Man Hunt

by K. Edwin Fritz

  Gertrude found the file marked 'Obe' and pulled it from the cabinet. Inside, she found an 8x10 color photograph of a rather thin young man with deep-set eyes, an acne problem, and twelve pages of information. She looked closely at the photograph, trying to decipher what seemed strange about it. There was something wrong with his eyes. A quick look from one to the other and she had it. His left one was a sparkling blue almost the color of the afternoon Hawaiian sky, but his right one was a deep brown, nearly black, that reminded her of doe's eyes. A genetic freak, she thought. Interesting. I wonder if Rhonda ever pulled something from his childhood on that one. The other kids could have chosen him as the runt of their litter. He certainly looks geeky enough. They may have been relentless about it. Now, what does GOPHER have to tell us?

  She began reading from the beginning. He'd been a relatively easy capture and of moderate difficulty during training, the file told her. He did have a strong fondness for his older brother, however, which they'd never been able to fully extract from his mind.

  But there was good news as well. He had developed the idiomatic habit of chanting that some men voiced whenever they got nervous. Rhonda had described it as "a phenomenon taken on by individuals of an inherently weak nature. Too overwhelmed to take on their problems in a logical fashion, they chant to calm themselves and focus better. Usually such students never advance past the problem and so live in a state of constant consternation until a quick death takes them out of their misery, probably emitting the chant itself as their last words."

  Further down on the report, Rhonda had filled in the area labeled "Prediction:" with the words "2 weeks, certainly no more than 2 months." Gertrude frowned.

  As she looked up from the file, she heard some man blubbering to please, please stop. She ignored it. Making predictions was by no means an exact science, but this was nothing like she thought this GOPHER would be. The odds of Rhonda being so inaccurate as to not notice a potential trouble-maker was very low. Luck, Lucy had said, she thought. Perhaps it really was just luck. Still, this man had managed to evade the green hunters for over three months, and already he'd caused a definite disturbance in his new sector. She scowled at the mere thought of the little "society" the blue men had created. Probably love him for it, she thought.

  She looked back to the file, scouring it again for useful information. She saw which devices Rhonda or other trainers had used on him. She saw that he been sent to solitary just one time, that he'd never attempted escape, that his treadmill sessions were without merit. She frowned again. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. Nothing stood out as a weakness she could use against him.

  As Gertrude reached halfway through reading her fifth report from the 'Obe' file, Rhonda returned to her office, wiping her corn-cob device with a rag and smiling to herself. Gertrude checked the clock on the wall above the door. It was already time for her second workout, and she still hadn't found the time to fix the maddening problem of the ever-breaking incinerator. Sometimes the freezer that housed the men's dead bodies would break down, but usually it was ok. But the incinerator that cremated them and left only the barrels of ash was a constant worry. It seemed every time she fixed one part, another would soon break down in its place. She grumbled quietly and turned to Rhonda.

  "I'll be taking this with me, but I'll have it back later today," she said.

  "Alright, Gertrude. You sure I can't help you with anything?"

  "Yes, actually. I have a question about your craft." Immediately Rhonda's eyes lit up. The spiked device in her hand almost disappeared from her attention. "When you have a man who deserves not just death, but true punishment," Gertrude said, "what is traditionally the best way to frighten him? Ideally I'd like it to be both quick and long-lasting. I don't know if both elements can be done to sufficient poignancy without sacrificing the other."

  "Just frighten?" Rhonda frowned a little, but was still too enthralled to be truly disappointed. "Well, let's see..." She thought for a moment, nodding to herself. She made to reach for her stacks of papers which sent a bolt of panic up Gertrude's spine, but then pulled it back immediately, smiling.

  "Well generally speaking, you want to take away whatever it is he still has, of course. Removal of existing commodities is always quicker than adding something and trying to create a new existence. A leg would do nicely, but I don't think you want him fated for an easy kill, do you? Maybe you could remove one of his hands. Probably you should select the one he uses to masturbate."

