The Hunt (The Hunt #1)

The Hunt (The Hunt #1) Page 20

I take off my underwear and leap into the pond.

The water is overpowering at fi rst; the sudden cold pummels air out of me. But there's no time to dil ydal y. I submerge my whole body under water, the frigid liquidity a shock to my system. The water, even in the subdued light of disappearing dusk, is surprisingly clear.

I can stand. The bottom is a gentle decline, smooth and metal ic to the touch. I don't waste any time. I scrub myself, my face, my underarm, all the crevices and nooks in my body. I am not gentle with myself: I scrub myself raw. I turn my fi ngers into pitchforks and rake my scalp, washing my hair as best and quickly as I can.

Then I feel it. A deep vibration coming from the bottom of the pond, weak at fi rst but getting stronger quickly.

The heper stands up. It's looking at the perimeter of the vil age, then back at me. I understand immediately. The Dome is about to start closing. I need to get out now.

I run out of the pond, spraying up water with my thighs and knees. Hop over the edge, start sprinting.

The vibration is now a ful - fl edged thrumming that shakes the ground. Then a loud click, and the hum turns into a loud groan. A wal of glass emerges out of the ground, encircling me.

It ascends faster than I expect. Much faster. It is shin- high and then knee- high in a matter of seconds. I sprint to the glass wal , leaping up from a few yards away. My hands land on the top of the glass; they fi nd a tenuous grip on the near corner of the smooth top. My legs scrabble and thrash on the glass wal s for traction even as it continues to rise.

But the glass is made slippery by the water dripping off my body. I'm about to slip off. If I fal now, there's no way I'd be able to mount it again. I'd be trapped inside.

I close my eyes, shout a silent scream, and heave my arm across the top of the glass width. My hand fi nds the outer edge, and from there it's easier. I pul myself up, rol over the top width, and fal on the other side of the Dome, on the outside.

It's not a graceful fal . I land on my side; my vision whites out momentarily. Already the wal is twice my height and stil rising.

The heper girl is standing beside the pond. It picks up my briefs, holds them up for closer examination. Its nose crinkles—“crinkle”

is this thing hepers do when they pul their facial skin together— in mild disgust. And another emotion crosses its face, an unfamiliar, nuanced one. It's disgust, but there is a hint of something else: laughter? No, that's too strong. A hint of a smile touches its lips and mouth, barely perceptible. As if the smile doesn't quite have enough energy to break the surface.

The heper girl impales my briefs on one of its fl ying daggers.

One quick look at me, and it fl ings its arm. The dagger sails through the air, my briefs waving like a fl ag, arching just over the enclosing Dome. The dagger lands a few yards from me, my briefs draped over it like slain prey.

The Dome closes with surprising quietness.

I dislodge my briefs from the arrow. They do stink. In fact, now that I've washed myself, the briefs positively reek. And then I do something I've never done before. I crinkle my nose.

Just for size, to see how it feels. It feels forced and alien on my face, as if something artifi cial were cinching my nose.

The heper girl walks over to the glass wal s of the Dome. I can't see it too clearly; the purpling skies cast a refl ective smear over its face. I walk over until we're standing only a few yards apart, separated by the glass wal . It stands close to the Dome, its breath frosting the glass. A smal foggy circle that disappears as quickly as it appears.

There's fear on its face, there's anger, there's curiosity.

And something else. I look into its eyes, and instead of the glossy plastic shine I'm used to in people's eyes, I see something different. Flecks dance in them, like the trapped fl akes in a snow globe.

I turn and walk away. On the way back, I pick up my clothes, quickly put them on. I turn around to take one last look at the Dome. The heper hasn't moved; it stands stationary, watching me.

Hunt Minus Two Nights THE EVENTS THAT transpired yesternight at the Introduction,” the Director says, “were a tad on the aggressive side.”

We are back in the lecture hal after a quick and somber breakfast. Gaunt Man and Crimson Lips had sat ner vous ly at their own table during breakfast while everyone else veered far away. By their look, neither one had slept a wink all day. A strange quietness hung over everything, the tables, the chairs, the soppy breakfast food, like the mist that hovers over a beaker of acid. And the dining hal was emptier than usual, the escorts oddly absent. We were half expecting staff offi cials to come trooping in during the meal to lead away Gaunt Man and Crimson Lips. But they never came. That seemed to set Gaunt Man and Crimson Lips at ease as we headed over to the lecture hal after breakfast.

