The Bad Life Chapter 13.3 - The Final Moment of the Hunt

Back then, Jerome tried to kill me. He tried to kill me, the dog of Hugh and George. But at the final moment of the hunt, Jerome stopped. Now, I was facing Jerome’s bare face, which I couldn’t see clearly in the backlight then.

With an unfamiliar expression he’d never shown before, he stared at me for a long time before rising silently like a snake. I saw his hand lift from the ground. Moments later, the rustle of leaves faded as the sound moved away. Jerome was gone.

A gunshot pierced my ears again. The sharp sound jolted me awake. I rolled out of the bush. As I scrambled to my feet, I spotted something glinting silver among the leaves. It was where Jerome had rested his hand. Brushing the leaves aside, I found a small key. I knew instantly what it was for. I fitted it into the tracking device on my wrist. With a turn, a metallic click sounded, and the tracker fell off effortlessly. I stared blankly at my freed wrist. Unable to contain my rage, I hurled the tracker away.

Limping, I ran frantically in the opposite direction from where Jerome went. The pain in my ankle flared, threatening to topple me, but I gritted my teeth and ran. Running, running, then slowing, walking dazedly, and finally stopping.

The tracker.

I turned slowly. Far off in the darkness, the tracker lay on the ground, blinking red. Limping back, I picked it up, stuffed it into my pocket, and started walking, half-running.

Another sharp gunshot rang out behind me. The shots were relentlessly driving me in a direction. I didn’t resist and followed it. My vision gradually cleared. The forest, still shrouded in the same darkness, trembled eerily with each gunshot. But the darkness didn’t scare me. It felt like it was hiding me.

I moved through the forest’s darkness, raising my arm high. George was right. Hunting is like hide-and-seek. I could hide and watch the seeker, but the seeker couldn’t hide anywhere.

Limping through the forest, I kept my arm outstretched at an angle. When my hand finally caught what I wanted, ecstasy surged through me. I wouldn’t fall for the same trap twice. Lasso. Last time, Lasso’s trap caught my neck, but this time, it was helplessly in my hand. They tried to drive me into Lasso’s trap again, but no one fell for it this time.

Holding Lasso, I stared up at the circular trap. Another chance to escape. A chance to calmly, spectacularly escape was right in front of me.

I stood like a statue until the gunshots rang out several more times. Finally, I decided not to take the chance to escape.

After finding the first Lasso, I circled around, searching. I found three or four more in similar spots. I pulled out the pocketknife hidden under my sole. The blade wasn’t very sharp, but cutting the ropes was easy. I cut one Lasso, wrapped the rope around my waist, and returned to where I found the first one. I tossed the tracker under it and stood for a moment. Where should I wait for the seeker? Soaked in sweat, I looked up at the Lasso dangling in the air. The trap meant for me… I stared at the Lasso and tree that nearly became my grave, then turned back. Waiting at the path to the Lasso would be better.

No insects chirped. It felt like only us and ghosts were in this forest. I held my breath, hiding behind a tree. Holding the rope, I waited for the hunter to check his trap. My head gradually cleared. My racing heart slowed, and my vision sharpened. Every sound came through clearly. Memories of the battlefield returned. Hiding in the dust, enduring, enduring, in those tedious, terrifying moments… the enemy appears at that exact moment.

I heard branches snapping.

Leaning against the tree, I stared into the darkness. Someone was walking slowly behind it. They didn’t look my way. Their movements were stealthy, cautious, but I could sense them. No matter how quietly a hunter moves, they can’t be stealthier than the prey waiting to be found.

When the footsteps passed the tree, I quietly turned to look. It was Lasso. The hunter checking his trap. In his hand was a palm-sized device showing the tracker’s location.

Before he took a few steps past the tree, I lunged from behind. I wrapped the rope around his neck and yanked tight. As he fell, I pinned his back with my knee. Gripping the rope wrapped around my hands, I pulled back with all my strength. The sensation of Lasso’s neck breaking was vivid in my hands. No time to savor his death. I stood, dragged his body to the trap where I’d thrown the tracker, and returned. Now it was time to wait for the real seeker.

