Ike Hamill - The Hunting Tree Trilogy

His luck served him well—just as she passed under his tree the wind rose and masked the sound of his movement. He pushed away from his branch and swung towards the ground, hitting the path with soundless feet and dropping to his hands to absorb the fall.

Her feet didn’t pause. She continued north, away from her family, into the darkest part of the woods without detecting the predator who had dropped to the ground just five paces behind her.

He crept on hands and knees for the first few steps and then rose to a crouch, waiting for his prey to round the next corner where the path swung around a large rock. If she managed to make noise, he figured this rock would block the sound from traveling back to her family and give him the extra few seconds he would need.

Accelerating to close the distance, he rounded the corner and found nothing. She was gone.

The man stood, confused, swinging his head up and down the path, eyes wide in the dark. He closed his eyes and stilled his body, listening. To his left, he heard his prey running quietly up the steep hill. He gave chase.

At the top of the ridge he finally spotted her just on the other side of the crest. The trees stood more sparse up here and he easily picked her out in the starlight. No longer trying to conceal his movement, he ran fast across the top of the hill, feet beating a hard rhythm across the rocks and leaf-litter.

She heard him gaining and bolted to her left, down the hill. He grinned at her mistake. If she hadn’t moved to the other side of the hill, she might have drawn the attention of her family. But here, on the far side, she was alone.

His course cut off her escape and she tried to turn back uphill. Faster and stronger, he closed the distance. At the last second she turned, brandishing something in an outstretched hand. The predator circled right, moving into the shadow of a bushy tree. His face and body were painted to conceal his identity, but he didn’t want to take needless risks.

When he backed into the shadows she turned and tried to run again, but he was ready. He sprung out and grabbed her long hair, pulling her backwards to the ground. She managed a small scream before he clamped a rough hand over her mouth and pressed a sharp flint edge against her neck.

“Make a noise and I’ll kill you,” he growled low into her ear, trying to disguise his northern accent.

He shoved her face to the ground and pulled her arms behind her back, wrapping them in a leather strap and using his leverage to keep her hips raised in the air. Her body made an uncomfortable triangle with the ground. She tried to take the weight off her face by pressing her shoulder into the ground, but her neck bent awkwardly as he kicked her feet apart and pushed up behind her. He took another deep whiff of her ripe feminine scent, and summoned his desire.

Despite his earlier threat, she barked a small cry as he forced himself into her. She tried to tilt her hips forward to reduce his penetration, but he pulled a fist up into her belly, moving her back into position.

His grunting and thrusting seemed to continue forever as she spit leaves and dirt out of her mouth and tried to breathe. He paused. She turned her head and tried to hear what he was listening to. He pulled out slowly and released his grip on her arms. She slumped forward and clawed the ground to get away. When she had scrambled a few paces from the rapist, she rolled over and saw him clearly in the starlight, head cocked, looking off into the night. He hadn’t finished, she was almost certain; his erect member protruded absurdly, its business incomplete.

She started to rise and then heard what he heard—a low growl from the woods. It didn’t sound like any animal she knew, but it was unmistakably dangerous. Suddenly the leaves rustled. She heard two steps—only two steps took the thing from deep in the woods to atop her attacker.

Her rapist crumpled to the ground under the weight of this giant creature. The beast’s bare skin flashed and something flew off the crumpled form and rolled to a stop near her feet. She pressed back against the tree as she realized the object was the head of her attacker. His painted face showed only surprise.

The creature rose from the decapitated body to its full height. She gauged that it stood at least one-and-a-half times taller than a full-grown man. At the creature’s feet the rapist’s erection finally wilted as blood jetted from its neck.

With one graceful step, the creature approached the prone woman. She didn’t recognize the hulk as human until it spoke.

“You’re impregnated,” it said, pointing at her midsection. She had never heard the word it used, but knew exactly what the creature meant.

“I’m not,” she put a protective hand on her bellybutton. “He didn’t even finish,” she protested.

The monster bent at the waist and lowered its massive head towards her. She cowered as it aimed its nose at her and tilted its head from side to side, as if examining her from all angles.

Finally, the monster raised its head slightly and looked into her eyes. She stared back, so transfixed by its gaze that she didn’t see its hands come up on either side of her face. It cupped her head between its massive palms and tugged her gently to her feet. Still bending over, so their eyes remained locked, the creature released its gentle touch from the sides of her head.

She exhaled and relaxed slightly, glad to be free of the monster’s touch.

The monster, formerly known as Crooked Tree, now calling himself The Hunting Tree, surviving son of a powerful hunter and warrior, raised his hands like an eagle spreading its wings and brought them together with a thunderous clap, crushing the young woman’s head.

“HEY, YOU BETTER START getting ready,” said Melanie as she leaned in Davey’s door.

He sat on his bed propped against the headboard with several pillows and schoolbooks scattered around. Davey wrote a final figure in his workbook before closing it on his pencil and looking up at his mom.

“I’m only halfway done though,” he lied. So far that week he had finished most of the math problems for the year and it was still April. With one or two more days at home he figured he could complete most of the reading and vocabulary assignments as well. The only thing he couldn’t anticipate were the special projects that Mrs. Roberts kept in the cabinet near the window.

“You can bring it with you and work in the waiting room. Are you going to get dressed, or just go in your PJs?”

“All right,” Davey said with a groan.

“I’ll be down in my office,” Melanie said. “We have to leave by quarter of. I expect you to be ready by the door then.” She disappeared around the corner.

Davey looked up at his clock and saw that he only had minutes to take a shower and get dressed. He pushed his books away and lunged for his dresser. The quick movement made him grab his chest in pain. Davey stopped until he could breathe deeply once more without the hot stab to his lung. Picking through his dresser and pulling out clothes to wear, Davey thought about how much his outlook had changed in the past year. This time alone, while his lung recovered, had brought a new introspection that made him feel like he was becoming an adult.

The first time he had noticed the change, he had been talking to the woman who lived next door, Mrs. Bevelaqua. They had sat in the backyard on a nice summer day. Davey’s mom had been inside, getting everyone some lemonade. Mrs. Bevelaqua related a story about how her brother had been employed by the Army. His job had been to crash cars so they could determine how they would fail.

“That’s crazy,” Davey had said, laughing. “Why would anyone do that?”