Dead Hunt

  Dead Hunt

  Kenn Crawford

  Kenn Crawford’s Dead Hunt began as a weekend project for his daughter. Initially intended for the screen, the Indie author came across the power of the audio book and quickly developed Dead Hunt into every media aspect possible.

  Dead Hunt begins with a gripping prologue. Girl out in the middle of nowhere being chased by some thing, some group that never tires. She’s hurt, bleeding and comes across the van that we later learn brought her to this location. She’s alone and prepared to fight this unknown mass with every last bit of power she has.

  Kenn Crawford

  Dead Hunt

  Copyright © 2010 Kenn Crawford

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. This book contains coarse language, mature themes and graphic violence; reader discretion is recommended.

  To my children: Tyler, Brittany, and Cathy

  A very special thank you to Claude Bouchard and Mike Upchurch, who took on the daunting task of editing my manuscript and helping me fine-tune the story.

  A special thanks to Tee Morris. I personally blame Tee for getting me hooked on Podcast audio books and Podiobooks.com. Tee pioneered the way so unknown authors could have a voice. Thank you, Tee.

  Thank you Randall Carruthers and Lindsey Burns for reading my early drafts and offering great suggestions.

  This book is dedicated to my grandfather, John Bernard Crawford, who always encouraged me to read; his love of writing inspired me to chase my own writing dreams. Thank you, Papa. R.I.P.

  PROLOGUE

  She hurt. Her battered foot pleaded helplessly as she stumbled down the abandoned dirt road. A thick, humid mist hung in the still air. On one foot, she wore a white athletic sneaker; her other foot wore only a blood-soaked sock.

  Exhausted legs carried her wounded feet across sharp rocks, almost dragging them. Every other step broke the deafening silence with a soft, squishing sound as her tender foot met the hard, unforgiving road.

  The rising sun glared its cruel intentions of another scorching hot day.

  Her bleeding foot tarnished the road with each cruel step, leaving a Hansel and Gretel-like trail behind her. Her blank stare resembled something between an unknowing daze and an all-knowing fear.

  Remnants of the makeup and blush that once highlighted her pretty face were now covered with dirt and dried blood.

  The tracks of yesterday's tears streaked her dirty cheek.

  Her muscular thighs bounced gingerly with every step. Not Arnold Schwarzenegger-like freakishly big muscles, but a sensuous feminine muscle that warned of powerful strength when needed.

  She spent the past four years as a cheerleader, which meant she would put herself through daily rigorous training. In her freshman year at high school, she had been picked to be on the Cougars Cheerleading squad as a flyer, often called a top, because of her ability, dedication and willingness to try the most difficult stunts. She placed her trust entirely in the hands of the bases, the girls on the bottom, who put her high in the air and caught her on the way down.

  Cheerleading may have looked somewhat girly with scantily clad, teenagers flying in the air to impress the crowds, but it was serious work. If the base screwed up, the flyer could be crippled for life, or worse.

  Her Daisy Duke style cut-off shorts, which were entirely too short for her father's liking, did little to protect her from last night’s chilly air or the harsh branches that slapped at her thighs as she fumbled through the dark forest, desperately trying to find the road she now traversed. Her right hand held a death-grip on a giant, bloodstained machete.

  She wore a skimpy belly-shirt that not only displayed her thin midriff, but her shiny belly ring, two more things her father did not exactly approve of on his teenage daughter: skimpy shirts and body piercing. If he could only see her now.

  Her shirt, half torn off her, hung lazily from one shoulder, her other shoulder completely bare except for scratches, dirt and more dried blood. A broken bra strap swayed side-to-side as her half-exposed breasts jiggled to the rhythm of her steps. With her clothes barely on her, the nearly naked teen did not look much like the ‘daddy's little girl’ who had kissed her father goodbye just a few days ago.

  She wasn't exactly the picture of innocence holding that giant, blood-soaked knife that she clenched so tightly it turned her knuckles white. She may have looked battered and beaten, but whatever had been on the receiving end of that knife was in worse shape. A lot worse.

  Her toned waist, small stature and model-pretty looks hid the fact that she was a hell of a lot stronger than most people expected. But here, now, on this lonesome dirt road, smack damn in the middle of nowhere, this Cougar cheerleader did not have a whole lot to cheer about, and her strength was fading fast.

  She raised an empty bottle to parched lips and drank imaginary water as the sun glistened mockingly off the plastic bottle. Her tired fingers released their grip. The bottle bounced on the road with a hollow thud then rolled quietly to a stop. An eerie silence followed.

  She stopped her torturous walk and hesitantly turned to look at the road behind her. Fear sent a wash of tingles over her skin. She blinked slowly, as if saying a silent prayer, then raised her frightened eyes to the disquieting mountain road. Rows of spruce and tall pine trees flanked the quiet dirt road. Everything was so perfectly still that it looked more like a photograph than the real thing. There wasn't even the slightest breeze to move the trees. It was picture-perfect still.

  Her small body shivered in the rising heat. She knew what was coming. Her heart pounded in her ears; a form was slowly emerging over the horizon. Its unsteady gait resembled something between a drunk failing a sobriety test and a baby taking its first step. With the rising sun in her eyes, she couldn't make out any other details. She didn't have to, she already knew.

