Michael Grant - Lies

The deer, they weren’t that smart. Not even as smart as Hunter.

He walked carefully, treading on the balls of his feet, feeling through his worn boots for the twig or loose rock that would give him away. He moved as quietly as a coyote.

The doe was ahead, moving through the scrub brush, indifferent to the thorns, intent on leading her baby toward the smell of green ahead.

Close. Closer. The breeze blowing from the deer to Hunter, so that they didn’t smell him.

A few more feet and he’d be close enough. First the doe. He’d kill her first. The baby wouldn’t know how to react. She would hesitate. And he’d take her.

So much meat. Albert would be very excited. There hadn’t been many deer lately.

Hunter heard the noise and saw the deer bolt.

They were gone before he could so much as raise his hands, let alone send the invisible killing heat.

Gone. The whole night stalking and tracking and just seconds away from a good kill, and now they were bounding away through the brush.

The noise was people, Hunter knew that right away. Talking and jostling and rattling and tripping and complaining.

Hunter was angry but also philosophical. Hunting was like that: a lot of the time you ended up wasting your time. But…

Hunter frowned.

That voice.

He crouched in the brush and quieted his breathing. He strained to hear. More than one person. Boys.

They were coming in his direction, skirting the zeke field.

He could see them now, dark silhouettes. Four of them. He could see them through stalks of weed and tangles of bramble. Stumbling around because they didn’t know how to move like Hunter. Stumbling under the weight of heavy packs.

And that voice…

“…what he wants. That’s the problem with mutant freaks like him, you can never trust a word they say.”

That voice…

Hunter had heard that voice before. He’d heard that voice crying out to a bloodthirsty mob.

This mutant, this nonhuman scum here, this freak Hunter, this chud deliberately murdered my best friend, Harry.

He’s a killer!

Take him! Take him, the murdering mutant scum!

That voice…

Hunter touched his neck, feeling again the scrape of the rough rope.

He’d been hurt so bad. Head beaten. Blood running in his eyes. And his words not working…

Mind not…

Brain confused…so afraid…

Grab on to the rope!

That voice had urged, pitch rising, bellowing, the mob of kids shrieking and giddy, and the rope had tightened around Hunter’s neck and pulled and pulled and he couldn’t breathe, Oh God, gasping for air but no air…

Grab on to the rope!

They had. They had grabbed on to the rope and pulled and Hunter’s neck had stretched and his feet lifted, kicking in the air, kicking and wanting to scream and his head pounding and pounding and eyes going dark…

Zil!

Zil and his friends.

And here they were. They didn’t even know Hunter was there. They didn’t see him. They weren’t hunters.

Hunter crept closer. Moving to intersect their path. His powers didn’t usually reach more than fifty paces or so. He had to be closer.

“…think you’re right, Leader,” one of the others was saying.

“Can we take a rest?” a third voice whined. “This stuff weighs a ton.”

“We should have gone back when it was still light so we could see,” Antoine griped.

“Idiot. We waited until dark for a reason,” Zil snapped. “You want Sam or Brianna to catch us out in the open?”

“We have guns now.”

“Which we will use when the time is right,” Zil said. “Not in some open fight with Sam and Dekka and Brianna where they’ll take us out.”

“When the time is right,” one of them echoed.

They had guns, Hunter thought. Sneaking with guns.

“Leader will decide,” another voice said.

“Yeah, but…,” someone began. Then, “Shh! Hey! I think I just saw a coyote. Or maybe it was a deer.”

“Better not be a coyote.”

BLAM! BLAM!

Hunter dove facedown in the dirt.

“What are you shooting at?” Zil demanded.

“I think it was a coyote!”

“Turk, you idiot!” Zil raged. “Blasting away like a moron!”

“The sound carries, Turk,” Hank said.

“Give that gun to Hank,” Zil snapped. “Idiot.”

“Sorry. I thought…it looked like a coyote.”

It wasn’t a coyote. It was Hunter’s deer.

They were moving on now. Still grumping at one another. Still complaining.

Hunter knew he could move faster and more quietly than they did. He could get close enough…

He could stretch out his hands and bring the killing heat to Zil’s brain. Cook it. Cook it inside his skull.

Like he had Harry…

“An accident,” Hunter moaned softly to himself. “Didn’t mean to…”

But he had.

Tears filled his eyes. He wiped at them, but more came.

He’d been defending himself from Zil. So long ago. They’d been roommates, Zil and Harry and Hunter. A stupid argument; Hunter no longer remembered what had started it. He only remembered that Zil had threatened him with a fireplace poker. Hunter had been scared. He’d reacted. But Harry had moved between them, trying to separate them, trying to stop the fight.

And Harry had cried out. Grabbed his head.

Hunter remembered his eyes…the way they had turned milky…the light going out…

Hunter had seen that same dying light in the eyes of many animals since then. He was Hunter the hunter.

Of animals. Not of boys. Not even bad boys like Zil.

Taylor bounced.

Sam’s house. Nighttime. Astrid asleep, Little Pete asleep, Mary out at the day care working the night shift, John asleep.

Sam’s bedroom empty.

There was still trouble in paradise, Taylor thought with some satisfaction. Sam and Astrid had not made up.

She wondered if it was permanent. Sam was way hot. If Sam and Astrid had broken up for good, hey, maybe there was an opportunity.

She could wake Astrid. That would probably be the proper thing to do. But her instinct said no, especially after Astrid had chilled her earlier.

Boy, was Astrid going to freak when she found out Taylor had gone to Sam first. But this was the kind of thing you took to Sam right away. Too big for Astrid.

Well, too big for anyone, really.

Taylor thought of the fire station. On occasion Sam had stayed there. But all she found there was a sleeping Ellen, the fire chief-the fire chief with no water to spray. Ellen grumbled in her sleep.

Not for the first time Taylor considered the fact that she could be the world’s greatest thief. All she had to do was think of a place and, pop ! There she was. No sound-unless she happened to bang into something once she had materialized. In and out-no sound, no sign-and even if someone was awake, she could bounce right back out before they so much as breathed.

Yep, she could be a great thief. If there had been anything to steal. And only as long as it was small. She couldn’t move anything much more than the clothes on her back when she bounced.

She bounced from the fire station to Edilio’s place. Edilio now ran a sort of barracks, or whatever you called it. He had occupied a big seven-bedroom house. He had one bedroom to himself, and the other six were used to sleep two guys each. It was his quick reaction force. Half the boys and girls had automatic weapons within easy reach of their beds. One boy was awake. He jumped when he noticed Taylor.

“Go back to sleep; you’re dreaming,” she said with a wink. “And, dude: smiley face boxers? Really?”

For Taylor it was like changing channels on the TV. It didn’t feel like she was moving as she bounced, more like the world was moving around her. It made the world seem unreal. Like a hologram or something. An illusion.