The Huntsman (16 page)
Authors: Rafael
Miranda
stared at what the orange glow had illuminated. Revulsion and disgust
threatened to empty her hungry stomach. A woman’s desiccated face, punctured
between the eyes, framed by dry, cracked blond hair sat above a skeleton picked
clean except for blackened hands and feet. She turned back to the creature
standing rock-still ten yards away. Enormous wings sprouted from either side
where hands, clenched fist-like, jutted from the main joints. Black, soulless,
owl-like eyes opened halfway, stared at her, then closed again.
A
metallic, reflective sphere hovered just before the stomach area where a gaping
wound dripped what she thought might be infectious puss. Yesterday, it had shocked
her speechless when, through the orb, it spoke English. “Are your Unwinged also
four-legged?” Still in an insensate state, she had not responded.
The
globe turned a lavender color. A process already undertaken higher on its torso
and on its leg repeated itself. Before her eyes, the wound began to heal.
Discoloration turned pink. Skin closed on itself. Against all reason she could
not withhold her fascination. Professor Akiyama had been right. Her zoologist
side remained fixated on what she too concluded had to be an alien. Curiosity
overwhelmed her.
Crouched
low, she duck-walked step by careful step closer to the sphere. The alien’s
eyelids lifted to a halfway position. She froze. They closed again. She inched
closer to within reach of the orb. A fuzzy down sprouted from the wound. She
extended an arm, index finger pointed at the glowing globe. The huge bird’s
eyes remained closed.
“What
is that?” The sphere changed to orange. A flat, monotone, gender-neutral voice
spoke.
“That
is a finger.” Its color returned to lavender. Despite the heart in her throat,
Miranda almost laughed. Feathers now sprouted from the wound area. The bird
fluffed then carefully folded its wings.
Of
course, Miranda thought. Why would an alien understand any Earth-centric
gesture? The accumulated assumptions built into every Earth culture would
hamper communication. How to recognize them? Start simple, she thought. Me
Tarzan, you Jane.
“Who
are you?”
“I
am a Seer.” Miranda puzzled at the response.
“What
does a Seer do?” The sphere’s glow swelled and contracted.
“Process
data.”
“How
much data do you have?”
“I
contain all Earth’s data.”
Miranda
felt chagrined. Beyond the astounding declaration, she had assumed the alien
spoke through the globe. The orb interacted independently. “Who is behind you?”
A shriek, click, whistle, and hiss combined to form an unpronounceable sound.
The alien’s eyes opened briefly then closed. “Please translate to English.” Two
high-pitched syllables sounded. “Kreetor?” Miranda guessed. As if to correct
her accent, the sphere repeated.
“Kreetor.”
“Who
is Kreetor?”
“Warrior
Priestess to the High Council, Grand Dominant of the Winged.”
“Where
is Kreetor from?”
“Sorke.”
Miranda
mulled the responses. She had no way of knowing where or how far Sorke might
be. Though burned twice already, she felt safe assuming they had sent a person
of some importance. A Seer reflected as much. Or did they all have one?
“Why
is Kreetor here?”
“To
destroy the Gate and all who possess it.”
The
chilling declaration evoked images of armless humans hanging by their faces.
She glanced toward the intact skeleton. What had been her sin? The “Gate”, an
obvious metaphor, had to be Professor Ang’s project. Had he been in contact
with Sorke? Had he duplicated some technology of theirs? Or worse, stolen it?
“What
is a ‘Gate’?” The globe waxed and waned.
“That
through which one enters or exits.” But of course, Miranda thought.
“To
go where?”
“Anywhere.”
Clearly a technology. A doorway to anywhere would be invaluable.
“Why
does Kreetor wish to destroy it?”
“It
endangers Sorke.”
Why?
Could the “Gate” lead back to Sorke? Did they fear human invasion?
Lightheadedness swelled and almost made Miranda swoon. She had had nothing to
eat or drink for more than twenty-four hours. The strain weakened her.
“I
must have something to eat and drink.”
“Soon.
Kreetor must first heal.”
“May
I speak to Kreetor?”
“Soon.
Kreetor must first heal.”
