The Last Hunt

By Gabriel Belin, Jr

Dominic Bradford is a writer who suffers a terrifying accident during a hunt in the wilderness of British Columbia. After being in a coma for two weeks, he wakes up in a modern rehabilitation clinic, equipped with the latest technology, and finds that his life is changed forever.
The recovery of his terribly maimed body is so miraculous, he begins to suspect that his very nature has been altered. The truth is more terrifying than the nightmare he experienced in the Canadian Rockies.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gabriel Belin, Jr
• Release date: Oct 25, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301244768

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The Last Hunt

A Novel

All Rights Reserved

Copyright 2012 by Gabriel Belin

Edited by Carl Arnold

ISBN: 9781301244768

Published by Gabriel Belin at Smashwords

Paperback Edition Available

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance

to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

License Notes: This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my girlfriend for her endless support and devotion,

to my dog, now watching me from heaven, and to my tomcat

for his ceaseless efforts to make me laugh.

The Last Hunt

It is a great happiness not to want anything, not to be anything, not to go anywhere.

— Jiddu Krishnamurti

Chapter I

Time was a relative, vague notion that followed the rhythm of the slow beating of the heart. The spirit had no idea what a heart was. Linked to this heart rhythm, it sensed that, if in the comfortable immateriality in which it had resided for a while there were any dimensions, they were coming precisely from that growing pulsation. There was no sense of space, simply because there was no form.

From the void, where the spirit had been in seclusion, for no apparent reason came an idea of direction. It was not a command, just an idea to change from what it was into another — a truly unintelligible, but a much different state that possessed form. Along with it, the vague symptoms of sense drew a new reality, which, under the force of some unknown will, the spirit came to fill.

The spirit felt that the form, which it was filling, could change.

It transferred itself. Its essence infused itself. Transporting the spark of life, the spirit filled the boundaries of the lifeless body. It spread in its new shape, sparking its curiosity. The spirit established contact with the will within. Just a blink of time was enough for it to absorb the ego that had built the spiritual patterns of the will’s form and to possess it.

The spirit felt that this will was not the only one. There was another, a different one. The spirit embraced it. It mingled with it, extracted its knowledge, identified its poles, and discovered the essence of its existence. They become one.

The spirit began to seize and understand the power wielded over that body — its desires. They led it to the memories. The spirit touched them and had them digested. They sent it back many heartbeats to the past they came from. If time mattered at all.

In the stillness, like an uncertain illusion, stirred a notion of sound. Colorful tones crept out, and shifted the outlines of images from the past. They were timid, uncertain. From the darkness of their frozen nature, the thin fibers of senses appeared and filled the image with life. The unsteady, gurgling rumble, which came from the memories, began to assume shape. Then various thoughts and a sense of time followed. The chaotic sounds turned into the angry roar of the four-liter engine of an expensive Wrangler two-seater that galloped across the wild mountain scenery.

The powerful off-road vehicle advanced up the mountain slope along the muddy trail. The surrounding scenery was becoming alien to the spirit and the deep green of the forests bordering the narrow mountain road washed away the scattered thoughts — remains of hectic big-city living. The forest had not begun to change the colors of its coat but the air was haunted by that unmistakable aroma of herbs and berries, hinting that the short summer was irretrievably gone. It was early fall, but in the great mountains autumn is not long-lasting. In the transitory state of this season, the rains turned to flood in the pristine woodland already full of moisture.

To the left of him, Harry was struggling with the steering wheel, growling with delight. Dominic stretched to turn on the stereo, somehow managed to hit it, and Springsteen’s guitar blew up the speakers with Wild Thing. Harry yelled without turning his head, The hell yes, boy!

He was a leg-puller by nature, but today he got loose. Always, when covered with mud caked dry, he dropped a joke about women, politicians or drunk drivers, making Dominic split his sides with laughter.

The fever of the forthcoming event did not leave them since they landed in Ottawa the previous night. Influenced by Harry’s unstoppable enthusiasm, Dominic had no regrets about his decision to take part in that adventure. It was not just madness in the true sense of the word, but more one of those adventures for which one needs a set of balls. At the very least, to have something to lose, Dominic smiled.

