them from the Spiderwire whip the Hunters would be carrying saved him from losing an arm to the crushing bite and ceramic-steel alloy teeth of the Great Hound. Three hundred seventy five pounds of fury bore him to the ground.

  With his free arm Matt plunged the knife again and again into the animal’s side, seeking something vital. The broken tip didn’t slow the blade at all. Matt’s strength and the quality of the remaining blade caused it to penetrate deeply. After more than a dozen stabs, Matt had failed to hit anything vital. The teeth clamping his left arm had slipped between the spring steel strips and were now firmly locked on the bone. Blood ran freely from the arm.

  Abbey watched the struggle with fear. She could not use the sidearms she had. The explosive projectiles might as easily kill Matt as the hound. They had never been designed with precision in mind.

  Watching down the slope to keep additional pursuit at bay Abbey picked up the rifle. She quickly dispatched the limping hound. It had made it to within 25 feet of their shelter. Knowing she could not shoot the hound Matt was struggling with using either her sidearm or the rifle, Abbey snatched up the baton Matt had kept since their encounter with Mtumbe.

  Not as practiced with it as Matt was, Abbey was still a Hunter and superbly conditioned and intimately familiar with her own abilities. Quickly finding the release for the thin wire she flipped the weighted line around the animal’s head, feeling the weight catch on the line. When she was sure she had the head captured, she yanked with all her might.

  Matt felt the beast go limp a second before he felt himself showered in its blood as its head fell one way and its body the other.

  “Thanks,” was all he said as he gingerly felt his badly mauled left arm. Grabbing a roll of gauze from their pack Matt quickly wrapped his arm. He’d have to clean it later to prevent infection, but for now he’d settle for stopping the bleeding and covering it to keep it from getting any dirtier.

  Looking over the slope below they were dismayed to see that McLeish was not the only Hunter coming towards them. During their fight with the hounds Delacruz had arrived in the helicopter with Depardieu, Miller, and an additional squad of uniforms. They now faced four Hunters and thirty troops, and still had no way out.

  Abbey cheerfully said “Well, at least we know they are taking us seriously.”

  She was putting on a brave show but was secretly worried. Even if they could hold off the Hunters and somehow make good their escape, Matt’s arm was a wreck and he was losing blood fast. The bandage he’d wrapped over his arm just minutes ago was already soaked through and blood dripped steadily from his left hand. At this rate he’d lose consciousness soon and be dead not long after. The BGP didn’t need to come get them. In an hour or two at most, it would all be over. Even if the Hunters and all the troops disappeared, even if they had access to the helicopter, Matt might not make it.

  “Abbey,” Matt spoke softly. “I want you to be ready to make a break for it. I’ll start shooting and try to pin them down long enough for you to make it through the pass above us. Circle back to the east and after about six miles you’ll find a stream. Follow that and take the left fork when it splits. In another two miles you’ll find a cut through the mountain that will bring you out below the monastery. Get into the well house. If they are not chasing you it’s actually pretty easy to negotiate. Follow the third track from the left. Do not ride in the ore carts, they are almost all booby-trapped. If you just follow the pattern 3-2-3 you’ll be okay. Always from the left take the third track, then the second and then the third again. Then repeat the process. You’ll come out about ten miles west of Denver, in some pretty rough country….”

  “Matt. I’m not leaving you.”

  “Abbey, listen to me. I won’t make it and you know it. If I had any genetics besides what I do, I’d already be dead. It’s been too hard for too long and now with the blood loss too, I’ll never make it.”

  “Matt, you may be right, but I’m staying, so quit wasting your strength fighting with me about it.”

  Matt knew it was useless so he gave up. Instead he took off his belt and tied it as tight as he could around his left arm above the elbow. He wouldn’t be able to use it well, but it would slow the blood loss.


  As he was pulling the belt tight with his teeth, he considered their situation. They were now facing four Hunters instead of one, and thirty troops. The helicopter could not operate well against them; the draw they had retreated up was too narrow to allow it to get close enough to be effective, but the other side had just gained an expert sniper in Depardieu and she had her Packwood Eliminator and plenty of ammunition. Matt had the 7mm and only ten rounds left.

