SIX

THE HUNT

 

 

“OK, Billy, stay alert.  Let’s get in and out quickly and be on our way.”

Jacques was silently speaking to himself.  He still referred to himself as Billy, even though he had changed his name decades ago.  Nobody was left who knew him as Billy; it was only his inner voice who kept the name alive.  He stepped out of the wooded area into the light of a single porch light above the back door of the bar.  It was a tiny shack on the side of the road, just a small area carved out of the dense pines.  It was a lonely spot, frequented mostly by hunters, as Jacques had observed for a few weeks now.  He’d watched from the woods, getting to know the regulars and gauging the level of safety for a man wanted everywhere.  It was easy to refer to the men who frequented the bar as hunters, although he noticed most men in this area wore camo clothing and carried rifles in their pickup trucks every day.  So he never knew if there was any actual hunting going on…except for the one who was hunting him.

He had been on the run for five days from this particular hunter.  It was another obsessed would-be immortal, trying to pin Jacques down and do God-knows-what.  Probably for bloodletting; they all seemed to think his blood would give them eternal life.  Jacques found it easy to evade this man before, another hunter-type in a woodland camouflage ball cap driving a pickup truck with a gun rack in the back window.  At 141 years old, Jacques was a master of evasion.  He could drop out of sight quickly and get miles away from his pursuer, often before they realized he had gone.  What worried Jacques was that he had run ins with this same man two times in the last four days.  He was tracking Jacques with great efficiency.  So far, there had been no one who had found Jacques more than once.  The first time he saw this hunter was at a gas station that sat close to the woods off the side of the road, much like the bar.  Behind the station was where Jacques came out of the woods regularly.  It was a spot that allowed him the cover of a building, so he was not walking out into the open.  He could peer around the corner to be sure there were no threats before stepping out into view.  On this particular day, Jacques had done just that, waiting until all customers left the pumps so he could go inside for a few supplies.  When the last car left, Jacques came around the corner of the building, quickly scanning the area.  He approached the door to the mini market with a plan to purchase a few food items and a bar of soap from the young kid working the counter.  He was not worried of being recognized.  He’d been in this market before, and he knew this kid never looked up at a customer’s face.  He only looked away from the cartoons on his small TV long enough to take cash or activate a gas pump.  As Jacques grabbed the door, he heard a vehicle engine start.  He saw a large pickup truck on the road, just far enough beyond the trees to go unnoticed, but close enough that the driver could see Jacques approach the door.  He heard the tires spin in the loose gravel as the truck jumped onto the asphalt, lurching and swerving.  It was turning into the driveway of the gas station with tires squealing, speeding toward the door.  Jacques quickly ran inside the market and turned around to see the truck skidding to a stop in the space just outside the door.  Out jumped a man in large boots, a military style olive drab jacket and a camouflage hunting ball cap.  Jacques saw no weapons, but it was a warm day and the jacket seemed out of place; perhaps the man had a gun hiding beneath.  He wasn’t going to find out.  He was quickly out the back door of the market as he heard the small bell on the front door ring.  He was back to the safety of the trees.  He knew this man was after him.  He must have been spotted at this place before, since he was waiting a short distance away.  Jacques felt ashamed that he had become distracted.  He could see when someone recognized him; it happened more and more.  But this one was clearly waiting at a place where he knew he would find Jacques.  It was imperative now to remain vigilant.  He’d encountered many hunters, and most did not tend to give up easily. 

