The Hunter's Game

Do you want to play a game?

I used to ask that question all the time, like lots of kids on the playground. Then we grow up, and most adults stop asking it. Maybe if they want to play cards, or some kind of board game, or a computer game. I still ask it regularly, but now, thanks to some movie I’ve never seen, it is a question that must be asked in a creepy voice if it is to be asked properly.

Fortunately, that works for me.

I live out in the woods, miles from anywhere. I don’t have anything nearby to encourage visitors. Those who play with me are often lost, or trying to be. Closing my eyes as I stand on the verandah, I listen. I can hear rapid breathing, the sound of a stick being stepped on, and the rustle of branches, but I won’t go and find today’s playmates. Not yet.

Do you want to play a game?

I ask them again, as if they had a choice. At this point, they are committed. They must play the game, whether they want to or not. Before they came to my door, they had a choice. Stop and play, or keep moving. Once they stopped, they were in. They just didn’t know it yet.

I look around. I know they are close, but I can’t see any signs of them. That’s good. It should mean that they want to win. Last time, there was four of them. This time, there is only two. It doesn’t matter. Tracking down several playmates is more of a challenge, but two can sometimes hide better, and it often takes longer to find them. The four were all so wrapped up in themselves that it took a long time for them to realise the situation they were in. After all, what could go wrong if they were together?

Do you want to play a game?

Of course, they said yes that time. Before the game started, they thought they had all the control, that there was safety in numbers. They forgot the power they had given me, the everyday power that service personnel are given. Ability to go through their room while they are out for the day, finding secrets and other information to use against them? Check. Ability to incapacitate their vehicle? Check. Ability to end their lives?

Check.

Check.

Check.

Check.

Of course, I pretended to be helpful when they realised their vehicle was going nowhere. Sure, I could call their roadside assistance, but wouldn’t my friend be faster? Right down that road. Knock on his door, he’ll be glad to help you. Doesn’t really use his phone but is happy to see people. Only there was no friend, just a dirt track to nowhere. They never saw the danger until the question rang out and they scrambled.

Do you want to play a game?

These two are smarter. They hid straight away. Running in a panic gets most playmates away faster, but it’s the scared, out-of-shape breathing, the scuff marks and damaged foliage that will give them away. I know most of the good hiding spots in the vicinity, of course, probably all of them, but I don’t pretend that I know everything. There’s always the possibility that one of them has found a spot I didn’t know about. Even if they are in a spot I know, I still have to find them.

I can still hear some movement, probably the frightened shivers of the older one. They did seem the nervous sort. The younger one is more likely to give me trouble. She was the one pushing the other out the door this morning—trust me, you’ll love it! When they came back late in the afternoon, tired but triumphant after conquering abseiling, I knew it was the perfect moment. The mechanical breakdown ruse was getting old, and I needed a new challenge.

Greeting them on the front verandah with a single gunshot to their radiator got their attention in a hurry. They stood next to their car, stunned, until I pointed the gun at them and extended my invitation.

Do you want to play a game?

Shaking off the image of their fear-filled eyes, I realised that it was time to move. They would either be bunkered down or on the run by now. Their shock at my actions will have worn off – probably – and they will be in survival mode. Darkness, be my friend. I put on my night vision goggles as I step outside. Heat sensing would be better, but I hadn’t invested in any yet. Just made do with the ones I’d found when I took over this place. I didn’t know what to do with them at first. I tried hunting the local animals at night, but it didn’t really work for me. They always ran away in such predictable patterns. Humans are different. They are much more interesting than dumb animals. Sometimes they fight back. Sometimes they run until they drop. Sometimes they hide. Those ones usually cry when you find them.

The ones that fight back are the most fun. It doesn’t help them in the long run, of course, but it makes it more interesting for me. This pair will be tricky to predict. The older one will likely run or hide, but I’d be willing to bet that the younger one will fight. I hear a noise over by the garage, likely a stone or piece of wood being thrown. A clumsy effort to draw my attention to the wrong spot. Someone must be close, though. I step closer to the garage, scanning the area to find where my playmate truly hides. Finding nobody outside, I step through the door, calling my invitation.

Do you want to play a game?

Pain! Blinding light! I shoot wildly around with one hand, ripping off my goggles with the other. Click, click. Damn! I’m usually much more careful with my shots, but pain makes me react in dumb ways. Now I’ve emptied the pistol. Stupid. I drop the pistol, stretching out my hand for the weapon I keep just inside the door, but it is gone. A sick feeling of dread comes over me. I’ve become too used to my prey simply running, maybe challenging me once escape becomes impossible. I should not have let these playmates see me. Some of the terror comes from not knowing where the threat is coming from.

I blink my eyes rapidly, trying to clear my vision. I step forward and stumble, reaching out a hand to steady myself. As my hand manages to make contact with something, I hear the distinctive sound of my pump action shotgun. So that’s where it went. They say never bring a knife to a gun fight, but it seems like I have no choice. I pull the hunting knife from my belt as my vision finally clears, only to see the young woman standing in front of me, shotgun aimed right at me. Where her friend is, I don’t know, and I don’t really care. The challenge is in front of me. I have only one question as I raise my knife, knowing that she is likely too far away for me to win.

Do you want to play a game?

I dash off to one side before darting back in her direction, hoping that she won’t have time to re-aim before I reach her. Three steps, and she gets off a shot, which hits me in the knee. I go down like a shot because, well… You know, I’ve been shot.

Despite the agony, I glare up at her, wondering why she doesn’t finish me off immediately. She’s just standing there, gun pointed at me. Her face is expressionless, and I have to wonder if she has done this before. I hear the gun cock, and she has just one question for me.

Do you want to play a game?



BANG!