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The Hunt

Jonathan Goedeke

In the country, on an overcast November night at midnight,
the land would be almost pitch dark. Adrian knew this because
he had grown up in the country. But by now he had spent
enough time in cities to be accustomed to the way light pollution
seemed to light up the pale cement sidewalks, slate grey walls,
opaque glass faded tar roads on every street like daylight.
Against the sudden chill of a biting breeze, the assassin dug
his hands into his blue-jean pockets and hunkered into down
against the cold, simultaneously stepping back from the edge of
the apartment roof. After cursing himself roundly for deciding
against wearing the jacket, he pulled his watch-hand out of his
left pocket to check the time. 12:00, finally. Time to move.
Racing back to the edge at a speed some might have
thought a bit reckless, Adrian stopped less than a foot from the
four story drop and craned his head out over the Washington
street. He braced himself for action. This was his favorite part.
With a mental command, his body seemed to fold in on it-
self. Arms shrank to half their size, losing fingers and hands. His
chest barreled out even as his body reduced and his face pushed
outward into a definite beak. Flesh retracted on the legs, while
on all other portions of his body it sprouted into feathers. Until
finally, where Adrian the contract assassin had stood a moment
before, Adrian the Red-tailed Hawk now perched, buried in a

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