Hunters: A Trilogy (8 page)

His thoughts clarified the situation. ‘Yep, somebody’s cleaned up around here, that’s why they hadn’t bothered to lock up after they bugged out...nothing here to be stolen and hopefully no-one else here to give me grief, either – where in the hell is Mike?’ He shrugged off the thoughts and decided to take five minutes to make a plan.

As he stood inside the entranceway, he noticed a picture hanging over the door. It was mounted in a beautiful, hand-carved frame and was quite stunning. Staring upwards at the object, Ken guessed that it must have taken a very skilled person an extremely long time to produce. The picture was also of the finest quality. It was a painting, or at least it looked like a painting and appeared to be a depiction from a scene in Egypt. The pyramids were so detailed that it was hard to tell whether or not it was a painting or a photograph, he couldn’t really see, and the fact he was cricking his neck by staring upwards didn’t help. He decided to get a chair and pull the picture down.

Picking up one of the chairs from the room nearest to him, Ken put it next to the door and stood on it. Even then it was still a bit of a stretch to lean across and lift the picture off the wall. He placed one hand under the centre of the frame’s base, and then, steadying the top corner with his other hand, lifted it gently upwards. He took his time as he didn’t want to drop it and risk damaging the exquisite frame. The weight of the picture took him by surprise, so he applied more force into his lifting motion. As he did so, Ken sensed a form of resistance. It was like trying to thrust two magnets together, that invisible but very real kind of
pushing
sensation. He felt it in his head and on his chest, while the cut on his cheekbone flared with bright pain.

Then, with a slight give, the picture was in his hand. Its weight, although solid, had become more familiar. The unexpected release nearly caught him off balance and he barely avoided pirouetting off the chair. Regaining his balance, he stepped lithely down from his plastic perch, turned around, placed the painting across the seat and then stood back to admire it more carefully.

Remembering, he reached into his left thigh pocket and pulled out his spectacles. Flicking the case open, he put the glasses on his nose and peered at the picture. With the lenses on, Ken was truly able to appreciate the quality of the picture frame. It was made from a type of wood he hadn’t seen before and shone with a goldish-green hue. There were intricate carvings and inscriptions cut into it. They had a mesmerising effect on him and he had an idea there was a story within their graceful flow.

He had to force his eyes away in order to see the painting properly. It was a wonderful scene, perhaps an aerial shot of the pyramids, it looked as if it had been taken from an elevated angle and Ken saw almost every detail on the group of pyramids in the photograph – that’s what he now thought of it as, a photograph – it was awesome and he guessed that it was probably a recent one as there were people in the picture. They were all dressed up in the local traditional clothing and appeared to be working flat-out on the reconstruction of the stone tombs. Ken concluded it was a print of a photo. He took his glasses off, placed them into the case and slipped it back into his pocket.

‘Still, it’s pretty damn cool!’ he thought to himself.

If he made it out of here, then he was going to find a place for it back home, definitely. Deciding to stash it in one of the offices, he picked up the picture and holding it out in front of him, glass side up, walked to the nearest room. He hadn’t taken three steps when a flash of green light caught his eye, it sparked briefly and then was gone. Stopping in his tracks, Ken peered down at the glass, thinking that it must have been a prism effect from the sunlight shining through one of the room’s high windows. ‘I’m sure I saw green...sure!’ He knew his mind hadn’t lied, he had seen it, and he knew he had. Holding the frame out at arm’s length, he raised it up towards eye level and then looked again, more carefully this time.

Every hair on his body rose with a crackle; he felt the blood pumping in his neck so hard that it made a pulsing sensation against his jaw. Ken stared at the picture in disbelief, there before his bulging eyes sat a holographic image, an image that was moving gently from side to side like the needle on a compass that wasn’t exactly sure where north lay. It looked as though it was actually rising above the surface of the picture. Time began to stand still for Ken.

As he stood and stared at the painting, he started to sense his surroundings rushing past, blurring with speed.
‘Engine room, this is your Captain speaking: Full-speed-ahead.’
Ken’s thoughts fluttered alarmingly.

