by Joel Ohman
In his peripheral vision, Charley saw Sandy, with assistance from Grigor, take down the leading rotthog, and then Hank took down the second, all by himself and followed with a whoop. Two down and two to go.
The rampaging black and tan one was almost upon Charley.
He tensed his legs, trying to mimic Grigor’s example as best as he could remember. But he couldn’t help but think, If this is number three, where is the fourth?
And then he saw an enormous red apparition looming from his left. The fourth rotthog must have broken out of the pack for a second, but now it was back. The monster was dark red and grizzled, easily over 600 pounds. And it too was coming right for Charley.
Two marauding hog-hounds from hell, each coming at him from a different direction. Charley’s resolve faltered slightly, and he took a small step backward.
A thought flashed through his mind. Had Orson instructed Grigor to make sure Charley never returned from the forest? Or was Grigor just testing him? He had said he was impressed with Charley and wanted to see what he could do. Regardless, sometimes action was the only solution—especially now that Charley was seconds away from becoming the center slab of meat in a pork-on-pork sandwich.
Charley ran directly at the black and tan rotthog. He held his spear as if jousting, a horseless knight charging a mutant pig-dog, hardly the stuff of fairy tales but certainly well suited to a nightmare. He screamed a battle cry, hoping to cause the creature to veer off-course. The noise only seemed to anger it further as it closed in on Charley.
Still tracking the red rotthog from the corner of his eye, Charley rotated his hands slightly on the spear. Just at the right moment he staked the blade into the ground at an angle and vaulted over the first rotthog. As he sailed above it, he was struck in the face with a stream of warm, frothy saliva and an otherworldly stench.
Unable to stop its charge in time, the black and tan rotthog impaled its tusks into the massive and unarmored side of its large, red cousin. The red rotthog bellowed in pain. Turning its great head to one side, it gored and mauled its attacker. Stamping and twisting, it tossed the black and tan rotthog against a tree, breaking its neck. Wounded and spewing drool, it turned again toward Charley.
Ready with his blade, Charley swiftly impaled the enormous creature and put an end to its suffering.
Breathing hard, Charley turned toward the others. He was met with frozen looks of terror.
“They’re both dead. It’s okay,” Charley said.
Sandy shook her head slightly, her eyes wide, and then inclined her head up and to the left. Charley snapped his head up, and his eyes encountered the almond-shaped eyes of an enormous cat. It was poised above him on the large tree that had moments earlier protected their backs. Charley guessed it to be some kind of panther hybrid, only larger and with a mane. Its eyes were a mesmerizing bright yellow, made all the more stark in contrast to its night-black fur. Charley felt utterly out of control just looking at it. Now this was a predator. He was only the prey.
Charley was acutely aware he did not belong in the forest.
The cat gave a blood-curdling half-scream, half-roar, daring Charley to move.
Then it pounced.
Charley ducked, but he wasn’t quick enough. Luckily Grigor was. He appeared like a ghost, sliding in front of Charley and beating the springing cat to one side with the swing of a great club—like a common house cat being flung off the kitchen counter. The cat landed gracefully, shrieked at Grigor, sunk its razor-sharp claws and teeth into the body of the black and tan rotthog, and then sprang away with its dinner.
Charley was sitting awkwardly on the ground where he had fallen backward onto his rump. However, this was no time for being embarrassed; Grigor had saved his life.
He hopped up and looked Grigor in the eye. “Thank you.”
Grigor smiled. “You are welcome. Not many look into a lanther’s eyes and live. They are formidable opponents.”
“Lanther? Lion–panther?” asked Lila.
“Yes.”
“Wow.” Hector said. Charley suspected Hector would have been just as excited to see the lanther even if it had pounced on Charley for its dinner instead of the rotthog. Hector seemed more interested in spotting his precious animal combinations than the safety of any of his classmates.
“Okay, let’s clean this meat and get it transported back inside the gates,” Grigor said.