Just a week earlier, with some doubts, he had finally accepted Harry’s invitation for this hunt. When Harry called him the first time, Dominic was in a metallurgy factory producing steel. While trying to understand Harry’s words, sparks were flying all around him and huge roller conveyors were rumbling. During the intervals between the whizzings of the machines loaded to the limit, the shouts of men on the shift created a shitload of noise.

The song was over, Harry switched off the stereo and only the roar of the engine remained. Dominic sank again into the thoughts of how it all began.

Walking in the rumbling factory, he had hardly heard what Harry was saying on the phone but managed to grasp the essentials. Frankly, Dominic didn’t like the idea, so at first he refused. Besides, the timeline of his own project was already pushing him hard. Harry, of course, spoke so loudly that his roar overcame even the thunder of the factory.

A fierce jolt interrupted his thoughts, and Harry joked, Do you think you can leave the nap until after dinner?

Only if we live long enough to reach dinner, he grinned.

Dominic glanced at him. Harry was a plump, burly man, a bit over fifty, voice and stance of a bear and a macho heart. Only the well-kept mustache made him look somehow serious. The gleam in his sharp, blue eyes betrayed that Harry was about to toss out another wisecrack.

God damn it! Harry growled, This road screwed us up like a pre-election promise. I already feel dizzy without even having a drink!

This means that soon I kick your ass out from behind the wheel, old man. To get stuck in this place is as bad as blaming the governor for telling a lie. We’ll be stalled in the mud up to our ears, buddy.

Come on! They’ll confuse us with wild pigs, said Harry, and they laughed again in the shuddering vehicle.

The jeep jumped, then landed heavily in the mud. The wheels could not grab and the SUV slid right. Dominic flexed his muscles and grabbed the door’s handle while Harry was struggling to keep the jeep from being sucked into the sticky, pudding-like mud. Five minutes later, when the road got slightly better and the bronco movements subsided, Dominic sank into his thoughts again.

His friend Harry was a man who, aside from his lawyer’s practice, had only one passion in life — the hunt. An incurable disease that somehow managed to infect Dominic, to the great horror of his wife, Ilona. The thought of her made him remember what Harry always would quote when talking about women. It was from a Doris Day line: Marriage is like the phone — if you don’t dial right, you get the wrong connection.

The road passed through a shallow but rapid stream and large waves splashed around both sides of the jeep. Water covered the front windshield and in the falling darkness of the gorge, it quickly acquired an impenetrable veil of mud. Wipers threw aside the dirty shroud and began flapping wildly along the windscreen. The engine coughed, then the car roughly pulled up onto a rocky bank and continued in the deep, muddy ruts of the track.

This time I have a mind not to come back empty handed, growled Harry, This is going to be the best hunt in a century, kid! He deftly got around the top of a tree that had fallen across the road and cast a glance at his partner.

It depends, Dominic began. It’s won’t be the first time we come back with empty hands, isn’t it? And because this hunt promised to be risky, I say, it would be best if we just all return, Dominic giggled.

You’re hopeless, Harry shook his head. But for once you’re right, kid. Hunting is not dinner in the Ambassador, damn it.

Yeah . . . and Harry —

What?

I just don’t believe in the simple things, pal.

Yeah, right . . .

They finally reached the foot of the mountain and stopped to look at the map. There were no more than seven miles to the hunting lodge, but on this terrain it was an ordeal, no matter how you sliced it. This would be the worst seven miles of the two day journey to this place, stuck way back in the mountains of British Columbia. The sun had already descended behind the permanent white domes of the rocky peaks, and their jagged curtain threatened to cut off the last flashes of light in one scoop.

Into the dusk, now scarlet from the last rays of the sun, the forest dangerously hung over the jeep and Dominic shivered with the feeling that the woods were watching them. This uneasiness had been with him for some time since the first signs of the dying day had crept through the muddy windshield of the Wrangler and reminded him why actually he dragged his ass here.

It was Dominic’s turn to drive, so he walked around the rear of the car. The cold evening air rushed into his face and revived him. He waited for Harry to fasten his belt, then took off cautiously in the mud.

They were already late, so it was time to push on. The Wrangler rushed on the deep muddy furrows of the tracks and immediately slid. Dominic controlled the skid, leaned back in the seat and stared at the steep slope in the front.

Easy kid, you’re not on the track . . .

You don’t wanna sleep here, right?