  Gertrude shook her head, thinking about something she'd read in the file. "No," she said. "Nothing that physical."

  "Well then," Rhonda continued. "If you want him still healthy but nevertheless destitute, you're talking emotional destruction. So you'd have to take away something he honestly cares about. If he's a green, it might be his sneakers. If he has found a friend, you would kill his friend in front of him, slowly and painfully so he remembers it in his nightmares. The more important this thing is, the more effective it will be when you remove it from him. From there any standard technique will work wonderfully. You destroy his confidence first, see? The one thing he loves enough to give him reason to live. Once his heart is broken, you can have your way with him."

  "Broken heart," Gertrude said. It wasn't quite a question, though Rhonda took it as one.

  "Yes. Men have hearts too. Metaphorically speaking, I mean. Even the men on this island. Is this GOPHER giving you some trouble?"

  "Not anymore," Gertrude said. "I know his weakness. And I'm going to obliterate his pansy little heart." She tapped the rolled folder in her hands a few times while her eyes stared down the long right-hand corridor and seemingly through the far wall, the city streets, the trees beyond, and perhaps deep into the seas themselves.

  Slowly, a crooked grin warped her already unsightly face. A moment later Gertrude was gone and Rhonda was left in jealous wonder at what Gertrude's anger had in store for the man now named Obe.

  3

  Josie moved through the unlit hallway determined to stay angry. Monica's office was the only room used on the third floor, and this made for a lonely, if not eerie, walk back through the rest of the fortress. Everything other than the path from her office to the nearest stairway looked unused and lifeless. But Josie was used to this trip and didn't notice the disheartening atmosphere consciously. Today she was filled with energy and ready for action.

  She descended the stairs to the second floor, passing right by an oil painting of a sad clown. The fortress held many remnants like this one from the island's more lucrative days. No one had ever bothered to clear them out, and Josie liked it that way. On more than one occasion after a session with Monica she had paused at that painting trying to find some solace for herself there. But today she could easily ignore the way the suit was choking the clown's neck and how the huge red pom-pom on the collar seemed to be stuffed inside his ear.

  She continued down the second floor staircase and could not help staring with disdain at the painting that hung there. She didn't like this one. The upper-class couple that walked through the colorful flower garden tended to disturb her more deeply than even a real-life sad clown could. In that painting the man was looking over his shoulder at a younger, prettier woman who was just a commoner collecting flowers. Meanwhile, his wife pompously held her head high, proud of who she was, but didn't notice her husband's straying eyes. The first time she'd seen it, Josie longed to be that flower girl, beautiful and secretly desired. But as a seasoned woman of Monroe's Island, she now knew whom she best represented. She also knew how symbolic the man's desires were. He reminded her of every man she'd ever recruited, regardless of the degree of his crimes. His leering disloyalty was something they all had in common.

  Two staircases later Josie reached the basement landing and opened the door. Awaiting her on the other side was the longest, emptiest hallway in the fortress. Down here, there were no windows and only four doors. Five widely-spaced, dangling 40-watt bulbs were the only source of illumination.

&nb
sp; She walked the long hall the same as she always had: quickly, and unaware that she was holding her breath. Men were on the other side of those blank walls. Lots of men in uncomfortably small rooms or running like dogs on high-speed treadmills. Josie's subconscious feared that one day some strong man who had not yet been broken would come bursting through the wall into the dark hallway and attack her without any restraints to hold him back. And he would be filled with rage, ready to die if only to take out just one woman on his way.

  She finally neared the door to the training area, about to lift her hand to the doorknob, when she suddenly stopped walking, not wanting to proceed. She listened to the clanking of metal on the other side. It was the sound of the other trainers giving the men, all 186 of them, their daily meal of slop and stale bread. She could hear the squeaks of mail slots being lifted, the scrapes of metal bowls being taken off the cart and slipped through to a greedy waiting hand within, and the clank of the slots closing again.

