Hunted (Book 1 of Hunted)

Staring out the dark-stained window, the sharp pain in my belly drew me to my knees. With aching bones, I crawled to my bed, my only solace. Plopping my head over the thick pillow, I almost found comfort and my lids closed as my mind entered a quiet reverie. But the peace never lasted long.

Long, lean legs in black leather pants raced over the soil of Chu-gach Forest. Every sound echoed in her sensitive ears; even the minus-cule spiders and bugs between leaves she took notice of, as sweat dropped like beads from her face. Each drop of perspiration reminded her of how close they were.

Heavy jack boots hit the ground pound-pound, drawing closer, and electrical prods bounced off the sides of their camouflage uniform pants. Rifles swayed in soldiers’ hands as they engaged in the violent pursuit, ready to fire on command. In a quick turn of her head, she saw the M insignia over their pockets, the mark of the Shifter Counterin-surgency Military — the SCM.

Only the rustling of leaves and bush gave away the prey. But she couldn’t remain still. She must run. Darting through the woods, she heard them on her tail.

I see her ahead! one soldier shouted.

Fire now! the leader ordered. Two bullets passed her shoulder and hit the tree. Ducking under a low branch and leaping over a bush, like the panther, she moved with elegance.

Instincts pushed her forward; the musty scent of the military men flared her nostrils; adrenaline pulsated through her veins. But she knew this plight well. Keeping her dark eyes ahead, she watched her goal in the distance — a snow-capped mountain with terrain brutal enough to tear apart the will and strength of the most well-trained men.

But as a storm of soldiers saturated the forest, the men fired again, and bullets skimmed her thigh and arm. The cat and mouse game ignited her blood, a blood they desired to eradicate, blood that beat like a human and a beast.

Turning a corner, she snagged her green shirt sleeve on a branch, and stumbled. Her rhythm disconnected. Tugging on the caught sleeve, she ripped herself free, but not before two soldiers advanced on her. Staring down the barrel of two guns, she was pinned and, in her step backward, her back hit a tree trunk. Onyx hair waved in the gust of wind and draped to her stomach.

Put your hands up! Surrender now or we’ll shoot! one of the men shouted. With death so close, she lifted her arms. The crunch of leaves under the soldiers’ boots alerted her to their proximity before she saw their faces .

As sure as they believed they caught her, her blood boiled and she metamorphosed into the black panther. After a growl, she bounced on top of one soldier, ripping into his neck until he went limp and then jutted her bloodied mouth in the other’s direction. While his gun cocked, she lunged and took down his large frame.

With blood draining from the two dead bodies, she raced ahead with her eyes fixed once more on the mountain in the distance, the sound of jack boots never far behind her. Jumping over a few bushes, her bestial form whirled through the air and over branches until her en-larged paws landed onto the grassy ground.

Tilting her head at the sound of rustling trees, she smelled them. A snarl escaped her lips, instinctual, not of volition, and then a growl.

Within seconds, a few more soldiers tracked her location, and chased close behind, firing two and three bullets at a time. As soldiers approached from the opposite end, they surrounded and enclosed like a circle of sharks.

Taser her! the leader commanded and every soldier pulled out his electrical prod, used for paralyzing, hoping to be the one to bring in the coveted prize for the general.

When five encased her, her two front paws lowered to the soil, ready to pounce, to escape. But the one from behind pierced his prod into her haunch and, with one last snarl, she fell to the forest floor, un-conscious.

Throwing the panther form over two of their shoulders, she was carried back to a military vehicle to be taken to SCM base in the Denali Wilderness. As her body landed in the back of the caged truck, a wolf high in the trees watched and howled at the moon. That sound, the melodic sweetness of the wolf howl, awoke me.

With sweat dripping from my pores, and my heart palpitating, I sat up, dizzy from another nightmare. Propped on my bed, I panted, trying to catch the air in my lungs, as if I had been the one running. Trembling, I held my chest and took in a deep breath.

Just a dream...Just a dream...

Metamorphosis

I am torn. Two halves dividing. I feel it deep inside. There is no escaping it, no denying it. My body aches with a pain too familiar.

