A Man of the Mountain - Hunter Killer

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12. Hunter Killer

Jonas stood freezing atop the lookout in disbelief. They’re actually going to try and hike through this. He had seen the storm coming and assumed Mansen’s team would wait for another day, if they attempted at all. The national weather broadcast, much better than the local hack, had come to the conclusion that no person in their right mind should attempt the upper mountain during the storm. But then again, he supposed Rick wasn’t exactly in his right mind.

     This is going to be much easier than I thought. The storm afforded two important advantages: stealth, and exhaustion of his opponent. In the days following his encounter at the diner, Jonas had been trying to think of the best way to approach his prey without being seen. Every scenario ended with him taking a bullet before getting to Mansen and a few more before reaching Ventner. Ordinarily, he didn’t worry much about stealth; most hikers were armed, but panicked in the moment. In all his attacks, a hiker had drawn their gun once, but even then had failed to fire. Mansen’s team were better trained, and likely wouldn’t make the same mistake. The storm would provide cover, allowing Jonas to get close without being seen.   

     The storm would also exhaust Mansen’s crew. They were inexperienced in this climate and the hike to the falls was no Sunday stroll, even in fair weather. By the time they made it to Jonas’s chosen battlefield, they would be dead on their feet. The powder below the falls was deep and would slow their movement. He on the other hand, had more than enough experience running in inclement weather. In short, he had the homefield advantage.

     Jonas checked his watch; it was just past seven in the morning and the crew had barely made it out of the lower trails. At their current pace they would make the falls by dark, but that was assuming they followed the samples he had left. The snow was going to make that difficult. It would take him an hour to get back to the cabin and at least another two to hike out to the trails. Jonas estimated that if he left immediately, he could cut back onto the main path just below the falls and egg the crew on from a safe distance. A few well-placed howls and snapped branches would keep them moving in the right direction.  

He started down the mountain at a quick clip. The storm would slow him and he had every intention of being back on the trail before it got any worse. Once more, he found himself running through battlefield scenarios. There were a million ways his attack on the History Channel crew could go wrong and very few where it went right. Still, he felt an unbridled confidence about it. There was a reassuring sense within him that today was the legend would rise.

When he arrived, the cabin was warmed by the still-glowing embers from his morning fire. The brown bottle on the kitchen counter had enough left in it for one last drink, but he decided to save it for a victorious return. If he didn’t make it back, it wasn’t going to be his problem anyway. Despite his confidence, Jonas still felt a hollow fear resonating in his bones. He supposed any good warrior did when they were facing death.

     Like making a prayer at an altar, Jonas ran his hands across Shirley’s articles tacked to his wall one more time. Years of work all culminating to one moment. In less than twelve hours it would all be over; he would either be dead in the snow or a true legend. Both outcomes filled him with a great, swelling sense of pride. He had never feared death; in fact, he welcomed it. After killing Nick and Mansen, he wasn’t sure what else would be left for him. That was a question for later.

     Time was short. Jonas took a final look around the cabin that had been his home over the last five years. He regretted none of the moments he had spent there. The new suit hung on a rack next to the door and called to him. It looked like armor built for a warrior and in a way, it was. He ran a hand lightly across the artificial fur and felt his skin prickle with excitement. This is it, the last suit you’ll ever wear.

The hide was thick, but somehow felt lighter than the old gear. It fit better too, as if it had been tailor made. Jonas began with the suit’s body, adjusting internal straps to ensure that it fit snugly and didn’t prohibit movement. He then buckled into the snow shoes. There was no leaving them off this time; he had to be authentic the entire way just in case. Next was the new headpiece, which made a satisfying click as it attached to a metal ring around the neck of the body. Servos whirred in the headpiece and a readout of the suit’s integrity popped up in the bottom right corner of his display.

     Running one last check, Jonas took a deep breath, grabbed the gloves, and opened the door to his cabin. Outside, light snow was falling and a bitter chill had entered the air. In the distance, dark clouds advanced. The storm would be on the mountain by nightfall, if not earlier. Not much time left. He slipped the gloves onto his hands and admired the claws in the grey light. It was time.

     Ascending the mountain took Jonas a little longer than usual. He had a general idea of where Mansen’s team was, but he needed to be cautious. At the rate they were moving, he would have to hike at a snail’s pace for them to pull ahead. Around three in the afternoon, the light began to leave the mountain. The clouds above grew thick, closing in and shrouding the frosted forest in grey. Snow began to fall in earnest, speckling his fur with thick white flakes.  

     Occasionally, Jonas would catch glimpses of Mansen’s crew in the distance. Whenever he did, he quickly got out of sight and let out his best howl. The first time he did this, even he felt chilled. As it turned out, the suit had been augmented with a microphone in the headpiece that caught Jonas’s howl, distorted it, and then magnified. The resulting sound was pure terror in every form as it echoed through the trees. Now that’s the real deal, he thought, reflecting on the mediocre howls he had produced before.

     Once he was a good distance ahead of Mansen’s crew, Jonas moved closer to the main trail. They had likely heard the howls, but now it was time to give them more direction. In the days leading up to the trek, he had been able to mangle a few cameras and leave some fur samples, but he doubted anyone would find the latter. The snow would erase most of his earlier work. Jonas redoubled his efforts, leaving obvious branches and slashes in the exact direction he wanted Mansen to go.

     He had planned to search for more of the team’s remote gear, but as he was walking, he found something far more noticeable. It seemed the preparation of the History Channel crew had given him a gift. He crouched low in a thicket just off the trail and watched as a few hundred feet ahead, a shivering cameraman hiked up the trail. His headlight bobbed and swung back and forth as he looked to the trees for signs of danger. Must have sent him up to scout. The man was carrying a large camera strapped to his back and held a rifle loosely between gloved hands. Wrong place, very wrong time. Jonas crept forward moving out of the thicket and into the fresh snow on the trail. His footsteps were silent.  

     The man alone was moving much faster than Mansen’s team and Jonas guessed he had drawn the shortest straw. Mansen might be able to miss the branches and fur, but they weren’t going to miss this. The cameraman was strictly focused in front of him, no doubt thinking of the danger that lay ahead. Jonas seized the opportunity and broke into a run. He was only a hundred feet away before the man noticed anything was wrong.

     Maybe it was a sixth sense, maybe Jonas’s footsteps had been a touch too loud, but either way, the man turned when Jonas was about ten feet away. The rifle dropped from his hands and landed with a soft thump in the snow. His eyes were wide with terror and he held his hands up in a reflexive defense posture.  

     Jonas lumbered toward him, feeling more beast than man, the suit merely an extension of his body. He flexed his fingers and felt the sharp blades beneath each of them. There was no time for hesitancy. The man let out a blood-curdling scream and Jonas struck.