Hunters: A Trilogy (87 page)

The images from George’s film show returned to him. ‘Is that a Shrink Down suit?’ Michael’s question hung in the air as he tugged the material between his fingers. ‘Should I put it on now – over or under?’

Jane told him that ‘under’ was the best, and then went outside onto the landing, closing the door behind as she went. Michael stripped down to his underwear and slipped into the garment. It clung to his body, melting into his shape. In a few moments it was as though he wore a second skin. He pulled the zipper upwards, the soft material hissed as he slid it toward his neck and the suit became even more tightly fitting. After he had put his clothes back on, he leaned over and knocked on the door from the inside.

‘You can come in now, Jane, I’ve finished,’ he said.

Jane returned to his bedroom and gave him a quick look up and down. She said, ‘Fits pretty neatly, doesn’t it? Shall we go then, Mikey?’ She swept her arm toward the door. ‘After you, my Prince…’ she said. Michael grinned and they made their way downstairs to see what Ken was doing.

In addition to having put the kettle on, he’d also sorted out the controls for the heating, fitted new locks to all the windows and checked out all the important things it takes to keep an unoccupied house from falling into disrepair. ‘We don’t want any dramas whilst we’re away,’ he said. ‘I haven’t a clue when you’ll be back, or even if you will be back…’ He looked at Michael seriously.

The boy nodded. ‘Yeah, thanks Ken,’ he said. ‘I know, and it’s okay. There’s nothing here for me anyway, not now that Mum’s gone.’ He took the mug of tea that Jane offered him. ‘Thanks,’ he said, before taking a seat at the table.

Ken passed him a small, blue tablet.

‘Take this,’ he said, ‘it’ll help stop the travel sickness.’

Michael did as he was told and dispensed the tablet with a gulp of hot tea.

During the next fifteen minutes, they sat and checked over all the things they had done, and also those they still had to do. The second list was small and in almost no time at all it looked as though they were, indeed, ready to depart. Within the hour the three of them were making their way around to the front of the house with the suitcases in tow. Jane led the way toward the black BMW as it sat twinkling in the pale afternoon sun.

The boy’s eyes widened. ‘Cool car, Ken! Look at the size of it!’ he exclaimed. Michael stopped at the tailgate and, once it had risen, helped Ken put the cases into the cavernous boot space. He peered into the interior of the vehicle over the top of the rear seats. ‘Oh yes, this is one mean machine!’ he whispered, in delight.

Ken turned to him, and smiling, said, ‘Jump in behind me, Mikey, wait until you see what else it can do. It’s not just a pretty toy, it’s a beast!’ The two of them laughed and then joined Jane in the car, Ken slid into the passenger side and Michael clambered into the rear compartment.

Jane said, ‘Watch your fingers, Mike,’ and then called for the seatbelts.

Michael sat in silence as the Spear began its magic ritual, he looked up at the blue numbers counting down on the glowing windscreen and felt a strange sliding sensation ooze into his head as the approaching zeros headed nearer.

Then, in that breath-taking way, the Spear took the young man into the swirling green light – into a place where only the brave can go. Michael jumped, ripped, into his destiny. But, unlike his father’s fatal leap, the boy’s own leap was one of discovery. A gigantic step into the unknown, one of rebirth, and one he took in the company of some new friends – his guardians.

Dangerous Flush – Two Michaels, one Tori, and a Red.

The flat report of a shotgun blast echoed across the lake, the sound sending the flock of waterfowl scattering in panic across the mirrored surface of the misty water, scrabbling for traction with their webbed feet below the surface, wings beating at the damp air above, desperately trying to gather some lift. The calmness of the early morning was shattered by the blast and splashing melee.

A voice rang out, no need to be quiet anymore, the stalk was over.

‘On the left, there’s two over there, Mikey, low – get ‘em!’

A second shotgun barked, two shots so close together that it was difficult to tell them apart. Smoke spiralled from the twirling empty cartridges, they barely reached the ground before the gun had been reloaded and then spoke again.

The firer paused before shouting his reply. ‘High right, up abo…’

His words were drowned out as the first gun once more spat lead and cordite. The flock of birds were now well underway and the last shot was either incredibly lucky, or had been fired by someone very skilled in the art of shooting.

