Peter David: Hunted

For five seconds that seemed as if they stretched into five minutes, the Ursa simply took it.

Then it disappeared.

Daniel, mildly curious about the outcome, had the calmness of mind to see a faint shimmer rippling across the landscape. Ryerson, by contrast, could not keep his panic and confusion in check. He whipped his pulser back and forth frantically while shouting, “Come out here and get what’s coming to you, you bastard! What’s the matter? Can’t take any more?”

My God, he actually thinks he was doing well against it .

Ryerson never saw the Ursa drop its camouflage and shimmer into visibility directly behind him. Daniel could have shouted out a warning, but he didn’t bother. It was just prolonging the inevitable anyway.

Ryerson had no time to react as the Ursa’s maw enveloped him down to the waist. His scream was muffled and then silenced as the monster’s jaws slammed together with a sound like an ax chopping into the side of the tree. Ryerson was bitten clean in half. The creature tilted its head back and Ryerson’s head, arms, and torso all vanished into its gullet. His lower body actually stood there for a moment, looking ludicrous, before it collapsed. It lay on the ground, the remains of Ryerson’s internal organs seeping out and soaking the ground in red.

Then the Ursa made a deep coughing sound, like a cat about to toss up a hairball. Sure enough, its mouth opened wide, and it regurgitated Ryerson. The man’s upper half had already been partly processed by whatever stomach acids passed for the Ursa’s digestive system, and it was scarcely recognizable as human, much less Ryerson.

“Guess it doesn’t do well with rich foods,” Daniel said morbidly.

The comment caused the Ursa’s head to snap around. The creature had no eyes, but it appeared to be looking right at him. It had doubtless reacted to the sound of his voice.

Daniel just stood there and stared at it. He wasn’t going to provide the Ursa any more free guidance by speaking, but he wasn’t especially concerned by the fact that it was looking his way.

He remembered the stories about how, when death is imminent, your life flashes before your eyes. Daniel waited for that to happen.

And it did, sort of.

The disapproving looks from his parents when he failed class after class. The stern anger from his father when he’d thrown him out once he’d turned eighteen, telling him that if he was going to get anywhere, he’d have to be on his own to do it, because otherwise he had no motivation. His mother standing there, sobbing, but doing nothing to countermand her husband’s actions. There he was, crashing with various friends, getting on their nerves with his aimlessness, going from job to job, holding none of them, putting together no savings, wearing out his welcome again and again, always seeing that same look of disappointment.

And he hadn’t cared.

The only one he’d ever cared about was Ronna, and eventually that same expression had been on her face as well. It didn’t matter what the Ursa did to him; he was already dead, killed by that disappointed look.

Nothing matters without her. And I don’t matter; she made that clear .

The Ursa slowly approached him, but it looked confused, as if—without the guidance of his voice—it couldn’t tell where he was. Its foul breath washed over Daniel, and it was all he could do not to choke or gag or make some other sound that would surely pinpoint his presence for the Ursa.

Despite his indifference to his fate, Daniel couldn’t help but be intrigued by what was happening. He was there, right there, in front of the Ursa, yet it seemed unable to zero in on him. Daniel held his breath, not for fear of being discovered and killed, but out of curiosity as to how long he could elude detection simply by doing nothing at all.

He had no idea how much time passed as they just stood there, predator and prey. The Ursa seemed confused and frustrated, certain there was something there but unable to figure out where it was.

Daniel realized he was still holding his pulser rifle in his right hand. He’d seen close-up how useless the weapon was against the Ursa. No wonder the Rangers used a techno-bladed weapon called a cutlass: The techno-filaments were so sharp that it was claimed a Ranger wielding this weapon could cut off your arm even if his thrust missed; supposedly the wind from the miss alone would get the job done. Daniel doubted this was true, but he knew from what he’d observed firsthand that pulsers did nothing against the creatures, while the pulser-less Rangers had many kills under their belts, so they must be doing something right.

Very slowly, just to see what would happen, Daniel leaned left, then right. The Ursa made no corresponding reaction. My God, it really can’t see me. At all . Emboldened, he cocked the triggering mechanism of the pulser and then lobbed the ineffective weapon to his right. It landed ten feet away and, upon impact, went off.

Instantly the Ursa lunged toward the rifle, landing squarely upon it with its huge, taloned paws. Rather than try to depart the area, Daniel remained where he was, watching the Ursa with something that seemed utterly inappropriate to the situation: amusement.

Suddenly the Ursa’s head snapped up. It let out a furious roar and for an instant Daniel wondered if somehow it had perceived him.

And then the entire clearing was alive with activity. It was a squad of Rangers, coming in from all sides, including one who leaped directly in front of Daniel, shoving him off his feet. “Get down!” ordered the Ranger.

“ You get down! I was fine!” Daniel snapped at him, but nevertheless he remained on the ground. An Ursa he could handle; Rangers were officious jerks. No point in antagonizing them.

The Rangers converged on the Ursa, cutlasses at the ready. The Ursa didn’t know which way to “look” first, its head snapping left and right. The Rangers moved with a fluidity that impressed even the cynical Daniel. They slashed, jabbed, attacked, and then retreated while others moved in to take their place. Daniel remembered, in one of the many courses he’d ultimately failed, reading about prehistoric humankind back on Earth, when hunting parties of men would assault creatures many times their size using their spears and their sheer numbers to accomplish their goal. Daniel suspected that it was much like this: attacking from many directions, then pulling back, and then assaulting their prey once more so that the animal wasted its energy defending the feints while being wounded by the strikes that did land.

A dozen seeping wounds had appeared all over the Ursa’s hide. It tried to disappear, to hide behind its camouflage, but the Rangers would have none of it, anticipating its path and striking even though they were only approximating where it was. Yet somehow they managed to hit home with their attacks.

Finally the creature let out a roar so thunderous that the ground under Daniel’s feet seemed to shake. Then, gathering the power in its haunches, the Ursa leaped straight up, high over their heads, its trajectory carrying it deep into the brush. Seconds later it was gone.

“Secure the perimeter,” said the Ranger who appeared to be in charge. “Make sure no other damned fools decide that hunting an Ursa is a game for amateurs.” With this comment, he looked disdainfully at Daniel.

“Don’t glare at me, big man,” Daniel replied laconically. “I was just the hired help. This wasn’t my party.”

“Then whose?”

“Ryerson.”

“Sigmund Ryerson?”

“The very same.”

“He’s under arrest, then. Where is he?”

“There,” said Daniel, nodding in one direction, and then gesturing in the other, “and there.”