  Another shadowy figure emerged. Then another, until the entire width of the dirt road was an endless sea of staggering figures approaching at a slow but steady pace. Like an ominous shadow, they were always there.

  She broke the piercing silence with a sound that was somewhere between a deep breath and a shallow sigh.

  The mist had surrendered to the rising sun, the last of it trying to hide amongst the pine-scented trees, a losing battle. She did not know if she was walking in the right direction, if she was on the right road, or if she would get off this God-forsaken mountain alive. But she had to keep moving.

  She was beyond tired; she was completely exhausted. She wanted to rest her aching muscles, her throbbing foot. Her exhausted legs begged her to rest, but she ignored them. She was so tired she felt like she could lie down and die. But she knew; she knew that if she did not keep moving that is exactly what would happen. Willing her body forward, she gritted her teeth through parched lips and continued her agonizing walk.

  The tiny freckles on her nose wrinkled as she squinted to focus on something as it glimmered in the blistering sun. It was a van. It was not moving, she wasn't that lucky; it was as motionless as the surrounding forest. It sat halfway off the road, crunched into a massive tree. The van's windshield was shattered and bloodied. One of its tires was completely flat, void of air.

  The scene painted an unmistakable picture. The tire blew, the van hit the tree, and the driver's head hit the windshield. There was no mistaking that.

  A single tear ran down her pretty face.

  She thought she had run out of tears, but apparently she had one left. She wiped it away with the back of her hand. Her socked foot screamed for mercy as she hastened her pace towards the motionless van.

  She cautiously approached it, poised to swing her giant knife instantly and without hesitation. She witnessed w
hat happened if you hesitated. To second guess yourself meant certain and violent death. She had no intention of dying that way; she had no intention of hesitating.

  With her knife at the ready, its sharp edge glimmering in the hot sun, she wrapped her fingers around the handle of the sliding door, took a deep breath then pulled.

  A stabbing, metallic creak echoed in the stagnant forest. The smell hit her instantly, rushing into her nostrils and down her throat. Her hand instinctively covered her nose and mouth as if that could stop the rotting odor of death from racing deep into the bowels of her stomach.

  Flies buzzed around the driver’s head and she barely managed to choke back a scream. She stared at the lifeless driver with remorse and stifled back the lump in her throat. Maggots crawled inside the driver’s mouth, and she gasped in horror. What little contents she had left in her stomach came rushing out. Puke spewed from between her fingers like an erupting volcano. She escaped to the road and continued to empty her stomach.

  Through watery eyes, she looked towards the approaching mob. Deciding they were still a safe distance away, she walked back to the stench-filled van.

  Duffel bags were scattered, tossed about during the head-on collision with the giant tree. She quickly rummaged through the bags, half holding her breath trying not to vomit again. She found a bottle of water. Precious water.

  She took a long drink. It was disgustingly warm, almost hot, but it quenched her agonizing thirst.

  She poured some over her head as if trying to wash away the stench and it trickled down her face like tears, but she did not have time to cry.

  She wanted to, but she just didn't have time.

  She took another drink of the warm water then rifled through the duffle bags, finding more of the sun-roasted water, a pair of running shoes, socks, and a t-shirt. She grabbed her cache then stepped outside to escape the stench that burned in her nostrils.

  Sitting on the ground, she grit her teeth in pain and peeled the blood-soaked sock from her battered foot.

  She took a deep breath and poured water over her wounds. Without taking the time to let the pain subside, she used a sock as a makeshift bandage to wrap her blistered and beaten foot.

  Pain raced through her foot and shot up her leg as she tied the shoe tight. With a tired grunt, she lifted herself back to her feet, then stripped out of her torn shirt and unclasped her broken bra.

  With the mob barely fifty yards away, she stood before them naked from the waist up.

  She did not have time for modesty; they were not interested in the view. They wanted her for another reason.

  She dumped more water over her head and shoulders to cool herself from the scorching sun, then pulled on the clean, white shirt. The shirt clung to her curves like a wet t-shirt contest.

  She picked up her trusted machete and stared defiantly at the approaching mob. The emblem on the back of her shirt read “Cougars Cheerleading.”

  She took one last look at the crumpled van that brought her here just two days ago and turned to face the approaching mob. Her lightly-freckled nose crinkled as she stared at them with pure hatred. Empty, emotionless eyes stared back at her. The corner of her lip curled in disgust as she turned her back to them and started to jog.

  Pain shot through her foot with a jolt. Her thighs screamed for mercy. She had only taken a few steps before slowing to a fast walk. She knew she just needed to put some distance between her and them, and torturing herself was pointless. She knew they could not move any faster. The problem was they never tired either.

  The image of the driver's shattered and maggot infested face forced itself back into her thoughts. More tears raced down her face. She was tired, scared and alone. Alone, except for that goddamned mob. The disfigured, bloody and relentless mob that just kept coming.

  They only had one thought on their mind. Not a thought really, more like an instinct, because these people, if you could still call them that, had stopped thinking long ago. Now they only had instinct. One instinct.