Janesh
had expected the hotel’s location away from Vishakhapatnam’s bustling ports,
quays, and piers to provide a quieter space. He hadn’t expected the quiet would
bring no peace. Every moment had become a struggle against despair, against the
likelihood futility marked his efforts. He’d become a tennis ball between hope
and misery, optimism and gloom. One minute Miranda lived, the next he’d never
again see her eyes twinkle. Every second had become a challenge, an obstacle.
His feet felt mired. Madness beckoned. He turned a corner.
Ahead
lay the park the concierge had directed him to. He needed to run, to bleed off
energy, to clear his mind, rekindle confidence. Toward them a man approached.
Something about his gait, his aura, separated him from the locals. The dogs
sensed it too. They tensed. Twenty feet away he slowed then stopped. “Good
morning, Mr. McKenzie.” Five feet away Janesh halted. Without expression or
movement, he waited. Eyes fixed on the stranger, so did the dogs.
“My
name is Josh Timson.” Janesh felt no need to introduce himself. The man knew
his name. He waited. “I’m a private investigator with the National Science
Foundation.” When the statement elicited no response, he continued. “My job is
to recover as much of Doctor Ang’s project as possible to indemnify the good
taxpayers who funded the research.”
“How
did you find me?”
“I
do have my ways, Mr. McKenzie.”
“Have
a good day, Mr. Timson.” He pulled the leashes and continued toward the park.
Beyond leash length, Timson followed.
“There
are only three hotels in Vishakhapatnam that permit dogs and only one which had
a late check-in with two. I’ve been here since dawn. Eventually you had to come
out.”
“How’d
you know I’d be in Vishakhapatnam?”
“I
didn’t. The CIA did. I’ve been following them. Eventually they’ll be here too.”
Fair enough, Janesh thought. He continued toward the park.
“What
can I do for you, Mr. Timson?”
“It’s
what I can do for you, Mr. McKenzie.” Janesh walked on. Timson took the hint.
“Bodies pile up around valuable things. Dr. Ang’s project must be very
valuable. I’ll offer you $5 million cash for it, no questions asked. You tell
me where it is, I hand over the money, we both walk away.”
“I
take it the National Science Foundation then receives a report declaring the
equipment lost.”
“Something
like that.”
“Do
you know the people connected with the project have all died, Mr. Timson?”
“I’ve
heard chatter. Bits and pieces. I don’t believe half of it.”
“Believe
it, Mr. Timson. Anyone who comes near the project dies.” Janesh stopped to face
him. “Turn around. Go home. You won’t survive the encounter.”
“$7
million. Cash.”
“I
don’t always make my money legally. But everyone who pays me does so
voluntarily. I don’t corrupt the taxpayers’ generosity. I could just take your
money. You’d be dead within twenty-four hours. Go home, Mr. Timson. Give your
wife and children a hug.”
The
equipment represented his one chance to see Miranda again. He would exchange it
only for her or her killer’s corpse. Timson’s expression made it clear the last
thing he would do is go home. “I would advise against our paths crossing again
in the near future, Mr. Timson. Have a good day.”
Inside
the park he unleashed the dogs. His body ached to run, yearned for it. He
eschewed the jogging trail. Without any forewarning, lion hunters racing up
from behind tended to frighten runners. Besides, the woods would provide a more
challenging course. He leaped low bushes, bent under branches, hurdled fallen
logs, dodged tree trunks. Encased in the soothing woods, he found a measure of
peace but the forest’s cool shade could not mollify the subtropical heat. Soon
muscles rippled beneath a glistening sheen. The exertion prevented thought,
reason, or sense. He pushed himself harder.
A
thin creek broke the tree line. With no thought what might lurk within, he dove
head first. Its cleansing waters refreshed and renewed. He flattened his dive
and thrust for the surface. Once breached, sure, strong strokes powered him
against the current. Along the bank, Duncan and Ronan paralleled his advance,
barking their joy and giving chase to the occasional wildlife they flushed from
cover.
Again
Janesh dove deep before swerving toward the bank. He reentered the woods at a
dead run. Lungs ingested oxygen his heart pumped to muscles demanding more. His
brain ceased further thought. Emotions withdrew to their sanctums. His body
liberated, it ran. Ran to forget, ran to discard, ran to rebuild. A dispirited,
confused man had entered the woods. The forest gods returned the
Mahān Śikārī.
