And though Obe hadn't spoken more than a handful of words, the meeting was suddenly over, and he was once again on his own.
3
"Are you right-handed or left-handed, O.B.E. Obe?" asked the man named Rein.
Obe had found him easily enough, though he could barely do more than hobble around the dead-end alley on his torn feet. It seemed the others were more than willing to help him, and spotting the man described as 'tall with the blackest hair you've ever seen' had been surprisingly easy. Though there was one other man with black hair who was also exceptionally tall and so thin his cheek bones stuck out like a skeleton's– an emaciated bear standing on its hindquarters, Obe had thought when first seeing him– only one tall man had the greasy shanks of flowing jet-black hair that only a hippie could love.
"Right-handed," Obe said.
"Baj!" Rein yelled into the crowd of blue men. A head popped up and Rein waved the man over. "Not much of a beard, I see." Rein said. Obe did not respond. He simply eyed Rein as Baj came slowly closer. "Baj, this is Obe," Rein said when he had arrived. "Obe, this is Baj. That's B.A.J."
"Hiyuh," Baj said.
"Ok, newbie. Here's the deal," Rein said. "Baj here is the keeper and detector of all things RUN. When you escape the women's grasp, tell the story to others if you like, or if you think they'll listen, but Baj needs to hear it. He's sort of the newshound on behalf of the elders. They rely on his information, and he relies on all of us. When and if Baj is ever taken from us, I'm his apprentice, you understand?" Obe nodded.
There was a pause as Rein reeled in Obe's undivided attention. When he had it, he said, "Don't fuckin' lie about a run. It's disrespectful and a mockery to The Family. Earn your runs. Get them marked. But don't go looking for 'em, either, hear? Some guys always think they can climb the ladder faster by taunting the women. Don't be a dumbass, alright? Just survive. Do that and your numbers will come."
Obe was nodding, but it was a distracted move. He was watching Baj fiddling with what looked like a small piece of metal. Obe didn't think he'd ever seen handworked metal anywhere on the island.
Suddenly Rein's strong hand was gripping Obe's left wrist and had shoved the sleeve of his jumpsuit up past the elbow. Angrily, Obe looked up at Rein to protest, but managed to quell his tongue.
"We have little left from our old lives that is still our own," Rein said. "So we've created our own way of doing things. When you survive a run, it's a victory for all of us. It's a mark of honor, and we count them. Baj is going to make a short, clean cut on the inside of your forearm, and it's your job not to flinch. If you do, the scar won't look right. Everyone here does it. You can fight if you like, but I'll just get some others to help me hold you down. It's been done before. It'll be done again. But it's much more honorable if you can promise me you won't flinch. You do that, and I'll let go and see how you do on your own."
Obe stared at Baj, who was waiting patiently with the thin blade poised in his fingers. He looked back to Rein and saw the strength, the sureness, in his eyes. He looked around at the other men in blue in the alley. None of them were particularly paying attention, but several here and there seemed to know what was going on. "Let me see your scars," he told Rein.
"I will, if you really want me to," Rein said. "But understand it's less honorable that way. I advise you to trust me and let Baj mark your first run."
Obe thought of his brother. What else will I have to go through to get home to him? he thought. First torture, then hunted, and now blood-letting? He wondered if these men were the survivors they appeared to be or merely fraternity brothers enjoying their hazing ritual? As always, his brother's face eluded him, but Obe was no fool. He had already decided. "Let go, Rein," he said. "You can cut me, Baj. I won't flinch."
Rein's hands released their firm grip, leaving cooling white handprints behind. Obe held the sleeve away from the elbow, and Baj lowered the hand-made blade to his skin. It was a thing bent off some larger, unknown metal sheet. Then Baj pulled the flesh taut and sliced. The cut itself was quick and the pain was sharp but brief. Obe had told himself he wouldn't wince, but he hadn't been able to do this. He looked up, but neither Rein nor Baj seemed to notice. Blood was seeping from the wound now.
"It's your first one," Rein said, smiling. "Do you want to suck it?" Obe didn't blink. He lowered his head and tasted the hot copper fluid rush into his mouth. After a few seconds, Baj asked to see it. Obe obeyed, and Baj examined the cut expertly in seconds.
