Headlights

[Aardvark]

Branches snapped and small trees were crushed underfoot, as the buck barrelled through the dense forest. Surefooted and nimble, he would never be brought down by vegetation such as this, but following close at heel were two does and their fawns, struggling to keep up. It was all he could do to crush the vegetation and give them easier passage as they fled through the forest. He desperately wanted to look back, to see if they were still with him, but he knew even that moment of hesitation could doom them all.

Others had split off from the herd, in different directions, running for their lives. He knew one group headed straight for the mountains. They would probably be safe, that terrain was treacherous. He also knew one that headed back down towards the planes. That group consisted of three young bucks, who took that dangerous path knowing it would be their end. Some had already fallen. He had no idea who and couldn't possibly fathom how many, but he could feel that the herd had been wounded severely.

The predators were not unfamilar to him. They had come before, in small groups, typically only taking one of two, then leaving. Sometimes, he would go a season without seeing any, but would later see evidence of their presence when they encountered other herds roaming the wilderness. He had no notion of who or why they hunted his kind. All he knew was the sound, a sharp crack, that would signal the demise of one of his family. He had learned young that the noise was a signal to run and never look back, so it was a time before he ever saw one, and even then, never close enough to make out any details. He had merely accepted that, like many things, these creatures were just a natural part of the wilderness.

But today, these were somehow different. It was no longer a single loud crack, but many. They came closer than they had dared before, taking down many of his kin in one swoop before his herd had been able to flee. They also seemed intent not on the kill, but on causing suffering. The memories of the crying of a fawn as it clung desperately, but futiley to life, would haunt him to the end. And they pursued, with a speed and intent he had never seen in any creature before. They tore through the underbrush with an unnatural roar, like nothing the forest could produce. They chased and when they caught, they took down even more.

Splitting up had not been a choice any of them would have made, but their pursuers had forced them to split, some showing up in the path of the herd, causing them to split off. He could no longer hear the others, so would never know if any made it to safety. All he could do was care for the few who had followed him. Who trusted him blindly, knowing that the alternative was a horrible demise. And he knew not where he was going, only that every moment he could keep going was another moment of survival.

He heard another cry behind him. A fawn had fallen from exhaustion. So few left and he could do nothing about it. He wanted to stop, to turn around, to charge back into them, antlers down, tearing through them, but he knew it would be pointless. He knew he would join the dead, along with the small group following. So he ran, with only a glimmer of hope deep within his soul.

There had always been a destination in mind, as soon as he realised he was in flight for his life. A place he had never seen before, in all his years roaming, and could not know how to reach. But a voice inside, something deep and primal, told him to run. If he ran, he would reach this place. He would be able to protect the herd. Protect everyone.

As he raced onward, he could hear the sounds of the does and the remaining fawns fade as they fell behind. Beyond them, the distant roar of the predators. He knew that they were lost to him, but every aching fibre of his being screamed for him to turn around and protect them. Yet he raced on, urged on by that low rumbling.

Roaring from his flanks, as two more predators picked up his trail. Either they had lost the small groups they were chasing, or had already caught them. Could they know where he ran to? Could they be trying to stop him?

More snapping behind him, the sound of bark and branches being torn from trees and pain, as he felt his hide pierced. It wasn't serious, but enough to remind him of his peril. They were getting closer. The brush was thinning. They would be on him soon.

Suddenly, the forest peeled away from him and the ground gave way beneath him. For an instant, he was flying. Then he was falling. He could see below, trees reaching up to him, getting closer. He was falling faster. He panicked. He writhed. He tried to fight this unknown and terrifying sensation. His heart almost seized, his stomach twisted. He screamed.

The last thing he felt, before he crashed through the canopy and into the forest floor, was a warm, fulfilling sensation. His fears washed away, his thoughts for the others gone. He had done his best, and now it was over. He felt at home, at peace. No more wandering for food, fighting other bucks for dominance, running from strange predators. Finally, he was at peace. The primal urging told him to rest. That the others would be protected. Sleep.

The hunters skittered to a halt before the cliff edge. One of them dismounted his bike and peered over, looking for where the deer had fallen. He saw nothing. Another was looking at his map, puzzled. This cliff wasn't supposed to be here. The whole valley before them wasn't on the map. The others checked their weapons. Today had been a good day for them. They had been merciless in culling these creatures. It wasn't exactly what the permit had allowed, but it wasnt' strictly forbidden to chase an oversized population of deer down on dirt bikes, firing automatic weapons. And even if it had, they would be gone before anyone could tell them otherwise.

Puzzled by the abrupt ending, but thinking little more of it, they turned away from the cliff and prepared to depart. Until the ground shook beneath them. The rocks split, the trees fell and the whole cliff face gave way, dragging the hunters down with it. Their final moments were spent gripped with the same horror their previous quarry had felt, with no relief. Deep within their souls, before their bodies gave out, they felt it. That primal urge of the wilderness. It hungered.

Edited January 14, 2016 by Aardvark

[TLDunn213]

Cool

Totally freestanding short story.