Greetings guys and gals!
I'm playing Hunt for about a year, and it was growing on me from the very beginning. But I always felt, that we don’t really know much about Hunt lore. What kind of society hunters have? Does it have a strict organization, or is it a bunch of secret cells, where you need to know the right door and have a toothpick in your mouth, or something like that? So I went along with my ideas on how things might worked when hunter society was not yet formed to meet the arising threat, and how one could possibly have gotten into this world and faced the horrible truth.
In a commemoration of patch 1.0 I decided to write and post a little fan fiction story, or rather the first part of it. Feel free to give your constructive criticism, and upvote, if you want to see the rest of the story. Have a nice reading!
Disclaimer: It is the first time I’m trying to write something longer that ten sentences in English. You will see a lot of weird language. And you should mind, that United Coalition of GrammarNazi is already wanting me for my crimes in other languages. Proceed on your own risk. ;)
Oh yeah, I really recommend this soundtrack for the reading: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XCKQgJ0Eqlg
Hunt: The rise
Part 1.
I like rain. Always did. There is something comforting in the sound of water falling on tree leaves and roofs and streaming further, down the pipes. Makes all the hustle and ruckus die down. Lets you to concentrate on yourself, washes away tiredness and tumult of mind. Perfect accompaniment for a good night sleep...
Not this time, though. First time in my life I was afraid of it. Afraid to the extent that I would start praying for it to stop, if I could actually part my jaws for that.
Hands clenched on the “Borrowed hour” so tight, my knuckles turned white. The whole body was stiff from cold and in uncomfortable position, but I didn’t dare to move, or get my eyes off the cave entrance even for a second. Cold tremor was the only movement I could not stop. Muzzle sight was shaking vigorously and my whole concentration was focused on keeping the barrel pointed at the oval of dim, dispersed moonlight. Eyes were hurting because of the strain, trying to see anything darker than thin air that could appear before me. Ears strained to the limit, to hear anything odd behind the singing of the rain. The stress was getting on me. Every trill of water coming down the rocks sounded to me like a clank of a pistol, or a footstep, or a distant branch snap. The monotonous sound of rain was muffling every other one, making everything weird, or even completely different. Dirty weather makes so much weird noises if you are listening too hard. I was trying to convince myself that it will wash away my tracks, and will force to seek shelter just about anyone, even those thing, at least for the night, but I just could not drop the feeling. Was it my brain playing with me? Was I imagining things? I could hardly tell if I can be called sane any more. What if the whole last week was just an imagination? What if I’m just raving feverishly, back in my bed at home? And mother and sister sitting around, changing wet towels...
My head was slowly falling down on my elbow, eye leads heavy, but I managed to jolt my self into consciousness just in time.
No... No! I need to hold myself together, otherwise I’m not going to see them again, ever. I still have a lot of things ahead of me. And for beginning, I will need to get back to New Orleans in one piece. I need to find my way back. I need to calm down and recollect everything. No time to sleep now. If I will get to rest tonight, it will be the eternal one, no doubt.
I moved my leg a bit and had to clench my teeth hard, to swallow a groan. The pain was getting stronger. I unclenched my left hand from the gun barrel and carefully checked the wound. Still wet and sticky. A little puddle of blood on the cave floor showed, that bleeding started again. Not as bad as it was before, but I will need a proper bandage soon.
Surprisingly, the pain brought back some clarity of mind. Reminded me that I’m still alive and can be hurt, if I’m not careful enough.
I need to think. I need to stay awake. I have a lot to recollect. Come on, brain, get to work...
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The first time I though something is going to turn wrong was when we started to come down the hills. Five previous days we spent following some smaller inlets of Mississippi, and moved roughly into North-West direction. The road was not hard, and even rather heavy load was not much of a burden for me. At daytime we were threading roads of northern Louisiana, and at night we were lodging at farms, or even putting up a tent. Rations, Doctor Kruitzer brought with him, were of rather high quality, (he boasted he was able to get them through some of his army connections) and on top of that Doctor was a rather interesting person. His stories from times when he served in India were quite fascinating for my young mind. Since I spent my whole life in a small fish reeking port district of New Orleans, places far away, travelling and adventures had very romantic taste inside my head. And this little archaeological adventure Doctor hired me for, was like a fresh air to me, both literally and figuratively. God, it was just about a week ago, wasn’t it?!
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- So, you are looking for a job, kid? Mind you, I’m not taking any slobbers to carry my suitcase around the city. It is going to be a real job, son. No jokes here. I already had a couple of freeloaders, who ran away the minute it got harder than a stroll in a park. What makes you think you’ll be any different?
- Just ask around, sir. Ask anyone. They all will say, that Olsted Birmingheim is a man of word and honest labour. You give me a job, I do it. You won’t regret it mister Doctor, sir.
- Those are just words, young man. Have anything to prove them?
- If you need any proof, just look at these hands doctor, sir. These hand were never shy of any hard work at a fish warehouse. And with these legs I can stand there for twelve hours in a row, I’m a not your green sissy, no sir.
- Oh, pretty confident we are, eh? Well... At least you have some vigour alright. Just like a young man should be, I suppose. It is Doctor Kruitzer, boy. Memorize that, and welcome aboard.
- Many thanks, sir... Doctor Kruitzer. I’m ready whenever you need me. But, if you forgive my question, what payment we are talking... I mean, I’m not implying... But how much you can spare...
- One hundred and fifty. One hundred and fifty dollars for the job well done, boy. It will not be your milk delivery run, but if you will not screw it, you will be rich in a couple of weeks.
