The Hunt

by Megan Shepherd

  They watched as Roshian hefted the rifle. Scavenger’s head swiveled toward them. He was panting from the heat, blinking slowly at the rifle. Just as Roshian pulled the trigger, he looked away.

  Crack.

  The bullet tore through the air. Scavenger flinched with a yip of pain than shot through Mali’s heart, and by instinct her hand went for the door latch to run to him, but she let her hand fall. It wouldn’t do any good.

  Scavenger tried to stand, only to collapse. Chemicals in the simulated bullets would be spreading through his bloodstream, inducing temporary paralysis and triggering extra blood flow and bruising around the wound.

  “Jesus,” Lucky said softly. “This is even worse than what happens backstage.”

  Jenny leaned on the hood of the vehicle and muttered through the open window, “Seriously. He’s one sick bastard.”

  Mali looked at her, but Jenny didn’t elaborate.

  Christopher signaled to Jenny, who snatched up the carcass bag and crossed the dusty plain to Scavenger’s body. Mali waited behind the wheel, her arms folded tight. Lucky was still rubbing his finger over the words carved in the dash, looking anywhere but at Scavenger.

  Christopher and Jenny started to load Scavenger into the back of the vehicle, but Roshian shook his head.

  “Wait.”

  Roshian knelt by the carcass bag and extracted a knife from his pocket. Real metal. An artifact from Earth—highly contraband. Roshian opened the bag’s netting and took out one of Scavenger’s stiff front paws.

  Mali threw open the drivers side door. “This is not protocol—”

  Jenny reached out, stopping her. “Hey, let it go,” she said in a hushed warning.

  “He is going to hurt Scavenger.”

  “Scavenger’s already dead, don’t you get it? Roshian made Christopher replace the simulated rifle with a real one. Said he made some deal with Dane about it.”

  The flames of anger inside Mali flickered wildly. She threw a look back to Lucky, who looked as shocked as she was. Dead? Scavenger was dead? He wouldn’t wake up later, rubbing his nose with his paw?

  The flames of her anger dimmed lower, growing hotter, until they were tight as coals. She climbed back in the truck and slammed the door, flexing and unflexing her hands, as they watched Roshian press the knife point against one of Scavenger’s toes.

  Jenny leaned close to the window. “I think it’s the kill he wants,” she whispered, “not just the hunt. And I don’t think this is the first time. Remember that whitetail deer that died? Dane said it was sick, but it didn’t look sick to me. And he claimed he had to saw the antlers off to make it fit down the drecktube, but that tube’s pretty big when it’s unlocked.”

  Mali whirled in confusion. “What do you mean.”

  “Think about it—none of us ever saw those antlers again. I think Roshian wanted them as a trophy. Hunters do that on Earth, sometimes. Hang them above the television set or whatever. It’s like how the Axion think certain body parts have medicinal uses.”

  “It is against the moral code.”

  Jenny let out a mirthless laugh. “Yeah. Well, no good reporting it to Dane. He’s in on it.”

  They watched as Roshian dug the knife blade deeper. Blood seeped from the wound as he sawed at flesh and fur and tendon, then slipped the claw into his pocket. Mali flexed her own scarred fingers.

  “Take me back to the lodge,” he ordered, climbing into the rear seat.

  Beside her, Lucky was quiet.

  Mali started the truck with shaking fingers.

  She had thought the Kindred were like family. Cassian, who had rescued her. Serassi, who had healed her wounds. But now, as she threw the truck into reverse and glanced at Roshian in the rearview mirror, she realized that none of them were family. Her real family was still in that desert on Earth, with the camels and the hot tea.

  Cora had been right. They didn’t belong here.

  She glanced at Lucky. His attention was still on the carving in the dashboard. Numbers, it looked like. Or letters. “You seen these before?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Chicago used to drive this truck. Maybe he carved them while he waited for the guests to hunt.”

  “I think I’ve seen the numbers somewhere.”

  In the rearview mirror, Roshian snaked a hand up to his buzzed head, where a line of sweat ran down to his face. He dabbed at it slowly, all the while stroking the claw in his pocket.

  Mali flexed her hand again.

  Yes, he was definitely more dangerous than anyone imagined.

  16

  Cora

  BACKSTAGE, THE CLOCK CLICKED over to indicate that Free Time had ended.

  All the kids climbed into their cages. Sighs and grumbles, blankets being rolled out, Makayla kicking off her shoes and rubbing her feet. In the shadows, Cora could just make out each of their shapes as they lay down shivering on the cold metal floors.

  “Good night, Roger,” Jenny whispered to the bobcat.

  But Cora didn’t go to sleep.

  Ever since that first lesson with the dice, she had met with Cassian every few days to continue the telekinesis training secretly, and she’d been practicing on her own after lights-out. Night after night, she had concentrated on the small blue dots, willing the die to move. After three nights, she could make it slide across the floor a full foot. After five nights, she could make it flip over, turning itself from 3 to 1 to 6. After seven nights, she could make it hover a half inch off the floor.