The graceful flight of the final bird ended in the usual way. When the lead hits home it almost appears as though the bird surrenders, sighs perhaps, and then loses all cohesion as it takes that final, ungainly plunge to the ground. One would imagine the words of its action, the almost apathetic way in which all such stricken birds die, would sound something along the lines of: ‘Oh, bugger…’

An unimagined voice spoke. ‘What a great shot, man that was unbelievable!’ The slightly younger of the two young men laughed and waved from the other side of the lake, splashing through the shallows to collect the four birds he himself had downed.

The hunters skirted the water’s edge, picking up their fallen prey as they went, before eventually meeting each other at the head of the lake where the stream made its vital contribution to all things therein. Michael Wildeman leapt across the stream, heels splashing in the mud and grass as he only just managed to clear the river. Michael Tolder, his somewhat-older relation, reached out and grabbed him by the upper arm. As was usual, the great strength in ‘Red Junior’ simply plucked the younger man across the stream he was about to fall back into – the weight of the four birds and a shotgun helping him to overbalance backwards.

‘Thanks a lot, Junior!’ Michael said. ‘That would’ve been funny, wouldn’t it?’ He laughed as his bronze-headed compatriot pretended to let him slip from the iron grasp, and then pulled him forward once more.

Junior grinned and said, ‘Gotcha…you owe me one, Mikey!’

He yanked Michael onto firmer ground, whereupon the two young men laid their prey on the grassy bank. Six of the ruby-and-brown coloured birds lay in a row, speckles of fresh blood shimmering like tiny gems on their waterproof feathers.

Junior looked up from the birds and said, ‘Well, that’s the bird-meat for the party taken care of – let’s hope that Ken has enough pork to go with that half-a-cow he fetched home yesterday!’ He looked at Michael, saying: ‘Is your gun clear?’ Michael opened the breech of the twelve-gauge to allow the taller boy to check; Junior nodded and did the same with his own gun.

Michael looked into the weapon. ‘Clear!’ he said, in confirmation of the weapon’s safety. The boys slung the weapons over their shoulders with the breeches left open, automatically carrying out the drills that Ken had religiously taught them.

His words still rang clear in their minds, and they always would do when it came to the art of using guns. ‘Safety first, boys, these things have only been designed for one thing, and one thing only – to kill!’ Ken was an absolute stickler when it came to guns and the boys had pumped out more than a few push-ups and run up and down the apple tree mound repeatedly, guns held above their heads, after having fallen foul of his unbreakable rules on such things.

They gathered up the dead birds and headed for the house. Calm had once more descended over the lake, there was still a faint whiff of gunpowder in the damp air, but, as the sun started to flood across the hills behind, to the east, the tranquillity of the place began to assert its reign once more. Several of the previously-targeted birds had already returned on their reconnaissance flights over the lake – the irresistible urge to land upon and feed in the calm waters, obviously overcoming any fear.

Michael looked up at them, saying: ‘You’d think they’d learn, wouldn’t you? It’s a good job we don’t just shoot just for fun!’

Junior agreed. ‘Yeah, they’re lucky my Pop’s like he is, huh? He said, looking at Michael. ‘He’s right though, we don’t need any more anyway.’ He held up the three birds he was carrying. ‘They are beautiful, though, aren’t they?’ he said. ‘It’s a shame really…mind you, it is gonna be a helluva party!’

Carrying on with their idle banter, the two young men made their way back to the farmhouse. As they approached, they saw the tendril of grey smoke rising from the chimney; it gave the old house a welcoming, homely appearance.

The new addition to their family, Jack’s son, had been on the farm for nearly four months now. His transition into that place, the time where he now lived, had been almost seamless and in many ways it was as though he belonged there, he seemed to fit perfectly, like that one, missing piece from an unfinished jigsaw puzzle.

When he’d first arrived, young Michael did suffer some sickness, both physically and mentally. His stomach had churned for a few days and the strange realities of what he had been told, seen with his own two eyes, made him feel light-headed. He felt himself stagger, inside his own mind he felt as though he had fallen, tripped perhaps, and then been hauled to his feet and dusted down by Ken and the others. He was homesick, in a way, and when he thought of his mother the pangs of sorrow still gnawed at his guts. But it was strangely distant and felt as though it was an event that had happened to someone else, as though he were in the cinema, only watching a very different silver screen this time, sitting in the front row with a big box of salted-popcorn and a giant Coke in his lap.