  When she had left Monica's office not two minutes ago, Josie was eager to walk through that door and spill as much food as she could. She had been looking forward to lavatory time. Then the true training afterward would seem like a dream come true. Now, however, she once again doubted her aggression. At Monica's expense, she swore and forced herself to think of Charles, sweating and grunting above her. Then, before more trouble could begin in her mind, she opened the door and walked in.

  Rhonda heard the door close and saw Josie. She then looked to the clock on the wall.

  "You're late," Rhonda said.

  "Gertrude had me see Monica," Josie explained. Rhonda humphed.

  "I didn't know anything about it."

  "She just assigned it this morning."

  Rhonda was satisfied with this answer, though secretly she wondered how bad the incident with the GOPHER must have been if Gertrude had been so distracted as to not mention this information. "You owe me twenty minutes. Do you want to do it late today or early tomorrow?"

  Josie suppressed the smile that tried to follow the warm flow that filled her. She had been thirty minutes late, not twenty, and it was well known the trainers were to make up any missed time, regardless of the reason, on the same day. They were not supposed to be given a choice. It was a secret bond Rhonda shared with her girls that the headwomen and Monica still know nothing about.

  "If you don't mind, I think I'll be able to help you much more by coming in early tomorrow."

  "That's fine. You might as well get the lavatory ready. The others are almost done serving meals." Josie let a smile slip through as she walked away, but Rhonda held hers back until Josie was gone.

  Josie walked past Steph and food cart she was working from to the far end of the corridor. Steph followed her and leaned against the wall while Josie opened the door to the bathroom, letting in welcomed sunlight from the small, high windows just above ground level.

  "You're late," Steph said. "Rhonda's going to make you do extra time." Josie gave her a mock look of horror and the two smiled at each other. "How'd it go with Dirty Gertie?" Steph finished.

  "Bad," Josie answered. "Gertrude had me see Monica. Emergency session. You're so lucky to still be with Lorraine."

  "Oh, come on. She can't be that bad."

  "She is. Every month it seems to get worse." Josie lugged a bright yellow fire hose from a recess in the wall and began straightening its kinks. "Go on… guess what it was this time."

  Steph nearly shouted when she replied. "Did she find out you cheat on your chest exercises?!" Josie wheeled around, too shocked to hide the look of bewilderment and anger on her face. But when she saw Steph smiling mischievously and then realized no one else had been close enough to overhear, she relaxed and returned the smile.

  "Jesus, Steph. You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

  "Yeah, yeah. Whatever. What was it really?"

  Josie eyed her best friend, wishing she could say something witty. Instead, she just complained.

  "I couldn't remember exactly how many men we have in holding. Can you believe it? She didn't even give me a chance to think about it, and on top of that she made it sound like I had no idea whatsoever. One eighty-four… one eighty-six … who the hell cares? It doesn't make a difference!"

  "Oh, that is ridiculous."

  Josie lowered her voice. "And Rachael didn't help any. She was right there with the snappy answer and the pompous attitude."

  "She's just covering her own ass, Josie. Besides, you know she's hoping to get second-in-command when Lucy leaves."

  "I know, I know. It's just that… it made me look even worse and got me that session with Monica." She paused and stared at the hose in her hands. Then she stepped to the bathroom door and checked both adjoining halls to make sure there was still nobody within ear shot. Then she whispered, "I'm in real trouble, Steph."

  "What do you mean?" Steph whispered back, suddenly serious. "What happened?"

  Josie's eyes continued to flick left and right before settling on Steph. "She knows," was all Josie said.

  Steph's mouth began to slowly gape open. "Knows what?" she asked.

  Josie shrugged helplessly and shook her head. "Everything."

  Steph stared back wide-eyed before putting a hand on Josie's shoulder.

  "It'll… be ok. We'll get through this."

