The Hunted

by Steve Scheunemann

  “Let’s go. Oh, one more thing. Malone is mine. Do not interfere. If he takes me out, all bets are off but until then, it’s my fight.”

  54

  August 18, 2080

  Northbrook Il, North American Territory

  Calvin was almost in position to take out the sniper. He’d had to stay out of her line of fire and that was only after he’d identified her shooting position. The problem was that there was no easy approach. She’d chosen her spot well and he’d be clearly visible for at least a hundred feet in his approach. He wished he could shoot her since she still didn’t know he was there but all that she exposed was the barrel of her rifle between two large air conditioning units.

  Seeing no safe route he took out his pistol, a Kimber .45 with a high capacity eighteen round magazine, and charged. He’d covered no more than ten of the one hundred feet when the barrel started to swing his way. Firing accurately at a full sprint is impossible but Cal was an excellent marksman who had practiced this very thing until he was as good at it as anyone could be. His heavy 230 grain bullets began pinging off the air conditioner. His only hope was to keep her head down while he closed the distance.

  The sniper, knowing she was dead if she let him close the distance, stepped from between the air conditioners and aimed her rifle at Calvin. He smiled with satisfaction as he saw red blossom high on her chest as first one then a second round staggered her. Somehow she remained standing and brought her rifle to bear. A third shot hit her thigh and the fourth smashed the trigger mechanism along with the sniper’s right hand just as she squeezed the trigger a final time. He had just thirty feet left to cover.

  Pain exploded in his chest and he fell to the ground. Looking across the rooftop he saw the sniper was down and breathing hard. She might survive her wounds but she would not fire another shot today.

  Cal saw his Gurkha backup coming fast to provide first aid, but he knew it would not be enough. It hurt to breathe and Cal knew he would never make it off this rooftop. His last thoughts were of his friends and he left this world satisfied that he’d taken out the sniper.

  Dex and Kournikov battled back and forth for more than ten minutes. Kournikov could not win and had to know it, but he was tough. He didn’t have any quit in him. Dex had broken at least two knuckles in his left hand and his right eye was swollen shut. Kournikov was finally down. Dex’s final blow had crushed his larynx and he was choking out his last moments at his feet.

  Checking on the fighting with the guards and his own unexpected troops, Dex saw that the diversion was working well. His men were falling back and drawing the guards in pursuit. They would feel confident and have no need to call for reinforcements. Malone would know they were a diversion, but with luck he’d believe they were a failed diversion and rely on his ability to beat Matt.

  Now, if only Matt and the rest could get out of the facility safely. His job was to be sure they could get away, but it was up to them to get out.

  They met in a large open area used as a combination loading dock and warehouse. Matt, Abbey, Kit, Ralph, the director, and Prince Kalbhoj came in from one door while Malone, Hu Li, McLeish without his great hounds, and Miller entered through the door in the wall to their right.

  “So, Gene Trash, you’ve been quite a pain in my ass, you and the traitor bitch. I see you’ve brought some friends too. None of you will be leaving here alive.”

  As he spoke the interior guards, armed with their Packwoods, filed in. There were 20 of them deployed to either side of the Hunters.

  “No one fires until I kill the trash. After that, mow them down,” Malone ordered the senior of the guards. Not as good as Storm Troops, but they’d do.

  Matt handed his pistol to Abbey and stepped away from the others. As he did so he drew the knife he’d restored from his belt sheath. “You killed the man who was a brother to me. You killed him because he wanted to be free from the tyranny that you represent. Just because I was not born under the thumb of your government you think my life is without worth.

  “Because I am free of your inbred controls I am a danger. Well, it’s not just those of us born free. There are others. Angus was a soldier in your military until he found a better way and became a warrior for freedom in New Zealand. He was a teacher, a mentor, and my brother. Abbey was a trained Hunter until she decided not to complete her graduation assignment and kill me.

