Hunters: A Trilogy by Paul A. Rice

and it fetched with it some soothing words.
    ‘Look away, son, just look away!’
    Ken did as he was told. Closing his eyes, he turned his head away from the awful scene. He heard the wailing sound of his own petrified thoughts filter away into the darkness of the dream. When it had gone completely and all that was left was the sound of a soft hissing, which Ken guessed was the noise of his own blood pressure; he opened his eyes and stood waiting in fear for the return of horror, which he somehow knew had not finished yet.
    However, like a miracle, he found that his surroundings had changed and he was now by the ocean, and not just by the ocean. Unbelievably, he found that he was actually standing on it, standing on the sea...it was as calm as a mill pond and of the most peaceful blue he’d ever seen. The depth of the scene soothed him, the horrible booming in his chest and head seemed to have ceased, and it was with a great deal of relief that Ken found he was able to breathe again. The beautiful water filled him with sense of calm, one he really hoped would last.
    George stood next to him, staring at Ken with those wise blue eyes of his.
    ‘Better now?’ he asked.
    Ken couldn’t speak. He tried but no sound came out of his mouth.
    His mind shouted, ‘Yes!’
    He also wanted to ask: ‘Why, how do I know you, what’s happening?’
    But he was simply unable to make the spoken words exit his mind.
    The old man saw this. ‘I cannot tell you here,’ he said, ‘first you must look. Do not be afraid, just watch and then when we get back to the other place, you will see. It will all be made clear.’ George placed his hand on Ken’s shoulder and he felt the fear leaving him, like water leaves the mountain in springtime – rushing downwards in a tumbling, crystal torrent.
    Looking down at his feet, Ken realised that he wasn’t standing on the ocean any more. This time it was the desert. Turning around, he saw that it was a red desert, a blood-red desert. He looked down at his feet again and saw that the sand was like red soup, it actually was blood! Blood and sand all mixed together and there he was, standing in it. The crimson dunes stretched for as far as his eyes were able to see. As he watched, Ken began to see the faces and limbs of people beneath the sand; they flowed past in ribbons of agony. All of them torn apart – yet somehow they were still alive. Ken felt their screams within his inner-most self. They reverberated around his ribcage. The bodies streamed by in all directions, never quite breaking the surface of that terrible desert floor. It bulged with their passing, their shattered, wailing bodies writhing below the surface.
    He stood like a stone and did as George had said. With huge eyes and a belly full of fear, which he tried unsuccessfully to suppress, Ken stood and watched. Sensing a rumble, the vibration pulsing through his legs, he looked up. In the distance, he saw a wall of blackness looming on the horizon. It rushed towards him at an incredible rate, its speed made him think about moving. ‘I’d like to do more than just move!’ The thoughts were there in perfect clarity, but yet again his feet were nothing but lead. He was rooted to the spot. He had to watch.
    The black wave, which was what he now saw it as, churned up all before it. All the broken bodies that had lain writhing under the sand were now plucked out like some garish red fruit and sucked into the giant wall of oil. Ken felt sure it was oil as he watched the huge black and red dripping wall of misery hurling itself towards him. It was an awful sight and it became more and more like some nightmarish washing machine, with oil instead of water and smashed human body-parts instead of clothes. Over the roar of the onrushing wave, he still able to feel the anger and pain of the people locked within its terrible grasp, it was like fingernails on a chalkboard and the screeching of its agony raged higher and higher in his head. The noise