Spinning around, he stared at the walls of the old room, they hadn’t moved an inch. To his great relief, almost as soon as it had arrived, the whole sensation of ‘moving’ had quickly subsided. He shook his head and turned to gaze down at the picture once more. Ken watched as the image shuddered and swirled in front of his eyes, and, although he knew that he was probably imagining things, he sensed an emotion, as though an angry air of impatience was exuding from the spearhead.

‘Come on, come on, man...hurry-the-fuck-up, let’s go!’

How Ken knew this was beyond him, but he felt it, definitely.

Then the nausea hit him and the room started spinning like it had before. Ken realised that perhaps now would be a pretty good time to sit down and do some serious thinking. He needed a drink, he needed to scream, and most of all he needed to run. Half of him wondered if it wasn’t the lack of food that had given him the mother of all hallucinations.

His inner self laughed out loud at the ridiculous thought. ‘Be a man! You’re now firmly up shit creek in a wire canoe, without a paddle! So, get used to it, let’s just see where this leads us, shall we?’

Kneeling down, he placed the picture gently onto the roughened stone floor of the ancient Afghan building and stayed squatting above it for a few seconds; eventually, and with a cracking of joints, he raised himself to the standing position. Weakness finally overcame him and he stumbled backwards until his legs hit the chair. Totally shattered, Ken collapsed onto it and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He looked at the photograph, painting...‘Or whatever the hell it is...’ and noticed that the spear was now clearly visible from any angle and seemed to have risen about a foot above the glass.

Ken’s mind did a flip as he realised the strange truth about his emotions. He didn’t think of the spearhead as scary any more, instead he saw it as beautifully magnetic – it seemed to pull him, inviting him to follow. It was grey-green and gave off an aura of...of beauty? He didn’t know what it exuded, exactly. But he did know that it scared the hell out of him. Ken grunted, and with some deal of effort pulled his eyes away from the entrancing image.

‘What the hell do I do now? The bloody thing’s looking at me!’

The thoughts were draining, his brain felt as though it had shrunk and his eyes as though they were full of grit. His mouth was dry and he thought seriously about running again. He placed both hands on his head and ran them down over his face, the thick layer of stubble rasping against his cracked fingers as he did so. He needed to get his head together, but couldn’t seem to focus his eyes properly. Half-petrified and half-calm, Ken knew that he was starting to get into a real mess.

Sagging back, head resting upon the wall behind, he closed his eyes and tried to think. The exhaustion was overwhelming and he felt his brain going into shutdown mode of its own accord. ‘I’ll just have five minutes,’ he thought, and then fell over the precipice of his exhaustion into the pit of a black and dreamless sleep.

***

Waking up thirty minutes later, he sat still for a moment or two, gathering his thoughts and building up the courage to look at the picture again. Staring down, he could see that the spearhead was still floating above it, serenely hovering in the air and waiting for him. ‘Okay, I’ll be right with you,’ he murmured. Ken was also about to say something like: ‘Right then, what now?’ But, before he managed to speak, the spear rose up away from the picture and flew off down the corridor, zooming into the last office on the left. Strangely, this didn’t surprise him as much as it should have. He grunted: ‘Perhaps I’m just getting used to this?’ No-one replied to that ridiculous question. So, Ken did the honours himself. ‘Perhaps...perhaps fuck all – perhaps my arse!’

He turned away from the thoughts and scanned the corridor, faded green eyes catching the pulsating glow of light emanating over the top of the office partition-walls. The radiance of the light cast ghostly green shadows onto the ancient ceiling of the room. This alone added to the surrealism of the whole situation. It was calling him, beckoning for Ken to come and see.

‘Okay, fine...I’ll be right there!’ he said, in disbelief at his own words. ‘Just let me get my act together, and I’ll be right there!’ In a daze, he turned away to gather up his belongings. Grabbing the rifle and spare magazines, he followed the route the spear had taken. Upon reaching the door he paused, took a deep breath, and then stepped into the office where, apparently, his new-found guide should be waiting for him. He wasn’t to be disappointed. The spear was there, hanging upside down in the air over the desk.

It looked like the ‘Down’ call button for an elevator. ‘The trouble is that it’s not on a wall, is it? This isn’t a bloody lift, and I’m definitely going barking mad!’ he whispered. Ken’s head filled with the madness of his own words.