  “The last time you gave Angus a knife and faced him unarmed. He was very good but you were better than he was. So am I. In fact, I’m better than you. A lot.” Matt tossed his knife away.

  Malone moved in fast. He was confidant and in top form. This piece of genetic trash had been his toughest assignment yet. He’d lost most of his team hunting the boy. He had flushed out the New Zealand connection and would finally be vindicated.

  A ridge hand, fingers extended and stiff, lanced for Matt’s throat. Deadly if it connected, but Matt easily avoided it. Attempting to lock Malone’s elbow and hyperextend the joint to the point of dislocation, Matt narrowly avoided the leg sweep from Malone.

  Separating, the two combatants assessed one another. Matt waited, knowing that impatience could lose him the battle and that while he might give up the initiative, letting Malone commit could be to his advantage.

  The last time they had fought Matt was blinded by rage and grief over the death of Angus moments before. This time Matt would keep his head and win the victory. There was too much at stake to attack in a mad frenzy.

  Malone launched his attack. Matt had but an instant’s warning as he saw Malone’s muscles tense. Malone had thrown a high kick aimed at Matt’s head. Instead of backing away or blocking, Matt dropped and threw a punch for Malone’s groin.

  Malone managed to twist just enough that Matt’s blow landed hard on his thigh. Immediately, he stood, delivering a staggering left uppercut to Malone’s jaw. The Hunter’s head snapped back and as he staggered backwards he spit out a broken tooth along with the tip of his tongue which he’d bitten off when his teeth crashed together.

  Spitting blood, the Hunter grinned at Matt and charged. A flurry of fists and kicks kept Matt retreating and off balance as Malone bore down on him.

  A fist connected with his head and his vision went white for a moment. Then another crashed into his gut and stole his breath. Stumbling back, Matt shook his head, trying to clear it. His eye was swollen but he could still see, his lip was split and bleeding and there was very likely a broken rib or two on his left side.

  This time it was Matt who smiled and said, “My turn.”

  Making his first offensive move of the fight, Matt leapt high in the air and delivered a spinning back kick that landed solidly on the Hunter’s right ear.

  Following up on his advantage Matt moved in. The anger he’d held in check breaking free. He rained fists down upon Malone. Back and forth they fought, neither willing to retreat.

  Eventually, Matt’s blows started to land with greater and greater frequency. Several were blocked, but as more and more crashed into him the Hunter no longer blocked nor returned the blows.

  Spinning, Matt delivered an elbow smash to Malone’s temple. He could feel the skull crack under his blow and knew the fight was over. Angus was avenged and Malone was dead.

  The moment Malone crashed lifeless to the floor all hell broke loose. Prince Kalbhoj and his Gurkahs opened up with the antique but quite effective Heckler & Koch MP-5 sub-machine guns they carried. While not Packwoods, they still spit out their 9mm ammo at an impressive 800 rounds per minute. The guards with their Packwoods hadn’t even known the Gurkhas were there. One moment they were raising their Packwoods to mow down the gene trash per Agent Malone’s orders, the next they were leaking their lifeblood on the floor.

  Hu Li and Abbey quickly came together in combat, while Kit and Miller squared off. All of them carried firearms and none of them reached for a gun. That was not how these things were done.

  McLeish, on the other hand, did go for his gun and that proved to be the worst possible mo
ve. He was a Hunter and he was a warrior like very few others alive. Still, he faced more than a half dozen Gurkahs who, while armed with guns, fell back on the traditional kukris they all carried. Two went down before Prince Kalbhoj himself, taking a round in the side, managed to close the distance and bury his blade two inches deep in McLeish’s skull.

  Kit and Miller’s fight proved to be short but brutal. With Miller dead at her feet, his neck broken, Kit stood over him cradling a broken arm.

  Abbey and Hu Li traded blows back and forth across the floor until suddenly Hu Li stepped back, bowed and said, “Go. I am not a Hunter and it is not my mission to stop you.”

