Unnatural Instinct: Free

18.

'Derrick, come quick, we've found something,' speaks my comrade, red-faced and breathless.

'Found what?' I say.

He simply shakes his head and gestures for me to follow. It better be good, I think to myself as I hurry after him, my shotgun strapped over my shoulder, my heavy boots crunching through the ankle-deep leaf litter. The canopy is so thick that it's annoyingly dark despite the brightness of the day. It's hot and I'm sweating down my back.

We've already been led astray by enough dead ends and false paths. If I were a superstitious man, I would think this Godforsaken forest is tripping us up on purpose. I don't need more errors. I don't need more delay. Every moment wasted is another moment of your suffering.

I furiously push past low-hanging branches with a growl, snapping them in two or chopping at them with my knife. Like I said, I can't wait to raze the damn forest to the ground.

Finally, we get past the worst of the obstructions as I trail my comrade into a small clearing. Several other of my comrades are waiting, some crouched close to a spot on the ground, looking worried and focused; others talking and leaning their backs against trees, looking tired but relaxed.

The moment they see me, they promptly straighten. Both the men crouched to the ground stand. One of them removes his hat to rake his fingers through his damp hair. It makes my stomach clench.

'What's going on?' I demand. 'What have you found?'

I walk up to the patch of ground everyone seems so interested in. A comrade opens his mouth, about to answer me, but I raise my hand to silence him. I don't need him to explain; I can see it for myself.

We've been scouring the forest for four days now, ever since you were kidnapped. To say it's been difficult is an understatement. It's not the difficulties of the forest that has set us so far back (though they're not helping), it's the fact that your tracks are almost impossible to follow.

Since that first time we lost them, we've found them again, following them for several hours, before losing them once more. More and more I am certain that the monster is taking to the sky on its great black wings, to confuse us, to get you as far away from me as possible. But it doesn't last; soon, we find your tracks again. It seems its injury continues to slow it down. And it seems it's not particularly smart, always heading in the same direction—North, making it possible for us to predict its path.

Or perhaps it thinks we've simply given up or won't ever catch up with you. Arrogance, stupidity, whatever it is, it will be its undoing.

My chest feels tight as I crouch. All of us are great trackers, whether it be tracking animals to eat or monsters to kill, and I can see everything. I can imagine the scene as I gaze at the spot where you laid, where he laid—together, as one.

I can see the flatness of the grass, the slight churning of the earth. My heart is pounding in my throat as I gaze at the spot where it happened. I can see it. I can see the monster thrusting into you with its big evil cock. I can see the weight of your head against the grass. I can see your pain and terror as you arch your neck with a scream. The sound of it echoes in my head, sending my heart pounding even more furiously.

And there. Right there. I see your blood. A pink stain on the grass, imperceptible to anyone but us hunters, maybe to anyone but myself. Am I truly seeing it? Or is it just my imagination? It doesn't matter. I don't need to see it for real to know that it happened. And his stain—I can see it too. In my mind. The shimmer of it makes me sick. The smell of it makes me feel worse. Sweat trickles down the length of my nose as I wipe my mouth against my arm. I spit on the ground.

I'm too late.

God help me. God help you.

And it happened days before, I can tell. What has it done to you since? Are you even alive? Or does it continue to use you for its carnal needs? Though it tightens a sickening knot in my stomach, I hope you're dead. At least then you would be safe and unharmed in God's keeping.

But I can't depend on hope.

Slowly, I stand, glaring at my comrades. 'We are not moving fast enough. No more breaks during the day, and we restrict our sleep to the barest minimum at night.' I look at the men's backpacks. 'And we're carrying too much. It's slowing us down.'

My comrades look at each other.

'It's too late,' one of the more daring of the men speaks. 'She's already corrupted and not worth anything. She might even be a monster herself now. Find yourself a new woman. This one might as well be dead.'

I don't think I've ever felt rage like I'm feeling now. A startling heat races up my body, flooding my cheeks, burning behind my eyes until they seem to boil in my head. My knuckles ache as I fist my hands at my sides. And yet, I feel numb as I attack. Before I know it, before I can understand how I even got to him, I'm pounding his face with my fist. Blood spatters as his nose breaks; I feel the warmth of it trickling down my wrist.

I can hear him screaming but it's as though it's from a distance. It's almost as though I'm watching myself from afar, or looking down a narrow tunnel, where nothing but him and myself exist. Nothing feels real. Nothing except my rage and my need to destroy him.

And that despicable monster.

My comrades manage to haul me back before I can really hurt him. With a snarl, I shove them away. 'It's not over!' I roar. 'She's mine! Promised to me by our village elders and God himself, and I will get her back. Even if it kills me, or you, I'll get her back!'

I spit on the ground again. My comrades stand uncertainly around me, not daring to look at me or even at each other, though two of them have their hands on their guns, as though ready to defend themselves. The man I attacked is sitting up with his back against a tree, cradling his bloodied face.

I bare my teeth at them. 'Come with me or not, I don't care, but I'm going to save her. She's mine, and the monster won't have her!'

And with that, I shoulder my gun more securely over my shoulder and march through the trees.