I fastened the tracker to the hunter’s wrist and looped his own trap around his neck. I wrapped the Lasso, meant for me, around his neck and, like he’d done before, pulled the rope over the branch. With the Lasso in his mouth, shot into the air. The body dangled high, caught in the trap. As it swayed, something fell to the ground with a thud.

A keyring. I couldn’t drag the body down to pocket it. After hesitating, I shoved it into my pocket. Limping, I moved to a tree ahead of the body.

I threw the rope, wrapping it around a branch and shaking it. It was sturdy. I tied the rope to make a Lasso, hiding the loop among the leaves. Now, all I could do was wait with a bit of luck… Dragging my aching foot, I hid behind the tree. Breathing heavily, I looked at my ankle. It was swollen and throbbing. Soon, people would come following the tracker’s signal. The first to arrive had to be him. To catch him in time, I needed to move properly. I tore off my shirt and wrapped the strips tightly around my swollen ankle.

Everything was astonishingly clear, yet my mind felt empty. No thoughts came. I moved unconsciously, yet it felt like I’d been waiting for this moment forever, like a dream, everything vividly clear. I fiddled with the pocketknife Flatnose gave me, breathing quietly.

<Noooo!>

A scream, piercing my chest, startled me. It tore through the air.

<No! No, Raymond!>

It was George’s cry. Hidden in the tree’s shadow, I looked over. George ran toward the Lasso with the body, screaming. He threw down the device showing the tracker. Tripping under the body, he wailed.

<Dead! Already dead! I, I, sob, in front of me! In front of me! You were supposed to die before my eyes! I was supposed to kill you! Argh! Argh! Dead! Dead!>

George clutched the body’s ankle, screaming. I slipped out from behind the tree. He wailed, holding the body, then suddenly stopped. My shadow stood beside his. Before he could turn, realizing something, I slashed his ankle deep with the pocketknife. I felt the tendon snap.

<Arghhh!>

His pain-filled scream shook the forest. I grabbed his bleeding ankle and dragged him. His ugly, tear-soaked face twisted wildly. His massive frame thrashed, and I lost my grip. George wailed like a pig, crawling through the grass. More gunshots rang out behind me, closer now. They were coming.

Limping, I chased him, grabbed his ankle, and jammed my fingers into the cut. George howled. I shouted as loudly as his cries.

<You think I’d let you die easily, you bastard?!>

With my fingers in the wound, I dragged him to the tree. With bloodied hands, I pulled the hidden Lasso loop from the leaves. I looped it around George’s neck as he writhed like a worm. His eyes widened. Wailing with his ugly face, he clawed at me. He struck my face, and I fell, unbalanced. Blood dripped from my nose. As he crawled away, the Lasso caught his neck, stopping him.

I lunged at George as he frantically tried to free himself. I pinned his hand with my knee. He scratched my cheek with his nails, drooling. Ignoring it, I punched his face repeatedly, stomped on him as he groaned, stomped until his teeth shattered, his jaw broke, then stood. Panting, I wrapped the rope on the tree around my wrist and pulled back, leaning with my weight.

I felt it. The weight. Ecstasy surged from head to toe. Stepping back, I pulled harder. With each step back, George, collapsed on the ground, rose slightly into the air. When his feet left the ground, I tied the rope to the tree.

George flailed, clawing at the Lasso with nail-less hands. His bulging eyes looked ready to pop. Screaming choked cries, he thrashed. I gazed at him quietly. George looked at me, frothing. I met his eyes and called softly.

<George.>

<Ugh, urk! Gah! Gak, gack!>

In that moment, I felt the regret George once felt for an old lover.

<Your lover, and you… both bitten to death by the dog you raised.>

<Gak, gack! Graah! Urk!>

George, dangling from the Lasso, flailed like he was dancing. Blood from his ankle splattered the ground. I waited. Even as gunshots grew closer, I waited. Staring into George’s bloodshot blue eyes, I stood quietly. His movements slowed. Eventually, he dropped the hands clawing his neck. His stiff head fell forward. Blood from his ankle dripped, soaking into the ground.