Sandy grimaced. “You mean we’ve been eating dog bacon all this time?”
Hank laughed—a little too enthusiastically, Charley thought. Lila, Hector, and Armen all looked sick to their stomachs.
Grigor just smiled as he expertly assembled a makeshift sled and harness system from the branches and vines entangled across their path. Then he motioned for them to kneel down and begin bagging the meat.
“Let’s move quickly now. The smell of blood will bring even more unwanted company if we don’t move fast.”
He paused for a moment. “And it’s almost dark.”
CHAPTER 7
The System is Always Right
“You see now why we have difficulty feeding everyone?” Orson asked Charley.
They were back in the classroom, but just Orson, Grigor, and Charley remained after the group hunting debrief with the rest of the High Scores.
Charley thought about the danger they had gone through to obtain the rotthog meat, and about the food shortages that Meritropolis residents endured. “Yes.” Charley kept his emotions in check and withheld any further comment about the System.
“And that is precisely why we have the System. It’s not easy, believe me. But if we only have resources to handle X amount of people and we end up with even X-plus-one, then what would you have us do? We certainly can’t put someone like you out of the gates. Why, how many full-grown men in Meritropolis—let alone someone else your age—could single-handedly take down two rotthogs at once on their very first hunt? And with your current Score and age, that’s just scratching the surface of your potential.”
Charley could tell he was being buttered up. He didn’t like it. But he hoped to find a way to turn Orson’s enthusiasm toward him to his advantage.
Grigor nodded his agreement, and Orson continued. “The meat from those two rotthogs can feed a tremendous amount of people. Should we tell all of those people that we decided to put you out of the gates in place of that little girl that you foolishly attempted to rescue? That same little girl¸ I might add, who is being allowed to remain inside the gates with us—conditional on your exemplary behavior, of course. What good is she to us, though?”
Charley’s eyes flashed. He fought the urge to do something foolish. “Her value is not determined by what you can get out of her,” he said quietly.
“You are speaking philosophically, and I admire that. Sure, she probably has some value to someone—her sister, perhaps. But this is the real world. And in the real world, we have hungry people who need food, not platitudes. We have other healthy little girls who are going to bed hungry tonight. So if and when their parents come to us—what would you tell those people in need of food?”
Charley raised his head and looked Commander Orson dead in the eyes. For a moment, he was in the forest again—frozen in place before the lanther—but he willed himself not to blink and not to look away. “If I were in charge—”
At this, Commander Orson stiffened, almost imperceptibly, but Charley noticed. Orson hates that idea, he thought. He would have to tread carefully here. He took a deep breath and continued.
“If I were in charge, then I would tell those parents that the only thing they would ever have to fear is something from outside the gates. I would tell them that they would never, ever need fear that I or anyone else inside the gates would break down their door in the middle of the night and cart away one of their children if they become sick, or hurt, or simply not useful to us.” Charley glanced down. His fists were balled at his side.
Grigor was watching him closely. Charley unclenched his fists.
“That’s what I would tell them,” he said quietly. The anger was receding; cold sadness filled the void.
“Well, I put food on the table. The System puts food on the table. The System is always right. In the end, that’s all that matters,” Orson stated briskly. “You will come to realize that, of course. Youth is impetuous and idealistic. I understand that. In the end, however, we all accept what life has dealt us. If there is a God, then He has left us to fend for ourselves in this hellhole.”
“God didn’t cause the Event,” Charley said, his eyes on the floor.
“Maybe so, but He didn’t prevent it, either,” replied Orson.
There was silence for a moment and then Grigor spoke for the first time. “Maybe He let us choose exactly what we wanted; exactly what we deserved.”
