Hunter Hunted

Anthony Broyles, a heavyset 45 year old man with thinning hair and a grey beard, slammed shut the door of his 1997 Chevrolet S-10 and took in his surroundings.  Before dawn, he'd followed the river away from the hustle and bustle of the tourist areas to a more primeval setting.  The dense formation of the old forest combined with the sound  of a pounding surf made this place seem unreal, fantastical. 

The sky was just starting to fade from the darkest of night time purple to the dull grey of a cloud filled abyss.  All around was the cheerful chatter and song of birds greeting the new day.  He sighed.  No kids. No woman.  A whole day set aside for nature.  Anthony Broyles was in heaven. 

He shouldered his rifle and backpack, containing all of the usual hunting gear - knife, rope, first aid kit, food etc.  The day felt warm for November and, more importantly, it was dry.  Anthony hated the rain.  He decided to leave the raincoat that his wife insisted he take.  It would've been something more to carry than the already heavy backpack and rifle and the day was clear enough to satisfy him.

Anthony, a balding used car salesman, had shunned the idea of taking someone along with him.  He enjoyed the quiet and, after all, his father had always hunted alone and had always come home dragging a blacktail deer behind him.  Anthony had never been hunting before but, as far as he was concerned, if his old dad could do it then so could he.  'I will bring home a goddamn deer!'  he vowed to himself, reaching into the pocket of his camouflage trousers for the silver-backed compass.  He checked his direction and set off, taking one last look at the overcast sky before stepping beneath a blanket of trees.

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'Do you see him?'
'I see it! I see it!'
'Follow it!'
'Don't let it get away!'

Their many voices sounded as one, their minds connected and working as one mind.  They moved silently after 'The Man'.  They weren't usually this close to the border of the old forest but, at this time of year, food was scarce.  So, they searched all over the forest for a potential food source and today they had luck.

'The Man' was clumsy and heavy footed.  Hardly worth a hunt.  But, the collective were loyal.  Nothing could come between them.  They didn't only work as a team - they worked as one.  So, if the collective said 'follow,' he would follow.  And so they did.

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Crouching down in the undergrowth, Anthony took aim.  He'd been sitting here for the past two hours - watching and waiting - and finally a deer.  It had walked straight out in front of him, completely unaware of the mortal danger it was in.  Then, the deer looked up startled, it's ears twitching.  Anthony froze, waiting for the deer relax.  He wobbled, the leafy ground crunching beneath his steel-cap boots.  The deer took off, darting into the trees.

'Fuck!' Anthony cursed.  'Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!' He'd wasted 2 hours of his life waiting for that goddamn deer and now he was pissed.  Deer hunting was not, in Anthony's opinion, as much fun as people had made it out to be.  Anthony dropped the rucksack and rifle, kicking a nearby tree in frustration.  He checked his watch - 12 noon.  'Oh well.  May as well eat...'  he mumbled to himself, rooting around in the rucksack for the packed lunch his waste of space wife had made for him the previous day.

Anthony didn't much like his wife, let alone love his wife.  Yes, she cooked his meals, cleaned his house, brought up his children but, in Anthony's opinion, that was exactly what a woman was for.  In Anthony's opinion, his wife earned the daily beatings that he handed out to her. One big fuck up and so he treated her like one.

Anthony was a big lover of red meat, fried food, crisps, junk and he felt starved after wandering through the maze of trees.  He had decided that the maze of trees was much like a maze of mirrors.  It all looked the same.  He sat on the uneven ground and surveyed, what his pathetic excuse of a wife considered to be, 'a healthy lunch'.

'Oh, what the fuck?' Anthony groaned, picking up a ham and cheese sandwich. A fucking ham and cheese sandwich on goddamn wholemeal bread.  Anthony hated ham and he hated cheese.  And, even more, he hated wholemeal bread.  Everyone knew that Anthony hated ham and cheese wholemeal sandwiches.  So, why the fuck had his dumb wife given him a goddamn cheese and ham wholemeal piece of shit sandwich.  And the icing on the cake - celery sticks, 2 stale rice crackers and an apple.

He cursed again, hurling the lunch box and it's contents into the trees.  Again, Anthony rooted through the rucksack and pulled out a bottle of beer.  'Fucking woman!'  Anthony grumbled, as he flipped off the bottle cap.  He downed his liquid lunch and launched the bottle in the same direction as the lunchbox.  Gathering up his belongings, Anthony set off again, cursing and complaining as he went.
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He observed the foreign object that had landed, only moments ago, at his feet.  He felt curious and wary.  He knew that this strange looking object had come from 'The Man' and would act accordingly.

'What is it?'
'Smell it!'

And so he did. And, as he sniffed, so they all sniffed - their many noses, both near and far, breathing in the strange scents of cheese and ham sandwich that 'The Man' had rejected.  Never in their existence had they come in contact with cheese or ham but still they knew.

'Food! Food!'
'Taste it!'
'Eat it!'

Their many voices crowded into one and he did as they told him, wolfing down the sandwich in one bite.  And their mouths, both near and far, tasted. 

They watched 'The Man' as he ranted and raved.  They felt his anger, his frustration.  This 'Man' was a strange and pathetic creature.  A small minded creature and not worth the air he breathed and wasted.  They had already decided that his anger was pointless, his frustration serving no useful purpose.  Unlike 'Man', whose emotions ruled their brains, they used their anger, their frustration and pushed on for a better outcome. Unlike the complete thick headedness of this 'Man' they were sly and cunning.