  “What is your mission then?” asked Abbey.

  “Perhaps one day I will be able to reveal that. Go now and know that reinforcements are ten minutes away and coming from the north.”

  Not waiting any longer than it took to retrieve the knife he had tossed aside earlier, relieved to be able to get his people out, Matt made the snap decision to trust Hu Li’s information. He could not say why, but he believed her.

  Once outside Matt was able to sneak his small force away from the facility from which smoke continued to rise. Dex and Hank had informed him via PDT of Calvin’s death and that loss affected him deeply but the mission was not over and he had to get his people home. They would mourn Calvin later.

  The Sons of Liberty, under the command of Connor and the remaining Gurkhas led by Prince Ranodip Singh, managed to make good their escape. They had so far outclassed the facility’s guards that when they disengaged those weary decimated forces were happy to see them go.

  55

  August 26, 2080

  Christchurch, New Zealand

  Just over a week after the destruction of the project in Illinois, Matt and his team gathered to mourn Calvin.

  “Calvin was our brother. He died protecting us. This is what members of a pack, members of a family do. He made his sacrifice so that our mission would succeed, and so that the rest of us might live.

  “I will, we will, always owe Cal a debt for that. We gather here not to weep and feel sadness, but rather to celebrate Cal’s life. He lived it fully. He laughed a lot, he loved each of us, and he died in a place and a manner of his choosing. In service of something greater than all of us.

  “Which of us could ask for more? He died in battle, a true and fierce warrior for freedom. His cause was just and we will see freedom for all within our lifetimes. Cal will be remembered. He will be a hero of the war that most people do not even know has started.

  “He fell in the first battle of that war. There will be more battles. There will be more deaths, maybe more of us here. But in the end we will free mankind from their oppressors. Cal will have his place in history. I know he will. I know this because the old saying is true. History is written by the winners. We will be the winners.

  “This I swear to all of you on this day. We will win. Calvin is the first hero of the struggle and we will raise a statue of him in New York City after we raze the President’s palace.”

  Back home some hours later, Matt met again with his team, Prince Kalbhoj, and Connor, as well as what he still thought of as “the Colonels”.

  Prince Kalbhoj had requested this meeting and as such the opening remarks were his.

  “The Gurkha people have long been mercenaries. When the British Empire fought us to a standstill but found we could not be defeated they instead hired us. For one hundred and seventy five years, since the founding of 1st King George’s Gurkha Rifles in 1815 we have fought for others.

  “Back then we recognized that we did not and could not rule the whole of the world, but our skills were needed by those that could and did.

  “Were the current government to have let us be as we were, we might have served them as faithfully as ever before. They chose instead to try and breed us into submissive sheep like all the rest and we, true to our heritage, fought. We fought but we also hid. We hid to preserve what we were, what we are, and what we shall be forevermore.

  “The Gurkha serve a worthy master or we stand alone. We do not bend the knee to other than one who is worthy to lead us. To lead us into an honorable victory or a glorious defeat. We do not choose lightly who we will follow. To lead us a man must be brave, and he must be honorable. He must also be willing to utilize what we offer. Our skills, our honor, and our very lives. He must spend them wisely, yet spend them he must.

  “I have read much that was uploaded in the ‘Chronicles’ and the ‘Companion’. Much speaks directly and much is background reference but all speaks of the kind of leader we can follow.

  “I witnessed much in a short operation. I witnessed a man who leads from the front, a warrior of surpassing skill, but a man who has compassion as well as courage.”

  Dropping to one knee in front of Matt he continued.

  “I, Prince Kalbhoj, the rightful ruler of the Gurkha People, pledge the undying fealty of not only myself, but my people to you, Matthew Mark Connor, from this day forward Matthew the First, King of the Gurkhas.”

  Matt, while taken completely by surprise and taken quite aback, nonetheless rose to the occasion with commendable solemnity.