My hands clutched the metal student desk in sophomore Biology class at the University of Alaska in Anchorage. Sweat dropped from my forehead in the air-conditioned room. Chills rushed up my spine and I shivered in a brief moment only noticed by me. My long nails scratched the surface of the desk. My class schedule appeared on the square shaped electronic device in front of me, beaming in and out of focus as my vision blurred:

Biology

English

Humanities II

Lunch

Calculus II

Ethics

Pain as sharp as a knife carved into my sides, my muscles, my bones. My mouth opened in silent agony. I didn’t want anyone to know. I cried out in a quiet prayer inside my own mind. Make me whole. Make me not think. Make me not hurt.

Robert’s athletic build filled his seat one desk away from me in the back row. Are you alright, April? he whispered. His brows formed crooked angles over his intense stare. I wiped the sweat as it slid down my jaw line. I felt the color fall from my face.

Yeah, I’m fine. I forced a smile to hide my pain.

You sure? he insisted. You look kinda pale.

I excused myself and walked to the restroom. The ceramic tiles of the bathroom walls swirled in dizziness. I fell to the hard floor, hitting my knee and then my chest before everything went black.

In the nurse’s office, I awoke lying on top of a clinic bed two doors down from the Dean’s office. Not a room I wanted to be so close to. Not a room I wanted to visit again. His office made me feel claustrophobic, and excited a certain angst inside of me, something I didn’t know how to control. I heard chatting above me, next to me, only I couldn’t see anyone.

Turning my head toward the wall, I listened. I heard the sounds in the next room, every word, every movement, every sigh. Turning my head away from the unwanted reality, I curled up on top of the crisp white sheets. Staring at the ceiling, I talked myself into believing I just needed more sleep. I didn’t want this, understand this.

April? The nurse’s warm tone called me. She swung the door open and in maternal instinct, stood by my side. Are you feeling bet-ter?

How did I get here?

A student found you unconscious in the bathroom. The nurse considered her words. Have you been taking anything, prescription drugs, anything illegal that I should know about?

No, I shook my head vehemently, no.

Are you sure? I need to know so that I can help you. She sounded so genuine. I could hear the sincerity in her voice, in the thumping of her heart. She meant it.

No, I said plainly.

Ok. She smiled like she believed me. I’m going to run some blood tests to find out how I can better help you.

Help me? I don’t need any help. I don’t need any tests. I pushed myself off the bed. The palms of my hands grasped the clinic sheets covering the plastic cushion. The sound of it crinkling irritated my ears. I don’t need needles in my skin, my blood. I know I need help, but not the kind she can give me. Somewhere inside of me I knew what was happening, but my rational mind could not make sense of the muscle pains and my fluctuating mood swings. Not PMS.

I pushed the clinic door open as the nurse tried to grab my shoul-der and pull me back, but I turned the corner and disappeared down the hall. I moved fast. My fragile mind could not understand the pace which I took. In a moment, I stood at the door of the main office, leading outside. I couldn’t fathom how the spaces below my feet dis-appeared underneath me.

But I’m safe outside. The fresh air feels right.

Robert nudged me from behind. April, how are you feeling? Af-ter Biology, I didn’t see you. I was worried. He raked his fingers through his chiseled blond hair that could be modeled for a shampoo commercial. I shrugged, not knowing how to explain this to him. I didn’t even know how to fully explain this to myself. Pulling my long dark chocolate hair over my left shoulder, I fluttered my lashes fring-ing hazel eyes.

Distraction is easy for me. Deception is like second nature.

I’m fine, I said, almost convincing myself. Did I miss anything important in class?

Not really. We began to walk down the university campus sidewalk. The same topic from Monday.

Metamorphosis, I ascertained.

So, what are you doing tonight? Robert brushed his crimson sweater against the sleeve of my black silk blouse hanging over a pair of faded blue jeans.

I’m not sure. My lips tightened and I glared at the cobblestones below us.

Plans? Robert concluded and I could feel the drop in his enthu-siasm. He always jumped before I told him how high. I opened my mouth to say something, something I wasn’t even sure of. I wanted to ease his insecurities, but then I closed my lips and nodded. It’s better if he doesn’t know. Maybe another time?

Maybe. As our eyes parted from each other, a few players in Robert’s hockey team, huddled over the lawn, called to him.

Robert, over here!

Look, I gotta run, but call me if anything changes. You know I’ll be there if you need me, Robert said in a loyalty I knew only he af-forded me. His squared shoulders and robust form made me feel se-cure. When he wore his hockey jersey, number 17, I almost swooned, like most of the girls. With a hockey stick in one hand and a puck in the other, his image would remain an indelible stain on my mind.