Good God, one hundred and fifty dollars! How happy I was then. Insane money! I would not be able to make that much in half a year, even if I would eat dirt for lunch the whole time. And I needed them badly... That man meant business, you could say just by looking at him. Well, he didn’t even give me time to change my holiday white shirt...
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So yeah, I was very excited and pretty much happy with our little voyage, until we got close to our destination and stepped into infamous Louisiana swamps. Inhabited lands were left behind, roads were no more, and we were spending whole days climbing high-grounds and coming down into swampy valleys. And with each mile, hills were getting smaller. Our way laid further into swamps.
Insects, humidity and curved impassable paths were hampering us a lot. Air was filled with putrid stench of foul waters. Smell of rot and decay filled our nostrils.
I wasn’t one of those spoiled sissies, years of work in fishing factory were not any softer than a bed of nails, and smelled not better than this swamp. But being cut of from any civilization, stuck in a God forsaken place crawling with beasts and parasites, together with a man I knew nothing about...
Our mood has dropped heavily just in two days. Doctor wasn’t a bright talkative man any more. He was determinedly pushing forward, murmuring something under his breath.
We talked less and swore more. I felt as if my backpack was gaining a few extra pounds every morning. Straps were cutting into my shoulders, sweat was filling my eyes. Partially I had to use my hearing just to understand what bushes doctor just went into, using clanking of his excavation gear as an indicator. Mud under our feet was becoming thicker with every step. In short, this trip was not looking like a good idea any more. Well, foolish I was to think that those riches will be mine for a casual stroll through a countryside.
That day, after a short lunch we were standing in front of a wide stretch of swamp water, with only a shabby old wooden walkway crossing it. Some parts of this makeshift crossing looked extremely suspicious, and I voiced my concerned to Doctor Kruitzer.
- No time to waste, my boy. We have a job to do, and my clients in Baton Rouge will not wait for too long. - said Doctor, intensely eyeing a wall of reed on the other side of the crossing.
This was new. When we embarked on this journey Doctor had said it was archaeological excavation trip. He, as he said, was after some native tribe ceremonial utensils, from burial grounds. It was for the science, he said. I wasn’t too much of a superstitious type, and agreed that it was perfectly reasonable. But now this whole situation was making me nervous in a strange way, I could not properly describe myself. I guess when Doctor mentioned that he had “clients” it all suddenly started to look more like a grave robbery.
- And watch your steps. The walkways are old, as you can see. And local fauna is not particularly found of humans. Or rather, some of it’s representatives are too found of some parts of human beings.
Doctor pushed out a dry chuckle, and stepped on the walkway. The construction creaked as if it was going to collapse right away, but stood. Our further way laid across a few series of such crossings. Choosing a right plank to step on, I was looking down into the waters of infamous Louisiana swamp. Completely transparent near the surface, the water was coming to a spotless blackness further to the bottom. Reed stems were coming out of pitch darkness, on the edge of which, from time to time, I could spot a hint of movement. A couple of times, I could swear, I saw something similar to tree roots, or snakes, abruptly moving out of sight every time I stopped to look closer. Another time it was a very peculiar piece of wood floating in a thick duckweed a few dozen feet from the passage. At first I got dead scared, because the shape was very close to the one of an alligator, but then it came to my mind, that that thing was too big for such creature. Just a weirdly shaped log it was. No doubt...
The swamp was unnaturally quite too, with only sounds being strange “gouping” burps of gas bubbles coming from somewhere at the bottom. It looked like someone, or something, was breathing deep below, and that was scaring the hell out of me. At the same time, I noticed that Doctor is actually now was carrying a pistol (I noticed a handgrip of some gun on his hip) in addition to his double barrel shotgun on his back. The fact that doctor is no longer considered the double-barrel to be enough for our protection was getting on my nerves. What could possibly require a second gun to kill, in this swamps?
Sunset hour was not too far, when we hit some, more or less, solid soil, and a few minutes later we stepped under forest canopy. Doctor looked much more confident now. Very soon he found some barely visible track and pushed forward, contentedly nodding to himself from time to time. According to what Doctor had said to me earlier, he had some kind of a shack in these parts. I figured that the hardest part was done, and felt myself a little better.
Last couple of hours we had to walk in complete darkness, but doctor insisted that we push on. He took out an oil lamp and we were walking solemnly in a tight circle of light, surrounded by night forest noises.
Suddenly swamp gave way to a large plateau, and we were standing before a small compound of houses jammed between several bunch of trees. After almost three days spent walking among wild nature, these remnants of human presence looked very odd. Although, remnants those were, nothing more. Old, with dark gaping windows, collapsed roofs and rotten doors. As much as I hated our travelling through the swamps, these houses were much worse.
While I was guessing in which haunted place Doctor will suggest us to stay for the night, he jumped over half destroyed fence and walked between two houses. I hurried after him, only to bump into his back a couple yards further. Doctor just turned around the corner, and now was standing perfectly still. He abruptly hushed on me, and only then I noticed his hand at ready at his belt, just over the pistol grip. I did everything in my power to freeze in place, and make rattle of my backpack a little bit quieter. Then I followed Doctors line of sight with my own eyes, and suddenly a whole bunch of chills rushed down my spine. Amidst desolated yards and half-crumbled houses, there was a movement clearly visible in moonlight. An odd, hunched figure, dressed in rags, head hidden in a bush of unkempt grey hair, was shambling towards us.
Submitted August 27, 2019 at 09:55PM by SOIMiMozO https://ift.tt/328unsI
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