And so, they schemed and plotted 'The Man's downfall, deciding on the best course of action.  'The Voice of Alpha' told them to spilt into pairs, to surround the man, to trap him.  It was a foolproof plan.  'The Man' was barely worth their effort, nothing more than a spit in the ocean.  But still their mouth salivated at the thought of him, the scent of him.  They would not waste him.  After all, 'The Man' was food, and they were hungry.

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The light was beginning to fade when Anthony realised that his compass was no longer where he thought it should be.  He emptied the rucksack - bottles of beer, rope, knife and no goddamn compass.  Anthony didn't want to admit to himself that he was, in fact, lost.  The mirror maze of trees seemed to close in around him as he racked his hands through his hair.  'Fuck it!'  Anthony liked to curse.  It made him feel better.  He liked to curse at his wife and kids - 'It's all you goddamned idiots understand!' he's told them all on separate occasions. 

Back towards the river - that's what he would do.  Then he could follow the river back to his car, back to civilisation.  But where the fuck was the river?  He turned in circles trying to decipher the direction he had come from.  And still his surroundings looked unfamiliar and the same.  'Goddamn it!'  Anthony shouted, his voice bouncing and echoing through the forest.  Uncapping another bottle, he emptied it.  Racking everything back into the rucksack, Anthony dropped the bottle, picked up his rifle and walked in a random direction.

It was then that he felt the tiniest of hairs standing to attention on his forearms and the back of his neck. It was then that he knew someone, or something, was watching him.  Something rustled in the undergrowth and, for the first time in his life, Anthony was scared. But he walked on, trying to ignore that feeling of eyes boring into his back.  Then he was running, his clothes catching on brambles.  He glanced behind him - nothing, no one. Looking forward again Anthony realised, too late.

He tumbled, head over feet, over and over, down the slope and came to rest, unconscious, on the leafy ground.

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'The Man' had known. 'The Man' had run. And they had followed - his scent strong in the November air.  Their noses, eyes, ears, smelling, seeing and hearing as one.  They watched as 'The Man' tumbled down the slope.  'The Man' lay now, unmoving, at the bottom. 'The Man' was not dead but sleeping.  This they knew as certainly as they knew the night was falling.

They surrounded him and lay down.  They would wait until 'The Man' woke.  After all, where was the fun in killing him now.  They wanted 'The Man' to be aware.  It was all the part of a hunt.  And so, they waited, some of them dozing, until 'The Man' woke from his slumber.

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Anthony's head ached dully.  He felt fuzzy with alcohol and for a moment he didn't remember.  He groaned, rubbing his head, as it all came flooding back.  The feeling of eyes made him tingle - those tiny hairs standing up on end.  He opened his eyes and stared, fierce golden ringed eyes staring back.  It snarled at him and the snarl seemed to echo around him as the others copied.  Much like a Mexican Wave, he thought to himself, The Mexican Snarl!  The thought was almost amusing to his fear-crazed mind.

Anthony clawed himself back from momentary insanity, feeling around for the rifle.  To his absolute relief it still hung, by it's strap, from his shoulder.  He was safe, they were no match for a gun.  He took the safety off, his hands shaking from shock and fear - possibly even from a slight hangover but Anthony didn't think of that.  As far as he was concerned, alcohol had no hold over him.  In actual fact, Anthony could not start the day without a drink.  It was all a part of life.  Anthony turned to take aim and one of them pounced.  Anthony fired the rifle, the sound almost deafening to his ears.

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The pain was immediate and they all felt it, not just the one that had been shot.  It was a fiery pain, burning their skin.  The unfortunate whined and panted, his life blood exiting his body via the bullet hole in his chest.  They already knew that his life was at an end but his life would be avenged.  As they felt him slip away into the world beyond, they howled, both alone and as one. 

'The Man' fumbled with the unknown weapon.  The had never seen this weapon before but, to them, it was plain to see that the damage caused had been luck. They decided then and there that 'The Man' would not get lucky again.  The light had almost gone.  Soon 'The Man' would have difficulty seeing them which would be a huge advantage.  Oh no, he would not get lucky again!

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Anthony's hands were shaking.  They were shaking so violently that he found it impossible to reload the rifle. He tried to steady his breathing which was heavy and uneven. He tried to relax.  The daylight was fading fast and the forest was now full of shadows.  They were moving around him.  He could just make out the silhouettes of them but, without a loaded rifle, this was of no help to him. 

He could hear them breathing all around him.  And then there was agony for no more than a millisecond.  Anthony knew that he was dead as he floated surreally above the vacant body that he had once inhabited.  He watched as the pack of wolves ripped into the unfeeling flesh.  The wolves had ripped out his throat, flaps of skin hung limp and blood soaked into the ground around him. 

The wolves barked at one another, bickering over his body.  Another, quite obviously the pack Alpha, growled when a pack member tried to muscle in on what was rightfully his.  Anthony could understand the reaction - if he was a wolf then he would probably do the same.  After all, when he was alive, nobody had ever taken a thing from him.  That was something that Anthony would never have allowed.  He watched the Alpha dominate the pack - his ears laid flat back on his head, gleaming teeth bared, those fierce golden eyes flashing.  Yes, he would be the same, he decided.

What beautiful creatures, he marvelled to himself as Anthony drifted away.

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They licked their lips, tasting the last drops of his life blood.  Although the whole thing tasted of bitterness at the loss of a pack member, they had enjoyed him.  'Alpha', as they called their pack leader, stretched and padded away. 

'We go,'

A wolf licked his lips again, savouring the taste and they all tasted again.  The wolf looked around him as the others followed the Alpha.  If they would follow then so would he.  And he did, his belly full.