I will. Alone on the campus lawn, I lay on my back. I heard the laughter of the hockey team fade as they drew away from me and en-tered a building. I experienced a kind of envy for what Robert had with his team, his friends. Something I had never developed in nine-teen years. Always too reclusive.

The grass squished up against my skin as I glanced over the stars hidden so well in the late afternoon sky. I miss moments like these. Moments of peace. The knife had been removed and I felt no pain. The vibration of sounds around me vanished. I could almost feel the cold of Alaska again.

* * *

At my apartment I thought I was safe from it, from myself, but my arms began to itch. I scratched. The tingling returned. I knew what to expect — sharp, intense pain. Unbearable. I threw myself on-to my oversized bed propped up on steel bars and held myself. Hands clasped my shoulder bones. My head pushed into the pillows. Teeth gritted into the sheets. Fingers raked my skin as if I were an addict in need of another fix. My body shook with convulsions. Eyes shut. In-stinctual, not of volition. It will pass.

A sound bellowed from my lips, a sound I’d never heard before tonight. I curled up like a baby in need of her mother and let the ach-ing pass. It always passes, but takes too long. Every minute felt like forever. I need him. I need him to help me get through this. When the violence inside my body soothed, I called him on my phone. He will come. He always comes.

The knock at my door drew me from my bed and to him in one fluid motion. He stood at my doorway with an orange tulip in his hands, my favorite. But I didn’t even have time to thank him for his thoughtfulness. My pain needed his comfort. My mind needed his words. My body needed his touch. He hurried through my door to the foot of the bed. He sat in his dark blue jeans, still wearing his crimson sweater. Too desperate for games, I just told him the truth.

I need you. The words flowed so easily. He drew close to me and I rested my weary head on his chest. The chill from his skin cooled my warm temperature.

What happened?

I don’t know.

Tell me where you hurt. Let me help you. The fine lines breaking in his forehead revealed his fear for me.

Everywhere, I grimaced.

Tell me what to do. The longing in his words mirrored the long-ing in his heart. He wanted more from me than I could give him right now.

Nothing, I said shortly, looked up into his pleading blue eyes and then gave him just an inch of what I knew he wanted. Just be here.

He smiled and didn’t question me more. Robert had seen me hurt before, twice, and learned not to ask me questions. They brought out the agitation in me. With his lips closed, his gentle hands took care of me. I abhorred hospitals. He held me in his embrace. His heart beat fast, too fast and I heard it too well, better than I should.

Never mind. He’s here with me now. Everything will be fine.

I rested on his chest, wrapped up in his arms, his large toned arms. He fell asleep, peaceful. I never sleep so still. Every sound, every mo-tion usually kept me awake. But with him near me, I slept soundly.

* * *

We strolled out of my apartment and down the block over the chipped sidewalks. I covered my eyes in the bright daylight at first. The sky cars in various metallic colors flew past us like birds overhead. Their revving sounded like whistles blowing. The black apartment walls stayed in the shadows of the afternoon and the windows glowed in fluorescent lights laced around their borders.

The electrical newspapers beamed in and out against the shop walls and displayed current events. America clones President Strossey in an attempt to derail assassination attempts. The news faded out while the next page faded in. A trip to Mars is scheduled for next weekend: September 14th, 2060. NASA says the highly anticipated Anti-Matter Propulsion is ready to use for distant travel. On the next slide of news, another space-related event emerged onto the screen. The RAM Jet Fusion Engine will reach the Space Walker today to transport food and water to the Moon Station. Go Green, Go Hydrogen!

The grey clouds rolled in like a tumultuous sea about to storm. The thunder crackled and a few rain drops began to fall. Robert took out his compact umbrella stashed inside of his front jean pocket. He wrapped his hand around the miniature, rectangular tool and hit the silver button with his forefinger. The shape of the umbrella unfolded around us and clicked into place. People on the busy solar roadways brushed past us in dark raincoats and silver radiated umbrellas. The silver color lit up against the lightning. I wrapped my arm around Robert’s and fastened my other hand over my waist.

Are you… He stopped his sentence. I knew what he wanted to ask, …alright today? He knew I didn’t enjoy those questions. He cleared his throat, …hungry? I smiled at him and shifted my eyes to the chipped sidewalk like a coy animal.

