Hounding - short story

[Nom]

Hounding

 

 

 

Matty stumbled. Before he could catch himself, the ground rushed up to meet him and he was lying in something cold and soft. He raised his head. Everything had a red cast to it; the shadowy trees, the deeper shadows between them, the patches of snow here and there. Those patches looked like blood. Was he bleeding? No, it was just snow. But why was it red?

 

 

 

He attempted to stand. His limbs were heavy, and he could barely feel. He promptly fell again, and his face pressed into the soft murk. He was lying in mud, and it was suffocating him. Wordlessly he thrashed, trying to break free of the grasping ick, succeeding little. Exhausted, he heaved one last effort and managed fall again, this time onto his back. Even the sky was red. What was happening to him?

 

 

 

It was cold, Matty knew. There was snow on the ground, even if it was strange and red and unfriendly. But he couldnt feel it. He could hardly feel anything. There was a searing heat at his core, but his skin was dead and numb. How was that possible? Numbness resulted from cold. At least that was what he had always been taught. Except he couldnt remember being taught. Maybe he had experienced it himself. He couldnt remember such an experience, either. He explored the depths of his mind, yearning for some memory, some piece of information that would conform something, anything, about who he was. To his horror, he found nothing. My name is Matty. But who am I?

 

 

 

At the thought of his name, dark shapes rose up in his mind and enveloped him, sweeping him away in a whirlpool of suddenly razor-sharp memories. He gasped. The memories had edges, and they cut deep, driving poison into his mind. Tears leaked from his eyes, uncontrolled, and redness joined the black in his head, clashing with it until his ears were filled with a roaring and his limbs were infused with a sudden strength.

 

 

 

Howling, he leapt to his feet and bounded into the blood-tinged forest.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Ford had never seen anything like it.

 

 

 

From his vantage point on a rise near the edge of a dense patch of forest, he could see for miles. Most of what he could see was treetops, stretching in front of him for a considerable distance before thinning and giving way to farmland. There was more farmland behind, but most of it was fallow, for which he had been thankful. Now it looked as though the trail led straight into the forest ahead and most likely straight out again, into human civilization. That could prove problematic.

 

 

 

With the sort of trail he was following, that could resolved into a certainty. He truly had never seen one such before. For miles he had followed a swath of mud. The ground was frozen solid in the heart of winter, but his quarry was thawing it. The longer the hunt went on, the closer he drew to whatever was making the trail, and he had begun to see wisps of steam lingering around the mud and slush.

 

 

 

The most disturbing part of Fords job by leagues was the footprints. As far as he could make out, they were human. Oh, there were some oddities; one seemed to have one less toe than it should, and both sported an odd texture. But they were human, and unclad. As if that held a candle to the fact that he could find footprints at all. He had thought this job would be difficult. Well, it was, but for very different reasons.

 

 

 

Any idea what it is yet, Sir?

 

 

 

Ford looked up. Gordon was standing over him, rifle in hand as it had been for the duration of the trek. He was outfitted the same as Ford, pale camouflage with protective padding strapped over, including a Kevlar vest. The rifle in his hands was what set them apart. Gordon was the soldier. Ford shook his head. Havent a clue and probably never will, he said. Who knows what those guys back at the Stratagem get up to.

 

 

 

Gordon nodded, his face impassive. He would have no problem shooting the thing whatever it was. Even if it left human footprints. Ford sighed and drew a small communicator from its pocket on his belt. He composed a short message to report their progress and alert the retrieval team that there may be complications. He hated complications.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Hey, Matty, the man said. He was standing in the doorway, silhouetted against a harsh white light. Matty had to squint to see, but he also fought to keep his eyes open. There was some thick, smothering force in his head that tried to drag him under, but it was lessening. He didnt know where he was, but a nagging memory in a corner of his mind he thought could shed some light on his situation. If only he could pull his head out of this fog.

 

 

 

The man came forward, stepping into the room. Matty could see him no better now, but his head was clearing rapidly. He perceived a faint threat from this man. The memory seemed to twitch, agitated. My name isnt Matty, he said.

 

 

 

Of course it is, the man said, his voice taking on a soothing note. Mattyes, that was his name; no one ever called him Mattyfelt his sense of danger heighten. He shrank back from the man as he moved closer, reaching desperately for that memory that would confirm his fears. The stranger stood above Matt, and something glinted in his hand.