No, but I don’t want to become an appetizer for the vultures, either, said Harry. If we’re going to meet the Great Spirit, I would prefer it to be after the hunt with a glass of Martel in my hand, damn it.

Dominic smiled. He didn’t ease up on the gas and kept his attention on the track, while Harry, tired, leaned back into silence.

Outside, the darkness got dense. Dominic lit the roof-lights and stared at the broad shafts of light that cut through the blackness. The track became unpredictable to such an extent that he had doubts that the muddy strip could even be called a track. It was getting steeper. He kept pushing fate with a fairly leaden foot, while the engine often revved to its limit and the terrible terrain made the lights bounce chaotically on the dense surrounding vegetation.

After another hour of bumping along and fighting the mud, their destination appeared. At first they saw the lights. Coming out of a turn with a roar, their headlights lit up the other parked off-roads and trucks. About fifty yards ahead, lit by lanterns and а grid of signal lights, stood the hunting lodge. Dominic parked the jeep among the other vehicles.

Finally! That damned road is done with, growled Harry and opened the door.

Yeah, finally . . . Bored, eyes reddened by the tension, Dominic jumped out of the car and stretched. His muscles were stiff and his throat sore after sixty miles of driving.

And it’s getting colder, said Harry.

Yeah, and I feel stiff as hell. Even my butt hurts. Dominic yawned. Massaging his neck, he turned to the lodge to have a good look at it. Made entirely of wood, the building was belted by generous, thick wooden columns and a veranda. Two men came out on the porch. The first one came down with a flashlight and walked out to them, the second man remained.

Here they are, said Dominic, waiting for the man to approach. The guy was short, a bit stocky. As he came close, Dominic saw that he was a young aboriginal native, about thirty years old.

Johnnie Evans, said the man while shaking hands with Harry. I’ll be your guide tonight.

Good to see you, Johnnie, smiled Harry, This is my friend Dominic that I told you about, remember?

Hi! Dominic grinned. The man’s handshake was good.

Listen, guys, they are a few hours left, so if you like, before we go, why not rest up some in your rooms? said Johnnie and pulled his hood off. His hair was short and black, and matched the color of his intense, small eyes.

Harry looked at Dominic. He smiled, No way. Even from where they stood, it was obvious that the guest room was full of life, and after the boring slog, both of them were eager to sit among people. Besides, these were not just people, but the friends they’d been hunting with for several years in a row. Dominic cleared the mud from the rear door handle and opened it. He grabbed his rifle and pulled out the backpack with the other hand. Watch the mud, he said to Harry.

You’re getting it everywhere, damn it! grouched the lawyer, and reached into the trunk.

Dominic turned to the lodge. He caught the glance of the second, older man, also a native. His dark eyes peered at Dominic as if it were a challenge. Even in the flickering light of the lanterns, it seemed a bit weird — as if the eyes of the old Indian saw through Dominic and sank into the immensity of the forest beyond. The old man did not appear welcoming at all. A pat on the back startled Dominic and he turned to see Harry grinning at him. You go in, eh? I’m gonna make a call and I’m coming in a minute. Before you know it, those assholes inside might have the scotch all drunk off without us . . .

Dominic nodded, Yeah right, and walked to the lodge. It was wet from rain, so while walking, he was careful not to slip on any patch of moss. The Indian still stood, leaning against the column at the top of the stairs. There was something wrong — the way he stood did not suit an old man. He seemed as huge and strong as a bear.

Dominic paused before putting his foot to the stairs and looked up. Now he saw the Indian’s face better — the face of an old man, indeed. The hair under the black homespun hat the old man was wearing was long and silver. At left, just below the eye, there was the beginning of a scar that seemed to disappear somewhere under his chin. Dominic had never seen him before. With such a face, he would have remembered him.

Once Dominic reached the top stair, he stopped again, wondering if he should greet the old man or just pass him by. It was indecent to stare at him like that, so he finally nodded. The Indian said nothing. Didn’t move his head. Just kept watching him. Obviously, he was not worth the effort and Dominic started to cross the porch.

The words suddenly stopped him. So, that’s who you are?

Dominic turned and smiled, a bit embarrassed. He asked, And you are? He waited long enough, but the old man did not respond. That confused him, so he decided to explain. If you mean that I’m one of the hunters, that’s true, he smiled, but I’m not good at this.

