Free Hunters: A Trilogy by Paul A. Rice Page A

backwards until his legs hit the chair. Totally shattered, Ken collapsed onto it and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He looked at the photograph, painting...‘Or whatever the hell it is...’ and noticed that the spear was now clearly visible from any angle and seemed to have risen about a foot above the glass.
    Ken’s mind did a flip as he realised the strange truth about his emotions. He didn’t think of the spearhead as scary any more, instead he saw it as beautifully magnetic – it seemed to pull him, inviting him to follow. It was grey-green and gave off an aura of...of beauty? He didn’t know what it exuded, exactly. But he did know that it scared the hell out of him. Ken grunted, and with some deal of effort pulled his eyes away from the entrancing image.
    ‘What the hell do I do now? The bloody thing’s looking at me!’
    The thoughts were draining, his brain felt as though it had shrunk and his eyes as though they were full of grit. His mouth was dry and he thought seriously about running again. He placed both hands on his head and ran them down over his face, the thick layer of stubble rasping against his cracked fingers as he did so. He needed to get his head together, but couldn’t seem to focus his eyes properly. Half-petrified and half-calm, Ken knew that he was starting to get into a real mess.
    Sagging back, head resting upon the wall behind, he closed his eyes and tried to think. The exhaustion was overwhelming and he felt his brain going into shutdown mode of its own accord. ‘I’ll just have five minutes,’ he thought, and then fell over the precipice of his exhaustion into the pit of a black and dreamless sleep.
    ***
    Waking up thirty minutes later, he sat still for a moment or two, gathering his thoughts and building up the courage to look at the picture again. Staring down, he could see that the spearhead was still floating above it, serenely hovering in the air and waiting for him. ‘Okay, I’ll be right with you,’ he murmured. Ken was also about to say something like: ‘Right then, what now?’ But, before he managed to speak, the spear rose up away from the picture and flew off down the corridor, zooming into the last office on the left. Strangely, this didn’t surprise him as much as it should have. He grunted: ‘Perhaps I’m just getting used to this?’ No-one replied to that ridiculous question. So, Ken did the honours himself. ‘Perhaps...perhaps fuck all – perhaps my arse!’
    He turned away from the thoughts and scanned the corridor, faded green eyes catching the pulsating glow of light emanating over the top of the office partition-walls. The radiance of the light cast ghostly green shadows onto the ancient ceiling of the room. This alone added to the surrealism of the whole situation. It was calling him, beckoning for Ken to come and see.
    ‘Okay, fine...I’ll be right there!’ he said, in disbelief at his own words. ‘Just let me get my act together, and I’ll be right there!’ In a daze, he turned away to gather up his belongings. Grabbing the rifle and spare magazines, he followed the route the spear had taken. Upon reaching the door he paused, took a deep breath, and then stepped into the office where, apparently, his new-found guide should be waiting for him. He wasn’t to be disappointed. The spear was there, hanging upside down in the air over the desk.
    It looked like the ‘Down’ call button for an elevator. ‘The trouble is that it’s not on a wall, is it? This isn’t a bloody lift, and I’m definitely going barking mad!’ he whispered. Ken’s head filled with the madness of his own words.
    He shouted out: ‘Woof fucking woof!’ and then giggled insanely. The whole thing started to fill him with an overwhelming desire to run. Run until his lungs burst and the blood seeped from his eyes.
    Mr Tiny agreed: ‘Yes, run and never turn back, not ever!’
    Ken’s left leg began shaking of its own accord and he thought about sitting