Two days later, Jacques was desperate for a hot meal.  It wasn’t about being hungry as much as feeling the comfort that came along with the warmth.  So he went to the only place in town where he could blend in without a second look from anyone: the homeless shelter.  Jacques had plenty of money; he certainly did not need financial charity.  He could afford the tab at any fine dining establishment, but he could not afford the publicity.  There is no satisfaction in a meal when you are forced to sit in a corner to keep eyes on everyone else in the room, and all sense of taste seems to leave when exit strategies are top priority.  But all were welcome at the shelter and no questions were asked.  Jacques arrived in the evening in his usual disguise for the occasion.  Baggy sweatpants over worn out running shoes, complete with duct tape wrapped over the toes a couple of times.  He had a thick flannel shirt that looked like it used to be blue but was now grey from a combination of age and dirt.  To complete the look, had a brown wig that he had thoroughly dirtied and messed up in the most stereotypically homeless way possible.  He was no longer embarrassed doing this.  In fact, he was quite pleased that he could walk into this room full of people and enjoy a meal completely incognito.  He even spoke out loud, commenting to himself about people’s inability to discern what is right in front of their faces.  Most of the others were speaking to themselves as well, so he fit right in.  He had a lovely evening eating and socializing with some of the others who really didn’t hear him at all.  But pretending that he had friends was satisfying for the moment.  And when he left he was in a better mood, humming a quiet tune to himself as he stepped out into the alley, walking blindly toward the hunter.  Jacques was still in character, with his head down as he sauntered along.  His whistling suddenly turned into a grunt when the man’s fist made contact with his stomach.  Before he could feel surprised, Jacques was on the ground in the fetal position, gasping for air.  He felt two large hands grabbing at his flannel shirt and lifting him back up.  He rose to see the jacket and the camouflage ball cap.  This guy again? His mind raced to form an escape plan, but his body created its own plan.  The blow that knocked the air out of him also made his stomach reject all the food he just ate.  He completely emptied himself down the front of the olive drab jacket and into the face of the hunter.  The grip loosened on his flannel shirt and Jacques was immediately out of sight, sprinting down the alley and out of the streets to the pines.  A good evening ruined, he decided to stay hidden for a couple more days.  He was not surprised; humans had shown him endless times how they inevitably disappoint.  Nevertheless, he still shed a few tears that night.  The planet he used to love was gone, and he desperately wanted to leave it.  He stared at the stars all night, wishing he could be among them.

Jacques found the safest plan was to stay in wooded areas, and stay on foot.  He thought about getting in a car and trying to get out of town, but he did not want to risk being spotted yet.  He would rather wait until he was sure the hunter had lost him.  So he hid in the shadows of trees, dressed in all black workout gear made of tight elastic fabric and a black watch cap.  The hunters wore their camo cargo pants, vests full of pockets and enormous boots, but Jacques found if you truly want to be silent, your clothes should be form fitting and stretchy.  He wore leather moccasins on his feet instead of boots.  They were warm and the smooth soles left nearly no imprint in the soil.  Trackers all think they know how to follow a prey, Jacques thought, but you need to be the prey in order to understand what really works.

When he finally decided to come out of the woods again, he chose a different spot, the little shack of a bar by the edge of the woods.  Jacques had come to this bar before; not for drinks, but because they had a kitchen.  They offered a simple menu of bar food and it was far away from the city.  At this point in his life, Jacques only needed to eat about once a week.  As his body changed, it became much more efficient, so he still ate for pleasure, but he seldom needed food.  But since he had been exerting himself over the last five days on the run, and the hunter deprived him of the hot meal in the alley, he was now feeling weak and in need of refueling.  There was a teenage boy who worked part time in the kitchen of the bar who Jacques had befriended.  He had run into the boy weeks back behind the bar when he was taking out the trash.  Jacques must have appeared suspicious to the boy, yet he handed over cash in exchange for food, so the boy came back with a bag of food, happy to help.  Jacques liked teenagers.  They had all the creativity and wonder of childhood still in them with a bit more responsibility, and, if given the chance, they would usually show a level of integrity that most adults had long forgotten about.  It had been about fifteen minutes since Jacques had approached the range of the dim porch light at the screen door in the back and whispered at the boy in the kitchen.  He was now waiting in the shadows of the pines for the boy to come out the door with a bag.  It was fish and chips tonight.  Jacques could taste it already.  He would need the protein and carbs badly if he were to keep running from the hunter.  He asked the boy to fill the bag with whatever twenty dollars would buy and he gave the boy another twenty for his trouble.  The boy told Jacques to wait and he would be back soon with the food.