Commander Orson looked quickly over at Grigor and then back to Charley. “That’s neither here nor now. The System keeps Meritropolis alive and strong. Pruning the weak branches is part of the process,” Orson said. “Of course, we tolerate a certain amount of, how shall we say, unsanctioned free enterprise in Meritropolis—it gives the people a semblance of control. That’s why I let that wannabe crime lord Chappy run his racket.” Charley started, his eyes blinking at hearing Chappy’s name. He tried not to let his face convey any recognition. But neither Orson nor Grigor seemed to notice. Commander Orson turned toward the door and spoke curtly. “It’s time to leave. Grigor will show you to your quarters and see that you are fed well.” He motioned for Grigor to open the door.
Stepping outside, Charley noticed how Grigor continued to position himself between him and Orson. He was defeated. If only he could get a moment with Commander Orson alone. Well, he would just have to bide his time. It’s what Sven would want him to do.
Sven—the only reason Sven was in any trouble was because of Charley. Charley wasn’t one to hang his head or shuffle his feet, but on the inside, he couldn’t help but think that he was worthless: a waste of a high Score.
He had failed to save Alec.
And now he was going to fail to save Sven.
Then, breaking from his reverie, he saw her.
This was why men started wars, betrayed alliances, slew dragons, forsook family, stormed castles, invaded countries, stole power—risked everything.
To single out one part of her would be to do a disservice to all of her. She was perfect: so bone-achingly beautiful that you knew that you could never get her, yet also that you couldn’t do anything but try.
And she was returning Charley’s gaze.
Her hair was raven-black and long; it flowed behind her, rippling and bouncing in the wind, as she walked—or rather, flounced—across the courtyard toward them. Charley could tell by the way she carried herself this was a woman who was both extraordinarily beautiful and extraordinarily aware of the effect her beauty had on those around her. She liked to be watched. She looked away from Charley and turned toward Commander Orson.
“Orson, there you are!” she said breezily, with a smile.
Charley noted the absence of Orson’s title. Looking over at Commander Orson, Charley recognized that even he was slightly slack-jawed in her presence. Grigor alone remained impassive.
“Yes, Abigail. What is it? We are just finishing up with something here,” Orson replied.
“Oh, I won’t take up your time, then. I didn’t need to see you. I just wanted to see our newest young High Score here.” She turned toward Charley.
“You managed to bring down two rotthogs at once—on your very first hunt. You are an impressive specimen.” She looked at him appraisingly, as if sizing up a horse for purchase.
Charley shifted his weight uncomfortably. Again, he couldn’t look away. First the lanther, then Orson, and now this succubus of a woman was bewitching him.
“Thank you,” he finally managed to say.
Orson’s face tightened, and he took a step toward them, the buckle on his boot jangling for attention. “He could be an impressive specimen, if he could learn to see the value of the System, that is. Until then, he’s just another High Score.” Apparently, he was done trying to butter up Charley for the day.
“Maybe if the System wasn’t imprisoning my friend, then I would be more prone to see its value,” Charley said quietly.
“Ah, of course, your friend—he has a very low Score, you know.”
Charley wanted nothing more than to punch that pompous little mouth of Orson’s and wipe the supercilious smile right off his face, but he refrained. He felt certain that Orson was testing him, testing his control. Besides, Grigor was still between them.
“His name is Sven. His Score is not important to me. He’s my friend.”
“Yes, yes, well, I can’t very well make myself, and the System, look bad by publicly saving both the low-Score little girl and this low-Score friend of yours. But there might be a way—” Orson paused, eyed Charley carefully, and then continued—“When I was your age, I hunted much more than just rotthogs.” Orson glanced at Abigail. “In fact, I brought down some animal combinations that no one has ever seen since.”
Grigor nodded his assent.
“We can always use the meat, of course, but we have an even more pressing issue: we’ve spotted bion tracks.”
“Bison tracks?” Charley asked.
“If only—not bison, but bion: a bull–lion animal combination. If you can bring him down, then your friend is free to go. Everyone who’s seen a bion is scared to death of them, so it would only be right for the System to award a great bion hunter with the freedom of his friend.”
“I’ll do it,” Charley said immediately. Perhaps killing a bion would be a simpler way of getting Sven released than killing Orson. At least he wouldn’t have to cross Grigor.
