The Hunted a serial by Martin Slusser

Janissary Project: Book V. The political side of sanctioned slavery rears its ugly head in this latest in the series of misadventures of Benny Grey, former slave and prostitute.

A Bronx Cheer - It is my opinion, the Jannisary Project should be mandatory for every man, woman, and child. Every person on the face of the earth must be tested for telekinetic ability. Any who possess this miraculous ability should be drafted.

There are some evils greater than others - A few, very few, met in the Owl Hollow, in the rotting waters of Pennsylvania's dismal swamps. A small group whispered into the night. Hooded and slow in his movements, a new priest pushed through the crowd, a thin mist swirling around his legs.

Two Swords screamed a battle cry at the Owl - From the east a strong amber light burst through the fog, scorching a violent explosion of the sun. On fear-clumsy wings the Owl flapped away, abandoning both prey and Hunter.

Sun-Wolf is judge - The moon aborning. Calved from earth billions of years ago, she waxes and wanes and with her waxes and wanes the power of evil over the lives of humanity. On this day a sacred person stood on a hilltop with medicine bundle in hands, praying for her son.

How do you want this? - Evil rides high at the moment of death. Any death. All murder is a sacrifice to the dark side.

Voices - The sun was tilting deeply to the west by the time the insanity of remorse ebbed and dulled from its knife-edged pain.

Ms VanTur - Cindy looked them over. One man's face barely showed through white bandages. He leaned to one side, his face gray with the pain of a shattered jaw and the surgery that removed twenty shattered teeth. Grey, Grey. Cindy had a sudden and frightening premonition. 

Off the 'Sun, kid - He glanced into the mist-rimmed mirror on his left and frowned. Behind the long rooster tail plume of rainwater was the cruiser, lights flashing. And, no doubt, siren wailing. Cops got a thrill out of that sort of crap.

He's dead - Cindy uttered a shriek of pure terror that echoed throughout the vast, dimly lit cavern. Heads snapped up, people stared in disbelief at the empty screen. Not a few wept in frustration.

Shoes so shiny black - At the sound of that harsh rumble of thunder every cold and calculating eye in the packed room snapped to Benny. Shoes so shiny black he could see his reflection in them drew back into a thin corridor between all those hungry cops.

Man, that was too easy - Benny shot a guilty look at the house, scanning the windows. He shoved the duck into the reeds and dived again. From her hiding place the hen looked on with complete disinterest. A new male would show up and replace the old one. It was the way of things. Woman is born to life, the male but to die. Nothing lasts for very long, but for earth and sky. Hey:O:wa, Listen to the Sacred-Wolf of God.

T-shirt, socks, jeans. - Tempted to jerk open the door and show her just how bashful his li'l bro wasn't, Benny glared in cold fury at the door. And didn't. Mom would kill him if- When she found out. Benny still wasn't convinced mothers, his especially, couldn't read minds and tell the future. The People of Light loved mothers, right?

a steaming cup of coffee - Benny sprawled by the fireplace and sipped with greedy need at a steaming cup of coffee. Two ice water baths in one day were way too much. Even his bones were shivering. He glanced out the sliding doors of Ron's den. How the freek long does it take to dry one pair of jeans?

Speak of the devil and doth she appear. - Smiling, even when you hurt, was a hard-taught lesson from the Manse. Yes, ma'am. Will do, ma'am. I am the perfect teen-age boy, ma'am. Want to see me throw a ball or wear my football uniform, ma'am? Yes, ma'am, I really am yours for the night.

Hey, pretty lady - Benny tucked his hands in his armpits to warm them, a definite prerequisite for milking by hand. No use sending ol' Bossy through the skylights. Plastisteel milk bucket clenched between his knees, Benny squatted on a one legged stool older than Uncle Sam.

the very most chaste kiss of his adult life - Millie's eyes snapped at Benny. He was flushed - with guilt - or she wasn't a cop's wife. A sure sign they had been up to something they shouldn't of, Terry Marie's face pinked and her nose began to run. She stared at Benny. Under her sad anger he wilted.

slow, languid movement - After that first and frantic rush, hours passed in slow, languid movement. She laughed with the sheer joy of what they shared.