  "I don't know. Maybe not this time." She continued staring at the industrial hose in her hand. Its off-yellow textured surface suddenly reminded her of snake skin. She'd never noticed that before. "Don't worry," she finally said, looking back up to Steph. "I didn't mention you. You're safe. At least for now." But Steph's eyes didn't soften as Josie had expected. Didn't show a single sign of the relief which should have been washing over her.

  Steph looked quickly down the two hallways and pulled Josie deeper inside the bathroom. "That's… not necessarily true," she said. Josie stared back, trying not to feel the mountain of rocks pile on top of her that she knew was coming. "She already knows about me, too. She dragged it out of me last week. I'm so sorry. I was going to tell you, but…" she trailed off, unable to finish.

  "Shit," Josie said. "So that's how she knew. I thought she was just pulling another of her mind-reading tricks.

  "Are you mad?" Steph asked. The look on her eyes was now laced with a touch of fear, and Josie realized that despite their equal time on the island, there was obvious reason Josie had advanced to the black squad and Steph hadn't.

  "No. Of course not," Josie said. "I just… oh, Steph, what are we going to do?"

  "I dunno," Steph said. Her voice was low. Humbled. "Keep our noses clean, that's for sure. Other than that, I just don't know. They could send us home, you know. Lorraine didn't give me official warning when Monica told her, but she implied that one more slip up and she would."

  "Why didn't you tell me about any of this?"

  "I was…" Steph kicked at the hose and her voice dropped another decibel. "Scared, I guess. Embarrassed. I wanted to tell you. Was working up the nerve. But I didn't want to burden you with any more responsibilities than you already have. I've seen what working for Gertrude has been doing to you." For a moment she looked like she was going to say something else, and Josie gave her the chance. After a long moment that bordered and then passed awkwardness, she pushed the hose away with her toe and said, "Besides… I'm trying to be stronger. Like you. I figured you'd be able to handle it on your own, so I should too."

  Josie smiled. This was the Steph she loved so much. Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that this hadn't been Steph's original thought. There was something else she had wanted to say. Later, she told herself. Maybe tonight or during her guard duty later this week. She's not ready right now. Not here. God, what the hell else is going on in this place?

  Aloud, she said, "Girl, you give me too much credit. I was bawling like a baby upstairs. Monica made me relive what happened with Charles."

  "Oh, God, I'm so sorry."

  "Ah, it's okay. Probably good to get it out. I never really dealt with it like that b
efore. I mean, I cried a lot after it happened, but that was to myself. It's not the same thing. I hate admitting it, but it was good to get it out with someone else there, even if it had to be Monica."

  "LAVATORY!"

  Rhonda's shout, always loud but today somehow exceptionally so, caught both women off guard. Steph jumped and Josie nearly dropped the fire hose. That yell came once a day right after mealtime.

  In moments some men's muffled voices started groaning their disappointment. Others started pleading to hurry up.

  "Back to work," Steph said, and helped Josie unkink the last giant knot in the hose. Josie wanted to compare notes with Steph to find out exactly which details she'd divulged to Monica, but she supposed it didn't matter. The damage was already done.

  4

  Lucy reached into the cup holder of the black Ford Mustang and pulled out a small plastic box with a single gray button on it. She looked around to make sure she was alone and, satisfied, pressed it. A second later a motor started churning and pulling at the chains of the garage door she was idling in front of. With the door opened, she drove inside and pressed the button again.

  Normally she and the other hunters would have had to continue in complete darkness. Conserving the output of the island's eight generators was a necessity. Monica couldn't afford to purchase more gas just because they all wanted a little more convenience. The gas priority, after all, was for driving the cars.

  But today Lucy had come late and alone, and the hatch to the roof was already open. It shone a beam of sunlight down the ladder. The rest of the empty warehouse was now slightly illuminated. She got out of the car and left her bat on the driver's seat.

  When her head breached the opening, her eyes were branded by the noon sun. The loud stir of men coming up over the edge of the building told her the feeding had already begun, but many men were still there. She hadn't missed too much.