At the front desk Janesh had no messages but the clerk
chin-pointed toward a man seated in the lobby area. He turned to see a
yellow-shirted Indian rise from a chair and nod toward him. Chatur had called
to say he had sent more help. A badge emerged identifying him as a member of
the Research and Analysis Wing, India’s version of the CIA. Though Janesh
remained impassive, once again Chatur’s contacts had impressed.
“Good morning, Mr. McKenzie. My name is
Daaruk Kapur.
You’re soaked. Perhaps you’d like to change cloths before
we speak.”
“I would not delay someone sent by Chatur for such a triviality.”
“The CIA is in
Vishakhapatnam searching for you. R&AW is
curious why.”
“Why
don’t they ask the CIA?”
“I’m
sure my colleagues will. I’m here to perhaps…delay them.” Daaruk read Janesh’s
expression. “You’re wondering why I would betray my profession and my
colleagues. Seven years ago Chatur asked you to hunt a man-eater in
Maharashtra, one that had killed my sister and her husband. Knowing karma had been
restored tempered my grief. I am indebted to Chatur and the
Mahān Śikārī. I do not betray my
profession by assisting either.”
Janesh placed a comforting hand on Daaruk’s shoulder. “Dryer
clothes will permit entry into the hotel’s bar/restaurant. I will join you
there as soon as I change.”
As
he hurried toward the elevators, Janesh’s mind raced. If the CIA hunted him, he
had to move quickly. He glanced at the time—10:38am. The equipment should
already be on a Chandrapur bound train. Again he felt the crush of events. He
had to rid himself of the CIA dogging his trail, insure India’s intelligence
agents didn’t become a problem, block Josh Timson’s ambitions, secure Dr. Ang’s
project, coordinate with Professor Akiyama and colleagues to identify its
purpose, while securing them from a monstrous, homicidal creature. And despite
Nicholas Koh’s specter looming over everything, he couldn’t lose sight of his
central focus: Miranda.
“Are
your Unwinged also four-legged?” Miranda erupted.
“I
will not answer anymore of your questions until I eat. I must eat.”
“I
have brought you food. Why do you not eat?”
The
cow’s half-eaten carcass had begun to rot and fill the air with the stench of
decay. For two days Miranda had refused to touch it while Kreetor sliced off
strips it swallowed whole. After claiming she couldn’t eat meat in that state,
Kreetor had just ripped away chunks then regurgitated green-yellow ooze onto
the cave floor. “I have liquefied it.” Miranda dry heaved.
The
once white linen top and shorts now matched her arms and legs blackened by the
cave’s filth and grime. She smelled and not just from her armpits. If her
weakened state didn’t disrupt it, her menses would commence at any moment.
Unwashed, she felt encased in a sticky slime. Desperation grew. If her lack of
proper food continued much longer, she’d reach a tipping point she might not
recover from. She turned toward the Seer, her tone slow and deliberate.
“I
must eat food and drink water. It must be human-prepared food. If I do not eat
I cannot answer Kreetor’s questions.” Rapid-fire clicks, clacks, and hisses
accompanied short screeches between the Seer and Kreetor. It stopped and
Kreetor placed the Seer in its pouch. A shimmering, glowing hole opened then
closed after they stepped through. The cave plunged into darkness.
Miranda
sat quietly, back against a rocky, uneven wall. She’d already looked out the
entrance with an eye toward escape. The cave, high up a sheer cliff, looked out
over a green, tropical forest. Far in the distance, an ocean expanded to the
horizon. Nothing gave a hint at where she might be. With her climbing skills
and experiences limited to ladders, descending the cliff would be certain
death.
Janesh’s
face appeared before her. Eyes twinkled with some coming sarcasm. His grin
hinted at mischief. A jet-black curl fell across his brow. Tears welled.
Emotions threatened to burst. Love—pure, simple—rushed through her body,
leaving smoldering cells and ignited nerves in its wake. She trembled and
shook. Refused to give up hope he sought her, that nothing would stop him. Her
head sank, tears flowed. Where was she? Where should he look? How could he find
her?