"One more," he said.
"What?" Obe asked, and couldn't help pulling his arm back defensively.
"It takes both width and depth to make a good scar," Baj said. "I'm good, but it sometimes takes three or four before I'm satisfied."
Patience, Obe thought. Baj is a man of great patience. And Rein is proud. Maybe too proud. I wonder how much he wants to become an elder? Blood was seeping from the wound again. Baj pawed it away, and Obe winced again. Baj lowered the razor and positioned it a hair to the side of the fresh cut. Obe closed his lips and watched the second slice– a slower, more deliberate one– come. Obe swore aloud, and at this a few men in the alley turned their heads to look.
"'At'll do," Baj said in a deliberate, clean drawl. He smiled and looked at Rein. "Not bad I guess. Could live without the profanity, though." And then Baj was gone, walking back toward the other side of the alley.
As Obe palmed the wound with his right hand, Rein gave further instructions. "Be sure to pick the scab every chance you get. That's the key ingredient. Otherwise it won't scar. Do it yourself or Baj will do it for you, and," here Rein chuckled, "trust me. You don't want him to.
"Keep running well," Rein continued, "and soon enough you'll be well on your way to gaining some real respect. Welcome aboard, Obe." He slapped Obe on the back and smiled, his experienced eyes brightening. Obe smirked back. Rein was a tad harsh, but appeared genuine. "Now if you'll pardon me, I must talk with some people."
As Rein stood to leave, Obe grabbed his wrist and tried hard to show there was strength in his own grip. "Show me," he said. As much as he'd been tested, Obe had a test of his own to administer. Rein's professionalism finally broke, and he gleamed a wide, proud smile. He pushed up his own left sleeve and exposed a forearm covered with one-inch scars. Obe was surprised despite what he had expected. He looked closer and saw two open slices where scabs had recently been trying desperately, and in vain, to heal the skin.
"Sixty-one," Rein said simply. His eyes seemed to twinkle before he disappeared into the masses of blue jumpsuits.
4
In Rein's absence, Obe was finally approached by several curious men, all of whom threw their names at him, shook his hand, and wanted a more personal account of the women's retreat. Soon a small band had surrounded him, and he was telling the story for the third time. One man, Leb, was quieter than the rest yet still maintained the order of the group. He had a mop of long blonde hair that looked familiar. Obe thought he remembered him from green sector. In fact, he was pretty sure this man had given him a few running tips back when he had been newly released from the fortress.
"Hold on a moment," Leb said when two more men popped over and asked for the story. "Let the man catch his breath and a larger crowd to gather. No sense in making him tell it a dozen times if he doesn't have to."
Obe ended up telling his story only six times in total, but was still overwhelmed and slightly annoyed before it was over. When the last small crowd finally dissipated, Leb alone remained behind, and Obe blissfully sat on the ground to relieve his battered feet from the pressure of standing. He was also happy to finally feel like he had someone at his own level to talk to. Obe had noticed that many men wore their sleeves rolled up and he'd been sneaking peeks at everyone's forearms. Leb had just fifteen scars. He wasn't much older than Obe, in the eyes of The Family.
"So, Leb," Obe broached into the relative silence as Leb pushed a swath of blonde hair out of his eyes. "I think I remember you from green sector. Taught me a couple of moves my fi
rst week out. Never got the chance to thank you. Any new words of advice you can give me now?"
Leb sat down beside him on the old, cracked asphalt. "I was wondering if you'd remember that," he said with a smile. "It's good to see you alive. Hell yeah I can advise you. Lots of things. Most will cost you some food. It's how things run here, but some are free. One should be obvious, though, don't you think?"
Obe shook his head, surprised there could be something obvious to others in such a short amount of time.
"Your sneakers, Obe," Leb said. "I don't know if you saw it, but I spotted more than one green-eyed monster on people's faces when you pulled that beauty out. They're jealous. Here, let me show you what I mean." Leb snuck a hand inside his own blue jumpsuit and pulled out a battered, old, blue sneaker. The sole was half unglued, the thing looked naked without the laces, and the front was an open cavity like a sandal. Obe realized this was to allow a longer foot to slide through.
