DEAD WINTER: A CRYPTIC Anthology

Hunting Season • Lina Hanson

I raise my rifle, the barrel following the guy as he walks away to his car. Slowly, carefully I pull the trigger towards me, waiting for the perfect moment. I don't want him inside that flashy SUV of his, but I need that door open. Where the car is standing, so close to the piles of frozen slush at the end of the car park, nobody will find the body in a hurry. Suits me just fine, I can make my getaway without any nosy parkers on my heels.

Now!

The man opens the door, and I pull the trigger. A muffled whap comes from the muzzle of the rifle, it jumps in my hands and slams into my shoulder. It's what I expect, so I'm ready for it.

The guy across the parking lot wasn't ready, and he still hasn't quite sussed he's dead. He stares into the darkness, stares right at me actually, but that's coincidence. He can't see me. But I can see him, see his eyes roll up in his face and his body crumple behind the car door. His foot twitches once; then all is still.

Good. Just one more thing to do.

I put my gloves back on and check the street; all is quiet. A quick sprint gets me across, towards the SUV waiting patiently for its owner, the roof light on, throwing a magical glow onto the now peaceful bundle on its side. A foul smell hits my nose, and I gag. The bastard has shat himself. Serves him right. Holding my breath, I push off the light.

Perfect. Now the corpse is safe from prying eyes for a little while.

This one took long enough to shadow, to find a place where I could take him out. In the end, I figured he would return here. To the scene of his crime. A lot of criminals do that, at least the stupid ones among us.

Only, I'm no criminal. I'm an avenger. I'm on a mission. Just like every year. In the office, they wonder why somebody would book all their vacation in winter, with just a few days left over. Well, guys, there's a reason you'll never know.

I've given myself a target. Not more than three every season. But then, when I see what is happening, I just can't stop, can't hold in the rage.

How dare they? No, I can't let that go on unchecked.

And I won't.

So, this mission is accomplished. Six so far, and Christmas Eve only a few days behind us. There will be more. I just have to keep looking. It's not a problem to find them. The buggers are all over the place. It's the tracking that takes the time. That—and the other thing. For my job is not only to punish. My job is to heal, to undo their crimes.

Well, I can't do that, can I? But what I can do is—look after the victims. Make sure they are safe and not out there in the sleet, the wind and the darkness. How can anybody do this and still call themselves human? I don't understand it; I just don't.

I crunch my way back across the street and disappear into the woods. They don't scare me; they are the territory of the hunter, not the hunted. Plus, my flashlight is great, once I turn it on a little bit further into the thicket. Of course, the police will find my tracks. But my boots are nothing special, they don't give away much ...

Laughter bubbles up inside. I force it down. Not the right time for a jolly, I still have work to do—

A howl echoes through the darkness, lonely and longing it tugs at my heart. Not another one! Not so soon!

I clamber over dead branches strewn on the path. So close to the road, I don't dare to use my torch. And I'm still not far enough from that car park.

I must not be seen.

Another howl, closer than the first. It's coming from the road, I think. My hearing is excellent, but deserted woodland on a winter's night tends to distort the echoes until you think you're right at the bottom of a scary pit. And there are very few smells to go by. Just a faint tinge of wood smoke and petrol. And the freezing blandness of snow.

Lights slice through the gloom and illuminates the silent oak trees guarding the street. Snow has blown up against them, a furry cover creeping up the bark.

Another howl, very close.

Oh no, don't—!

For a moment, I see a dark shape lit up by the lights of the truck, followed by a whump. But the vehicle moves on unconcerned and drives away. The motor noise fades into the distance. The wood is silent again.

Apart from a whimper coming from the other side of the road.

I crash through the shrubs, almost forgetting to check for other cars before I dash across. Stupid, if I now had an accident as well.

Then I see it. A tiny dark outline against the greyish heaps of slush beside the road. What shape will it be in?

A quick check. No cars.

I switch on my flashlight, and there it is.

Soggy orange fur, and bright yellow eyes reflect the light of the torch. The sharp stench of fear. A cat this time, not a dog. From the noise the poor critter made, I had expected something much bigger.

"Come on, sweetie, let me check." I shove the flashlight between my teeth and carefully stretch out my gloved hand. My hair tumbles from the hood, blurring my vision. Or perhaps it's the tears.

I get a bit closer. The animal is injured, it might bite. Instead, it purrs. Licks my glove.

More tears prick my eyes.

Carefully I prod the furry body and the cat lets me. I see no blood, and when I put my hands under the poor darling to lift her up, the purr hitches briefly, then continues. Perhaps only a fracture. Or a bruise.

Hopefully.

There's a rough hemp rope round the animal's neck. It's frazzled and frayed at the front. Somehow, the poor kitty must have bitten through the tether.

"Bully for you," I whisper.

Too many of them are gone before I can find them. Frozen to death. Tied to a tree. Left behind by people who once took them in. As a present. A live gift under the Christmas tree. Until the cuddly pet becomes a burden. Because it wants to be fed. Wants to be loved. Is in the way when they go on holiday . . .

I feel the familiar rage rising inside me.

Rage won't get me home. It won't get my injured friend to my partner in crime, the vet. So I swallow down the fury and carry on through the night, the cat tucked into my warm fleece hunting coat. Purring over my heart.

I'll get her to safety. I'll find her a new home. A better one. Maybe, I'll even keep her. But I have so many already . . .

And then I will find out where she came from.

Holiday Season is hunting season!

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