Page 1 of The Hunter's Mate

1

Fawn

The Atchafalaya Basin has always been the most dangerous kind of wild.

Even before the apocalypse—before Angels arrived on Earth and I realized I wasn’t good enough for the Rapture—this swamp was a breeding ground for predators and parasites. For a long time, we humans stood at the apex of that food chain, and I learned at a young age how to survive.

Over time, I came to love this place rather than fear it. And when interlopers arrived on our planet one week ago, I knew exactly where I should go.

To the swamp. A place where I could hide and outwit anyone who came after me.

I took my flat-bottom boat out of town and across the muddy brown water, between cypress knees and oak trees. It was a day like any other here in the basin, other than the moment when I crossed under I-10 to near silence. There should have been cars driving overhead, but there was nothing.

No one.

Just the sound of distant gunfire in New Orleans.

And now I’m here—my dad’s old hunting post, a shack on stilts on the edge of some marshland. There’s a cot here, a camping lantern, enough rations to keep me fed until I can do some hunting or this disaster ends. I could live alone out here for years, just like my daddy taught me.

That is…if circumstances haven’t changed.

If I’m still the apex predator.

Because at night, I hear strange sounds—something big moving through the water. It isn’t a gator. I haven’t seen their tracks, and in fact, it seems like they’ve vacated the area. And I don’t think it’s a snake either, because there are no telltale signs of slithering serpents in the mud.

This is something else.

And only time can tell when it will finally come and get me.

It was watching me last night…and it’s getting sloppy.

Sleep didn’t come easy, and when it did, I slept restlessly. A mosquito got into the shack and kept buzzing around my head, landing on my face, drawing blood. I got it eventually, but it just so happened that I was being watched through the shack’s only window when I opened my eyes.

I didn’t see it—or at least, I don’t think I did. But I could hear it breathing, just a puff of air before a rustling sounded outside the shack. I was on my feet a moment later, but it was gone by the time I grabbed my hunting rifle.

This morning, there’s mud on the stairs outside, and strange footprints in the mud.

If my daddy taught me one thing, it’s that when someone is poaching on your turf, you gotta take care of it. Whether it’s another person on your land or an animal devouring what should be your prey, you deal with that shit head-on. I need to figure out if this is a person or an animal—and then I’ll either talk to it or kill it myself.

I have to hope it’s not some kind of biblical monster.

I don’t know how to hunt those.

I take the land route rather than getting in my boat, making sure it’s still tied securely to a post outside of the shack. From there, I head along an isthmus in the swamp, avoiding marshy areas and weaving through the vines and leaves. I catch sight of fish, birds, a few turtles. Two roseate spoonbills fly overhead, their pink feathers gleaming in the dim sunlight. It’s been rainy, and a sudden storm drenches me to the bone, plastering my hair and clothes to my skin.

I don’t see any gators—which is strange, because this area is normally crawling with them. I kneel to examine some tracks I find resembling gator prints, but they’re not accompanied by the slide of a belly along the mud. Instead, a single trail goes between them like a large snake has been here.

This is…weird.

I snap my head up at a splash in the water, and for a moment, I lock eyes with something just above the surface. I can’t figure what I’m looking at; I’ve seen tons of alligators in my life, and that’s the only thing that could be this big. It stares at me with golden eyes, dark green scales shining along its snout.

I can’t make sense of it, but this thing is more intelligent than an ordinary swamp animal.

I take my eyes away for a split second to reach for my gun, but by the time I aim, it’s gone, leaving only a few bubbles on the water’s opaque surface.

Something else rustles in the brush, attracting my attention. There’s more than just giant lizards out here—there are snakes, black bears, and the most dangerous of all: wild hogs. The pigs can be good eating, but they’re vicious and can gore you in a heartbeat.

I raise my gun and point it at the brush.