  In the last couple of days, she learned that whoever, or whatever they were, they were already dead. The other thing she knew about them scared her even more.

  They were dead, but they were hungry. And the dead hunt.

  CHAPTER 1 – Friends

  The Cougars’ cheerleading squad ran excitedly onto the gymnasium floor for their final routine. The Cougars had already taken home the gold at the regional and provincial competitions, but this last competition was the illustrious Cheer Expo, the big daddy of cheer comps.

  Tension and excitement filled the Halifax arena, and when a few hundred high-spirited teenage girls are thrown together into a competitive sport, things have a tendency to get a little nasty. Dirty looks were exchanged between some teams, while others were more vocal in their disapproval of their competitors. The sport may have been called cheerleading, but some of the girls were not exactly cheering each other on. There was plenty of nervous tension to go around as the undefeated Glace Bay Cougars took the floor for the final routine.

  The Cougars’ music blared from the massive DJ speakers as the girls performed stunt after stunt practically flawlessly. Double twisting with lots of high-flying aerial tosses to please the roaring crowd.

  The gym was alive with excitement and thunderous applause as the Cougars executed a superb routine.

  The announcer read the judges’ final decision and dubbed the Cougars the “Triple Threat.” They had won all three major competitions.

  Lucy and her two best friends, Lauren and Emma, anxiously packed their duffle bags as they talked about the grueling event and some of the rude comments the losing teams had made.

  Lucy’s perfectly proportioned figure and extraordinary beauty often left men yearning in wanton desire and women thoroughly envious. Her silky brown hair framed her strikingly beautiful face perfectly, accentuating her deep green eyes and a breathtaking smile. Her soft, smooth skin tanned with just a hint of sun.

  Lauren was a year older and a couple of inches taller than Lucy’s five foot frame. Both Lucy and Lauren were flyers and thoroughly dedicated to the sport of cheerleading. Although Lauren often considered herself rather plain looking, her girl-next-door good looks made her anything but average. A smooth cape of midnight colored hair hung over her shoulders and down her slender waist. Her chocolate brown eyes sang of sweetness and seduction, a song that captivated the wants and desires of many teenage boys.

  Emma was quite simply the lovable one. Where Lucy looked like a runway model and Lauren had the whole girl-next-door thing happening, Emma was delightfully adorable in her own perky, innocent and naïve way. She was the same age and height as Lucy but slightly heavier due to her overly large breasts that looked entirely out of place on her petite frame. Her natural, wavy blonde hair and baby blue eyes made her an easy target for typical cliché comments: Blonde hair, blue eyes, big boobs and brainless.

  Emma was naïve about a lot of things, but brainless she was not. She managed to keep an A minus average with very little effort.

  Typically, cheer teams had the larger girls on the bottom with the smaller, lighter girls on top, but Emma was unusually strong for someone her size, and that landed her a spot on the team as a base instead of a flyer. That and the fact that she did not particularly like being tossed up in the air because it scared her.

  The three girls walked to the spot where Lucy’s boyfriend, Paul Connors, said they had parked the van. Lucy was pleasantly surprised that Paul, Wade Adams, and Michael Blackwood had made the six-hour trip to watch the competition.

  Paul, the high school football hero, made no qualms about the fact that he did not think the girls were real athletes because he did not consider cheerleading to be a real sport. Whenever Paul made one of his “Cheerleading is not a real sport” comments, Lucy would tell him that athletes lifted weights, but cheerleaders lifted athletes. She enjoyed reminding him that football players could easily hold someone her size over their head with one hand, but so could Emma. The difference
was Emma had the strength and the balance to hold them up there a lot longer.

  “Cheerleading is about strength, balance and skill,” Lucy often told him. “Football is nothing more than a bunch of smelly boys knocking the crap out of each other and patting their teammates on the butt.”

  That aspect of sports always amused Lucy; women were known to hug each other at the drop of a hat, while men always stayed a macho-safe distance away from each other. But, when it came to sports, you never saw girls patting each other on the butt, yet in every male dominated sport the men did exactly that.

  Cheer competitions bored Paul and he rarely attended them, so Lucy had been pleasantly surprised to see them there. Of course, the boys had spent more time drooling over the other cheerleaders, but at least they had made the trip. Lucy, Emma and Lauren could have crammed themselves back into the small, smelly school bus with their team mates, but the opportunity to drive back with the boys was a welcome diversion.

  Michael, or ‘Mikey’, as Paul often called him, secretly had a crush on Lucy. Everyone did for that matter, but Michael tried to hide his feelings, especially around her extremely jealous boyfriend. Sometimes Michael just could not take his eyes off her. When Lucy climbed into the van wearing a tiny pair of shorts that would make Daisy Duke envious, and a belly shirt that revealed just enough flesh to make you want to see more, this was one of those times when he could not help but steal a look or two.

  Michael was a walking cliché of the high school nerd. He was president of the science club, the computer club, the chess club, and every other club where brain was preferable to brawn. His thick, Buddy Holly glasses were forever sliding down his nose, and he was always carrying a heavy stack of books that looked like they weighed more than he did.