"These are the kinds of sneakers most of us live with, if we have 'em. I almost lost these a few times, but I have a few tricks up my sleeve. Most important is to sleep with them inside your jumpsuit and down where your balls should be. And I only put them on when I hear the car nearby. I suggest you sleep with those gorgeous things of yours tucked inside your ass if you can manage it."
Obe laughed. Leb did not. "I mean it," he said. "I guarantee somebody will be trying to get at them soon. Probably tonight." He paused to look at his own sneakers with fondness in his eyes. "These babies might be on their last legs, but they fit, and they've never failed me."
"I've never seen a blue pair," Obe said. "How did you get them?"
"Stole them, of course. Word has it they used to show up in our grocery bags every so often. Sort of like a cracker jack prize, but I've never seen it happen. These babies are here, though, so it must be true. They've probably been stolen from one man to another ever since this whole thing started. Baj has a pair. So do a few of the others. Everyone else goes across the line at night and takes a green pair when they can't deal with runnin' barefoot no more. Got mine from a guy who was on his way out. Would never make elder. Just kept getting slower by the week. Lots of people noticed, but I was the one to notice first. I'm observant, if nothing else. By the looks of your feet, you got those treasures of yours just in time."
Obe looked again to his raw, bloodied feet. He lifted each one up tenderly to examine the fresh shredding. Long, deep cuts ran down the lengths of both. The heels, of course, were particularly mangled. Dozens of tiny stones were stuck in the open, glistening wounds. Looking at them closer, Obe marveled again that he'd been able to bear the pain. A year ago– or had it been two since he'd been brought to the island?– he probably wouldn't have been able to remain conscious from such injuries.
Leb whistled sympathetically as Obe began to carefully pick the stones free. As he operated, he could suddenly feel each individual cut, each separate abrasion. Every touch sent a tiny bolt of lightning from deep within his heels, and he summoned his training from the torture rooms to suppress the fiery pain. On his right foot, the big toe with the ripped nail throbbed. There was also a long black smear of the dumpster ooze across his fourth and fifth toes. He wiped at it with a thumb but it only smeared further and did not come off. An offensive, fresh odor attacked the nearby air with its release.
Obe realized the only way to clean it was with water. "So, there's a rumor in green sector that you guys have a freshwater stream," he said. "Lots of guys here look really clean, so it must be true. It's nice to know. I would have thought we'd be dirtier at a higher stage."
"You're observant," Leb said. "The elders promote cleanings at least once a week. It helps keep things civilized, and that's tough with all the damned… well, it's tough." Obe looked into Leb's squinted eyes, trying to decipher what he hadn't quite said, but it was useless.
"Yes, there's a stream that runs through our sector. You want to be careful every time you go there, though. It's basically a trap waiting to be sprung."
"Of course," Obe sighed. "There's no such thing as a free lunch, right?"
"You got that right."
"Can you show me where it is?"
"If you want me to."
Of course I want you to, Obe thought. But then he realized Leb was allowing him the option of finding it on his own, which was, of course, the more 'honorable' choice. "I'll see if I can find it on my own," he said.
"Good man," Leb said. "I think you'll do fine here."
Obe faked another smile but groaned inside. Food isn't going to be the only test in blue sector, he thought. Were the women lying, or do they not know what really goes on here? He thought about this for only a moment before realizing how ridiculous the notion was. Of course the women knew. They knew everything. They keep the test in black sector hidden, he realized, and it seems they keep part of the blue test hidden too. That's all.
Leb was kind enough to defer another pair of men who came by to ask Obe to tell his story. "Let the man attend to his poor feet," he said. "What if he's got to run again later today? Even with sneakers he can't run if his feet are useless. Sorry, boys, the story booth is closed."
Then Leb shot a quick look at Obe with a glint in his eye. "Come back tomorrow and maybe he'll sell you his story for a bite of bread." The men went away promptly without comment, and this time Obe's smile was genuine.
5
Obe and Leb fell into a comfortable silence that lasted for some minutes. Obe's stomach was beginning to growl. The extra food he had been provided with at his transferal had spoiled him, and now he wanted more than his fair share. He hoped the blue food bags weren't too much worse than those in green sector.
