Hunters by Matt Rogers (books for 5 year olds to read themselves .TXT) 📕

walls and brown doors. He knew what came next would be rude, but his survival instincts told him to test the woman, see who she really was under that bubbly façade. He gripped the handle of the first door he came to. He was draped in shadow — there were no lights on in the hallway — but enough of the halo of light from the kitchen spilled through to illuminate what he was doing.

‘Whatchu doin’?’ Jada called out. ‘Don’t you go in there.’

He froze with his hand on the knob. ‘This isn’t the bathroom?’

‘Naw,’ she said. ‘That’s my room. Bathroom’s down the hall, second last door on the left.’

Not even the tiniest shred of hesitation. If it was a lie, it was a good one. A voice in his head told him he was being ridiculous. But would she have been so hasty if it really was her bedroom? She’d reacted fast.

Slater nodded politely to her and smiled. He scoured her eyes for any discomfort. He couldn’t find any.

He continued down the hall, found the door he was looking for, and stepped into the bathroom. He hovered there for a full minute without moving, then flushed and turned the tap on for ten seconds. When he came back out, he listened for the muted conversation floating out of the living/dining space. The four of them were busying themselves by the table, Violetta no doubt analysing the integrity of the forged passports.

Slater thought about letting it go.

But a thought had crossed his mind when he’d first met Jada.

If you were her, what would you do?

He moved to the door opposite the bathroom and silently tried the handle. Unlocked. He inched it open.

A bedroom. A primary one, with the sheets ruffled and an assortment of vitamins in pillboxes on the nightstand. Not for guests.

And Jada lived alone.

He turned his emotions to stone, closed the door, and went back to the room she’d lied about.

38

Slater stepped up to the locked door, held his breath, attuned every finer sense to the air around him. He wasn’t psychic, but he’d developed an intuitive sense of danger. So far, there were no warning bells.

He reached out slowly, hovering his fingers inches from the door knob.

Still nothing.

Jada’s husky voice called out from behind, closer this time. ‘What I tell you before?!’

She’d moved away from the dining room table, into the kitchen, maybe ten feet away from him. Flustered by his disobedience.

He clamped down on the doorknob, not hard, not soft.

He gave it a slight rattle. Not enough power to shake the door, but enough to make his presence known. A tiny, subtle gesture that would put anyone on the other side in a heightened state, whereby they’d be forced to make a decision.

Act or don’t act.

Fifty-fifty.

So much worse than if it were unambiguous.

Slater sensed the tiniest perception of movement on the other side. It had a different energy to a civilian stirring. He heard no footsteps, no rush of a body charging at the door, but it was enough.

He leapt away from the door and took two bounding paces. He burst into the kitchen and grabbed Jada by the back of the neck and spun her violently around. She was facing into the hallway with Slater’s SIG pressed to the side of her head when the door to the forbidden room burst open and a man stepped out, a black Glock 17 already raised and ready to fire.

Had Slater not acted, they both would have shot each other when the door came open.

A lose-lose.

Jada spluttered, ‘I told you not to go in.’

‘I didn’t,’ Slater growled. ‘He came out.’

The man with the Glock was something to behold. Slater got the sense he was genetically disadvantaged — not very athletic, not very gifted — but he’d overcome those limitations with a sickening work ethic. Slater could see it in the obvious raw power. He was big and heavyset, even larger than King, only an inch or so taller but far wider. He looked like he weighed nearly two hundred and fifty pounds. All of it was pale muscle, like slabs of meat had been thrown onto his frame. Not exactly aesthetically pleasing, because of the genetic limitations, but all of it was efficient. His hands were larger than dinner plates, but he still had a finger poised inside the trigger guard, ready to fire at a moment’s notice. He had thin blonde hair and a fat face. His eyes were pure rage.

Slater said, ‘You’re another gemstone?’

The guy’s aim didn’t shift an inch. The barrel was locked on the side of Jada’s head, which Slater was keeping tight in front of him. There was only a sliver of his face visible behind the human shield. He had his SIG trained squarely on the big man’s forehead, using Jada’s shoulder as an elbow rest to stabilise his aim.

The man smirked, a gesture somehow more furious. ‘You’re well-informed. Zircon.’

‘I’ll kill her, Zircon.’

The smirk grew wider. ‘Okay.’

Slater muttered in Jada’s ear. ‘Not very nice of you.’

She rasped, ‘Y’all thought I’d side with you over my country?’

‘Quite the patriot,’ he said, his words dripping with sarcasm.

‘No, baby,’ she whispered, her composure remarkable given the fact she was being choked. ‘I’m an opportunist.’

Zircon asked, ‘You two done?’

Slater said, ‘You’re done, too. We’re leaving. This doesn’t need to be a firefight.’

‘Why doesn’t it?’

‘I have a hostage.’

‘You mustn’t have heard me before. You should kill her yourself. Save me the trouble.’

Slater knew the truth. He was stalling for time. Jada was dispensable. The government owed her nothing. Even if they did, they wouldn’t hesitate to exterminate her.

Behind Slater, he sensed King, Violetta, and Alexis bristle.

Zircon cocked his head. ‘No? Okay.’

He shot Jada in the face.

The bullet went through her skull, exiting out the back of her head in grisly fashion. Thankfully she was five-three at best, and Slater stood up to his fullest height as soon as he sensed Zircon’s demeanour change, in sync with the fast-twitch muscles in the man’s trigger finger.

The bullet lost