  “Rise Prince Kalbhoj. I, Matthew Mark Connor, from this day Matthew the First, gratefully and unreservedly accept the fealty of the Gurkha people. Your people shall be as my people. My honor shall be as your honor and your honor shall be as my honor. I shall guard well the lives of our people. I shall lead us into righteous and glorious battle in the name of freedom for the Gurkhas and all peoples across the world.

  “Further, I would name you my heir until such a time as an heir of my blood can be produced. I also name you protector of the line. When the day comes that my heir is born it will be you who is responsible for his or her safety and education in Gurkha tradition.”

  Smiling and dropping into a far less formal tone he added, “In the meantime you can educate me.”

  Things became much less formal then. Others arrived and it wasn’t long before that gathering turned into a party.

  Brother Fidelis soon sought out Matt.

  “Matthew, I am so very proud of you. You have become the kind of man, the kind of leader that we all prayed you would. You do understand how the Gurkha situation complicates things, right?”

  “What do you mean? I mean yeah they call me their king and I guess I can use them in the war and all…”

  “Matthew, you are now a reigning Monarch. Your nation may be held by others but your people are not. If it has not already occurred to the president it soon will, that he must now treat you as an equal. You are a head of state and if Prince Kalbhoj reports the numbers accurately your people may well outnumber New Zealanders. Additionally, I think you have yet to get numbers of combat troops. You now directly command 70% as many troops as all of New Zealand. Plus, unless I miss my guess, Connor from the Sons of Liberty will soon pledge his people to your cause. Your cause, not to New Zealand. That would bring you to parity with New Zealand in terms of combat troops. Oh, they will still have equipment and manufacturing you cannot match, but you have troops on the ground in far more places than you know. Others will flock to your banner as well. I’m afraid your days as a Captain of the NZMC are over. You are suddenly a far bigger player than you knew.”

  Fidelis proved to be a prophet, before the night was out Connor did seek Matt out and promise that the Sons would follow where he led.

  Very well, if he was to be a king and the leader of a band of warriors then he would do it to the best of his ability. They would tear down the existing order and replace it with one that valued freedom and individual liberty.

  Epilogue

  October 15, 2080

  Northbrook IL, North American Territory

  Minister Fadwah met with Dr. Ernst Dieter Goebbels, an ancestor of the notorious Dr. Joseph Goebbels of Nazi fame. The current Dr. Goebbels was no less a monster than his forbearer. When the director of this facility was whisked away by the gene trash, Dr. Goebbels stepped up an
d took over the entire facility. His had been the sole project the director had not had access to and that had caused no end of trouble between the two men. No longer. Now it was all Ernst’s. He was master of all. Subject only to the directives of the powerful man at his side this day.

  It was a shame that the project the director had headed up was irretrievably lost to them, but there was so much more to be discovered. If his ancestor had ever had this level of freedom in his experiments perhaps the Nazis would have created the supermen they were after. No restraints. Unlimited test subjects, he was free to experiment at will. His breeder female was a success. Able to safely carry up to twelve implanted fetuses to full term and then to feed them from her multiple teats, the dumb beast was his most recent success.

  That was not what brought the most powerful man in the world here today, though. No, he was here for one of Goebbels’ early successes.

  “Is he ready for decanting? All memories and skills intact?”

  “Yes, Minister. He is as perfect as the first three versions. His muscle memory as well as cognitive memory are all optimal up to twenty minutes before his death. It will be as if the original was still here, only better. He will have none of the old injuries and be in perfect health. He will have no idea as to his origins and all his personality, including his fervent desire to eliminate gene trash, will be present in full measure.”

  “I’m aware of the process. He must never know that he is a clone. His hatred of clones is as strong as his hatred of gene trash. See that all references to his true nature are wiped. We’ll get a new genetic sample at his next physical. Be sure the implant in his brain is online to broadcast his experiences direct in case we need another.