There was no answer. Obviously, it was a waste of time and Dominic made a step toward the entrance.

The voice behind him was like a growl. Whoever said that those who kill just for pleasure are good? That’s exactly what you are doing, right? Hunting now to mount your trophy head later. To stretch a skin in front of your fireplace. It’s a sign of your strength.

The words had weight and hung icily between the two of them. Dominic hardened, an angry question flashing through his head. So this is their idea of a welcome? Harry had described this place as a paradise but he was beginning to regret that he’d come. The cold, mountain air that cut to the bone made him shudder and the evening suddenly felt more wet and gloomy. Heavy thuds rumbled on the steps behind.

Aha. You two know each other, right? Harry rested his rifle on the wooden floor and looked at them.

Well, how could we? Dominic said as he walked to the entrance.

Harry turned and looked at the Indian, only to discover that he did not know the old man either. The Indian nodded at Harry but said nothing. Adjusting his glasses, Harry nodded back and followed Dominic.

As soon, as the door opened, shouts and savage cries greeted them. Harry had gathered his best friends, including Dominic. Three elected not to come, but it was not a tragedy — they would come to other outings, the season was long enough. The guys looked tired before the hunt even began, but their spirits were high from the excitement.

Dominic chose to sit between the twins, Barry and Dug Wilkins, whom he liked most and immediately started talking about the shitty rush of the day. Albert, the man on the right, slid him a shot of whisky, which he drank in one thirsty gulp.

Just what I need, damn it! Dominic smiled and tapped the shot glass on the table.

That made the men laugh approvingly. A few moments later a new shot poured its burning contents down his throat.

Harry offered a toast to The craziest hunt ever! and they all drank. Dominic finally felt better. The men began to toss jokes at each other, but beneath the uproar the tension was haunting. Dominic knew that feeling well.

Johnnie Evans threw more wood into the fireplace, then stood up, brushed his hands off and turned to the others.

Gentlemen, the guide said, there are exactly two hours to go. Are you sure you don’t want to get some rest?

Right, Dominic thought, and who would be that stupid to leave the best part before each hunt? Come on . . . They were all dog-tired, but nobody wanted to leave the table. Johnnie waited for a moment, then shrugged and walked toward the door.

Dominic stood up and hurried after him. His stomach was burning, but despite the scotch, his head was still damn clear. He caught Johnnie right before the door.

Excuse me . . . Dominic faltered and stopped two steps behind the guide.

Yes? Johnnie turned and looked at him.

Dominic decided that he did not want the others to hear him, so he came closer to the guide. Do you know the old man on the porch? he asked.

How could I not? Ronnie, he . . . What about him? Johnnie smiled though his eyes remained serious.

No, no . . . He just mentioned that he knew me, but surely, he made a mistake. In this dusk outside . . .

Ah, sometimes his mind is not all there. Don’t take it seriously.

Ronnie, right? asked Dominic.

Ron Night Thunder — that’s what we call him. He doesn’t like ‘the ‘two day’ hunters’ much, you know? Well, he —

And why he is here? To say it to us personally? interrupted Dominic.

Oh, no, he drops in occasionally. Ronnie brings me some fish or fresh venison. I really wonder if he’d talk with you, or anyone. The old man is really quiet. Johnnie scratched his chin.

Well, it wasn’t a conversation, just . . . He just mistook me for someone else, I think.

Ronnie? That’s something new, Johnnie ran his fingers through his short hair. The old man can say from a quarter mile away which antlers are better on the heads of two deer. Anyway, I’ll ask him later what he meant.

Don’t worry about it, Dominic smiled It’s not really important.

Sure it isn’t, murmured Johnnie.

They nodded to each other, the guide left the room and Dominic returned to the group around the table.

Johnnie went out on the terrace. There was no one there, only the light coming from the lanterns kept dancing with the crooked shadows. The guide turned around, his sharp eyes peered into the darkness. A coyote called from afar. About a mile above the lodge another one called back. A screech gave away that an eagle owl was near the building. Johnnie moved his gaze to the sky.

Frozen over the southeast ridge, the full moon was spreading cold silver tones over the vast dark green below, making an oil painting of the expanse. The forest filled up with life, the night wind set it in motion and made