The Hunt

“Don’t touch me.” I snarl, glaring at the traitor. He looks down his nose at me, a quirked eyebrow the most subtle sign of his contempt. “If you were smart, you’d be doing the same thing.” The loud clang of the collar clicking into place punctuates his words, and he turns to the next person in line. I grit my teeth as I watch. He finishes. Then, he turns to the crowd. His hands wring behind his back, and the air around him is tense as he approaches the people. He can side with them, but that doesn’t mean he’s their equal. “Time for the Lord’s speech!” The man walks on stage, the crimson fabric writhes around his ankles as he takes his place.

“We have been blessed,” he shouts turning his face to the sky. “We are the chosen people, and we’ve been blessed,” he repeats slowly lowering his chin back to face the mutants, and clasping his hands in front of him.

“Deformed!” I yell in his silence. “You’re not blessed you’re freaks!”

The Lord turns his fury on me.“Who said that.” He sniffs. When he turns to face us, the people around me gag and turn their faces away. Eating its way through his jaw, a half-developed second maw hangs open. A small tongue licks where its lips should be. His blood-red eyes glare down the line.

“You’re no better than us.” I nod over my shoulder to the people lined next to me. “In fact, you’re worse.” I say leveling my eyes on his then pointedly stare down at the radiation-induced ‘blessing’. His second mouth hangs slack despite how hard he tries to clench his jaw. Then he smiles. Too sweetly.

“Guards? Why don’t we show this young lady how much we had to suffer to become great?”

We glance around confused. The guard flicks his eyes over the line of us, his third one landing on a man at the other end of the line. He leads him to the stage. The Lord reaches into the folds of his cloak and withdraws a small bottle. He unstoppers it and forces the man to his knees. I watch in horror as his wife scrambles against the chains begging for them to stop. Numbly, we stare as they force the contents of the bottle down his throat. For a loaded moment, nothing happens. The man looks back at his wife. Then his eyes dilate, and he falls in a writhing heap. We all turn our eyes away, but every mutant in the crowd cheers in morbid excitement. 

“Now do you see?” The Lord turns to us enjoying the way everyone squirms under his gaze. “We had to suffer to become great.” The crowd applauds, and those that still physically can whistle their praise. The man chatters, his hands waving animatedly as he spins lies. A soft itch under my collar turns into a throbbing, piercing pinch. The same contorted expression, and rubbing at the collar mirrors on each prisoner. I grunt and watch through watering eyes as each person around me crumples. A soft hiss of air is my only warning. The sedative pools in my every limb. My fingers numb then my toes and legs. My thoughts thicken, and a simple observation seems to be like swimming through hot asphalt. I hardly feel when my body collides with the ground. I barely feel when the guards haul me away. 

“Number 21.” A monotone voice, and a sting in my shoulder makes me jump awake. I groan and rub my fingers through my hair to ease my pounding head. Number 21? I squint in confusion and look around. There are twenty other Normals squished into the room with me. Why? What’s-. Harsh reality clicks into place. This is The Hunt. I thought they already had their Prey!

“Wait. Am I number twenty-one?” I shriek, shaking the shoulder of the girl next to me. 

“Yup,” she slurs.

“Drugs will be administered in ten seconds. Nine. Eight-.” The orderly’s voice grates on my nerves. Warm metal tightens around my throat. A new collar? My fingers slip deftly from the smooth surface. I scramble to my knees trying to get some leverage. My nails carve welts into my throat as I try to force my fingers under the collar. The movement makes the needle pressed into my throat rip at my flesh. Hot blood wells under it, but the metal is clamped so tight that it just pools under the restraint, not able to leak down my collarbone.

“Three. Two.” The sting of adrenaline makes me sloppy. My hands rake across the smooth surface uselessly. The leverage does me no good. A cool mist sprays gently under my flesh, and as it coats each of my veins, the cooling effect spreads. I wait. And wait. I’m still awake. No overwhelming tiredness heavies my eyelids. No darkness pulls at the fringe of my consciousness. 

“What’s this?” I ask blinking confused at the man.

“It makes it so the Hunters can’t use heat finders.” 

“Oh.” Begrudgingly I admit that it’s smart. But just to myself. A girl at the other end of the room jumps to her feet and starts running towards the hall. She doesn’t get two steps before her knees give out under her, and the collar beeps almost mockingly. Dumb girl. My stomach drops as gravity yanks me down, and it takes a moment for me to realize that the ground had dropped out from beneath me. My head spins viciously as I try to right myself with no luck.

“Hunters! Take a look at the selection, and find your match.” My eyes find a line of men and women. All of them are horribly disfigured. One man’s face is stretched out into a mutt’s muzzle. One woman has a horn forcing its way from her forehead. I watch as each one lines up next to their Prey. A man that looks startlingly like a Normal approaches the platform. He examines each of our shoulders searching for a number to match his own. When he turns his eyes on me, though, they shine bright white. He’s not a Normal. He smirks at my staring and crosses his arms.

