Ike Hamill: The Hunting Tree Trilogy

“Hard to breathe,” Susan whispered.

“Hold on,” said Melanie. She raised herself up and wedged her arm between the two vehicles. Pulling on her own wrist with her other hand, she popped the sheet metal of the van’s broad door, giving Susan enough room to lower herself down.

“Keep going, honey,” she said. Susan and Melanie were able to slide through the dark mud and wriggle free from the trap.

DAVEY FLED THROUGH THE FOREST by the starlight, trying to keep to the thickest growth. Behind him the monster crashed through the woods, trading stealth for blind, destructive speed. When Morris got close enough, Davey felt his presence and looped around to get back to him. With each step he knew that the monster was cutting off the turn and gaining ground, but at least this course brought Davey closer to help.

When the crashing in the woods had nearly caught up, Davey felt the wind of downed tree limbs pounding to the ground. The force behind him seemed inevitable and unstoppable. Davey burst from the woods, back into clearing as Morris’s shotgun erupted again.

Crooked Tree’s scream shook the ground and rattled the leaves. Davey saw his mom and sister, huddled near the front of Chester’s car, but he ran on a tangent to the circle of cars to keep the creature from them. Gasping for breath, Davey sprinted. The giant crashed out of the woods as Morris’s gun fired again.

Davey stole a look back and saw the monster on its knees. Part of its skull glimmered bright-red in the headlights. Its side had been perforated by another well-placed shot.

Roland stepped from the woods, about halfway between Davey and the creature. Seeing his cousin on the other side, he dropped to the ground and aimed up, to avoid any cross fire. His shot tore through Crooked Tree’s shoulder, expanding the hole made by Melanie’s one good shot.

Morris circled to get out of Roland’s line of fire and pumped his shotgun, before sending another blast to the monster’s thigh.

Crooked Tree lurched forward and fell to the earth. He sent one hand in Davey’s direction and clawed at the ground, dragging himself forward a few feet. Roland stepped forward calmly and shot through the monster’s palm. The arm came away from the ground handless and flailed, sending his blood every direction.

Merritt limped out of the woods as Morris approached the downed giant, leading with his shotgun. Morris raised his gun to about a foot away from the back of the creature’s head.

“Watch it!” yelled Merritt. His warning distracted Morris at just the wrong time. Crooked Tree’s other hand, which had been lost under his enormous torso, flew out to its entire length and snagged Morris’s foot. When the monster tugged, the man’s shotgun swung up to the sky and he fired his next shot at dim stars. Morris’s foot was in the jaws of the beast instantly.

Even from his distance, Davey could see life returning to the killer as it bit into Morris’s foot. Morris’s scream was not unlike that of Crooked Tree—low and terrifying.

Merritt and Roland were on it at once, firing rounds into the giant’s back and side. They avoided shooting at its head, where Morris could be an unintentional casualty. Still screaming, Morris lowered his gun and fired down the length of his own leg, hitting Crooked Tree in the forehead just as Roland jumped away to avoid getting tagged by the ricochet. Roland blinked and shook his head, unable to process what he saw. Each blast tore a gaping hole in the creature’s flesh, but just as it started to bleed, the wound would skin-over and start to heal. Crooked Tree pulled fresh strength from Morris’s gnawed leg.

Completely focused on their task, nobody saw Davey approach. Even his mother didn’t see until it was too late. Davey ducked down, narrowly avoiding a blast from Merritt’s gun and thrust his left hand into the monster’s mouth.

“NO!” Merritt and Roland screamed at the same time. Roland dropped his gun and grabbed the back of Davey’s shirt, tearing it as he pulled him away. Merritt stepped forward and put the muzzle of his gun directly in the creature’s back, where he estimated the heart must be, and fired the final round. As Roland dragged Davey away, Morris clawed the dirt, pulling the remainder of his leg away from the monster.

The three men backed away. Roland held Davey close to his body and tried to assess the damage to the boy’s hand. Melanie ran over and scooped Davey up.

The monster had gone still. Merritt backed away a few feet, mindful of its reach, and kept his gun trained on its skull. Roland circled behind Morris and pulled him further towards the headlights before using his belt to make a tourniquet.

Crooked Tree lurched one more time, but Merritt merely backed away another half-step. The monster’s head came up off the ground and as it wheezed in a ragged breath, something gurgling deep from its chest. Before the head crashed back to the ground, Roland noticed that the flesh around its mouth had turned black and started to peel away.

“I think it’s really dying this time,” Merritt said. He pointed at the thing’s back and his cousin rose up from bandaging Morris’s leg to confirm the suspicion. Instead of healing as before, a black circle had formed around the gaping wound in the monster’s back. As they watched, fingers of black spread like cracks from the hole. More black lines spread away from its missing hand and injured shoulder.

Within seconds the black lines had connected into a web of decay, covering the beast’s body.

Merritt backed away another step and called nine-one-one. As he described the emergency and asked for several ambulances, they watched the giant’s back puff and then deflate. By the time he hung up with the operator, the monster’s corpse had become a flat black spot on the grass.

Melanie held her son on her lap and used the dew from the grass to wipe the thick blood from his hand. She guessed that most of the gore was from Morris’s leg because she could only find two small cuts in Davey’s hand.

“You’re very lucky,” she said to her son. “Why did you do that?”

“My blood had to stop it,” Davey explained.

Melanie considered that for a second.

“Well that was very brave, but very foolish,” she said and hugged him close. “And lucky.”

“Mom?” he asked. She looked into her son’s eyes. “Is he going to be okay?” Davey pointed at Morris.

“Yes,” she said. Merritt and Roland knelt over their cousin. Morris was either unconscious or incredibly stoic—he laid still on the damp grass. Melanie looked over to see her daughter limping towards the cluster of survivors. “I think he’ll be okay if the doctors get here fast.”

“Where’s my brother?” Merritt asked, swiveling his head around as he realized the absence.

Susan had just pulled even with the men. She pointed back to the circle of cars. Merritt trotted off towards the headlights, leaving Roland to tend to Morris.

“I,” Davey started, swallowing hard before continuing. “I don’t want to die.”

“You’re going to be fine, honey,” she said. “You’ve barely got a scratch.”

Davey frowned at his mother, holding her gaze, and slowly shook his head. She was puzzled. A tear leaked out of her boy’s eye and traced a line down his dirty cheek.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. Her daughter lowered herself to the ground, making their family complete again. Susan tenderly stroked the back of Davey’s head as another tear escaped down his sad face.

“Honey? What is it?” she asked again.

He looked down at his hand.

Melanie followed his gaze and blinked several times. She saw nothing wrong with his perfect hand. She blinked because she knew that she should see the two small holes where the giant had punctured his skin. When she blinked yet again she saw that the wounds were there, as they should be, but were now circled with dark black.