Fox Hunt

The Chase

Wharton's mind blanked as he darted straight into the woods. Branches whipped his face and booted calves as he picked any direction that would carry him away from the crowd and Grifith's...fallen body. He heard shots ring out in the receding distance. But whatever panic he felt was diminished in the familiar and calming speed of his horse. Adrenaline throbbed in his body but on a base level, he knew how to channel it into riding, which he did and he did it well.

The hitch was that Wharton had no idea where he was racing. After an unknown amount of time, heading in a direction, the young lord snapped out of his narrow focus and realized he didn't recognize his surroundings. Wharton believed he had a good sense of the lay of the land, but he had only been exploring it for the last few hours. When he slowed Trinidad's pace to a trot, he scanned around at the unfamiliar cedars, wintering ferns, and stoney ground, and sucked his teeth miserably. He was woefully off track.

Wharton listened for the telltale sound of gunshots, but there were none. It was uncommon for fox hunters to carry firearms at all. Stanely, and his need for appearing cavalier, was obviously an exception, but his revolver was likely spent of its shots now. Wharton wasn't sure he wanted to regroup with the others either. If there was a person, or a ghost, gunning for Stanley or other members of the party, Wharton was safer if he stayed away from them. After all, Wharton had done nothing to merit anyone's murderous disdain. He hadn't fought in any wars.

Wharton fumbled for the chain to his watch and fished the gold clamshell out of his waistcoat pocket. He snapped the locket open. The clock ticked almost eleven, but what Wharton really wanted was the compass on the inside cover. It pointed North on Wharton's right. He finally had the bearings he needed. The map of the hunting ground fell into place in Wharton's mind.

If Wharton wanted, he could keep riding straight, eventually, he'd break through the manor's parkland into farmland, and perhaps find a nice village to call in the police.

While clomping forward, to pass the time, Wharton considered the attack. The spear really was invisible! It wasn't a trick of the eye or its speed. The spear traveled, struck Grifith from his horse, and then blinked into being. It went beyond science as Wharton knew it, and he was an educated man, a graduate of Oxford, the best education a gentleman could receive. So how could such a thing be possible? If it couldn't be explained by modern British engineering, then perhaps the hunter really was supernatural. His weapon certainly was, and his manner of killing was so brutal, perhaps he was indeed a Zulu out for revenge. Wharton agreed with himself that the weapon was likely some kind of Afrikan magic trick, or maybe...the party had been psychotropicly drugged.

Stanley's horn blast echoed through the woods nearby, and a shiver traveled up Wharton's neck hairs.

Wharton didn't want to be around any more people than he needed to be. They obviously weren't safe in groups...Or perhaps that was what the Zulu wanted them to think. Perhaps the ghost was trying to separate them...to be picked off individually. Wharton swallowed with fear unable to make a decision. There were too many options before him. One, follow the horn blast and regroup to hunt the Zulu. Two, avoid people entirely and hopefully stumble on an out-of-the-way farm. Three, return to the manor, hole up, and wait for the police to arrive. He worried his lip with his fingers while thinking.

However, he didn't have to make a decision, because, at that moment, a massive creature walked out of the brush several meters in front of Trinidad. Wharton had never seen a creature like this before. It was the size of a hulking bear, speckled with fur and raw skin. From its maw, dripped the bloody remains of a mutilated hound. Wharton could tell because of a loose, gnawed paw. It had to be a hyena! An Afrikan hyena, here in England!? Wharton swallowed while he felt the blood drain from his face. He was suddenly very light-headed. Trinidad snorted, equally as frightened, and began to back away from the slobbering animal.