 

 

 

Get away from me, Matt gasped, trying to scramble backwards. His back hit a wall. He tried to stand and found his wrists manacled to the floor. The strange man was bending down now, and that glinting object swooped in.

 

 

 

Its okay, Matty, Im only giving you a shot. The needle plunged down, and Matt screamed.

 

 

 

Something flashed by as Matty bellowed in rage and remembered pain. His vision so completely washed with red he could barely see, Matty flung an arm out blindly and grasped something long and lean. It twisted violently in his grip and he instinctively fought back. A loud crack! split the frigid air, and the thing in Mattys grip bore him down into snow and mud.

 

 

 

Something large was still flailing nearby, fighting against Matty and screaming. Matty screamed and flailed too, unable to see but feeling the solid, living body and pummeling it with the force of all his rage and terrible fear.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Sometimes Ford hated his job.

 

 

 

He stared down at the savaged corpse and tried not to feel sick. The bucks leg was broken and one of its antlers had been snapped off, the greatest of a mass of injuries. It was quite dead. Had there been any snow left in the area, it would have been stained red. That made a less complete picture, it seemed to him. There should be some bloodstained snow. He had a crazy urge to laugh and had to fight back a wave of nausea.

 

 

 

Gordon moved up beside him. Id say the trail is pretty obvious from here on out, no?

 

 

 

Ford stared at him. Gordon looked back, face set in stone as it always was. Ford didnt know which was worse: Gordon cracking a joke about this horrible job, or not. The man was a stone. Ford turned away, disgusted.

 

 

 

Stone he may have been, but Gordon was not stupid. Its an animal, Ford.

 

 

 

An animal! Ford whirled around. That may be an animal, he said, jabbing his finger at the dead deer, but this he grabbed Gordon by the arm and pulled him closer to the churned up mud this is not.

 

 

 

The mud here had been disturbed quite a bit, no doubt a result of the struggle that had taken place. There were a few hoofprints among the pits and gouges, but far more prominent were the human marks. Not only were the footprints clear and numerous, handprints were also in evidence. They were all missing the little finger, but they were handprints. Ford stared at them, his grip on Gordons arm slackening as his attention was diverted.

 

 

 

This is why I do the shooting, Ford. Gordons voice seemed to come from a long way off. Whatever it is, its dangerous. It killed that deer for no reason I can tell. Thats all I need to know. That, and we have orders from the execs. Do I need to remind you what those orders are?

 

 

 

Ford took a deep breath and let it out in a heavy sigh. He looked at Gordon. The hard lines of his face were permanently set, but there was intensity in his stare. Ford squared up with him and met that look evenly. I remember the orders, Gordon. I follow the trail, and when we find whatwhois making it, you shoot the poor bastard.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

Matty could see the light. His vision was still awash with red, but he could see a bright spot of clean white light ahead, through a gap in the trees that seemed not to end. He hesitated. Was it safe? There was no way to tell. He had nowhere else to go. He knew there was danger behind him, now. He was not sure how he knew, but he did. He had to go forward.

 

 

 

He had to escape.

 

 

 

The door opened. They were late today. Matt could almost think clearly. He was lucid enough to know that something was terribly wrong with him. His body felt strange and twisted. He had not yet regained the courage to look at himself, so instead he stared into the familiar white light as the man came in. He was large and bulky, quite different from the one Matt remembered.

 

 

 

Hey, Matty. Time for your shot. As the man moved closer, Matt stayed still. He waited until the mans bulk blocked the light from the door and his head towered far above him, then surged upward. Abruptly he was jerked back down as his manacled wrists stopped his spring. Matt screamed in rage, at his own mistake and his captor. The latter was backing off, his hands up. In one of them was the syringe. Whoa now, Matty, calm down. Im only giving you your shot.

