Tracking Blood: Episode 13

An apocalyptic serial

Table of Contents

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“The only way we’ll know if he’s still out there is if we try to flush him out.”

Will had seen no sign of the hunter in a while. He didn’t know which was worse-seeing him, or not seeing him.

“How exactly do we flush him out?” Stan asked.

“With bait.”

Stan scoffed. “Be my guest.”

“Afraid you have that the wrong way around.”

Stan stood up from the table. “You want me to go out there?”

“It’s our only choice. One of us needs to cover the other, and I can think of about a hundred reasons why I’m not handing you a gun.”

“Name one,” Stan dared him.

“I’m a better shot.”

Stan ran his hand through his hair. He paced the small cabin. “Can’t we just wait it out here? I have heat, food, water. We could last a while.”

“And how long until those run out? There’s two of us, did you plan for that?”

“No.”

“We have to get back to town. Whatever happened to that hunter to make him that way, whether it’s just him or some vast government conspiracy, the police need to know about it.”

“I’m guessing they already do.”

“Okay, then how’s this: I’m not spending another hour, let alone days, locked in a tiny cabin with you.”

Stan looked at the door, then back at Will. “Shit.”

“You’ll be fine. Give me the keys.”

Stan blinked. “What?”

“I’m not stupid. If you get to the van with the keys, I’ll never see you again.”

“If I get to the van?”

Will held his hand out, waiting for the keys.

“What if he shows up? What if you miss?”

“I won’t.”

“What if the gun jams? What if it misfires? You can’t leave me out there with nowhere to go. At least if I can get in the van, I’ll be okay.”

“Modern guns rarely ever jam.”

“Maybe we can lure him away with food,” Stan suggested. “I have some beef jerky downstairs.”

Will stared at him stone-faced. Eventually, begrudgingly, Stan handed the keys over.

“Just walk in a straight line at an even pace. There’s a clean line of sight here, I’ll be able to see him coming from a long way off. The difference between you and me is, I’ll actually take the shot.”

“What do I do if he reaches me?”

“My best suggestion,” Will said, “is duck and pray.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not the praying type.” Stan mulled it over. “Alright. But I need to pack my things first.” He motioned to the open fallout shelter door in the floor. “My laptop has too much on it to leave behind.”

“Be my guest,” Will echoed Stan’s words. Stan moved to the ladder. As he knelt to climb down, Will told him to go slowly. Stan grumbled as he climbed down, Will following just behind him.

The shelter was small but well-built, ten feet by twenty. The walls were made of poured concrete with a vent that went God-knows-where. Stan’s laptop sat on a folding table at the center, next to a shelving unit stocked with food and water. An inflatable mattress was set up against the far wall on top of a foam pad.

Will pounded his fist on the wall. “Mom would’ve loved this.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Stan powered down his laptop.

“You really shouldn’t.”

Stan turned to face him. “What’s your problem? Why are you so hard on her?”

“I don’t have a problem. The woman was mentally ill.”

“They never should have put her in that place,” Stan said.

“It was to stop her from hurting herself. Or anyone else.”

“She wasn’t violent. She never raised her hand once.”

“No, but when someone’s not right in the head, you can’t trust them to make the right decisions.”

Stan frowned, understanding what Will was getting at. “Mom may have had problems, but at least she stood for something.” He put the backpack on and climbed the ladder. “You know what? I changed my mind. I’d rather be out there with that thing than in here.”

“Well at least we agree on one thing,” Will replied.

They climbed back up and checked the windows one more time. Other than some snow blowing off the cabin, the view was clear in every direction. The sun had risen completely. Warm light reflected off the snowy field.

Stan stood by the door. He undid the locks one at a time, being quiet about it. Even though they didn’t see any signs of trouble out there, there was no reason to take unnecessary risks.

The door creaked open on cold hinges. Frigid air rushed in through the cracks. The temperature in the cabin dropped almost instantly as Will took up his position just behind Stan, aiming over his brother’s shoulder.

“Slowly,” Will reminded him.

“Still worried I’ll run?”

“It’s for your sake,” he replied. “But while we’re on the subject, if I think you’re trying to escape, I won’t think twice about putting one in your thigh.”

“You really know how to inspire confidence in a guy,” Stan said. He zipped up his coat, opened the door the rest of the way, and stepped out.

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Will steadied the rifle with his left hand and tucked the butt of the weapon into the pocket of his right shoulder. He kept his trigger finger straight, hovering over the trigger. He relaxed and pressed his cheek into the stock.

Meanwhile, Stan crossed over the door’s threshold and stepped out into the snow. The cold air blew his hair and shook his coat. Will would have to compensate for the wind. There was no room for error here; if the hunter appeared now, he would have a small window of opportunity to take him down.

The green van was parked twenty feet from the cabin. One side was buried up to the wheel wells in a snow drift, which might be a problem if they had to leave in a hurry. Will’s plan was to drive the van over to his truck, transfer to the truck, and leave the van behind. Stan could deal with coming back for it on his own time, when he got out of jail. Right now, Will’s only concern was getting away from that cabin with his head attached and his bounty in custody.

So far, so good. From where he stood, Will could see the steam spewing from his brother’s mouth in thick, steady clouds. He was breathing heavily, which meant he was scared. His brother had never changed as long as he’d known him. An unrelenting smart-ass and a giant chicken-shit, wrapped all-in-one. Will almost cracked a smile at the thought.

Under the rising and falling whistle of the wind blowing past the open door, he heard a low rumble, like the idle of an engine somewhere close-by. Could a car be approaching? If they were lucky, it was the police. Someone local might have stumbled across the bloody scene nearby and called the cops from a land line. Either that, or the hunter had attacked someone else. While he hoped that wasn’t the case, he would be thrilled to see a police cruiser drive onto the property.

Stan reached the van. His shoulders relaxed as he turned around to look back at Will, visibly relieved to have made the short but tense journey. He had a stupid grin on his face and his eyes twinkled.

Then they drifted over to the side of the cabin. Will knew what that look was on his brother’s face, and he knew something else at that same moment.

The sound he’d heard wasn’t a car engine- it was growling.

With a high-pitched scream, the hunter tore away from the side of the cabin. He shot at Stan with frightening speed, running through the snow. Will had one chance at this. He lined up his shot, keeping the galloping hunter in his sights. Then he held his breath and squeezed the trigger.

The bullet caught the hunter in the center of his naked back. He cried out as he fell to the ground, the crack of the rifle-shot echoing out across the field.

Will ejected the shell as he walked out of the cabin, readying the rifle for a second shot. The hunter squirmed in the snow like a worm cut in half. His spine had been severed, yet he was still trying to attack. He coughed blood into the snow and clawed desperately.

Standing over the gurgling beast, Will shot another round into the back of his head, silencing the hunter.

He looked to his left. His brother was down on his knees, staring at the hunter’s bloody, shirtless corpse without blinking.

“No atheists in foxholes,” Will said, remembering the old saying. Then he turned and threw up in the snow.

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