Hunter (The Hero Rebellion 0.5)

by Belinda Crawford

  Red soaked Yaara's chin, ran down her throat and coated the thick plates of her chest. Head dipping low as she crouched, tension gathering in her shoulders as she prepared to leap.

  Subria backed away, first one sidelong step and then another, her back to the wall.

  The beast kept pace, one giant paw following the other. Silent but for the gentle snick of its claws, hidden within the golden hair of its toes.

  One step. Another paw lifted and laid down.

  Another.

  A shape leaped between them, blue-grey and muscular, with a long hairless tail lashing from side to side.

  The ruc-pard.

  Fear turned cold and hard in her gut.

  Subria fell as her feet caught something warm, soft and moving, landing hard on her butt, hands slamming into the hard floor, eyes stuck on the twin mountains of muscles, fur and fangs. Nightmares knocked on the back of her brain, bleeding through the walls she'd worked long and hard to erect against them. Crawling into her ears, into her eyes, feeding off the screech, off the click, and suddenly, the body under her legs, the one she'd stumbled over, wasn't warm and breathing, didn't have Canavan's sandy hair, but her dad's black buzz.

  A thick tail slapped Subria back to reality, and suddenly she had an up-close-and-personal view of the 'pard's belly, the fur white. For a second her heart rose in her throat, threatening to choke her. Subria's lungs burned, shock overriding adrenalin, switching off her brain, leaving only the strange mix of wonder and fear behind. Another snarl ripped through the stable, low and ugly, the kind of sound made by something with big teeth and longer claws. Subria's heart dropped, letting oxygen back in, self-preservation with it. She scuttled backwards on hands and bum. For some reason her attention remained fix on the belly above, the way the pale grey narrowed, the fur becoming thicker and longer as she crab-walked back and back and back... And then she was on the other side of the stable, or the companion moved again, or she blacked out, because one moment there was a strider above her and the next... the next yowls and snarls rode the air, the sounds full of blood and violence.

  Sternard and ruc-pard rolled across the stable, blue-grey mixing with honey, breaking apart, snarling, clashing again. Around and around, Yaara dancing amongst the bodies, the ruc-pard pushing her out of their reach. A bright red arch, erupting from the tangle, the hot, coppery stench of blood mixing with the musk and dirt of the striders.

  Again and again they broke apart and clashed, stalking each other in endless circles.

  Blood flew, a bright red arc. Yaara roared. The 'pard lunged, its muzzle stained red, jaws open, claws the size of Subria's face flashing on the end of four of its six legs, all of it reaching for the sternard, a blue-grey wall of muscle and fury. Of death and blood.

  For a second, as the 'pard flew through the air and Yaara braced herself for the attack, Subria froze, fascinated. In that second, the world slowed, and the two great beasts – muscles bunching, teeth bared – came together in a slow-motion dance of violence. The 'pard's claws sank into Yaara's sides, one paw skidding over the thick scales of her chest, the others finding flesh, the 'pard's teeth doing the same.

  Instead of evading, Yaara leapt into the attack, her own jaws – twice as heavy – open wide.

  The two beasts met, chest to chest. More blood, the coppery scent of it saturating the air.

  Even with the other animal's jaws clamped onto its neck, Yaara forced the 'pard backwards, her powerful hide-quarters bunching and releasing, forelegs grappling with the 'pard.

  The screech of claws over the steelcrete broke Subria out of her trance.

  She surged to her feet as, with a twist and a push, Yaara threw the 'pard into a wall and came for her.

  She was sprinting for the lift before her heart had time to squeeze.

  The sternard was faster.

  One second Yaara was behind her, the next the companion was between her and safety, massive blocky head lowered, lips pulled back from red gums, the hot stink of violence on her breath.

  Subria's daddy's words rang in her memory, not that last pain-filled scream, but the steady calm, guiding her out of danger. 'Prey is fast and jerky, predators are slow and smooth. Don't be prey, no matter how hard your heart beats or adrenalin runs in your body. Never be the prey.'

  Slowly, her gaze steady on the space between the sternard's eyes, she backed up.

  Yaara kept pace.