Another sharp gunshot tore through the night. Leaving George behind, I limped into the forest’s darkness.

Excluding Lasso, a Laverham native, and George, the leader, the remaining workers were just a ragtag bunch. I had no tracker. I walked toward the gunshots. Climbing a tree and holding my breath, the armed beaters passed me, unaware. One held a tracker like George’s or Lasso’s, but it was useless now.

I waited after they passed, then hurriedly retraced my steps. In the dark, finding the path was easy. The dozen or so beaters left countless traces—crushed leaves, broken branches. I followed them.

When I saw the forest’s edge, I stopped. Someone stood by a torch. My body tensed instantly. Hiding in the darkness, I watched. The torch flickered, revealing the man’s face. It was Simon.

Simon was crying. His body trembled as he sobbed. Each gunshot from the forest made him flinch. Burying his face in his hands, his expression, when he wiped his tears, was beyond emptiness—utter despair.

I watched Simon from the darkness, then took a detour out of the forest. When I faced the log cabin I’d been trapped in for weeks, I stopped without realizing. The cabin stood eerily in the dark. I stared, then turned away.

Entering the campsite, I saw workers drinking beer and chatting. They likely didn’t know what today’s job was, thinking the forest hunt was for coyotes. Limping, avoiding their eyes, I entered the makeshift parking lot. I easily found Lasso’s truck, having stolen it before.

I pulled out the keyring taken from Lasso, trying keys until one fit. Luckily, it included the car key. The engine started. I settled into the driver’s seat and floored the gas, speeding out of the parking lot and through the campsite.

As I reached the road to town, a man stood by the roadside. As if waiting for me.

In the headlights, Jerome looked at me, pale. Our eyes met through the window. He stared straight at me, kissed his fingertips deeply, and waved. Casually blowing a kiss, Jerome spoke.

<…….>

His voice wasn’t loud enough to reach me, so I couldn’t tell if he was promising another day or saying goodbye. I didn’t try to find out. What was clear was that tonight, Jerome wouldn’t chase me. Maybe not tomorrow night, or the night after… Instead of returning his kiss, I floored the gas, speeding past him.

Once again, I escaped.

*

I drove Lasso’s truck through the night back to Denver. The first place I went was the motel where James died. I knew it was dangerous, but I did it anyway. I stared at the remnants wrapped in layers of yellow police tape, then turned away.

With the money from selling the truck, I stayed in Denver for a few weeks to get a passport and visa. The injured ankle healed cleanly, thanks to careful attention over those weeks.

During that time, I didn’t particularly hide. I casually bought and read newspapers on the street. Neither George nor Laverham was ever mentioned. James’s disappearance appeared in a brief article, but it wasn’t treated as a major issue. The Denver motel fire case was pinned on Sergio Terres, an Eastern European immigrant. A few days ago, Sergio escaped an FBI transport vehicle, fled, and was shot dead. Neither the motive nor the cause of the fire was clearly established.

While staying in Denver, I acted overly careless and relaxed, but neither Jerome nor Simon came after me. Only occasionally did the two boys appear in my dreams. When I first survived falling into , the faces of the two boys looking down at me felt as vivid as if it happened last night. Jerome’s excited, gleaming eyes and Simon’s satisfied gaze, trembling with betrayal, alternated in my vision.

They have held me captive since those days, even now. I no longer deny it.

An announcement played.

<Our aircraft is beginning its descent for landing…>

I looked out the window. The British soil I left five years ago unfolded before me again. I closed my eyes, recalling Bluebell’s summer. A gloomy, cold school, chilly even in summer, without tropical nights. A place once a lake, now a swamp called hiding alligators. And the dormitory building, burned and torn down. I’m going to reclaim the ghosts I left there, my shameful memories. Knowing the boys are alive, those shameful memories, stretching back from the past, still dominate my life in this moment…

There, I will reunite with the boys.