Lonely Hunter

Kane stood at the top of the mountain overlooking the Los Angeles valley. From this position atop the highest peak bordering LA and Ventura counties, he see observe everything. To most people, it would be nothing more than a show of lights against the darkening skies of early evening. But Kane was not most people, he was a hunter. A hunter of the undead. With many of the same powers as the undead itself, his sole purpose for existing was to hunt and destroy this creature, which tormented the humans.

His race had been created solely for that purpose by the ancient visitors, who had unleashed this plague upon the earth. Their appearance was similar enough to the emerging human race that when their own peaceful planet had suffered a series of natural disasters, which rendered it virtually uninhabitable, a small surveying party had traversed the universe looking for a suitable home for the few thousand remaining members of their once great race.

At first, the Earth had seemed the perfect solution. They had even managed to make treaties with a few of the planet's scattered civilizations; exchanging some of their advanced technologies for the right to reside among them. They were often in the feeble minds of these humans even considered gods. The survey party had even sent a message to the fleet that they had found a suitable home.

Then it began slowly. First one and then another of the small party became 'ill.' For such a peaceful race it was a devastating milady. The first sign was increasing aggression and paranoia; not only with their human hosts but one another as well. On more than one occasion an infected member would disappear to find another group of natives; spreading fear and barbaric rituals in an attempt to use the humans to fight his former friends. By the time that the other ships arrived a human century later, it was too late. All of the survey party had 'turned.'

The council of elders and scientists, which ruled the refuges, had met for months trying to discover what had caused the strange transformation. Some thought it was an illness that had no effect on humans, but infected their species with a madness that consumed once great men. Others theorized that it was the minute differences in the gases of the Earth's atmosphere, which over time and prolonged exposure altered the mental faculties of their kind. Still others believed that the foods indigenous to this planet had created nutrient deficiencies that affected the thought processes of the brain. They pointed to the taking of human blood as an attempt to 'supplement' an inadequate diet. A few even blamed the primitive mentality of the local people for igniting long since conquered emotions of greed, lust and violence. They advocated destroying not only those of their own race, who had accepted these primitive ways, but the human insects as well. After all, as superior beings, it was their race's right to survive; even if it meant exterminating others.

These enlightened beings were fearful of the spread of the disease among the precious few remaining on the ships. While they remained in orbit above the Earth, visits to the planet was severely restricted. It was the source of many legends about silver beings with large heads and black shining eyes; the suits they wore to prevent the spread of the 'disease.'

Another world was located for settlement, but the question remained what should be done of these creatures hunting and preying upon the humans? In the end, the council had given up the search for the cause and cure; instead it felt that containment was the only solution. At first, they had sent members of their own race to hunt and destroy the powerful creatures; only for them too to turn in the end despite all the precautions.

Eventually, they had come up with the plan to 'convert' selected humans. Transfusions of fluids gave humans most of the gifts of their race; longevity, strength, speed and the ability to change shapes; but humans remained immune to whatever caused the spreading madness among the visitors, making them the perfect hunters.

Kane had been a young warrior among his ancient Native American race. His father, who had been a shaman, had said it was his duty; his calling. The conversion process had been dangerous; more than half of volunteers did not survive. He was one of the lucky ones, if you could call it that. How lucky was it to survive days of intense burning and pain through out your body only to spend centuries roaming as a nomad in an ever changing world to hunt and kill?

Smiling as he crouched low on the hillside, his dark eyes scoured the darkening landscape below. He could hear thousands of voices; some happy, some sad, some angry. When he caught hint of something important his senses allowed him to filter out all the rest and focus on that only. His eyes too were adapted for seeing in the dark. It was a myth that the undead could not go out into the sun. It was more a practicality that they hunted primarily at night; a cover for their crimes. His sense of smell too was sharper now. Unfortunately like wild animals, it was honed primarily to the smell of one thing: blood. He could use the scent of blood to follow his prey, which always left a trail of human blood in its wake.

In centuries past, the creatures had been confused with the vampire legends or werewolves; taking on mythical proportions. In this modern world, they were most likely to be confused with another predator; the human kind, a serial killer. It was odd, but modern technology had accelerated the pace of his hunt. His new tools in this ancient fight included a laptop, cell phone and GPS tracking system.

Over the years, he had even managed, with the help of his absent masters, to develop a rather impressive cover that offered him almost instant access to the 'crime scenes.' His was a name instantly recognized as an expert profiler. He had only to show up at an investigation to be warmly welcomed by the police to join their efforts.

Of course, he never shared with them the real nature of these dastardly crimes. Even he knew that the truth would get him promptly locked into a mental hospital; not that it would keep him for long. But it would ruin his reputation. He wondered sometimes why these humans never connected the sudden disappearance or deaths of the 'killers' with his presence. To his inquisitive mind, he would wonder why there was never an actual arrest. But their blind eye served his purpose.

This time, he was almost certain that he was on the trail of an old and familiar enemy; one with whom he had spared numerous times over the centuries. His two favorite hunting grounds had become London and California. His crimes were legendary in both places. He had been known over the last century by dozens of names among them Jack the Ripper, The Zodiac Killer and Jack the Stripper. Of course, there had been dozens of single kills randomly interspersed between those sprees and never connected to him.

But Kane knew him. He knew the smell of his adversary at each location. Whether the murder weapon was human instruments like knives and guns or his own sharp claws and teeth, there was viciousness about his crimes. His profiler colleagues called it simply overkill, but Kane knew it was the madness that afflicted his kind.

Raising the silver flask that his human colleagues assumed contained alcohol, a harmless enough habit for a man of his stature; he drank the still warm, salty, thick elixir that was the potion derived from the aliens' blood, which gave him his unique abilities. He would check in with the local authorities about this latest killing later. For now, he had one thing on his mind. Her.

Keisha Turner had over the past quarter of a century become a special project of his. He had first met her when she barely escaped a vicious attack by his nemesis. She had been barely eighteen and a freshman at college when she had been attacked, raped and left for dead. Kane knew the truth. She was alive, because he had arrived moments before the creature could drain her precious blood from her beaten and bruised body.

Thankfully as with so many humans, she experienced amnesia surrounding the attack itself. His belief was that some things were simply too traumatic for the human mind to process, so it simply choose to forget them.

Over the past twenty-five years, he had kept an eye on her. He knew that his adversary did not like loose ends, living victims. So far at least, Keisha had remained safe. She had even managed to recover physically and emotionally enough to re-build her life. She had eventually returned to university to complete her degree in psychology and had even gotten a masters' in social work. She had begun an after-school program for disadvantaged youths in her old neighborhood in Compton. She had received numerous awards and accolades.

What she had not managed to do was re-build her personal life. At forty-three, she remained unmarried and childless. He supposed it was a common enough fate for a professional African-American woman in this modern age, but some part of him wondered too what small part he might play in the situation.

For almost a decade now, they had been lovers. Occasional though it might be, whenever his path took him to California, and sometimes when it did not, he would show up on her doorstep like some transient that she helped in the shelters. Of course, he was not a transient. He was, in fact, very wealthy and the anonymous benefactor, who provided much of the funding for Keisha's work. As long as she never knew that, they would be fine. A genuine smile, a rarity over the past few hundred years, split his shadowed face. Just the thought of her could do that to him. He knew it was a weakness; a weakness that his enemy could and would utilize if he ever discovered the truth.

His intelligent mind envisioned a majestic condor and suddenly his body transformed into the large bird. Taking to the darkened night sky, he sailed through the chilly breeze blowing off the Pacific Ocean towards South Central LA...and her. He promised himself that he would always find a way to keep her safe; even if he could never offer what they both wanted.