Finally, the boy stepped out the screen door and looked around for Jacques.  He had a large paper sack in his arms.  Jacques took one more look around and stepped out from the trees.  “Thanks again, son. You’re a lifesaver,” he told the boy as he approached.  The boy handed over the brown sack, nodded at him and stepped back inside.  Jacques immediately reached into the bag and grabbed a piece of the fish, shoving it into his mouth.  He didn’t care that it had just come out of the fryer and it scalded the inside of his mouth, he needed it too badly.  Gulping it down, he rolled the top of the bag shut while he headed back to the trees.  Paper bags are much too noisy; he was going to have to finish this quickly and be on his way.  This was his vulnerable point.  Jacques was just reminding himself to stay vigilant; he couldn’t let his guard down because he was distracted by food, and he’d done just that.  Three steps away from the safety of the shadows, he picked up his head to see the hunter directly in front of him.  Jacques came to a stop six inches from the hunter’s face.

There was no time for another thought.  The stun gun was already pressed against his chest, ticking lightning fibers through his ribcage and into his heart.  He was on the ground before he realized he was falling and the hunter’s boot was all he saw before he closed his eyes.

The short bursts of grinding and shaking were what woke Jacques.  He saw the stars above, smelled the fish from the fryer, and felt grinding on the back of his head.  He was being dragged by one foot through the crushed granite of the parking area on the side of the bar.  He looked down at his foot.  The hunter was taking him to his pickup truck.  He would probably be bound and thrown in the back, then taken back in the woods to a cabin somewhere to be drained. Little chance of ever being seen again, he thought.  Jacques thought back through his life.  This is not the first time for him, and it probably wouldn’t be the last- something most humans could not say.  And each time this had happened, there was always one thing that saved him.  It was his anger.  To be violated like this ignited a rage in him, and the flames grew hotter every time someone tried this.  He would not be a victim today. Not now, not ever.  As only a 141-year-old wise man can do, he formulated a plan for his escape.

Jacques had to anticipate the hunter’s physical movements to escape.  He knew when they arrived at the truck, the man would lower the tailgate and bend to lift Jacques into the back of the truck.  This was his vulnerable point, and Jacques had to take advantage of it and get away quickly.  He remained limp and let himself be dragged until they reached the back of the pickup.  The man dropped Jacques’ foot, letting it hit the earth with a thud.  He clicked the latch on the tailgate and let it drop.  Then when he pivoted around, bending to lift Jacques, he flinched when he saw not a man unconscious, but a man propped up on his elbows smiling at him.  Before he could react, he was toppled off his feet and his temple cracked against the tailgate on his way to the ground.  Jacques had hooked his right toes behind the man’s foot and placed his left foot on the man’s knee.  With one push, he was off balance.  He was not expecting to knock the hunter out, but perhaps he could flee while the man was rubbing his head and trying to figure out what happened.  It worked perfectly.  Before the hunter was able to get up, Jacques had run.  He ran behind the bar, smelling the fish again.  He ran past the bag of food on the ground.  Couldn’t slow down long enough to grab it and then risk the hunter tracking him by smell.  He was still hungry, and this made him even angrier.

Jacques needed to put as much distance as possible between himself and the hunter.  He knew this part of the woods well so he had no fear of getting lost.  With only a sliver of a moon, there was plenty of light for Jacques to see.  His senses had improved over the last few decades and he was certain it was too dark for average humans to see.  He kept a steady pace, hopping over logs and ducking under branches while barely making a sound.  After he was certain he had a far enough lead, he stopped to listen.  He sat on a rotting log and waited silently.  He heard crickets, frogs, small mammals, and the distant engine of an aircraft from the nearby naval base, but no footsteps. He took a moment to relax and examine his chest where the stun gun made contact.  The burn was almost entirely faded, thanks to his accelerated healing.  It still hurt like hell though.  He always wondered why he could fight off injuries and disease so easily but the pain was still the same.  His other senses were heightened, so perhaps his pain receptors were too.  Immortal does not mean perfect; it just means you have longer to suffer.  Mortals take their humanity for granted.  Jacques sat amongst the crickets with his ponderings of pain and immortality, and let down his guard once again.  He did not hear the projectile as it approached, and he did not feel it pierce his skin until it went in several inches deep under his shoulder blade.