Sure, I could eat something. In truth, I was famished. I hadn’t eaten dinner last night even though I’d been feeling hungrier than usu-al.

Where would you like to eat? We have the whole day to our-selves. His strong blue eyes shone lighter than the sky. Thank God for Saturdays, he smirked with a scar over his hockey-wrinkled chin. We ambled to the end of the sidewalk. A sky car slowed down, drop-ping out of the sky in front of us. Wheels, in mechanical precision, lowered out of the body and hit the solar roadways. The car’s angular tip and short rounded frame propelled down the road and disappeared after turning a corner.

We could eat at Uro’s Deli, I suggested. I’m craving a roast beef sub.

Uro’s it is.

The silver, black and white-checkered walls of the deli stood out between two buildings. The low brick building to the left reminded everyone of designs long gone. The spiraling crisp white tower to the right reached into the clouds. Music somewhere between disco and techno permeated Uro’s (a name based on the monetary exchange in America since 2055) and the sounds seeped out the deli door and onto the city as we approached.

Robert pointed to the spiraling tower with his forefinger. I would’ve positioned the base more to the left and the tip more to the right, placing the spiral off center.

Crooked? I arched a brow. He loved architecture, he studied architecture, but his ideas could be grandeur.

Interesting, he corrected. I grinned. Robert tripped over broken cement on the other side of the street. The entire city began to look like one large slab made of solar panels or nano materials, a substance that wouldn’t break or deteriorate in chaotic weather or over extended pe-riods of time.

Damn sidewalks. Do you know when they’re going to rebuild them? he asked, agitated. I don’t have answers. I can only think of my own pain. Nothing else.

No. I walked ahead with my head low toward the door.

"They’d better reconstruct them with solar panels soon before someone gets seriously hurt,’ he retorted and, as he placed his foot on-to the walkway behind me, two older strangers, grungy in appearance, blocked my path to the entrance of Uro’s Deli. Gripping my shoulder, one of the men, with an unshaven chin, pulled me to him.

I’m hungry. I bet a sweet looking thing like you has money to spare. Whatcha say? The stranger chuckled, tightening his hold. Im-mediately, Robert lunged forward, though my instincts already brought my fingernails to the stranger’s hand. The other man tugged at his partner’s pale blue shirt, stained with white paint and reeking of an unwashed body.

Come on, let’s get out of here. As the man finished, Robert fixed his hand over the vagrant’s arm and squeezed.

Let her go. She doesn’t want to be bothered.

I’m just teasing her. She don’t mind, the man retaliated, sound-ing like a truck driver. When the stranger’s grip tightened around my shoulder, close to my neck, Robert yanked the man backward and he stumbled, falling to the gritty ground.

Swaying to his feet, the intruder formed a fist and attempted a punch to Robert’s nose. But Robert ducked, the man missed and Rob-ert came back with a jab to the man’s stomach. Clinging to his belly, a loud gasp slipped from the man’s mouth and the owner of Uro’s dashed outside, holding the door open with one hand.

What’s going on here? You bums get out of here! the owner shouted. As the two men fled, he turned to Robert. Come on, get in-side. I have a booth for you two. The owner patted Robert on the back like a son as we entered.

Robert sat across from me in the oversized black booth with his concentrated expression. We punched our orders into the Electric Or-der Form, an efficient device, much like the internet fifty years ago. Square, about the size of a book, it fit into the table on each side near the end, and eliminated the need for waiters.

Robert fiddled with his projection watch. He looked like a bud-ding professor playing with the technology in his hands. Despite his strong body and model-like appearance, he maintained a 3.5 GPA and tutored some of his buddies on the hockey team. He hit the silver but-ton on his watch and the hologram of our Biology textbook appeared over the table. He clicked the arrow button and turned page after page until he stopped at page ten.

I brushed my dark chocolate colored hair away from my face. You want to show me something? I placed my elbows on the table and nestled my head in my left hand. Cupping my palm to my chin, hazel eyes shot up at him.

I forgot to mention, Mr. Crougar said this was going to be on the quiz Monday.

Monday? I can’t even think about tomorrow. I have to take this one day at a time…whatever this is.

