Excerpt of Rhesus A by Kaden Brown

Running through the city streets was easy at night.

It was afterall, what she had trained for. It was her life: the tracking and killing of prey.

Hardman Street needed careful passing for it was full of late night drinkers. Drunkards and beggars wandered the pavements. Hope Street was empty now that late night surgeries had closed. Along Canning and the main road of Catherine the traffic was quiet. Dead in fact. People? Nada. Even the black cabs were nowhere to be seen. Lucky her.

Downtown, the bars, jazz clubs, cafes and night clubs were still thrumming with happy, drunk, unaware people. The girl didn't even know that she was being watched, and tracked. The further she moved from the city the more deserted and dark everything had become.

People were asleep in their apartments, sleeping, watching late night television, listening to music, or engrossed in company. All the sounds of chatter, laughing, crying, and the odd heartbeat, were there to sample. But they were not of the one she was after. Their doors stayed firmly shut to the night world outside.

She ran like no other human. Just a blur at times, gliding as if her feet barely touched the ground. Circling ahead of her prey, she could easily predict, from previous patterns, where the girl would go.

Slowing down as she approached the abandoned gothic church on the corner, the small pale skinned girl in dark clothing waited, sniffing the air for the familiar scent of her quarry.

Tonight, the chase would end. No more pain. A hunger fulfilled. She edged back against the wrought iron railings, trying to hide in the shadows of the trees. Scanning the Georgian terraced houses along the street, just a few lights were on. There was nothing and no one of interest.

Tipping her head to one side she heard the faint sounds of music drifting up the hill from downtown. Intermingled with the city sounds of Friday night were the faint, but rhythmic, pattern of nearing footsteps of one lone pedestrian.

Snapping her head back to peer down Huskisson Street she sniffed the still air again. Nothing but mould and smells of the road, oil, rubber and dirt. The odd stench of decaying human food and refuse was there too. And the very faint molecule of human odor. Somewhere down the hill her target was approaching.

Timing was everything. It could not happen in the open street. So intercepting Dee as she passed the open gates to the cathedral was critical. Dragging her back into the overgrown gardens would be easy, and safer. More concealment there.

It would happen quietly and suddenly. The girl would be dead. Her throat ripped out and her last drops of blood soaking the earth.

Taking a step she started moving downhill toward the cathedral.