Inside he wondered if man-dog still had his VIP ticket and was heading for the seat next to him. ‘We can watch the show together, Mikey, huh, Mikey, huh?’ He was almost able to feel it nudge him with a bony elbow. Michael would simply push the thought from his head. The feelings weren’t something he dwelt upon as life was too busy, so many different things going on, people to meet, chores to do, and then there was the training, of course.

It hadn’t started straight away; Ken had told them it would be something that would need to be done soon. ‘Not yet, though, let’s take one step at a time, eh?’ he’d said. ‘But, when we do start, well…then you guys are probably gonna hate me, just a little bit!’ He had winked at them and Michael saw the glint in Ken’s eyes again, the emeralds.

No, in the meantime, Michael was given time to settle in and meet the gang, get his head around what was going on and understand who they all were – who he himself was. The immediate problem they faced was a simple one. Two ‘Michaels’ was a minor complication, and one which Red’s son cured in his normal, fuss-free manner.

‘Well, at school all my friends know who my Poppa is, everybody knows who ‘Red’ is around here. Most of ‘em have taken to calling me ‘Red Junior’, anyways!’ he said, with a grin. ‘Mister Walton calls me ‘Junior’ all the time and it’s kinda stuck, you know?’

He looked around the table at the others. Tori reached over and placed her hand over the top of his. He looked at his mother, smiled at the beautiful woman, and continued. ‘I’d be happy with everybody using ‘Mikey’ for this one,’ he said, nodding toward the tall boy who sat to his left. ‘And I’ll just be called ‘Junior’, what about that for a plan?’ They all agreed, and so it became. Simple solutions were to become their trademark, pulling together and keeping things straightforward would be one of their greatest strengths.

Tori adored Mikey, and spent long hours with the young man. Ken and Jane would often sit and watch as she sat in the dinghy. Michael and Junior would be with her, bobbing about on the lake like holiday-makers, their soft tones and gentle laughter would float across to the older couple who rested under the apple tree, looking down across the lake.

The secrets the boat-bound trio shared were of no interest to the pair who sat and watched from afar. They
did
care, of course, but, as Ken had said: ‘It’s a family thing – they have a touch with each other, a link.’

He was quite right about that.

Red knew it, too. He would often glance up from his class and gaze across to the lake from where he sat, his huge body resting under the shade provided by the sails of the white windmill, whilst his pupils busily put colour to the canvas of their latest paintings. He knew as well as Ken and Jane did, that whatever it was Tori shared with her two passengers, laughter and tears, stories and memories, that they were all part of the education for the two youngest members in her bloodline.

They had all seen the change in young Michael; in a very short space of time, the boy seemed to grow, not only in stature but also in mind. Red himself played a big part in the education of Michael, and he too seemed to have loved the boy from the first moment Ken and Jane had arrived back at the farm with the young man.

Michael had been sitting with his head resting on Jane’s shoulder – face a ghostly-white colour, looking as though he were about to puke, or cry, or both. Red had reached into the truck and lifted him out with the ease of a child plucking his favourite item from an untidy toy-box. The huge man carried Michael into the house and had taken him straight to his son’s bedroom.

Whilst Ken and Jane had been away, the others had not been idle and with some guidance from Tori and Maggie, the ‘stay behind party’ had prepared the room for their new guest. There was now a large, handmade wooden bunk-bed in place of the previous, single bed. Maggie had called Jack at the store in town, he had provided all the makings for their new addition’s sleeping place, and along with his cousin, Frank, he had soon arrived with their own sons. In no time at all their friends had constructed the big bed, it even had a set of handmade steps leading up to the top bunk. Red didn’t need any steps, with arms bulging he effortlessly lifted his load onto it.

‘You stay right there for a while, partner,’ he whispered, ‘just yoo have yourself a little sleep there, Mikey, my friend. I’m Red, by the way – this here Michael’s Daddy.’ He looked across in reference to his son, who had also joined them in the room.