Chapter 2

Call me Hunter.

Just ... Hunter.

Don't try tacking on some stupid 'Mr.' or 'Agent' or any of that shit.

Hunter.

It's who I am and it's what I am.

Sure, the official designation is 'Tracker', but, to my mind, a tracker simply follows things. A hunter, on the other hand, follows things, then kills them.

They use me, or one of the others like me, when some deviant with paranormal abilities has crossed the magic line between salvageable and disposable. Trackers, with our chemically and electrically altered brains and abilities, are their attack dogs. They decide the general area some evil mind fucking bastard is operating in, point me in the right direction and snap the leash off my collar. I am patient, relentless and without conscience – they saw to that.

Like a lion in the Serengeti peering at an unsuspecting wildebeest from between blades of grass, I sat in a rental car across from the middle school, watching the target.

It was my fifth day on the job and I was waiting for him to make a move. He had to make his move today as it was the last day of school.

There were probably twenty five cars currently parked across from the school. A school that had seen three girls, ages thirteen to fourteen, disappear over the past two months and some smart guys back at the council had asked me to come look into it.

'Asked me.' ... yeah, right.

Technically, I wasn't alone in this. I did have a back up team, but they would only appear after the deed was done. That kept things quieter and, if the prey was up to the task, they would only lose one asset ... me.

They send me in to make the mess; they send some other poor saps in to clean it up.

Somebody is getting the shitty end of that stick – I'll let you know when I figure it out.

This job started out simple enough. The first day I had noted every car that parked near the school for any period of time – primarily when the kids were outside. By the end of the day there was only one that had come and gone without a load of newly minted teenagers or an over burdened teacher.

The second day I had positioned myself to watch only that car and saw the Jasper taking pictures with his smart phone.

Jasper was the name we gave to this particular breed of pedophile. The ones that like their girls after puberty hits, but before it's gone too far. Jaspers don't kill their victims when they're done with them. They are still young and beautiful to the rest of the world, though most of that world will likely never see them again – It depends upon how he discards the ones he has finished with.

If they kill the girls we call them a Cletus. Don't ask me, I have no idea.

The next day he didn't take pictures, it looked more like he was waiting. Waiting, and watching the kids coming out of the school. Suddenly his attention was a little more focused. I couldn't tell which girl he was interested in, but had a feeling my waiting would soon be over.

He sat and watched the next two days. I sat with him, patient, yet wanting to get it over with.

This day, I showed up, as usual, just before school let out to find him there as I knew he would be. Just as the kids started pouring out, he left his car and walked towards the school. He paused half way up the wide walkway, then stopped a pretty blonde girl to ask her something. By her reaction he'd asked for directions, but it was just a ruse so he could get close to her for a few minutes – long enough to implant his commands. She spent a minute or two waving her hands and pointing and with a nod of thanks, he headed into the school.

I split my attention for a minute, noting that he only stayed inside for a moment before heading right back out to his car. That told me she was the one – I focused on her. She was now the key to finding the other girls. All I had to do was follow her.

Yes, I could have tried following him, I could have tried that several days ago. Unfortunately, that always carried the risk of being discovered. Following the girl always worked. She wasn't paranoid and constantly checking her back trail to see if anyone is interested in her. She would generally be concentrating on one thing, getting where she was instructed to go.

I stayed with her all the way home and parked across the street, waiting patiently while she busied herself with whatever the hell young teenagers are up to these days. She had dinner with her family and I watched through the window as she had some sort of argument with her mother and stormed up to her room. I thought about the regrets the mother would not have ... no guilt over the last thing said to her missing daughter being out of anger. As for the young lady in question, she was about to find out what a "ruined life" really looked like. There was an off chance that this family would come out the other side of this in better shape than they were in now ... you know ... if they get the girl a really, really good therapist. Either way, they will be in better shape than if I hadn't been sent after this particular Jasper.

So there was that.

I waited.

And waited.

About four in the morning the doubts I had been having were clamoring for attention. Maybe he had spotted me and approached this girl as a red herring. I tried to figure out where I had fucked up. Now that school had ended for the year, if I didn't find his lair through this girl, there was no telling where his new hunting grounds would be.

Just as my blue streak was working up a good head of steam I saw movement at her bedroom window. The sash went up and she climbed out onto the garage roof. She moved quickly to the far corner and down the sapling just big enough that it didn't snap completely off.