I nodded like I cared about a quiz, like I wasn’t thinking about something else over every word he read. He hit the arrow button again and the page turned. As he finished highlighting the important parts, the Intelligent Service Robot, dressed in the deli uniform of silver, black and white checkered shirt and pants, carried our orders on its metallic arms. The metallic back squeaked as it bent over to place our plates before us.

Do you ever miss it? I said in almost a whisper to Robert.

Miss what?

Actual people serving food? The ISRs were manufactured and found in every business by 2050 and in most homes by 2055. They brought relief to the extra workload carried by most people, but they also took away many jobs. People were angry at first, until new em-ployment opportunities for the manufacturing and upkeep of the ISRs became available.

Sometimes. Robert winked and began to eat his chili sandwich, one of his favorites at the deli. The smell of roast beef spun my head in a dizzy frenzy and I felt the aches in my bones again.

All I can think about is the meat.

Sibling

Monday at University, I managed to bear the unbearable. I even passed my Biology quiz. Perhaps I heard something Robert said after all. He walked me to my next class, English, and then darted off to his Ethics class. Sunlight and grays fought for dominance in the sky. The ochre-hued, sun-drenched skies of summer faded into Sep-tember Alaskan clouds. The green scarf around my neck blended in with the other students wearing thick sweaters and scarves. But it’s hot. Always hot.

I remember when I used to be like everyone else, when I used to get cold as the weather cooled, when I would hear only what others heard, when the smell of meat didn’t make me feel like going into a frenzy, like a shark smelling blood. On my nineteenth birthday, six months ago, the fever set.

English literature put me into a world far away from my own. The stories of Shakespeare and Chaucer made me forget my own life...for awhile. Heroes fought to save the ones they loved.

Villains struggled to destroy them. Complex themes wove into re-latable story lines. The old English had it all. We studied how to read old English this week and the students opened their projection watches to follow the teacher along in the reading. Notes, highlighted in yel-low by the press of a button and the drag of a cursor, marked hologram pages, notes each student would have to review again before the quiz on Monday.

I found my mind focused despite my personal distractions. Every word the teacher said and every word I read engraved into a part of my mind. I didn’t take much notice of this until Mrs. Wineheart twitched her nose under her glasses and asked me about the themes present in Beowulf. My mind flipped through files of information I hadn’t realized I stored, searching for the story I remembered glancing over in class. Pain. Lust. Suffering. Passion. I said the words aloud. The professor nodded and looked for her next victim.

After English, I ambled down the hard, brick-red cobblestone trail on campus, a path built in one of the rarest ways, with stones instead of the latest white nano-carbon fibers. The university prided itself on tradition and learning from our past. I turned a corner behind the sci-ence building to take a quiet moment before Humanities.

I smelled a poignant odor, a mix of sweat and perfume, and heard the soft padding of footsteps approaching. Glancing up, I noticed someone in the distance speeding across the grass and heading towards me. The tall figure, about my height, with an athletic build, wore a gray jacket, a hood covering the face. The only figure behind the build-ing in the late morning. Most students either stayed in their dorms or classes. The figure brushed past me, and in one flick, an invasive arm twisted around my neck from behind. I kicked. The air became hard to breathe. I tried to scream. Blackness.

* * *

I awoke in the middle of Chugach Forest. Alone. Waking up af-ter falling unconscious was nothing new during the past six months, but never by someone else’s hand. My senses heightened. I heard everything, the crunching leaves trampled by bugs, the flitting of a bird’s wing. I smelled too much, a strange odor behind the trees, a fawn in the distance. Danger. Fear. Blood pulsated through my veins. I felt it swarm in me. My nails grew long and my hands began to ache. Hair pushed out of the pores on my hands and became silver gray fur. Falling to the soil beneath me, I cradled my hands and clasped them together. The pain is worse. My lips tightened. My teeth ground. I screamed in agony. The odor from behind the trees moved forward. I smelled it shifting.

A tall, lean, athletic shape darted in front of me. Her feet crunched on the leaves; her hair, black as a crow, dangled over her heart-shaped face and hazel eyes to her waistline. Her skin reminded me of porcelain. She stood up straight in black leather pants and top that fitted her tightly. Another tall shape stood in the background be-tween the trees. His pale face had raven-like qualities. His eyes sat dark like onyx stones and his hair fell short, jet black, and twisted around his ears. He made a click sound with his tongue against the roof of his mouth. A familiar sound, soothing.

I scampered backward on my