Jacques was on the ground behind the log.  No time to flee this time; the hunter had a weapon.  He reached around but could only get his hand in a position to feel the tip of the bolt.  He estimated about four inches were sticking out from his back.  A crossbow?  Clever, this one.  Good way to sneak up on your prey without all the attention that gunpowder creates.  Jacques stayed low, injured and confused.  The small arrow in his back came with a pain that took his breath away.  More disturbing than the injury was how this man saw him.  It’s almost pitch black.  He took a second to reevaluate this predator.  He has found Jacques at least three times now.  He’s smarter than the others.  Maybe he has better tools as well.  He lifted his head slowly above the log, narrowing his eyes and waiting for movement.  Clever indeed, the hunter was about 25 yards away.  He was partially behind a tree and he was reloading his crossbow.  He did it slowly intentionally to be as silent as possible, lowering the weapon and using his boot to brace the bow while he drew the string back to lock it into place.  After loading a new bolt, he raised his head toward Jacques, and Jacques saw the night vision goggles reflecting the moonlight.  That’s how he sees me!  This would require a new plan.  The hunter did not move forward; he stayed still and waited for Jacques to move.  He couldn’t see Jacques poking his head up above the log or he would have raised the crossbow.  This was a true hunter, not just another pickup driver with camo and a rifle.  He would wait silently until Jacques made a run for it.

Jacques thought of the possibilities.  He needed a solid plan.  He could already feel the bolt working its way out of his back, healing from the inside.  Not far away he could hear another aircraft engine start up.  It was a P3, one of the Navy’s giant Lockheed Orion anti-submarine surveillance planes now being used for pilot training.  He heard each of the four props roar to a start.  Now he knew what he must do.  And it was going to hurt.

Jacques seemed to startle the hunter when he jumped up to face him straight on.  He saw the crossbow raise, and in slow motion, he saw the hunter’s finger squeeze the trigger, releasing the bolt.  It drifted silently toward Jacques, and Jacques watched the miniature arrow as it sank deep into his left shoulder.  He felt nothing yet, but cried out and fell backwards into the narrow ditch behind the rotting log, landing on his hip.  He was on the ground listening for the hunter when the burning sensation began in his arm.  When he heard the hunter’s large boots moving forward, he reached over with his left hand and removed the bolt.  The pain was like a white light scorching his retinas but he remained quiet.  He had to let the hunter think he was unconscious. The sound of the boots grew closer, cautiously approaching.  He could hear the man stop, pause, then crouch down to peer over the side of the log where Jacques lay injured.  Jacques could not open his eyes and ruin his opportunity.  He listened for the sound of the man’s breath getting closer as he leaned over the log.  Only when he could hear the closing distance of the hunter did he move.  In a jolt, Jacques reached up and grabbed the goggles on the man’s head, pulling his face downward.  With his other hand, he thrust the two crossbow bolts upwards into the man’s rib cage.  The bolt in Jacques’ back had worked itself loose and he held it tight with the other he removed from his arm.  Together they sunk into the man’s side, causing him to shriek in pain. Jacques sprang up, the night vision goggles still in his hand.  He raised them above his head and brought them down swiftly over the man’s skull, cracking one lens and knocking off the battery pack.  Again, he was on his feet, sprinting away from the hunter, who was still squawking from his injuries.

Jacques knocked the goggles against a tree as he ran, confirming that they were no longer useful.  In his quick evaluation behind the log, he had decided that he would most likely get only one item from the hunter, and it should be the goggles.  He predicted that once he saw that Jacques was shot, he would advance before reloading, so Jacques was fairly certain he would not get shot again.  The goggles, however, if left intact, would allow the hunter to track him again.  So the item of value was the goggles, and they had to be destroyed if he was to end this pursuit.  He tossed the broken eyewear aside and kept running.  As the hunter’s cries of pain grew more distant, the aircraft engines grew louder.  They were on the runway now.  It was almost time.  He had to go just a little further before he could end this.

The first of a series of planes roared down the runway, just over the treetops.  It flew low and loud, banking right and falling into pattern before the next took off.  The engines labored like they could barely lift the body of the aircraft above the trees.  They would go up, turn, and come around again to land.  This was the pilot’s training for takeoff and landing and they went on like this all day, up and down.  After the first plane ascended and turned, Jacques stopped to listen.  As the engines moved away and quieted, they were replaced by the sound of heavy footsteps and breathing.  The hunter was up and moving forward.  Jacques had inflicted only a minor wound; it certainly wouldn’t keep him from advancing.  Jacques only had to keep him moving in the right direction. He looked into the distance and saw the man, about 40 yards away.  He was stepping carefully, now that he no longer had augmented vision.  Jacques helped him in the right direction by snapping a couple of twigs.  The man reacted, readjusting his position to move toward the noise.  He let the man move within ten yards of him, still unaware of Jacques’ location.  The next P3 came down the runway, shaking the earth.  Jacques used the noise cover to move away to a safer distance.  Again, he led the man with subtle noises until the next P3 roared overhead.