I followed her in my car as she walked through, and out of, the neighborhood, eventually winding up five miles from her house at a type of motel where they don't pay too much attention to what their guests are up to. And, yes, I just idled along about half a block behind her.

Told you it was easier to follow the girl.

I went into what could be called a prevent defense once a target has been identified. The important thing was getting him or, rarely, her. The last thing you wanted to do was let one of these bastards slip away – they only become more furtive and slippery. Some may never hit our radar again, but that doesn't mean they stop destroying lives. So I don't take risks. The idea was to make contact one time – under circumstances that give me the best chances. The first indication these bastards have that anything is amiss should only be a few moments before it all ends.

Jaspers were squirrely fuckers. You never knew if they were going to try hiding under the bed or hit you with a flame thrower.

Okay ... I've never faced an actual flame thrower. It was hair spray and a lighter.

The point being, with Jaspers the best bet was to slip into the room and grab him from behind before he figured out I was there.

That's why I didn't stop her from entering the room. First, I didn't want him alerted by her not showing up, and second, I wanted him distracted for a while. Don't think I don't know what that 'distraction' would mean to that girl. That was a shame, just not to all the girls who would be spared in the future.

I called for the clean up team that had been waiting in the wings. An open door to the laundry room and ... sure enough, a couple housekeeping carts. Grabbing what I needed I headed to the office where the friendly night manager made me a key that would let me into the room. And then that friendly night manager forgot all about me.

Two more minutes found me ready to go, waiting outside his door. I could hear the sounds of a girl being excited, but I wanted to be sure he was fully focused. The more distracted he was, the better chance I had at surviving 'till sun up.

Her moans and squeals escalated and were joined by grunts of pleasure that were definitively male. I waited until those had escalated as well.

I focused like a laser on the task at hand. Some part of what they had done to my brain allowed me to block out all distractions and put every sense into overdrive. Time seemed to dilate as I made my move.

Slipping the keycard into the slot, I quietly turned the knob.

The crash I heard told me two things. First, he had seen that damned movie and had balanced something glass on the doorknob, and second, I had blown the element of surprise.

Shoving the door out of the way I stepped into the room to see four young, nude lovelies on the bed and one naked Jasper diving to his knees, scrambling for something in the night stand.

I kept moving at a quick but measured pace. I wanted to get close to him, but still let him make some sort of move.

Yeah, I know, the best defense is a good offense – but when you outclass your opponent in every way, it's never a fight, it's an execution ... as long as you play it your way.

Having their best move slapped down with no apparent effort tended to fuck with their heads a bit, leaving them even less able to defend themselves.

Besides, giving them something of a chance just seemed more sporting.

Before I could reach him he swung around brandishing a small semi-automatic handgun. Part of my mind was distracted trying to figure out what make, model and caliber it was.

My mind had weird thoughts at times like this.

I said I hadn't reached him yet, I didn't say I wasn't close. That's sorta the point.

My right hand shot out, grabbing the gun and moving the slide just enough to the rear so it couldn't fire, not that the little fucker didn't try. My left hand swung around and hit the back of his elbow, hard – it dislocated with a sickening crunch. The gun was now mine and he was rapidly realizing how much damage I had done to his arm – quite a bit top judge by the screaming. I quickly hit the magazine release and jacked the remaining shell out of the chamber.

I resisted clocking him in the head with the now empty weapon and discarded it. He was still in shock and somewhat sideways to me so I stepped behind him and snaked my right arm around his neck. I locked in with my arm tight enough to control him.

No, I didn't simply snap his neck – one or more of these girls might not like that.

When we – and by we I mean genetic mutants like me and the unclothed reprobate I had in my arms – are in another person's mind, we have to consciously remove ourselves. Since he was indoctrinating his new acquisition, he was likely still in her mind. If I knocked him out or killed him outright, the backlash she would experience would have unpredictable results. She might be fine, or she might wind up a mental vegetable. If push came to shove, I would take the chance, but as long as I didn't have to do it fast, he would fade out ... go to sleep. That would soften the blow to her vulnerable psyche.

Never did much for mine, though.

Kicking the flimsy armchair out of the way, I backed into the corner, taking a seat and keeping him to my front and between me and his girls – just in case he had ordered them to defend him. Didn't look like he had.