He shouted out: ‘Woof fucking woof!’ and then giggled insanely. The whole thing started to fill him with an overwhelming desire to run. Run until his lungs burst and the blood seeped from his eyes.

Mr Tiny agreed: ‘Yes, run and never turn back, not ever!’

Ken’s left leg began shaking of its own accord and he thought about sitting down again. Then he had another thought: the spear reminded him of a bonus icon on a video game. Upon reaching it, the player gets an extra life or a bigger weapon, or something.

He growled: ‘Oh yeah, that’s me for sure! Super-Mario-Ken, that’s just brilliant!’ As his voice echoed through the empty office, he couldn’t stop himself and hurriedly turned to see if there was anyone watching him – it sure felt like there was. Gathering himself, he took a deep breath and then moved in the direction of the strange hologram. As he approached, it glowed and then moved an inch further down, nearer the desk. For one second he thought it was going to impale itself in the cheap wood like some cartoon arrow. Ken needn’t have worried because all the spear did was to simply hover in the air above the desk, no strings attached.

He leant the rifle against the wall on his right and peered at the top of the desk. Nothing there except a bit of dust. Crouching down in front of the desk, he looked beneath it, even checking the rough underside, not a thing. He rose to his feet and stared down. ‘What the hell am I even looking for...a sign, some papers, what – why this office, what’s the big deal with this particular desk?’ His thoughts started to gang up on him again – he pushed his rising frustration away and forced himself to inspect the top of the desk for a second time. There was still nothing that appeared to show him the next move, one that the spear obviously wanted him to make. Ken had no idea and so decided to reach out and see what would happen if he touched the spear, maybe it would lead his hand to something.

‘Then again, maybe it’ll turn me into a...a green fireball, or something worse!’ He hesitated at the thought, and then reached out anyway, knowing that if it was going to do him any harm, then the chances were it would already have done so. After all, he’d been asleep in front of it only a short while ago, sound asleep.

He needn’t have worried as the spear was actually a hologram, and his hand passed right through its shimmering form without mishap – the only effect was a slight tingling in his injured cheek. The spear never moved. Ken was just in the process of getting back down onto his hands and knees...thinking about maybe putting his specs on to see if there were some cracks he’d missed ...when, in a blur of green light, the spearhead came down through the table. It passed his nose less than two inches in front of his face and disappeared straight through the solid floor without a sound.

He fell backwards in shock, banging his head on the underside of the desk as he did so, the impact being hard enough to move the desk about an inch or two out of its current position. He reached around and angrily rubbed the back of his head, cursing as he did so. ‘Damn it, this bloody place is cracking me up!’ With his voice ringing out a bit too loudly in the huge building, and just as he was starting to sense the madness of his situation again, he saw a glow of light from the tiny hole in the floor, a hole that had previously been concealed by one of the table’s legs.

Standing up, he dragged the whole table to one side, the spindly wooden legs squealing loudly as he shoved it into the corner of the office. He knelt down on all fours and crawled over to the small hole. Taking a breath he lowered his face and peered into it. The tiny vent seemed to go all the way through the floor. It was as though he was standing at the top of a very tall building, leaning over the edge and looking straight down. The sensation was strong – too high and too near the edge. Vertigo seeped into him, made his balls feel like they’d risen into his stomach. He lifted his head away and tried to think. The smell of the dust tickled his nasal hairs and he very nearly laughed out loud at his ridiculous posture. He whispered: ‘Mike will be pissing himself if he’s watching this!’

Then he looked down at the floor again, placing his hand over the tiny hole as he did so. There was probably a pressure point or something, perhaps he should simply push down on the floor and it would release a hidden mechanism. There would be a loud clunking noise and a stone staircase would rumble out of the wall, at which point he’d take a casual walk down its skull-strewn steps and gleefully discover a hidden cellar, filled with gold and jewels.

Oh, and of course the mandatory evil mummies would be there, too. Yes, they’d all come alive and he’d happily blast them to pieces, their sand-filled heads being of no match for his skill and the power of his awesome AK. Then he would heroically rescue some damsel in distress, escape with the loot and live happily ever after. Ken felt his skin crawling.