Obe's eyes eventually found the spot of blood on his left thigh, and he knew something about the incident with the green was still on his mind. Finally, he pushed it out of his mouth, and it felt as tasteless and intrusive as a wad of cotton.
"The guy I watched die," he said, "the Green this morning…" he trailed off as Leb listened with some patience. "He had my old jumpsuit," Obe finally managed. "The one I was wearing just a week ago. It said OTTER right there on the tag. It just… blew my mind, you know?"
Leb took a long time to respond. At first he only let out a muffled grunt and nod, but finally he spoke as bluntly as Obe. "I hate that. I've seen mine twice. Two different men. I was the PORCUPINE as a green."
"I know the PORCUPINE. I think his name is Clube."
"Not the same guys I saw. They were both dead. The second was maybe two months ago."
"Yeah. I guess it's not him then. Clube is still alive." He paused. "Or he was a week ago." Neither of them needed to elaborate.
"I suppose." Leb paused for a moment before continuing with his own story. "The days of the PORCUPINE are over for me. I'm the COYOTE now. You'll have to put the OTTER behind you and become your new name. It's difficult moving to blue sector. We all assume it will be even worse moving to black."
Obe looked down at the nametag on his new, blue jumpsuit. 'GOPHER', it read. It was an animal he wasn't proud of. It felt like a demotion from OTTER. Otters were fun, playful. They were always shown on television swimming around like children at the pool. Gophers, on the other hand, were fat and always covered in dirt. Despite how much he knew the women were winning another small battle, he had really been looking forward to a larger, quicker, more powerful sounding animal. Leb had a good jumpsuit.
"Hey, hot shot." The voice came from above Obe. Another man in blue approached. He wore a scowl on his face. "Let's have a look at those purdy green sneakers. Were they really worth it, you idiot? You know, I don't exactly appreciate you bringing your uninvited guests over for dinner like that."
"Leave him alone, Jain," Leb said. "He's had a hard day. And I wouldn't be calling anyone an idiot if I were you. When was the last time you had the courage to approach a dead body?"
"A hard day? And what were the rest of us doing? Lounging on the beaches of San Juan?" A nearby man chuckled. Jain saw he had gained the a
udience he was looking for, and he continued. "I'll have you know I took this here piece of bread from a dead Green just two days ago. Took it right out of his jumpsuit and was gone long before any cars came around to clean him up." Now more men were beginning to take interest. Jain was standing proud and talking loud.
"Then why isn't it flat?" Obe asked, and instantly his heart skipped a beat. What was he doing? His own voice was lower. People needed to quiet their mumbling gossip to hear him, which they did. And for some reason it stirred him to speak again, against his better judgment. "Are you trying to tell me a car ran over a man's chest three times and failed to hit that piece of bread? I find that very strange."
"Are you accusing me of lying you little rat bastard?" Jain lashed back. "I'll smash your freaky-eyed face in if you think I'm going to let you talk like that to me!"
Obe stared at the man, his earlier disquietude changing quickly to anger at the phrase 'freaky-eyed.' He had always been sensitive about his strange eyes, his two different-colored eyes. As a child he'd been made fun of relentlessly, one day even being driven to tears in the boys' locker room after Phys. Ed. Class. That memory the women had allowed him to keep, of course.
Even as a young adult he'd had to deal with the double-takes and nervous looks. Why such a trait seemed to disarm and discomfort people, he wasn't exactly sure. But it always did. Doov, Rein, Leb, and all the others had been nice enough not to say anything. Jain was obviously a different caliber of man.
Jain sneered wordlessly and a flash of silver something flew in and out of Obe's mind. He must have flinched a little as well because Jain repeated the action. The silver flash repeated as well, and Obe suddenly understood he had stepped into not just a new jumpsuit, but a whole new society. In this section of their little patch of Hell on Earth, there would have to be men like Jain, men who fed off the sufferings of others. Fitting in would require more adaptation than he had been anticipating. Obe didn't hear his own mumblings of linings and silver clouds.
Man Hunt Page 10