The
air flickered and shimmered. It ruptured and the Seer floated through, glowing
orange. “You must eat. Kreetor commands it. Follow me.” Eyes wide and mouth
open she did so. A compressed image surrounded her. She stepped from the cave,
stepped across the air, past the forest, to a ranch, and into a kitchen.
Kreetor filled the entranceway between it and the living area. Beyond, a man,
woman, and two children hung above a blood-soaked sofa, their arms pasted to
their backs. Outside, dogs barked without let up.
Miranda
shuddered but could not ignore her stomach’s clamor for survival. She opened a
faucet then the refrigerator. Containers of every size and shape occupied the shelves.
One held a brown stew, another peas and carrots. She found wild rice and fried
chicken in another. All three entered a microwave she set for three minutes.
She found sliced bread along with a stick of butter that awaited its toasting.
As she walked back to the faucet a sight made her momentarily pause. She forced
her hands not to shake or her demeanor display nervousness. On the counter, two
mobiles lay charging.
She
filled a tall glass and sipped the cool, delicious water, wary of crippling
herself with cramps. Casual steps moved her between Kreetor and the mobiles. A
finger pressed against one. Its display opened and requested a password.
Miranda closed her eyes and fought not to scream. She pressed the other. It
illuminated a recipe for baked chicken in a pineapple sauce. Miranda imagined
the mother, in the midst of planning the evening meal, stepping away to
investigate a commotion, never imagining the coming horror.
She
took another sip. Blood pounded ear drums. Her finger pressed mute, dial code,
connect, then video. Hours passed before Janesh’s face appeared. Shock and
surprise rattled his expression. Lips shouted soundless words. Slowly she
pressed a finger to hers. Another sip cooled her parched throat. Relief washed
over her as she watched Janesh’s arm move in response to finger taps. Yes, my
love. Come to me. The microwave dinged.
Renewed
hope deepened her hunger. She dumped everything into the stew. Slow, she
reminded herself. Eat slowly. Chewing a mouthful, Miranda began filling a
garbage bag with anything bagged or boxed that didn’t need processing. Fruits
and bottled water followed, along with the mobile, before she returned to
finish her meal.
Still
chewing, she stepped toward the entrance. “Tell the Grand Glorious Kreetor I
must wash. If humans do not wash, disease and infection follow.” Moments later,
the Seer glowed orange. “Kreetor agrees. Air Givers must be pure.”
Miranda
made her way past the nightmare that had once been a family to the upstairs
bedrooms. Hot water and a full belly combined to chase away her reality.
Dressed in a larger woman’s jeans, flannel shirt and jacket, she could now
concentrate on sorting out all this Winged, Unwinged, and Air Giver business.
She might learn some way to neutralize this monstrosity.
Miranda,
individual, protested. A staggering truth had arrived from another world. It
would force a re-examination of every principle, ethic, and morality
undergirding an Earth-centric civilization.
Miranda,
zoologist and scientist, protested. A life form existed unlike anything evolved
on Earth. It would expand understanding, learning, and discovery in ways as yet
unimaginable.
Miranda,
sapient, cared not one whit. A homicidal creature roamed the land killing at
will and with impunity. It posed an existential threat by its potential for a
technologically superior race to invade the Earth. An anonymous, innocent
family had witnessed the danger.
Miranda
hefted the bag and followed Kreetor back through the wormhole. Rationing had
become essential. She would starve before ever asking Kreetor for food again.
For now though, her thoughts remained fixed on the blankets and pillows stuffed
in the bag. She set about clearing a space to satisfy the drowsy sleep her
first solid meal induced. When her eyes closed the Seer glowed orange.
“The
Air Giver has communicated with an Unwinged. Perhaps her Seeder.”
“The
one who guards the Gate?”
“Yes,
Priestess.”
“It
is well. I lost contact with the Gate while healing. Can you take me to the
Seeder? Wherever he is so will the Gate.”
“I
am the Seer, Grand Dominant. I see all.”
“He
may come here. If so, I must know of the Unwinged that accompany him. Their
intelligence is dangerous. They can see me even when I am masked. It is why I
brought the Air Giver here, to discover their weaknesses. Can you not tell me
more?”
“The
Unwinged call them dogs. They have a great many varieties but they all bark. It
is difficult to know how the Unwinged understand bark but do not speak it.”
“I
will ask the Air Giver when she wakes.”
