Free The Hunter Inside by David McGowan

door behind him.
    ‘How does he know?’ Bill
said out loud as he gasped for air. ‘How does he know?’ Seconds passed as Bill
processed all of the information and its implications in his mind. As he did he
became more and more frightened.
    The first thing he thought
about was this person’s ability to go undetected. He had not seen anything
during his surveillance operation of the perimeter of his house, but this
person must have been watching him all of the time to be able to follow him to
the cemetery. He was going to be looking over his shoulder with every step and
at every turn for danger. Whoever was stalking him was waiting to pick their
moment, and he could never be sure when that might be.
    His aching head and his
aching mind were trying to tell him something else. But it was not until his
thought train had reached the end of the line. Then he understood. It was the
second thing that Bill Arnold realized as he sat looking all around, trying to
spot his stalker. He realized that whoever wanted him dead knew his next move,
and finally he made his ultimate connection. The note had been waiting for him
at his father’s grave. It was the same man. It had to be. His being stalked was
the continuation of his father being stalked and killed. This was the same man
that killed his father.
    How long has he been
watching?
    He must move, right away.
If he was being watched then he could be followed from the cemetery. Then his
journey would be a waste of time. He would have nowhere else to run, and he
didn’t think he would have the energy to run more than once.
    Bill Arnold jammed the key
into the ignition and stubbornly held on, despite the struggling sound that
came as the car appealed to him to leave it be. He won the battle as it
shuddered into life, and was relieved that he had not managed to flood the
car’s engine. With a squeal of tires that he thought might have woken the dead
in the cramped confines of the space behind him, he roared away from the
cemetery, exiting the huge gates that stood at the front of the parking lot.
The roads around Glen Rock would be quiet, despite it being rush hour, and this
meant he could put his foot down in an attempt to shake off anybody that was following,
and make the first part of his journey in the least possible amount of time.
Another bonus was the fact that if anybody were following him then they
would be obvious from their excess speed. He just hoped he didn’t come across
any cops.
    Bill pushed his foot
against the accelerator and the Ford began to pick up speed. Not as much or as
quickly as he would have liked, but he would not have been able to turn down an
RAF Tornado fighter jet if he had been offered one.
    As he headed down the long
streets towards the freeway, he looked constantly in his rear-view mirror,
trying to see if anybody was following, and hoping that it stayed clear as he
maneuvered through the sparse traffic on the roads. He received a few
disgruntled honks from people who were not impressed with his desire for
control of the road, but at that moment other motorists were the last people he
was worried about.
    He was normally a
conscientious driver. Driving the rigs meant that he had to be, but now he
didn’t, and he damn sure as hell wasn’t going to be when his life was under
threat. If he had the time to stop and explain his situation to the people who
honked, then he was pretty sure they would understand his traveling at nearly
one hundred and fifty kilometers per hour. But, that luxury denied him, he
ploughed onwards until he got to the freeway and was forced to slow
considerably by the swelling of traffic that came inevitably with the lunchtime
rush.
    His pace decreased as he
entered the freeway, leveling off at a steady hundred kilometers per hour. This
seemed like a snail’s pace to Bill, and he weaved in and out of traffic for the
first few minutes, trying to pick up speed. This was impossible for him to
achieve, however, and he was forced to