  Madness swam in her eyes, the deep, soulful, caramel gaze washed away under… what? The screech?

  Behind the sternard were the lifts and escape. But if she left, what was to stop Yaara from tearing into her classmates and the handlers?

  The handlers. Her memory flicked back, recalling the weapons strapped to their waists. She backed up another step, her foot colliding with something small and black, sending it skidding across the floor. Subria took her eyes off Yaara, just a split second, just long enough to identify the pistol, but it was enough for Yaara's posture to change, for her muscles to bunch.

  Smooth and steady wasn't going to cut it.

  She dived for the pistol, arms out, every fibre reaching.

  Belly hitting the ground, air leaving her lungs, a dark honey-coloured shadow rising over her back. Sliding on her stomach, fingers closing over plasform, the electric hum as the pistol reacted to her touch, barrel forming out of the grip. Rolling, energy gathering at the end of the weapon. No need to aim, not with those jaws coming for her head. The snap as she fired.

  Yaara collapsed.

  There was a split-second, time enough for realisation to dawn, for Subria to tense, before the mountain of muscle and fur came down.

  She tried to roll, got halfway onto her side, arm flung out as if she could grab at the air, when several hundred kilos of sternard buried her.

  Nose flattened against steelcrete, Yaara crushing her lungs. Subria struggled to breathe, struggled to lift her head, to wriggle, to move. Black was taking over her vision, her chest burned, and—

  The weight was gone.

  The first breath was magic, filling her from the inside out. On the second, she surged to her knees, came face-to-snout with the ruc-pard.

  Eyes the colour of obsidian met hers, and Subria fell.

  There was no gravity, no time, no cold, no blood. Fear and adrenalin dropped away, leaving a curious weightlessness, a sense of waiting and… something else.

  Discomfort rippled through her chest, a stretching on the inside of her ribs, gentle at first and then stronger, verging on the edge of pain. There was a new space next to her heart, or maybe in her heart, as if something were trying to make a new home. Then a knocking, reverberating through her chest, reaching out with silver fingers. Behind it... she didn't know what it was, but it felt like someone saying 'hello'.

  Subria jerked back into her own body, surging to her feet, putting as much distance between herself and the ruc-pard as she could.

  Her chest still rang with the knocking, and the space behind her heart was still there, cramping her lungs, shortening her breath, but it had stopped growing, stopped trying to send tendrils of… of emotion through her body. But still...

  The 'pard rumbled, cocking her head to the side, her eyes beckoning Subria closer, promising... promising... she didn't know what, but it was huge, life-changing, like everything she'd ever wanted and hadn't known. Like destiny.

  Subria leaned forwards.

  Darkness descended on four sleek wings, sucking in the light, only to flash it out again from talons and fangs. Erberos snarled, the sound slicing through the air, sliding into her ears, a knife so sharp there wasn't any pain.

  The 'pard flattened her ears and backed away from the wan-adder with a snarl of her own, bloodied lips pulling back from bloodied teeth.

  'Venere.' The sound of her name, the familiar voice scratchy and threaded with pain, broke the tension, snapped Subria's gaze to the dark shape slumped against the wall.

  'Instructor Bayard.' She was at the older woman's side in moments, Erebos clinging to h
er shoulder, the ruc-pard a shadow in the corner of her eye.

  The instructor's head and shoulders were propped against the wall, the rest of her sprawled on the floor. Subria bent to help her up, but Bayard pushed her hands away.

  'No time.' Grabbing Subria's jacket, Bayard tugged until her lips brushed against Subria's ear. 'He's gone for the gene banks. Stop him. Follow the sound.'

  The fingers in Subria's jacked loosened and fell away as Bayard lost consciousness.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  She stalked the hallways alone, pistol gripped in both hands and pointed at the floor, steps smooth and slow.

  Follow the sound. Instructor Bayard's last words shivered in her memory.

  The sound vibrated in her skull until she wasn't sure if it was in her ears or in her bones.

  It led her deep into the bowels of the Farm, past the stables and through heavy doors left ajar, into a barracks filled with narrow hallways and more people slumped over chairs and workbenches, others sprawled on the floor. She checked them all, stopped to feel the pulse in their necks, even though the urgency of Bayard's command ran through her head, made her skin tight with the need to move.

