The Hunted by Gabriel Bergmoser
English | 2020 | Mystery & Thriller | ePUB | 2.9 MB
Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide…
Frank is a service station owner on a little-used highway who just wants a quiet life. His granddaughter has been sent to stay with him to fix her attitude, but they don’t talk a lot.
When a badly injured young woman arrives at Frank’s service station with several cars in pursuit, Frank and a handful of unsuspecting customers are thrust into a life-or-death standoff.
But who are this group of men and women who will go to any lengths for revenge? And what do they want? Other than no survivors …?
A ferociously fast-paced, filmic, visceral, tense and utterly electric novel, unlike anything you’ve read before. Set on a lonely, deserted highway, deep in the Australian badlands, The Hunted is white-knuckle suspense matched to the fast-paced adrenaline of a Jack Reacher novel and the creeping menace of Wake in Fright. This is unmissable reading.
Frank was woken by gunshots and was halfway to the door before he realised it had been a dream. He closed his eyes, swallowed, and in the darkness moved back to his bed. He sat down and kept his breathing steady until the shaking stopped.
The same dream. The one that was so vivid and real because it wasn’t a dream, not really. A memory of trees and dead eyes in the dark, laughter and gunshots ringing in his ears, the taste of copper blood.
He ran a hand through his thinning hair, stood and walked out into the hall. He put his ear to Allie’s door for a moment, but there was no sound. He hadn’t yelled out, then. Feeling slightly better, he stepped into the bathroom and switched on the light.
He wasn’t sure whether it was comforting that he looked nothing like the man who had lived that dream. Standing in front of the cracked mirror in his boxer shorts, he didn’t cut much of an impressive figure anymore. The gentle swell of his post-fifty gut was threatening to stop being gentle pretty soon and his haggard face, sunken eyes and grey hair made him look a full ten years older than he was.
He brushed his teeth quickly, then returned to his room and dressed in the dark. He didn’t need electricity to find things that were always in the same place. He tucked a flannelette shirt into his jeans and did up his boots. Wishing the flashes of that dream weren’t still circling in his head, he walked back down the hall.
In the kitchen he opened the cupboard and took out the cereal he’d brought over from the roadhouse for Allie. He placed it on the bench, then retrieved a bowl and a spoon. He arranged them in front of the seat he thought she used, then, suspecting it looked too regimented, shifted them slightly. He glanced at the fridge. He was never sure whether he should put milk out or not. He didn’t know how late Allie slept in and the days were hot at this time of year. It would be different had he felt he could just ask her, but the way Allie kept to herself suggested she wouldn’t appreciate the intrusion. Just as, he thought with a wry smile, he knew he wouldn’t have. No wonder Nick was having trouble with her; his son had always disliked the things that weren’t said.
The call had come just over a week ago. Frank was sitting in front of the TV, debating whether he should get up and fix the bent antenna to try to steady the image, when the phone rang. It took him a second to be sure of what he was hearing. Even telemarketers didn’t know how to reach him.
He’d answered with a twinge of long-forgotten fear. That hadn’t changed when he’d heard the voice on the other end: serious and mature. It sounded like somebody official. It was only when the voice faltered saying Frank’s name that realisation hit.