  Trying to get into a good shooting position to operate against the men he knew were coming, Matt soon found that the injury to his left arm made it impossible. The tight sling and rock-solid positions required for truly accurate long distance shooting were beyond him. His arm shook too much to even consider shooting a rifle.

  “Abbey, you’ll have to do the shooting. Give me the pistols, you take the rifle; on second thought, give me one pistol, you keep one. It’s not like I could shoot a second one anyway.”

  “Matt, they’ll come for us soon. They’ll try to flush us out of here and get a shot for Depardieu. The hounds didn’t get us, but that won’t stop them. They’ll send the uniforms at us in a rush. Even if I get one with every bullet, they’ll still have more than twenty when we run out of ammo and have just pistols. One more thing Matt, there’s a drug, it’s called ‘Rage’ by the troops. No Hunter will ever take it, but when the uniforms take it, they feel no pain. I don’t mean like you and I can tolerate pain far beyond what normal people can bear. I mean that if a troop is on it and you blow his arm clean off, he won’t even slow down. He’ll pick it up and beat you to death with it if that’s what’s available.

  “Rage’ is not really accurate though. They become cold, not hot. There is no emotion left in someone on Rage. They feel no pain, they feel nothing at all. They will become focused on one thing, and that is the mission.

  “Matt, this is a textbook case for using Rage. When those troops come for us, they’ll be pumped full of the stuff. They won’t stop if they are shot in the gut, they won’t stop if they are shot in the face and survive it. I’m not ready to quit, but you need to know what’s coming. We’ll have to drop them quick, hard, and sure.”

  Neither of them had any illusions left. They were going to die right here on this mountain. Four Hunters and thirty troops against the two of them, with Matt already hurt, it was enough to cause any sane person to despair. Of course, few people had the skills that these two did. They prepared themselves to go down fighting and take as many with them as they could.

  “Here they come,” Abbey said, getting behind the rifle.

  Crack! Abbey fired and the closest man dropped. Crack! Crack! Two more fell. In quick succession seven more men fell and as quick as that the rifle was empty and still ten men were coming for them.

  Each of them held a pistol in their right hand and a knife in the left. Matt had given the knife they’d found in Alaska to Abbey and kept his old SOG for himself. He guessed he never would get the blade back into the condition it deserved, but it was still good steel and would serve well.

  When the troops came storming into the small clearing behind the rocks where Matt and Abbey had taken shelter, it was in a rush. There were two paths around the largest boulder and they came through both. As they topped the ridge line and started down into the depression they gained speed.

  Matt, leaning heavily against a tree, began to fire with precision. Headshots only. With the explosive rounds in the pistols it was a grisly business. Each head disappearing as it was hit. The bodies began to pile up, each headless and gushing blood from the stump that was left. To his left Abbey was piling up bodies of her own. She had put four down, to go with the three Matt had killed, each one making it one step further than the one before.

  Then it happened. Matt’s blood loss had caused fatigue. His arm was not as steady as it should have been and the shot intended for the head missed, hitting the right chest instead. The right arm and most of the chest were blown completely away. The man was dead in less than ten seconds. In those ten seconds though he managed to close the distance between himself and Matt. He didn’t even hit Matt when he got there; just fell into him. It was enough though. Suddenly they were clear of the boulder and bringing their own weapons to bear.

  Matt could see the barrel of the next man’s weapon coming to bear on him and knew it was over.

  “No!” Abbey screamed and turning from the men coming for her, she shot the one aiming at Matt instead.

  Matt was shocked to see Abbey turn her back on the men who were trying to kill them both, more shock rippled through him as she closed on him in two quick steps and raising her pistol struck him in the side of the head. As he lost consciousness and fell he had one final thought. With her back turned to the troops, not one of them took advantage and shot her. Why not?

  37

  June 1, 2080

  Christchurch, New Zealand

  Dex was finishing his post-workout stretching routine. The news from Colorado meant things would change drastically for his team. All of their planning was around Matt joining the team when Angus felt he was ready to accept everything that the free men of New Zealand stood for. They had always anticipated that they would have a few more years. Now, thanks to the BGP, that was no longer possible.