  Stalk and check and stalk again. At some point the lights changed, the bright daylight replaced with the demonic red glow of emergency lights.

  The tension in her shoulders became a ball of dread.

  On her shoulder, Erebos flexed his claws.

  The corridor branched, and she paused, debating which way to go. Both branches looked the same in the eerie emergency glows, filled with shadows as impenetrable as Erebos's hide. Tension grew out of the nerves crawling up her back, ran down her arms in sweaty rivulets.

  Follow the sound.

  Subria skirted around the corner, pistol still held low, back to the wall.

  Follow the sound.

  The ache of her teeth, the pound of blood between calcium and flesh, lessened with every step, the awful screech in her eardrums going with it. Subria hadn't realised how much it hurt, how tightly she'd been gritting her jaw, until the pressure eased. For a handful of steps, it was blissful. Then: Shit.

  She was going the wrong way.

  Subria spun, slinked back the way she'd come, boots still silent on the plascrete, heel gliding to toe, always aware, always watchful. She imagined her daddy slinking along beside her, remembered the last time he'd taken her hunting; the quiet in and out of his breathing through the comms in her ear.

  'Heel and toe, baby girl. Mind the debris, but keep your focus on the 'pard. Breathe easy, heart slow, hand steady. He'll smell your fear if you let him, hear your heartbeat if it rises.'

  Except there was no 'pard to stalk. The 'pard was back in the foyer, watching over her classmates, and that thought… that thought made her shiver, brought the nightmare closer to the surface. Her gut curled in on itself, her breath came in short, hard jerks, and the deep gurgling scream filled her ears—

  Subria pushed it away, focused on the sharp stab of Erebos's claws, the ache in her gums, the screech vibrating through her skull, pounding at her ears, louder and louder with every gliding step down the corridor. Slowly, painfully, the nightmare, the scream, retreated.

  Erebos growled, scales warm on her neck, driving a wedge of darkness between the nightmares and her.

  She kept going. Heel and toe. Heel and toe.

  The hallway changed, the space narrowing. Still dark, but the red glows on the walls were getting closer, becoming a funnel, until the glow was all around, distorting the shadows, making them shallow where they should have been deep. What was this place? The hallway was long, she could have reached out and touched either side without straining. There were no outlines of doors, no darker shadows to suggest other hallways, only the red shadows and the ache in her jaw to lead her on.

  A plasglas door, planted in the middle of the hall, standing open. She hesitated, wondered for a moment if this was wise, if Instructor Bayard had really meant Subria to follow the sound, or if that was something she'd thought she'd heard. But then why the pistol? Why that whisper that tumbled from her lips as the instructor slid to the ground?

  Why?

  Her dad's voice played in her memory, his hand on her shoulder. 'Focus on the ruc-pard, little girl, not the end, the means or the warrant in your pocket. Just the 'pard, only the 'pard.'

  Focus on the 'pard. On the ache in her jaw, on the purpose in Instructor Bayard's eyes, the determination and that tiny, tiny flicker of fear.

  Focus. The whys would take care of themselves when the job was done.

  She padded past the door, taking note of the big black letters stenciled on the plasglas, questions bubbling up in her gut at the meaning, but she pushed them back. Later.

  Focus.

  The hallway ended with a body on the floor and another door, wedged open by the body. Slowly, eyes and ears alert to the shadows, Subria knelt, feeling with one hand for a pulse. The dark made it difficult, that and the new itch at her nape, the one that said if she took her eyes off the door, she wasn't getting up again.

  Erebos slithered over her shoulder, his weight creeping down her bicep. He paused there, waiting.

  'Fly,' she whispered, never taking her eyes from the door.

  He launched upwards, double wings beating hard and silent.

  She rose, pistol up, as he disappeared into shadows and slipped through the gap between wall and door. More darkness, although this one not leavened by the red of emergency lights.

  Enough light slipped through the door for her to make out the darker well not two meters beyond, and the bulky shape of a hand rail.

  Stairs.

