Page 46 of Taunting Tarran
I duck and tear through the underbrush, searching for a place to hide, then a red beacon flashes from a tall pole casting that eerie red glow across the landscape.
‘RED LIGHT,’ the mechanical voice declares.
The atmosphere is tense – the red light signaling a temporary halt. The silence is almost deafening, broken only by the distant rustle of the hunters closing in.
Then, as suddenly as it began, the red light flickers off, and the voice returns.
‘GREEN LIGHT.’
The forest returns to its green hue, and I see the other girls ahead scrambling to gain ground. The red light may have given us a moment of respite, but the danger is far from over.
I catch up to Jessica who is breathing heavily.
‘Come on,’ I urge.
‘I can’t,’ she cries.
The red light illuminates, this time without warning, no voice, but I freeze regardless.
Her thin, almost translucent hand grasps my arm. ‘Let me go, you’re going to get us killed,’ I say through gritted teeth.
‘Please,’ she begs, digging her nails into my arm.
‘Let. Me. Go,’ I growl, as the red light casts a red, thick fog.
‘Fine,’ she snarls.
‘Don’t. Move!’ I whisper, without moving my lips.
I’ve played this game before. It’s reminiscentof hide and seek, a game I used to play at Grandpa’s estate. I imagine, we as prey must conceal ourselves within the wilderness to evade our hunter’s watchful eyes – but I’m sure in this game, the goal isn’t just to find, but to capture, with the consequences far more dire than a simple tag.
Jessica throws herself back, her frustration erupting in a flurry of frantic movements. She stomps her feet, her voice rising in a panicked crescendo. It draws unwanted attention.
‘Jessica! Stop!’ I hiss through clenched teeth, but she doesn’t listen.
An arrow and a bullet hit her simultaneously, two shots, the force sending her crumpling to the ground. Her cries replaced by the echo of the shot. My face contorts as blood splatters over it, but even so, with the red light still glowing, I don’t move. The red light flickers off, plunging the forest into darkness once more. The sudden silence shattered by the distant wail of a disappointing kill, no doubt.
The mechanical voice blares through the speakers again.
‘JESSICA HAS BEEN ELIMINATED FROM THE GAME. WILL BUYER 034 PLEASE RETURN TO BASE.’
Another anguished wail cuts through the air, chilling and desperate. It rolls towards me, her buyer’s realization – they’ve lost. Time has slipped through their fingers, and now all that’s left is the bitter taste of rage and despair. It seems, they too are caught in a web, ensnared by the defiance of their prey – our refusal to be captured and controlled. Our ability to move during red light empowers us to take ourselves out rather than allow ourbuyers that satisfaction certainly adds an interesting layer to the game. They’re faced with the bitter truth that their prizes can slip through their fingers leaving them with empty pockets and a boring weekend.
I wipe the blood from my face, and set off further up the mountain. They’ll face a relentless fight with me, for I’ll never surrender.
I recall my last visit to see grandpa, and his words etched into my memory as I feel the hunter’s eyes on me. I know the forest well. I crouch low, my body mimicking the contours of the underbrush. The scent of the pine and earth fills my nostrils as I brush past, masking my scent. I inch forward, my eyes sharp and focused. Now and then I scan the terrain behind me for any sign of movement. If he’s a true hunter, he will know better than to approach me directly. He will move at an angle, his path a careful arc that brings him closer without drawing attention to himself.
I pause, close my eyes momentarily, and attune my ears to the forest’s whispers, the rustle of leaves, the distant call of a bird, and the soft crunch of twigs underfoot. Every sound is a clue, every whisper a warning. My heart pounds in my chest, a steady rhythm that keeps me grounded.
I remembered my grandfather’s lessons, the way he’d whisper in my ear,‘Patience, always patience. The forest rewards those who wait.’I hated him for it, but now those words are my lifeline. I move slowly, deliberately, each step calculated. The forest is my ally, its shadows my shield.
My ears strain to catch a sound – the cock of his rifle, or the soft, mechanical creak from his compound bow’s cams and pulleys engaging. If he’s in mid draw, I might hear a slight whooshing from the string and cables, and if he’s fully drawn, I might hear a faint, tensioned hum from the bowstring and limbs, but by then, it would be too late.
I spin around the trunk of the pine tree, positioning my ear to scan the forest. Owls hoot in the distance, hogs grunt contently downwind. But I know someone is out there, hunkered down among the foliage, watching from afar – it’s what I would do – wait, until my prey made the first move. It’s been ages since I last wandered the woods. I remember the rutting season for the deer; my grandfather would take me down to the river. We’d set up a couple of deck chairs by the water’s edge. He’d flip open a Tupperware lid, revealing a writhing mass of maggots, and deftly pop them onto the bait hook.
We’d sit and laugh, listening to the stags bellow like bulls, their calls ending in a series of coughs as if they’d run out of breath. We cradled our rods for hours, waiting for the fish to bite. Growing up, I knew the best time to hunt red deer was October or November. Even then, you were only allowed to hunt females unless you had a special permit. My grandfather didn’tcare much for the rules. Out here, who would know if you broke them anyway?
We spent countless hours in the wilderness, stalking animals. I preferred to shoot them with a camera instead of a gun, but it taught me a great deal about survival. Even though I didn’t enjoy hunting animals, I knew how to do it. It was important Iknewhow to do it. Only now do I realise why.