 

 

 

My name is not Matty! Matt screamed. A red tinge crept into the edge of his vision, and he felt his skin grow hot. The man was shouting over his shoulder, issuing commands to the people that were flooding in through the door behind him. He still held the syringe. With a snarl Matt leapt upward again, and this time his wrists wrenched free of the metal with a horrible screech and clatter. He plowed into the bulky man and bore him to the floor. He scrambled back up in time to catch a quick glimpse of another man before he was being assaulted from several sides at once. Howling, he flailed and thrashed against his tormentors, and miraculously they backed off. No one seemed able to hold him; one grabbed him from behind but quickly let go with a yelp. Another grabbed his leg; Matt attempted to spin around, but this one did not let go. He felt a sharp pain in his calf, and managed to twist around enough to see the bulky man stabbing the needle into him.

 

 

 

No! Matt could not go back. He would not go back! With a mighty effort he pulled free of the bulky mans grip and made a beeline for the white rectangle that was his only hope of escape.

 

 

 

Matt stumbled out of the trees and into an open field smooth with snow. It may have been red, but it was smooth and unbroken snow. There was something odd nearby, a lone structure a little ways from the treeline. A farmhouse. A farmhouse! Matt started forward, lurching at first but becoming stronger with each step. The serum was wearing off. Soon, he would be free.

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

A gunshot reverberated through the forest.

 

 

 

Ford spared a quick look for Gordon, who had cocked his rifle and was holding it ready, scanning the trees, before quickening his pace to a near run. The edge of the forest was just ahead, and so was their quarry. He had passed here mere minutes before. Ford no longer had any need of the trail; ahead was nothing but open farmland.

 

 

 

Ignoring Gordons shouts, Ford splashed through the mud and out into the open. He acknowledged that Gordons curses were not unwarranted, but he was past caution. There had to be some way to save whoever he was tracking from his fate. There had to be.

 

 

 

The trail veered slightly to his right, toward a nearby farmhouse. Ford struck out for it, but he had hardly taken a step before Gordons hand clasped his upper arm in a firm grip. What the hell do you think youre doing? he spat. Ford wrenched himself free and continued on toward the house. Gordon cursed, and Ford froze as a shout rang out from the farmhouse.

 

 

 

You stop right there! An elderly man was picking his way through the snow toward them, a shotgun held to his shoulder and trained on Ford. Dont move! Ford put his hands up as Gordon stopped his attempted advance. The old man stopped too. Lower your weapon, man, he said.

 

 

 

Ford nearly laughed. The man was clearly scared out of his wits, and was challenging two federal agents in uniform and armor while he himself shivered in a flannel shirt and darned jeans. Only, he didnt know they were federal agents yet. Ford reached for his badge. Hey! Dont you move! the old man said quickly.

 

 

 

Sir, you are challenging federal officials, Ford said. He reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew his badge. He flashed it at the old man, who blinked as a bemused expression stole across his face. Were looking for something, and we believe it came this way.

 

 

 

The old man regained a little of his composure. Looking for something, are you? Wouldnt happen to be that over there, would it? He gestured with the shotgun to a dark mound several yards away.

 

 

 

Ford made a move toward it. Lower your weapon, sir, he said sharply when the old man attempted to keep him in his sights. He sheepishly lowered the gun. Gordon lost no time in leveling his own weapon at the man. Ford ignored them and quickly closed the distance between him and the dark mound. One look was all he needed to confirm that it wasor had beenwhat he was chasing. It was dead. Ford closed his eyes. This was the last thing he had wanted to do.

 

 

 

Its dead, he said to Gordon, rejoining him.

 

 

 

Gordons response was quiet. You know the protocol, then.

 

 

 

Ford knew the protocol. It required that he give the order, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. But he had to. Bring him in. He turned away and pulled out his communicator again. He tried to ignore the cry of pain from behind him. It was over. Complications resolved.

 

 

 

-----

 

 

 

Unedited. A Stratagem spinoff, and my submission to my school's annual literary publication. Copyright me, don't steal.

 

 

 

Enjoy.

[Unoalexi]

Hmm... werewolf, maybe? That's my guess... Though this kinda reminds me of Cloverfield. :wall:

 

 

 

In all honesty, I was going to just come in here, glance at it, and leave, but you made me take the time t read it. Think of that what you will.

[Nom]

Yeah, now that people have read it and immediately started guessing at what "it" is (my mom guessed werewolf too) it does bear a striking resemblance to Cloverfield. Like Cloverfield, what "it" is is not important. Hell I don't even know.

 

 

 

Cloverfield is an awesome movie though.