  Down, down, down she went. She didn't hear the screech anymore, but it vibrated in her jaw, filled it with a bone-deep ache that grew with every step.

  The stairs ended at another door, open like the last. No bodies here, just a small vestibule and an airlock, standing open, and… databanks.

  She came out of the airlock and into a forest of databanks, gelpaks filling the darkness with soft blue light.

  Glowing sentinels in the darkness, lining the circular walls, standing silent watch around a column of pale blue, lit from within by shards of lightning. An AI core, circled by the soft glow of an active workstation. And there, a silhouette against the light, was a person.

  'Stop him.' Instructor Bayard's voice, the flicker of fear, ran through Subria's mind.

  Boots silent on the steelcrete, Subria slinked closer. The pistol came up of its own volition, a holographic crosshair popping to life over the barrel.

  Heel to toe. Breathing steady, heart slow. The calm settled over her, syncing breath and movement, slowing her heart and narrowing her focus until all she saw was the target on the man's back.

  'You have a remarkable resistance to sonic disruption, Ms Venere. Most lose consciousness, a few hallucinate, but I've never seen someone keep functioning.' The silhouette spoke without turning, his hands on the workstation, shifting through holoscreens. She knew that voice, recognised the timbre of it even without the animation of his cheek-splitting smile. 'Is it training? Your father was a remarkable man, almost a match for your mother, in fact. It would not have surprised me if he followed me down here, dead as he is.'

  Shock rippled under her calm, threatened to make its way to her skin, at the mention of her parents, at the familiarity in Temple's tone. He'd known her dad?

  The doctor turned, and there was his smile, not splitting his cheeks, but smaller, secretive. 'But I don't think it's training. Kylian Venere had a lifetime of it and, as I recall, some damage to his hearing, which would have made his resistance to my disruptor plausible. My guess is you've somehow adapted to the frequency, a slight adjustment should fix that.' Temple lifted his hands, seeming to notice the pistol for the first time, the ring on his left hand gleamed in the gelpaks' light.

  'You're not going to shoot me now, are you, Ms Venere?'

  Subria stopped, feet planted, weight spread, and her hands rock steady on the pistol, like her daddy
taught.

  Temple's brow lifted. 'I see you have your father's way with words, rather than your mother's.' He lifted his arms, a question forming in his posture. 'What would you like me to do? Surrender? For what? Do you even know what I'm doing down here?'

  The calm that had settled over her shoulders shivered, doubt worming its way through the memory of her daddy whispering instructions. She'd never held a pistol on a person before. Never. Never. Never. The hint of a tremor moved the barrel.

  She licked her lips. 'What are you doing down here, Doctor?'

  The smile on his face bloomed. 'Would you believe that I'm maintaining the databanks?'

  'No.'

  His smile widened. 'That's my girl.'

  'I'm not your girl,' she said, even as unease slithered through her blood.

  'Aren't you?' He took a step forwards. 'I like your confidence.'

  She didn't retreat, not even when the doctor advanced, his hands still held out to his sides, that ring catching the light and flashing in her eyes. For a second, flames replaced the databanks, a giant wall crashing towards her.

  Subria shook her head, and sometime in the microscopic blink of her eyelids, Temple moved. One moment he was three meters away, more than enough for her to see him coming, more than enough time to react, and then he was there, breathing in her face.

  Adrenlin hit her system, surged through her veins on the surge of her heart.

  Time slowed, and that thing in the back of her brain clicked.

  Before the thought formed, muscles clenched, tendons flexed, and her fist slammed under Temple's chin.

  His head snapped back, even as pain rocketed through her knuckles, rang in her bones, muted and grey, buried under the click.

  She ducked, spun, lashed out with her boot.

  CRACK.

  A strangled yell as Temple's knee shattered.

  Rise, half a step back, the pistol coming up in the same movement. Her eye on the sight, tracing the bright red crosshair to the spot at the base of his neck, the one that would sever the nerves between brain and body. Temple on his hands and knees, pain lining his face, the tightening of his jaw, giving his complexion a new, pale cast. A sound, a wet strangled laugh followed by the sharp splat as he spit blood on the ground.