Hunter prey

Gwengot pushed the plate away, her stomach growling with hunger. The food had spoiled days ago, yellow slime spreading across its surface. She knew they needed fresh food. Her father had broken his leg a month earlier while jumping to escape a wild pack of scoundrels. Their presence outside their usual migration routes was highly unusual.

In their small, comfortable cave, her father slept fitfully. Her mother busied herself tidying and trying to feed the youngest of the brood. Two of Gwengot’s siblings had died in recent weeks.

The family claimed ignorance about the cause of death, but Gwengot knew the truth—it was starvation. Her birther couldn’t produce sustenance because she hadn’t been eating. She had given all her food to others.

“My birther, my sire, cannot gather food. I’d like to go get some game or fish. Can I go?” Gwengot asked.

Her mother stiffened, shocked by Gwengot’s impropriety. “Your sire is well able to provide. We just need to be patient,” she replied.

“If my sire doesn’t get well soon, we’ll starve,” Gwengot argued.

Her father’s voice broke the tension. “Lifemate Racheelia, Gwengot is right. She’s the only one who can bring us back food.”

“But she’s too young. Patrols and hunting packs roam out there,” her mother protested.

“She’s been out with me before. She knows their routes. She knows the land. She’ll be fine,” her father assured her.

“She’s our oldest offspring. If anything happens to her, you’ll be shamed,” her mother warned.

“If anything happens to her, we’ll die from lack of food,” her father countered. Turning to Gwengot, he said, “Gwengot, my chosen, bring back something good to eat.”

Her mother lowered her head in reluctant submission. Gwengot hugged her mother tightly. “It will be fine, Mother,” she promised.

She then embraced her father. “Thank you, sire. I won’t let you down.”

Her father smiled, baring his teeth. “I know you won’t.”

Gwengot gathered her weapons and camouflage and left the comfort of the dwelling.

Ten miles south, Sergeant Smythe-Farrel raised his binoculars and scanned the horizon. Dark clouds with a hint of purple churned in the distance, signaling an approaching thunderstorm. It loomed about ten clicks away, far enough to avoid their position when it broke. He shifted his gaze back to the jungle, muttering curses under his breath. The jungle was nothing but a cursed, suffocating expanse.

He cursed the woman who had ruined his life. If she hadn’t complained to the village elder, he’d still be in civilization instead of six light-years away from anything remotely female. This desolate, primitive hellhole didn’t even have beer.

He remembered her clearly and spat her name like venom. He had seen her walking through the street at night. After grabbing her and taking what he wanted, he had tossed her the standard rate for a prostitute back on Earth. In court, she claimed he had viciously raped her and stolen her virginity. He had insisted she was a prostitute and that they had negotiated beforehand. The court, as expected, sided with him. Why would a fine military officer assault an innocent girl?

When the girl took her own life, her family petitioned the military for justice. They were denied. Later, he spotted another girl, maybe sixteen, walking down a laneway. He pounced, knocked her unconscious, and prepared to have his way with her. But nine villagers ambushed him, beating him with clubs. He realized they had been waiting for him.

The court ruled the incident as assault, not sexual violence. He received a slap on the wrist, a demotion to lieutenant, and a transfer to the worst post imaginable. After reviewing his previous case, the court sent him to this forsaken jungle. Here, he could only profit from his fellow Marines, who were just as poor as he was.

He tried pilfering from lockers but got caught and demoted again, this time to sergeant. One night, someone drugged him in his sleep and branded a large “R” on his forehead. He sought justice, but no one cared. His locker was vandalized with the words “Rapist and Robber.” When he checked the CCTV footage, he found the cameras had been turned off. His superior officers dismissed his complaints, telling him he had brought it upon himself.

Now, he spent his days in a watchtower, permanently stationed there. His fellow watchers rotated out after three months of training, moving on to better assignments. One bragged about being sent to Nexus 17, a world where women were beautiful, promiscuous, and where pair bonding was illegal.

Smythe-Farrel didn’t bother telling him that willing women weren’t his preference. He preferred a fight before taking his pleasure.

With five years left on his military contract, Smythe-Farrel faced five long years of staring at the jungle. Five years without unsuspecting women to enjoy. He was a miserable man.

“Contact,” his tower companion announced. Smythe-Farrel didn’t bother learning the privates’ names.

“Bearing first, you dumb son of a bitch,” Smythe-Farrel barked.

“Seven point three five southwest. About two clicks,” the private replied.

Smythe-Farrel adjusted his binoculars and scanned the area. At first, he saw nothing. Then, a flash of red hair caught his eye. A young girl. His heart raced. He watched her for a minute as she removed her top and dove into a pool. She carried a spear and gathered fish.

He felt arousal stir. He had heard rumors of a sentient species on the planet but had never seen one. If one disappeared in the jungle, no one would know.

The private reached for the communications device, but Smythe-Farrel snatched it away. “No need to disturb HQ. I’ll check it out myself. It looks like some kind of bird. You’ll get in trouble for sending them on a wild goose chase,” he said.

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” the private replied.

Smythe-Farrel called HQ. “Tower forty-two to HQ. Possible weather fluctuations are incoming. Dark storm clouds with a hint of red. If communications fail, that’s the reason. Over and out.”

He hung up, grabbed his rifle, and turned to the private. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

Gwengot caught two small fish. It wasn’t enough to feed everyone. She knew one of the younger siblings would be sent to deliver the food to the family. Soon, it would be her turn to die to feed them.

She sniffed the air and froze. A human. She recognized the chemical scent they used to clean themselves. The human was close. She reached for her top, but something struck the back of her head. She collapsed hard onto the ground.

“Don’t bother getting dressed. I’ll need to strip you again,” a man laughed. His voice carried no humor. He stood over her, leering.

He reached for her, but she bit his hand. He yanked it back and licked the wound. “I’ll make the next few hours of your life a misery,” he snarled.

He pinned her down as she struggled. His unpleasant laugh echoed again. He stared into her eyes and froze. They weren’t human eyes. They were like a cat’s.

“I’m going to enjoy you,” Smythe-Farrel growled as he unbuckled his belt.

He sniffed her. “You smell good enough to eat. I’ll have your guts for garters for biting me.”

His coordination faltered. His vision blurred. His hand throbbed with pain. He glanced at it and saw it turning yellow.

A voice hissed in his ear, “Funny. I was going to say the same to you. My venom will make you feel rested and obedient to my words.”

Smythe-Farrel woke in a dark cave. Ten feet away, a family fed from bowls, smacking their lips. A red-haired creature approached him, holding a thigh bone with meat. He recognized her as the girl he had attacked. She took a bite and smiled.

“Once we washed off the chemicals, you were delicious,” she said.

Smythe-Farrel glanced down and saw one of his legs missing. A tourniquet stopped the bleeding.

“Please kill me,” he begged.

“We’re having friends over next week. We need to keep the internal organs fresh,” she replied, laughing and exposing sharp teeth.

He thought it was a nice laugh.