  It meant that Dex’s team would be going into action much sooner than they’d anticipated. Dex had always been the de facto leader of the four team members who’d already been in New Zealand, but he always knew that leadership was by way of an executive officer’s position. His was the responsibility to whip the team into shape, to make it a team in more than name. He’d planned to make the team an efficient and well-honed weapon ready to accept the leadership of a more capable leader than him.

  He knew he was good at what he did. He was great at all the routine parts of leading the team. He knew his people and was able to design the kind of training plan that brought out the best in their abilities. What he could not do was bring out the best of their spirit. He could lead others but he did not inspire others.

  Matt was supposed to provide that. He was supposed to join them when he’d accepted his role and was able to step into his new part. He would provide the inspiration, the leadership for which Dex would gladly have played a support role.

  Well, of one thing he was certain, in this life things change.

  It seemed he’d had his wounds cleaned and bandaged, and judging from the healing that had already taken place, he’d been kept unconscious for several days. Apparently Malone wanted him strong enough to last a long time.

  As Matt attempted to rise he found that he was restrained. The straps at his wrists, ankles, and chest were heavy leather and quite impossible for Matt to break. That did not stop him from struggling futilely for several minutes anyway.

  Under the sheets he was also completely naked. He supposed that made sense. If he were somehow to get free, he could hardly sneak out of the secure BGP facility without any clothes now, could he?

  Tears that he’d not had time to shed now filled his eyes and ran freely down his cheeks, soaking the pillow under his head. The unfairness of life struck him hard. Matt had never before felt sorry for himself because of his situation. He’d grown up in a world that wanted him dead, and had come to accept that.

  He’d been running and fighting for survival ever since that day he’d been left naked in the snow. Really all his life, but that had been the day he’d become responsible for himself, and dedicated himself to seeking his vengeance. Even then, wrapped in a rancid elk hide, alone in a mountain cave, knowing that everyone who’d cared for him was dead, he had not felt sorry for himself.

  He’d been too young and inexperienced to know that life could indeed be a worthwhile and beautiful thing. Now he’d experienced the joy and hope of a young man becoming lost in a young woman’s eyes and her smile. He’d known what it was to have a comrade, a brother. And that was what made his pain infinitely worse. The woman he loved had betrayed him, and the man he loved as a brother was dead.

  All he had t
o look forward to was torture and eventual death. He doubted he’d even be given an opportunity to take any of them with him. He had fought their best to a standstill, and probably could have defeated him. Then in the mountains when he thought he was going to die fighting beside the woman he loved, he found himself betrayed by her instead.

  Thinking of Abbey’s betrayal kicked his anguish up another notch. The self-contempt that rode hard on the heels of that thought didn’t help either. He should have known better than to trust anyone. You could only trust those who had as much to lose as you did. He’d been a damned fool, and Angus had already paid for it. There was little doubt in Matt’s mind now that Abbey had realized who Matt’s friend was and called in the reinforcements. Now Matt too, would pay the price. He figured the BGP had set her on him to see if he would lead them to any resistance cells, and when it became clear that he didn’t have any contacts they ended it.

  Spiraling deeper and deeper into despair with his face turned to the wall, Matt didn’t hear the door open or the footfalls crossing the room to his bed until a voice spoke.

  “I’m glad to see you’re feeling better.”

  Whipping his head around and seeing her standing there Matt lunged against his bonds screaming, “I’ll kill you! You’re the reason Angus is dead.”

  Giving up on trying to break free, he collapsed back onto the bed and sobbed.

  “I should have known you were one of them. I guess you get off by breaking hearts before you kill, like Malone likes to break bodies before he kills them.

  “Well, I don’t know anything that will help you find and kill more people, not that I suspect that will stop you from…”

  “You’re not a prisoner of the BGP. In fact you’re not a prisoner at all.” Abbey’s calm certain tone cut through Matt’s thoughts like yelling never could have.