67 - Kodiak
67
Kodiak
—
In the armory, surrounded by tools of destruction, I feel the predator in me rising, taking over.
Tonight, we’re not hunting to survive.
We’re hunting to avenge.
Consuming rancor has eaten away my last shred of humanity. This thing inside me was born when Denver tore away my innocence. It grew with every lash he welted across my back.
It sucks on my bones, feeds on every thudding beat of my heart, and sets fire to the breath rasping through my lungs.
It’s primal, animalistic, and it wants blood.
Tonight, I’m going to let it out.
Tonight, I’m going to unleash hell.
I pull weapons from the walls, my hands moving with deadly purpose. My favorite crossbow remains in Sitka, but there are a few spares here. I grab a quiver loaded with bolts designed to puncture through bone and sinew. Knives, sharp and wicked, each a promise of the pain I’ll inflict. Ammo, gear, everything we need to turn this hunt into a slaughter.
Leo, Wolf, Monty, and Frankie are doing the same, their faces stony, determined, darkened with the same violent hunger that drives me.
Suddenly, Oliver appears in the room without sound, making Frankie jump.
“Fuck!” She spins, staring wide-eyed. “How did you do that?”
He gives her a tight smile. “I disarmed the bombs on the planes.”
“Okay, but question…” She holds up her hand. “On the island, I saw shit. Shadows. Silhouettes in the windows. We all saw things. Was that you?”
His smile stretches, twisting his features into a chilling mask.
Then his expression clears, and he turns away.
“Oliver.” Monty slings a rifle over his shoulder, his eyes hard. “Will you stay here and guard Frankie?”
“I’ll guard her with my life.”
“Thank you.”
“Let’s get this party started.” Wolf leans against the doorframe, flipping a knife in his hand. No guns. No ammo. Just a belt of sharp blades buckled around his waist. “He’ll wear himself out before we catch him.”
Frankie grabs a bear trap and places it in my hands.
“Butcher that monster until there’s nothing left of him to bring back. I don’t want to see any part of him again.” Calm, controlled, and stunningly fierce, she’s a force of nature.
But right now, she’s holding it back, letting us take the lead, letting us be the animals we’re meant to be.
“I love you.” I kiss her lips, but my mind is elsewhere, already in the tundra, hunting Rhett down, imagining all the ways I’ll carve him up.
She kisses the others and sends us off.
We step outside, the cold air biting into my cheeks. There were enough fur coats left behind to go around. It’s good to see Wolf in pelts rather than that bloodstained thing he’s had for ten months.
It’s good to see Wolf. Period.
If Rhett hadn’t pulled him from the river, we would’ve found him. We would’ve had him with us this entire time.
Just one more reason to make Rhett pay.
I’m not angry. I’m beyond that. I’m something else entirely, something feral and savage that I’ve kept buried deep down for far too long.
The man I was before is gone, burned away by the fires of revenge. What’s left is hellish, an unholy fiend that wants to rip and tear and kill.
We hike across the snow-covered terrain in silence, slipping into the frigid night like ghosts.
Born and bred in this frozen hell, we know these hills, this tundra, better than anyone. Every crevice, slope, and jagged boulder is part of us.
Rhett thinks he’s running for his life, but he’s just running deeper into our territory.
Leo, Wolf, and I keep a close eye on Monty. He could easily get lost out here, but he’s tough. And he’s ours . We won’t let anything happen to him.
I breathe in deeply, and the scent of Rhett’s blood hits me like a punch to the face, strong and metallic, hanging in the crisp air.
My pulse quickens. My muscles tighten, and my senses sharpen. He’s bleeding out there, leaving a trail like a wounded animal, and I snarl with anticipation.
“Got him?” Wolf looks at me, his eyes dark with the same need to kill.
“That way.” I lead them a mile into the hills before holding up a hand, stopping them. “Let’s set the trap here.”
Leo helps me place the bear trap in a clearing and carefully covers it with snow.
