Lilly lay in the grass, sighting the tree line. Thermal imaging was of limited effectiveness during the day, but foraging in the night was far more difficult. So she waited, looking for anything anomalous. It had been years since any of the Mauds had dared make a move, but her mother’s disappearance was highly suspected to be a result of an opportunistic raid. It had been the final reason to institute a village-wide mandatory carry. In truth, Lilly was hoping she’d see one, to take blind revenge.
But she never did. The biting ants grew to be intolerable and the dipping sun threatened her objective, so she crept from her hiding spot and into the woods. She paused, eyes wide in a bid to allow more light. As she grew accustomed to the darkness, shapes became clear, and no immediate danger presented itself. Masking her silhouette against an oak, she finally attended to brushing the unwelcome guests from her thighs. Her attire, however comfortable for field work, was not ideal for heavy brush, and made even more cumbersome by the full-length silver-grey jacket father had insisted she wear. The cloth itself had no thermal properties, didn’t breathe well, and hampered her stealth. But it protected her from abrasions, and father had insisted, so she obliged. It had been another possession of mother, and mother was taller than she, so the jacket’s length presented some navigational hazards.
Lilly’s prize preferred the stream banks, and while they grew in more accessible areas, they were less plentiful than those which grew within the woods, not to mention they tasted different. It was an unusual type of very specific taste, and only her mother could tell the difference, but that wasn’t the point.
A sound. Lilly immediately shouldered her rifle and crouched. She peered through the optics, both eyes open to maintain her periphery, just as she had been taught. She held her breath to remain silent. She heard it again. Something fell to the forest floor. It was not a sound a man would make. It was a squirrel, dropping pecan fragments. Lilly exhaled in relief, stood, and resumed her task.
The leaves crunched softly beneath her feet. The season had been drier than usual, and it hampered her movement. She shuffled, walking toe to heal, minimizing the impact of each step. She changed gait at random, introducing variables to her stride. She knew how to stalk. Every hunter, however novice, learned through trial and error.
The sound of running water had grown steadily louder. She hadn’t recognized when she had started to hear it, but now it dominated the background. Freed from the burden of silent movement, Lilly assumed a more natural and efficient stride, until the brush parted and she was walking upon saturated soil. Her feet squishing in the muck, Lilly scanned the bank. The inner curve of the stream bore a marsh of rushes, but the outer bank was steeper and dominated by the telltale clumps of tubular leaves. She squatted and began her harvest, using thumb and knife to sever sprigs of the younger and shorter leaves. As a bonus, she harvested some nearby succulents—the kind with the orange flowers. The gooey tissue within made a nice salve to relieve the ant bites. It was a welcome respite.
The light was fading rapidly. Lilly donned her pack and unshouldered her rifle, holding it at the ready. She would leave through a different route—one more basic and ingrained precaution. It was difficult to ambush that which was unpredictable. Again she resumed the shuffling walk as the stream’s cacophony faded behind her.
The sound. Lilly stopped instantly. She waited, but didn’t hear it again. It was dusk now—past the point where woodland creatures would normally turn in for the night. At this, her caution turned to anxiety. She quickened her pace, giving less regard for noise now. Speed seemed the more tactical choice.
The sound again. Lilly stopped, and the sound stopped. She hopped briskly a few more yards and heard the sound again. She stopped, and the sound stopped. It was no longer coincidence. She spotted a glen and ran, keeping low. The sound in turn grew louder. Lilly entered the glen, cleared a fallen tree and turned, crouching. The open glen would give her clear line of sight. She peered over the log and stared intently, hoping the concentration would reveal shapes. The sound appeared ahead, further right, so she stood enough to swivel at the waste. She caught the semblance of a silhouette, but the arrow was faster than her reaction time. It hit low, glancing off the log and striking her left lower abdomen. The searing pain hampered her poise and she cried out, dropping the rifle.
The silhouette charged, something raised high for striking. Tears clouded her vision further, and she clumsily grasped for her weapon. In an instant, it was upon her, but it had to overcome the log. Lilly managed to stumble backwards and fell, just beyond the strike. The blow impacted the log with a dull thunk, and the weapon was embedded just long enough for Lilly to raise her rifle and fire.
The black bolt was almost invisible in the darkness, but it glowed with an unnatural essence and, although silent in itself, split the air with a sonic crack. The impact was center-of-mass, typical for a panicked shot, and the swirling eddies of purple verified the contact, ripping the life from the screaming creature. It stumbled backward in agony. Lilly, now fully terrified, ran, abandoning all reason as her naiveté to violence overcame her reason. Rather than verify the kill, she fled out of survival instinct.
The arrow, embedded at her waist, pressed uncomfortably into her flesh. But she ran on, screaming to attract attention. She neared home, and caught a glimpse of father emerging. The familiar returned a shred of confidence, and she spun, firing E-beams at random into the woods while screaming obscenities at what she hadn’t even identified. The sounds of father’s footsteps quickly crescendoed behind her. She vomited, then all was black.