Jacques kept this game up, luring the hunter forward until he reached the perimeter fence of the Navy base. He knew this spot very well, and he knew exactly where he was going.  The sky was beginning to lighten.  Soon the sun would be up, so he had to act quickly.  To the hunter’s human eyes, it was still too dark to see, and he continued to stumble forward.  The chain link fence went all the way up to the trees, separating forest from the grassy perimeter of the airstrip.  It was a ten-foot fence with razor wire stretched across the top.  Jacques figured the base was one of the safest areas in town, and he had crept inside the fence before when he felt he was in danger.  There was a pine tree that grew close to the fence, close enough that one could use an overhanging branch to drop over the razor wire.  It’s a ten-foot drop, but no problem for an immortal.  Jacques came to the spot and quickly scaled the fence.  He stood on top between the rows of razor wire, balanced with the support of the tree branch.  As the sky became lighter, he kicked the fence with one foot until he saw the hunter come into view.  Sure enough, the man staggered out from the trees to the fence and saw Jacques standing up high.  As he raised the crossbow, Jacques dropped down on the other side and ran across the field.  He ran far enough to where he knew he was out of range of the crossbow and turned to watch.  The hunter hesitated for a moment then threw the crossbow up over the fence.  He began to scale the fence, his back against the pine tree for support.  Slowly he made his way up to where he could reach the branch and step over.  By now he was exhausted and injured, and when he put his leg forward, the razor wire sliced through his pants, tearing at his flesh.  He wailed and swore; Jacques could hear the pain and anger.  He watched the hunter leap over the fence, but not quite clearing the barbs as they scraped down his back.  He landed on one foot, clearly twisting his ankle.  Jacques could tell by the pain in his screams.  The man yelled at the sky in frustration, but he continued to push forward, picking up the crossbow and limping down the fence line.  Jacques sprinted toward the end of the runway.  The asphalt dropped off at the end and created an indent where Jacques could lay flat and out of sight.  He watched the armed man walk the fence, holding on to it for support.  He screamed obscenities, waved the weapon in the air and banged on the fence as he slowly moved along.

Jacques waited until he finally saw what he was counting on.  Groups of sailors came running.  They wore their PT gear, doing their early morning workout before their shifts.  They ran the perimeter of the base along the fence, all the way around.  Many were regulars, training in the morning. Many were running on orders to lose weight, lovingly dubbed the “fat boy” program.  But they came out in groups, across the air field, to find an armed man, angry and hostile, screaming that he would find the man he was hunting and he would live forever.  Before the alarm was sounded and the base was locked down, Jacques quickly made his way further into the base and to the roads that ran through the building of the base.  He slowed his run to a casual jog and fell in line with a few other civilians.  He continued straight down the main road and out of the gate, waving and shouting, “Good morning” to the guards.  When he found the opportunity, he broke away from the joggers and continued down the sidewalk as the patrols came out in large vehicles, dogs barking and loudspeakers blaring commands.  He walked along the highway to where the wooded area began, and slipped back into the safety of the trees.

When he came back to the bar, it was closed down.  In the back, his bag of fish and chips was still on the ground.  Large ants made trails into the bag, and trails coming out, carrying chunks of french fries back to the hive.  The hunter’s truck was still there.  Jacques approached, looking at the scrape marks on the ground where he had been dragged across the gravel.  He closed the tailgate, hopped in the truck and started off down the highway.  He figured he could make it to the state line where he would dump it and continue on foot.  It would be a while before they figured out who the hunter was and an alert was issued for his truck.  He’d be safely out of sight and on to another city.  He was dirty and tired.  A cheap motel where he could pay cash and get a shower and maybe a drink; and everything would be good again.  Still craving fish and chips though.