“Too bad you’re a prey. If you weren’t I’d-,” he trails off and grins. I scowl up at him before fighting my way to untangle my limbs and stand. My anger fuels him, and he reaches out to tuck stray hair from my eyes. I don’t let him touch me, instead, I turn and clack my jaw at his outstretched hand. He pulls back shocked. The man booms over the speaker.

“Are you ready?” The bloodthirsty cheers echo through speakers.“In honor of a decade-long period of peace, we will be televising this hunt.” More chatter. “This year, there’s another special change.” He thrusts his fist into the air. A gold chain dangles from it. At the end a small heart-shaped locket swings with the momentum. “If a Prey finds this locket, which will be hidden in the arena, and returns to the starting podium, they’re free! That’s right folks, this little locket means freedom.” A chance! I knew destiny wouldn’t let me rot.

“A reminder of the rules. There are twenty Hunters, and twenty-one Prey. That means that there’s one Prey left over. 21 is free game. An extra prize will be awarded to the hunter who catches her.”

“Has each hunter found their prey?” The man asks over a speaker.

The orderly gives him a thumbs up. Trumpets sound, and we’re off. I sprint towards the cover of trees, as bodies fall around me. Crimson paints the floor, and stains bright spots in my eyes. 

My lungs heave, and my knees tremble with each step. A root reaches up and rips me to the ground. More blood splatters the ground, but I hardly have time to stop and look. Instead, I climb up a tree. The bark digs into my palms and cuts my legs. Heaving and sweaty, I fall onto a thick limb. I look over panting and see a bird's nest. Inside lays its corpse. I wrap my fingers around the sharp beak and saw at my braid. The constant tugging brings back my throbbing headache. My arm quivers and I set it on my knee for a break. A flame of anger flares, and I slash forcefully at it. Finally, it detaches.

“Twenty-one?” A man coos. The white-eyed man. Disoriented I look around. The morning light shines through the branches. I slept since yesterday? He stops beneath me grinning. “I knew I’d find you.” My pulse hammers against the collar. Slowly, I wrap my fingers around the rest of the decrepit bird. He glances around and starts to climb. I wait, then, with all my strength, I throw the dead thing down at his face. It catches him off guard, and he falls from the tree. I don’t hesitate before jumping off to land on him. I wrap my legs around his torso and wrap the braid still clenched tight in my fingers around his throat. I pull up. He flails, but can’t free himself. I wrap it tighter around his throat until I’m sure he’s dead. I jump up, spit, and run to the platform. They’d hide the locket there, in the clearing. The stench of blood burns my nose, but I dive in. I throw bodies around and search the stained dirt. Nausea knocks me from my feet, and I lean over and vomit. Something wraps around my ankle and pulls me flat on my face. I kick, but my eyes land on the white-eyed boy.

“You’re alive?” I gasp. The blood smeared across my cheek makes my head spin. He grunts and the angry, red welt wrapped around his throat glares at me. The whip wrapped around my ankle tightens, and I skid through the dirt. I claw at the ground trying to pull away. Rocks cut the pads of my fingers, and dirt pushes further under my skin. The sensation rips a scream ragged from my throat. “I told you you’d be mine.” He grins down at me. The look in his eye brands fear in my heart. His foot collides with my rib, and I gasp. His boot crunches down on my spine and drives a rock into the soft flesh of my stomach. Carelessly, he rips me around by the end of his whip. He’s toying with me like a cat does a mouse. Each scream tears at my throat until I can taste metal dripping hot and messily into my stomach. “You look weak, the more you toy with me.” He doesn’t respond. “Can’t deal a killing blow?” He pauses, then jerks a wicked knife from its scabbard. I fumble backward franticly begging. He doesn’t stop.

“You wouldn’t dare,” I breathe against his cheek as he levels the knife just inches above my collarbone. The feeling of each layer of skin popping beneath the point of his blade says otherwise.“But I would.” He says so close that his lips brush mine. I crumple, numb, and gasping, then watch as my blood carves a small river into the dust. It burns gold in the sun. Hysteria breaks loose.

“She’s blessed!” Someone shrieks. Their horror washes into the background. A soft shimmer winks at me from the dirt. I tilt my head and my eyes fix on the locket. The clasp is broken, crushed beneath the heel of his boot. For some reason this makes me cry. Not death waiting for me in the fringes. Though I can’t feel my arms, I manage to lift one. The movement pulls at the torn edges of flesh, but I bite down the pain. The blackness surges closer. I have to fight for every breath. I reach, and my hand falls short in the dust.

“Freedom.” I sigh, spending my last breath.