Джон Макдональд: The Hunted [Short Story]

He saw that they were going to pass right above him, and he felt fear. He brought the rod up to aiming position. Then he jumped to his feet, his finger tight on the button, aiming full at the two figures.

Near his feet a hole suddenly appeared in the roof.

A shattered figure spun over and-over, down toward the pavement. A second, suddenly headless, hunched over the control switches. The platform continued to angle up. It passed so close to him that he involuntarily ducked. Then it continued on at the same angle, constantly rising as it passed over toward the vast stretch of blue water.

With three bodies in the street, this would not be a good building. And sooner or later, one of the masters would fly over and see the silver gleam of the platform.

If only the platform could be hidden. If there were a hole to put it in and cover it over. He stared stupidly down at it. It was so large! Gradually he became conscious of the weight of the black rod in his hand.

There was a hole in the roof near his feet. He looked down the hole into a large corridor. Shaking with sudden excitement, he put the end of the rod close to the roof and touched the button. It cut through the roof. He moved it in a large rectangle, remembering at the last moment that he should be standing outside the rectangle. It sagged and, as he cut the last portion, fell through. There was a crash and a cloud of white plaster rose up. He hurried to the platform, and, with growing skill at the simple controls, moved it a foot off the roof, directly over the hole, and then pushed the first lever forward. It sank through the hole. He stopped it before it touched the floor, then eased it forward. There was a wall in the way. With the rod, he blasted a hole in the wall and edged through. He thought it might be necessary to leave quickly, and he mentally reviewed the lever motions that would be necessary.

Weary with the hunt, Thome returned to find Riss standing near the depleted pen. The last rays of the sun touched the shattered towers of ancient Chicago.

Riss looked up. “I told you it would be dangerous,” he said mildly.

Thome sagged to the ground. He shrugged. “They wished to have sport. Dangerous sport. I told them that the creatures were crafty and dangerous. But they were jaded and wished the excitement and the killing. They received it. And five of them were killed! I was nearly killed by one who attacked with a club in a narrow place we thought empty.”

Riss gasped. “Five! I thought it was but two!”

“We found three more bodies. Of the twenty that were released, fourteen have been killed. There are only six live creatures left in the city.”

Riss looked relieved. “Then tomorrow there will be little danger.”

Thome plucked at the grass with his thin white fingers. “Little danger? One of them, we do not know which one, has captured a platform and a thrust gun. The hunted becomes the hunter.”

“Then that ends the hunt,” Riss said firmly. “They will bring over one of the ships and char the city, surely.”

Thome shook his head. “No, Riss. They intend to stick to their bargain. After all, the creature will be clumsy with the platform and the thrust gun.”

Riss asked quietly, “Will you join the hunt tomorrow?”

“Would you?” Thome asked.

There was a sagged place in the roof that held water. Before dawn Peter found it and drank thirstily. Thus, at dawn he saw the two platforms floating over the city.

He slipped down into the building and watched from the darkness. They seemed to be searching: two of them. The odds were against him, in spite of his new and satisfying weapons. He guessed that they would now hunt in groups of two or more.

He faded out of sight. After a long search of the rooms he at last found a place where there was the smell of dried food. There were many round metal containers. Some of them had rusted, and the food had run out and dried on the shelves. He took two without holes, found a sharp piece of metal and punctured them. The taste was strange, but good.

It was while he was eating that the building began to quiver. He dropped the metal containers, ran to the roof. When he was certain that nothing hovered over him, he ran to the wall, looked cautiously over.

Two platforms hovered above the street. The masters, four of them, were aiming the black rods at the base of the building.

Even as he watched, the building jolted and sagged. There was an ominous sound of tearing metal, of the crunching of stone and plaster. He realized what they were doing. The building would fall. He would be crushed. He ran down to the platform, threw himself face down on it, the black rod under his chest, and slowly brought the platform up so that it was flush with the hole he had made in the roof.

The sweat of fear was on his body. If he caused the platform to fly up into sight, they would come after him. If he waited, he would be killed.

Slowly and majestically, the building began to move toward the street, tilting toward the smaller buildings on the opposite side.

He pushed the second lever to the left, moved with the building for a few seconds, then hung motionless while it fell away from him. The two other platforms shot up and he got a glimpse of them just before a vast cloud of dust rose up and he was deafened by the grinding, prolonged crash of the building.

The dust choked him. He pulled the first lever as far back as it would go for the maximum upward speed and wedged the second lever as far ahead as it would go. The wind tore at his face as he angled up out of the dust, rising at tremendous speed.

As he came out into the clear air, he had a chance for a quick shot at one of the other platforms. He saw the faceted eyes turn toward him, and then a gouge flew out of the rim of the other platform which held the control levers.

It seemed to hang in the air for a moment, and then went down like a falling leaf, spinning over and over. He looked behind him, saw the second platform match course with him. But it was far behind. In the remote distance, he saw two more leap up out of the city and turn toward him.

A great and intense pain suddenly knotted every muscle. He groaned and screamed and thudded his head against the cool metal in an ecstasy of pain. Then it was gone, and the city was behind him.

The pain had left him weak. He dimly realized that he had shot through it at such a great speed that it had not caused him to faint. Usually the pain did that. The masters were able to make the areas of pain wherever they pleased. Once he had escaped with two others from the pen of the children. From above they had been enclosed in a ring of pain. It was more certain than the wire. No man could crawl through it without fainting, remaining helpless until picked up. The pain had no effect on the masters.

As he slowly recovered his strength, he grew conscious of great cold. The earth was far below. Frost was beginning to appear on the silver surface of the platform. He pushed the first lever slightly forward, without decreasing the speed. The platform behind him remained at the same distance.

Suddenly he wanted to be back in the pen, back among those who fought with fist and teeth and nails. He wanted the security of the pen. He wanted to weep with loneliness and with fear of the death which was coming so inexorably behind him. The masters could not be beaten. One must not escape from the masters. That was the Law.

He looked back. The distance between the two platforms was too great for the use of the black rod. Anger was black within him. He growled softly.

He shifted his position, stretched out on his belly. Then he held tightly to one of the small hand rails, brought the black rod up and aimed it at the following platform. Glancing over his shoulder, he hooked a cautious toe over the forward speed lever, suddenly yanked it back to full reverse.