Point Blank

come to the edge of a wide, filthy lake. The water was a scummy brown and looked almost solid. No ducks or wild birds came anywhere near the surface. The evening sun beat down on it and the smell of decay drifted up.
    ‚He went that way!‛
    ‚No … through here!‛
    ‚Let’s try the lake.‛
    Alex heard the voices and knew that he couldn’t let them find him here. He had a sudden image of his body, weighed down with stones, at the bottom of the lake. But that gave him an idea. He had to hide.
    He stepped into the water. He would need something to breathe through. He had seen people do this in films. They would lie in the water and breathe through a hollow reed. But there were no reeds here. Apart from grass and thick, slimy algae, nothing was growing at all.
    One minute later, Rufus appeared at the edge of the lake, his gun still hooked over his arm.
    He stopped and looked around with eyes that knew the forest well. Nothing moved.
    ‚He must have doubled back,‛ he said.
    The other hunters had gathered behind him. There was tension between them now, a guilty silence. They knew the game had gone too far.
    ‚Let’s forget him,‛ one of them said.
    ‚Yeah…‛
    ‚We’ve taught him a lesson.‛
    They were in a hurry to get home. As one, they disappeared back the way they had come.
    Rufus was left on his own, still clutching his gun, searching for Alex. He took one last look across the water, then turned to follow them.
    That was when Alex struck. He had been lying under the water, watching the vague shapes of the teenagers as if through a sheet of thick brown glass. The barrel of the shotgun was in his mouth. The rest of the gun was just above the surface of the lake. He was using the hollow tubes to breathe. Now he rose up—a nightmare creature oozing mud and water, with fury in his eyes.
    Rufus heard him but he was too late. Alex swung the shotgun, catching Rufus in the small of the back. Rufus grunted and fell to his knees, his own gun falling out of his hands. Alex picked it up. There were two cartridges in the breech. He snapped the gun shut.
    Rufus looked at him, and suddenly all the arrogance had gone and he was just a stupid, frightened teenager, struggling to get to his knees.
    ‚Alex…‛ The single word came out as a whimper. It was as if he were seeing Alex for the first time. ‚I’m sorry!‛ he sniveled. ‚We weren’t really going to hurt you. It was a joke. Fiona put us up to it. We just wanted to scare you. Please…‛
    Alex paused, breathing heavily. ‚How do I get out of here?‛ he asked.
    ‚Just follow the lake around,‛ Rufus said. ‚There’s a path.‛
    Rufus was still on his knees. There were tears in his eyes. Alex realized that he was pointing the silver-plated shotgun in his direction. He turned it away, disgusted with himself. This boy wasn’t the enemy. He was nothing.
    ‚Don’t follow me,‛ Alex said and began to walk.
    ‚Please!‛ Rufus called after him. ‚Can I have my gun back? My mother would kill me if I lost it.‛
    Alex stopped. He weighed the weapon in his hands, then threw it with all his strength. The handcrafted Italian shotgun spun twice in the dying light, then disappeared with a splash in the middle of the lake. ‚You’re too young to play with guns,‛ he said.
    He walked away, letting the forest swallow him up.

THE TUNNEL

    THE MAN SITTING IN THE gold, antique chair turned his head slowly and gazed out the window at the snow-covered slopes of Point Blanc. Dr. Hugo Grief was almost sixty years old with short, white hair and a face that was almost colorless too. His skin was white, his lips vague shadows. Even his tongue was no more than gray. And yet, against this blank background, he wore circular wire glasses with dark red lenses. For him, the entire world would be the color of blood. He had long fingers, the nails beautifully manicured. He was dressed in a dark suit buttoned up to his neck. If there were such a thing as a vampire, it might look very much like Dr. Hugo Grief.
    ‚I have decided to move the Gemini Project into its last phase,‛ he said. He spoke with a South African accent, biting into each word before it left his mouth. ‚There can be no further delay.‛
    ‚I understand, Dr. Grief.‛
    A woman sat opposite Dr. Grief, dressed in tight-fitting spandex with a sweatband around her head. This was Eva Stellenbosch. She had just finished her morning workout—two hours of weight lifting and aerobics—and was still