Orson’s eyes widened momentarily and then he smiled broadly. “Hank and Sandy will go with you. Grigor will lead you out tomorrow and point you in the right direction, but he can’t go with you. This hunt you will have to do on your own.”
“And if I bring you this bull–lion creature, you will release Sven?” Charley asked.
“Yes, a deal is a deal. You have my word.”
Charley nodded, looking over briefly at Grigor and Abigail to check that they had heard Orson’s promise.
“Now, Grigor will take you to eat dinner with the others. You’re in the high-Score dorms tonight—you will still be locked in, of course.” Orson turned and walked away: they were dismissed.
Grigor inclined his head and Charley moved to follow behind him, but not before Abigail leaned in close to whisper in his ear. “He means to have you killed, you know. He feels threatened by you.” Her breath was warm and smelled faintly of cinnamon. “He can’t be seen to kill you outright—not someone with your Score—but I would be very careful tomorrow.”
She touched his arm lightly and then was gone.
CHAPTER 8
Bions, and Ligers, and Zorses—Oh My!
“When you hear hoof beats behind you, don’t expect to see a zebra.” Hector slapped the table enthusiastically and leaned forward over his salad. “That’s what they used to teach medical students in the Old Days. It was because horses were the most commonly encountered hoofed animal. So, when diagnosing a medical problem, they were taught to assume the most common explanation, horses, and not a rare explanation, zebras. Get it?”
Sandy rolled her eyes. “Yes, of course we all get it. This is the high-Score cafeteria, Hector, remember?”
Hector laughed. “That is what I’m saying. We now know that saying doesn’t apply anymore—that’s for sure!”
Charley was only half-listening. He was still thinking about the bion. But he was hungry—in fact, he was starving, whether for rotthog bacon or not. He was already halfway through an enormous steak and equally large baked potato slathered in butter. The high-Score cafeteria definitely had much better food than he was accustomed to elsewhere. He tried not to think about what kind of mutant freak animal his steak had come from.
Sandy responded. “You m
ean that the saying should now be: ‘When you hear hoof beats behind you, don’t expect to see a zebra … or a horse—expect a zorse!’?”
Everyone at the table laughed. Even Charley smirked.
“Good one! Even Charley liked it!” Hector said with a big smile, his chubby cheeks smooshing his eyes up into slits.
“Whatever.” Charley couldn’t help but smile.
Sandy did a little half-bow and twirled her fork. She watched Charley continue to shovel in his steak and made a face.
“I don’t know how you can just devour your steak like that. Do you even know what it is?”
Charley looked up, his fork paused halfway to his mouth. He shrugged and then took another bite. “Porcupine–emu, lobster–elk, turkey–rabbit, who knows? Who cares? It’s delicious. And we can eat as much as we want.”
“True, at least we can eat as much as we want here.” Her face grew serious, possibly thinking about previous nights when she had gone to bed hungry.
“So, Charley, tell us again what we are hunting tomorrow. A bion? That’s all he told you?” Hank asked.
“Yep, a bion. A bull–lion mix. That’s all I know.”
Hank made a disgusted sound and turned toward the twins. “Okay, Hector, Lila, you two are the animal-freak experts. What do we need to know about bions?”
They turned to look at each other and then back at Hank, their faces serene.
“Well,” Lila began, glancing back at Hector, who shrugged in return, prompting her to continue. The twins’ usually buoyant moods appeared suddenly subdued.
Charley set down his fork.
“What? What is it?” Hank asked.
“Out with it. You might as well just tell us what you’re obviously trying to avoid telling us,” Sandy demanded.
“Okay, well, we have heard some talk about a bion before,” Lila said. “They have very strong lion characteristics, part-lion, of course. So, king of the jungle and all of that. But the bion is, obviously, also part-bull, so, it also has the extreme muscularity and aggressiveness of the bull. And it has the normal helping of rage that all of the animal combinations have, thanks to the chemical after-soup of the Event.”