I may not be Him - Sweet-Bottom nearly giggled. She swung her head and her hair tickled Benny. She cupped him, stroking like it was a puppy. A trickle of sweat ran down Benny's chest. His knees wobbled. The puppy came out to play.

Pull over to that parking lot, - A late model touring Automa-II with a gas-guzzling V-16 ten liter engine eased over the pot holes and speed bumps of Moyock as though they did not exist, mirroring the passenger's contempt for the few people in the streets.

Recognize him, Sis? - Without looking at it she lay the picture upside down on the table. Picking it up, Terry Marie studied it for a moment. The boy looked familiar, handsome in a cool sort of way, the hair and chin . . . she gasped. No, not him. No eye-patch, no scar. But how old was the picture?

Benny Wya Grey - Mike Donnelly tried to relax on the bed at the Swamp-Fox Motel. He stilled an exasperated curse and rolled over on his side. It wasn't that the bed was uncomfortable, it was a helluvalot softer than the pile of rocks he had hidden in for three days on Mount Alba, in the Andes a year ago. A lot warmer, too. Like the weapons they provided, UN uniforms were made to fall apart. 

A woman is born to life-a man but to die - Benny smiled, went to the sink and grabbed a dishrag. He mopped up the coffee. John tried to take the cloth.

He's as big as this house - With extreme care, Benny went to the separator. The milk was nearly gone. He refilled the reservoir from the five-gallon crock. The last few drops of buttermilk hung from the rim. Benny swiped them off with his finger and brought them to his mouth. Gross, but supposed to be good for the wolf-in-stomach. The wolf agreed and begged more. Benny took a cup and dipped out some. With distaste evident on his face, he drank it.

Be still and let me talk, please? - Mike ran in the open door of the motel room. He snatched up the telephone and dialed 911. The phone crashed down. Stunned, he shook his head. No can do. What the hell would a couple of cops be able to do when he couldn't? Mike checked his gun.

What the hell did you do to my sister? - Sweet-Bottom screamed, her nails ripped through his T-shirt and the skin on his chest. A car door slammed shut. Benny pulled back. Dammit. He pulled up his pants. 'Sweet-Bottom, freekin-A, lady.' He jerked her pants up and fastened them.

Yo, sweating right along - Better and better, my man. After all that hot weather we been having, like heaven come to earth. Must a gone all the way to fifty the day we met.

Closing in, Grey-Wolf Rider - Terry Marie kissed Ron's unshaven cheek and patted the tears from her eyes. She hugged her mother, whispered something in Millie's ear that made the woman smile, then moved into Benny's arms. She trembled for a moment. Boone growled under his breath.

Not a believer? - Bear Derrick was a local skin, and a reporter. Hunching his shoulders he glared at Benny on the trip north to Moyock.

Advancement - The demanding ring of the phone brought Millie out of a light sleep. Stifling a yawn, she reached for it, then glanced down at herself. After just a moment's hesitation, she switched off the viewer.

Ron Donnelly, you're making a fool of yourself - Legs crossed, Ron checked the load in the shotgun. He snapped it shut. The crack was loud enough to make the women jump.

I've never done it on a motorcycle - The crowd grew a little thicker with the addition of a dozen more. The air conditioner whined on, a death rattle in its throat, unheard over the noise and smoke filling the bar. The crowd grew in size and enthusiasm with each new song the band pounded out. Benny laughed into the glance of a fleshy woman with cold and pale eyes.

Plenty of light. - Patchy fog clung to the road, the cruiser slid from the tarmac and onto the long, muddy drive, dark, no lights, the engine a quiet purr as she drew the car along in a slow drift.

We'll handle this - Benny lunged and tackled Boone, throwing them both clear of door. A blast of pellets shattered a fist-sized hole in the peeling wood of the door at about the height of Boone's navel.

He's from Colorado - John turned a ghostly shade of gray and twisted away for a close personal inspection of the weedy growth along the door.

We never did finish it, Grey - The night was soft, perfect for riding. The whispered sobs of a young, tormented woman filled Benny's head. A restless energy drove him on. Wild geese, always moving, never still. Going north, heading home.

The owl blinked once - Millie whimpered in her sleep and pressed against the safe, warm bulk of her man. She groaned through the depths of a nightmare, in a foretelling that was the gift of a long-dead Choctaw ancestor.