I'm also relieved, but for a different reason: I don't smel anymore. At least, not enough to attract attention. The quick scrub down at the pond seems to have done the trick— nobody seems hot and bothered by any odor. Or perhaps after the heper kil ing at the Introduction yesternight, everyone's become desensitized to smal er amounts of heper odor. Either way, I win.

The Director is anchored behind the lectern as he speaks.

If anger brews within, he hides it wel beneath his clinical y precise articulation. His eyebrows do not arch, his head does not snap forward. He speaks with the disinterested emotion of one reading random epitaphs, without a hint of reproof for the very serious breach that was committed. His slender voice: the quietness of a razor blade sashaying from side to side, daring contact.

“You had your fun. But consequences . . .

There are conse- quences to your actions.” His eyes don't gaze anywhere close to Gaunt Man and Crimson Lips, who are now sitting especial y rigid in their seats. “In society, the pa ram e ters are clear. It is a capital offense to hunt and kil a heper. Kil and be kil ed. However, yesternight's kil ing was not— shal we say, technically— an il egal hunt. It was part of the training of the Palace- endorsed Heper Hunt. As such, it fal s under the overal auspices of the Hunt.”

I see Gaunt Man and Crimson Lips relax a touch.

“But there are consequences. Because a heper who, old and emaciated as it may have been, was kil ed. Gone. No more. Years of possible scientifi c research never brought to fruition. It will simply not do for its death to go unaccounted for. A crime against a heper is a crime against the Palace. And so there must be consequences for these dastardly acts. Punishment must be meted out.”

Gaunt Man and Crimson Lips stiffen in their seats again.

“Of course,” the Director continues, his eyes drifting down and settling upon them, “nothing can be done against you.”

Their heads cock to the side.

“We have invested too much in you,” the Director continues.

“To expel you and seek a replacement so late in the game, mere nights from the Hunt, is simply not a feasible option.”

His voice drops off as he gazes at the empty seats in the back row.

“But punishment must be meted out. So nobody gets any notion that the government is getting soft. Because a capital offense demands a capital punishment. Or two. Or three. Or seven.”

His next words are razor- sharp. “You will have noticed that the escorts are gone.” It is an ambiguous statement. And then it is not.

A chil runs down my spine. And he says nothing else as he walks slowly across the stage to another lectern, this one made of glass.

“So, with that unpleasantry out of the way, some good news to report. A rather pleasant surprise, in fact. The Palace has directed us to host a banquet Gala. Hundreds of dignitaries will be arriving, high- standing offi cials, men of infl uence, their wives and mis-tresses. It is very short notice, but we do have a smidge of a window tomorrow eve ning. This Institute used to host many a banquet Gala back in the day, so it's shovel- ready. The facility just needs a dusting up. It'l be ready. And so will you. We're canceling all other training events. Who needs training, anyway, just chase down the damn things and eat them.” He peels back his sleeve like a snake shedding skin and delicately scratches his bony wrist.

“And one more thing. The media will be covering the Gala.

We want you looking your best. Tailors are arriving in a couple of hours to mea sure each of you. They'l be busy with you the rest of the night.” He runs his hand back along the gel ed arc of his hair.

“Two nights after the banquet, the Hunt will begin. all guests to the banquet are required to stay for the start of the Hunt.

And so you will have quite the send- off, what with the hundreds of spectators and media coverage. Should make for quite the spectacle.”

He stares at us, then scratches his wrist. “My, my, my, don't you all look so petrifi ed. You should see your sil y, worried faces. I know exactly what your concern is: you're afraid the hundreds of guests will all rush out after the hepers. You needn't worry. This building will be locked down three hours before dusk on the night of the Hunt. A total lockdown. No one will be able to leave the building except the hunters.”

Without saying more, the Director, as is his wont, recedes into the shadows; and in his place, as usual, emerges Fril y Dress. This has happened so many times, I'm beginning to wonder if it's not the same person. If their physiques weren't so different— his lithe, hers doughy— it really would have given me pause.

With the Director gone, the release of tension is almost palpa-ble. Fril y Dress has a far less imposing presence and usual y has so little of substance to say that it takes a moment before we realize she is saying something important.

“. . . so it has fal en on me to give you some specifi cs about the Hunt. The dawn before the Hunt is to begin, the hepers wil be informed by letter that the Dome has suffered a malfunction: the sensor has broken down and there is a good chance that the Dome will fail to arise at dusk. As a precautionary mea sure, the hepers will need to journey immediately to a temporary shelter as indicated on a map we'l provide them. The journey should take only eight hours, assuming they don't dil ydal y, all owing them to reach the shelter before dark. The shelter will provide them with food, water, and shutters. They are to return after a week.