The Last Hunt Read online

  There. To the left, thirty feet away. I held the beam of light on it, trying my hardest to steady my trembling hand. Blood coursed through my jugulars with each pulse of my heart. It stood there, wings wrapped around its torso, head slightly dipped, looking at me through the tops of its eyes. Those black, lifeless eyes.

  Suddenly, its torso convulsed, the wings spasmodically expanding and contracting. It did this maybe ten times then stopped, then resumed again. The whole thing reminded me of the abdominal contractions a dog undergoes right before it vomits. After one of the convulsions, the thing opened its mouth and the scream escaped, carrying across the frigid air and smacking me square in the chest. I nearly dropped the flashlight, and the beam dipped to the ground in front of the thing. Before I knew what was happening and faster than I could get the light back on it, the thing spread its wings and took flight. It rose into the air and for a moment I lost it against the black trees. The next thing I knew a black shadow was diving toward the Wagoneer. It came within feet of smacking right into the side window from which I was peering then swooped upward and disappeared into the night sky.

  I sat back in the seat, whipping my head from side to side, watching the windows—front, right, back, left—waiting, waiting for it to appear again. But it didn’t. Was it gone? After several minutes I tried the ignition again. No luck. Not even a whine.

  An urge to make a run for the cabin crossed my mind, but I quickly decided against it. I wasn’t sure if that thing was gone or not? In fact, I doubted it. And if it was still out there I didn’t stand a chance. I saw how easily it took to the air and how quickly it flew. It would be on me before I could shut the Wagoneer’s door. No, I had to stay in the truck. It was the safest place to be. I’d just have to wait it out, wait until daybreak.

  I drew in a deep breath, trying to settle my nerves, and cracked the Bible again. It was the only thing that had given me any comfort. I turned to nowhere in particular and found myself in the gospel of Luke, chapter three. Holding the flashlight in my right hand and the book in my left, I began to read.

  I have no idea how long I read. After a little while I lost myself in the words and time stood still. Some time later, my eyelids grew heavy and as much as I tried to stay awake, to read and watch for the thing, I eventually succumbed to the power of sleep.

  The light of early morning awoke me with a start. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and for a brief moment forgot where I was. Slowly, reality faded back into my mind. Wagoneer. Rifle. Bible. That thing. Dad and Grandpa. Uncle Rick and Andy. The windshield was a sheet of glowing white. I turned the knob for the wipers but nothing happened. Dead battery. I looked out the side windows. The outside world was still and white, there were at least four inches of snow on the ground. I studied the tree line, looking for any hint of the thing, any sign that it was still around, but saw nothing.

  I pulled the door handle toward me and pushed on the door. It opened with a creak, a breath of cold air stung my face. Gripping my rifle with both hands, I stepped out of the truck, snow crunching beneath my feet. The air smelled fresh and clean, a hint of burning wood still lingered.

  “Dad!” My voice carried in the still air, and a second later I heard my echo. But no reply.

  “Uncle Rick! Andy!” More echoes, but still no live response. I couldn’t make up my mind whether the silence was eerie or peaceful. I always liked snowy mornings. Everything looked so clean and soft; sounds were muted and sharp edges rounded. It was like the world was encased in pillowy cotton, a fairy tale setting. But that morning was different. I knew my dad and grandpa and uncle and cousin were out there somewhere either lost or dead. The thought of it caused a feeling of dread to swell in my stomach. I had to get help. A search needed to be organized.

  I looked around one more time, making sure the black bat-thing wasn’t hiding somewhere waiting to ambush me, then headed down the jeep trail toward the town of Fawn Gap.

  Chapter 7

  A few hours later a search was organized. The cops were there, as were firefighters, a state search and rescue team, the civil air patrol, and a couple handfuls of locals, but nothing came of it. My dad and Grandpa and Uncle Rick and Andy just seemed to disappear into thin air.

  To this day the case has not been closed, and I often find myself still expecting a phone call saying they’ve been located. I wonder what my dad would look like now, twenty years older. He’d be seventy-three, probably a little shorter, white hair thinning on top, deep crevices outlining his mouth and eyes. He loved to smile. He’d definitely have smile creases.

  I never did find out what the thing was or if it was even real. Sometimes I wonder and almost convince myself that it was just some weird conglomeration of images my mind made up. But then I remember those eyes, how cold and dead they were and the way they looked right through me, and I know it couldn’t have been something I conjured in my head. It had to be real. It was real.

  The cops questioned me about the incident. Obviously, I was a “person of interest,” but when they realized they had nothing on me I was dismissed. I didn’t tell them about the thing, though. I was too afraid I’d wind up in some psyche ward, babbling about the batman that killed my family members. I simply told them that we heard screams for help, the guys went out to investigate, and that was the last I saw of them.

  But what I think about every day is the time I spent huddled in that Wagoneer reading the Bible for the first time in my life. For days after that night the words I’d read haunted me. They bounced around in my head as if someone else were speaking them.

  I don’t know how long I read that night hunched behind the steering wheel, but I remember the last thing I read was in the book of Revelation. I imagined Jesus standing at the door of the Wagoneer, rapping his knuckles against the wood paneling.

  That night changed my life, in more ways than one and for more reasons than one.

  Sometimes, in the still of a quiet night when the moonlight slips through the blinds in our bedroom and throws bars of light across the wall I question why that night ever had to happen. Why those men I loved so much had to die. And why I was spared. After a while my brain gets to aching, and I settle on the same answer every time. It’s not an answer I like but it’s all I have. Mostly, the veil between the known and unknown is so thick no light can get past it. And mostly, we on this side of the veil have no understanding why decisions are made on the other side. We live in darkness, we trod in lightlessness; our knowledge is limited and I think that is for the best.

  Mostly, concerning matters of God’s mind, I believe Thomas Gray was right: ignorance is bliss.

  I haven’t been back to the cabin since that night. I’ve thought about putting it and the land up for sale several times but for one reason or another just never got around to it. I haven’t hunted since then, either. It just didn’t seem right, and I knew it would never be the same. Maybe I’ll take my sons up there next year. As I think about it, I’m sure that’s what Dad would want me to do.

  Mike Dellosso is a husband, father, and author of six novels of suspense including Scream, Frantic, and Fearless. He also writes under the pen name Michael King (A Thousand Sleepless Nights). Mike lives with his wife and four daughters in southern Pennsylvania. He’s not afraid to admit that the woods of northern Maryland freak him out. Visit him at www.MikeDellosso.com and follow him on Facebook and Twitter.

  Check out Mike’s other books:

  Fearless

  Frantic

  Darkness Follows

  Darlington Woods

  Scream

  The Hunted

  Rearview (7 Hours series)

  Mirror Image (with Aaron Reed)

  A Thousand Sleepless Nights (as Michael King)

 

 

 
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