“We need to corral him near the river.” His eyes glint in the starlight. “We’ll play with him for a while. Then flush him into the trap.”
“Which way?” Monty flexes his gloved hands.
My ears perk at the sound of stumbling footsteps in the distance, each one heavy and desperate.
“North.” I prowl in that direction.
Rhett doesn’t know the dangers that lie in wait, the trap we set, the wolves lurking just out of sight. He doesn’t know he’s being hunted by something far worse than any creature he could imagine.
Dark, violent energy pulses through my veins. The beast is free, and it wants blood. It wants to taste Rhett’s fear, to tear him apart piece by piece, to make him scream for mercy and deny him over and over.
“He raped her,” Wolf says, a gleaming blade dancing between his fingers. “I don’t know how I pulled myself from unconsciousness, but I felt her there, her hand on my lap. I felt her pain, her horror, as he raped her on the table. Somehow, during the assault, she managed to dislodge my IV line. By the time you arrived, I had enough strength to remove hers, too.”
A snarl rips through my chest, my hands tightening around the crossbow until my knuckles go white. Nothing compares to the searing fire that burns inside me. I’m wrath incarnate.
Beside me, Monty turns to ice. Cold. Expressionless. And just as lethal.
Leo seethes, too far gone for words, too consumed by the need for violence, for blood.
We catch up with Rhett quickly and make our presence known, stomping our boots and sending him scrambling toward the river.
It’s instinctual, the way we move and work together. A pack of wolves closing in on our prey.
We spread out around the cliffs, melting into the shadows, not far from the fire pit.
I crouch low, my senses on high alert, listening to the sounds of the night, to the approaching thud of Rhett’s staggering footsteps.
He’s panicking, his breaths bursting fast and loud, his heart beating out of his chest. I hear and feel it all, and it only makes me hungrier.
Minutes later, he lurches into view, spinning in place, frantically scanning the massive boulders surrounding him.
He knows we’re here, senses the danger, and it’s too late to run.
We toy with him, flinging knives from the shadows, each hitting its mark with deadly accuracy. I aim for his limbs, for his flesh, not to kill him, but to hurt him. To make him scream. To make him suffer.
Each time a knife sinks into his skin, I relish the pained hitch of his breath. His steps falter. His head whips around as if he can’t believe what’s happening.
But he knows. Deep down, he knows this is the end.
I raise my crossbow, sight him through the scope, and fire. The bolt punches through his leg with a sickening thud.
His scream rips through the night, echoing off the hills.
Music to my ears.
I let loose another arrow, and it flies true, burying itself in the same leg.
Two more should do it.
I aim them at the same spot, the meaty part of his thigh. Even with his teetering, spinning motions, I nail the target.
Four bolts protrude from his leg, his scream a high-pitched wail that doesn’t end.
He wobbles, whirling, driven by sheer terror, as he takes off toward the trap.
We give him a running start, making him suffer, dragging out his death.
Then we stalk after him, flanking him from all sides, herding him like a panicked animal.
He doesn’t stand a chance, and we all know it. But that’s not enough. We want him to know it, too. We want him to feel every ounce of the terror he inflicted on Frankie, on Wolf, on all of us.
His footsteps grow more frantic, the scent of his blood ripe in the air. It drives me wild. I want to dismember him, to feel his guts hot and wet on my hands, to watch him fall apart under our attack.
A few feet ahead, the bear trap snaps shut with a crunch that sends a shiver of satisfaction up my spine.
He goes down, screaming, thrashing as the metal teeth dig into his flesh, sawing through tendons and splintering bone.
Leo and I close in, circling him like predators ready to pounce on a wounded deer.
“P-please. Please, don’t do this. I…I can help you! I can give you anything you want! Money…health care…anything. Please, just let me live!” His teeth clatter, his eyes wide, bloodshot with fear.
His words turn into frantic, incoherent pleas until they’re swallowed by the pain, by the inevitability of what’s to come.
But we’re not done. Not even close.