  If you can achieve levitation of a medium-sized object for thirty sustained seconds, Cassian had said, you will have a chance of passing whichever test the Gauntlet gives you.

  It was still a ways to go, she knew, but the progress was undeniable. The Gauntlet would arrive in just under one rotation, which gave her somewhere between ten and fourteen more days.

  But levitation wasn’t the only skill she needed to develop.

  She hid the die under her blanket, waiting for the others to fall asleep. Beside her, the fox gnawed a small wooden giraffe from the lodge that Lucky must have stolen for it. She could just barely make out Lucky’s silhouette in the near darkness. He leaned against the wall, blanket balled up for a pillow, arms hugged close against the cold. She guessed he was just as awake as she was.

  After a few more minutes, someone started snoring. Jenny gave a soft sigh like she had fallen asleep too. Soon, Shoukry stopped rolling over and was quiet. Cora waited longer, at least another hour, just to be sure. When she opened her eyes, they fell on the blue lightlock.

  It was time for a bigger challenge than dice—getting out of her cell.

  She examined every detail of the lightlock. The raised circular ring in the center. The slight dent in the bars where it was attached.

  Move, she willed.

  She was getting light-headed. She licked her dry lips and tried again.

  Move.

  Something was missing; that click. The amplifier attached to the lightlock was weaker than the one on the training die. Her vision slid around in the darkness, making her feel as if the entire room was rocking like a ship. She gripped the bars on either side of the lock, steadying herself. She visualized cutting through the pain that was building around the edges of her mind. Focusing on the lock, only on the lock, until everything else vanished.

  Move!

  Her mind pulsed all at once, like two hands had suddenly squeezed it, and for a second, she thought, Yes, that’s it! But the lock still didn’t move. She hissed in frustration.

  She concentrated harder, until her mind was screaming so loud that she was shocked the others hadn’t woken. The pressure grew and grew. She felt wetness under her nose and tasted the bite of blood, but she didn’t wipe it away. She was so close. She could feel the catch on the lock. There was a force holding it together. If she could just shut off that pressure . . .

  Blood dripped on the floor.

  Move, she willed. Move.

  And then . . .

  “Magnetic.”


  Her eyes flew open. Someone had spoken right in her ear. Who? Who had whispered? The fox in the neighboring cell gnawed calmly on its giraffe statue, oblivious. Across the passageway, someone snored softly. The room was just as quiet as it had been.

  A coldness crept up her legs.

  It had to have been Dane. He was the only one able to leave his cell. And yet his cell door was closed.

  She waited, still, for several minutes. At last, the pain in her mind ebbed. She took a deep breath and gripped the bars again. It hadn’t sounded like Dane. It hadn’t sounded like anything really, not a boy nor a girl nor a Kindred, and certainly not Cassian.

  But wherever it came from, it made sense. Magnetics. She’d been wrong to try to move a piece of the lock, because there were no moving parts.

  Instead, she needed to open it.

  She rested her forehead against the bars and felt out the shape of the lock with her mind.

  She ignored the taste of blood.

  The pain.

  Her sense of balance—swaying like on a ship.

  Open, she urged, and something in her head clicked.

  The blue light turned off. Off! Her breath caught as she tried to process that she’d actually done it.

  “Cora.”

  Another whisper, but different this time. It came from two cells down, where she could just make out Lucky’s silhouette. “You cried out,” he said softly. “What happened?”

  A sleepy mumble came from one of the other cells, and they both froze. The mumble died down as whoever they’d disturbed fell back asleep.

  She glanced at the extinguished lightlock. Hesitantly, she pushed it open. The door swung open soundlessly, and she stepped out quietly, tiptoeing past the fox, who stopped gnawing and looked up. She went to Lucky’s cell, fumbling out a hand in the darkness.

  There.

  His hand, through the bars.

  She focused on the lightlock of his door. Open, she urged. The light shut off and once more she was flooded with the rush of success. She climbed in silently. His hands felt for her shoulders, and her hair, as though reassuring himself she was there.

  His hand brushed her face and stopped. “Your nose is bleeding.”

  She rested a finger on his lips to remind him of the sleeping kids. He was shaking. So was she. She stood on tiptoe and pressed her cheek against his. “I’m okay.” But her whispered words were stilted.

  “All this training is hurting you.”

  “It’s worth it,” she said. “Now, when Leon comes back, I can sneak away with him through the drecktube tunnels and find Anya.”

  “He might not come back.”

  “He will. Any day now, I know it. It’ll all work out before you turn nineteen.”

  Excitement made her giddy. The thrill of all the progress she’d made. Anxious and frustrated, she kneaded his arms, her lips longing to form words to express her hope.

  Instead, she kissed him.

  She hadn’t meant to. She just wanted to celebrate this tiny accomplishment, this one thing. He pulled back, and in the dark she couldn’t see his eyes or tell what he was thinking. That was a mistake, she thought, and her fingers in his hair felt the bump from where she’d once hit him. But he wasn’t that crazed boy anymore. And she wasn’t that same wide-eyed girl anymore, either.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean—”

  But his initial surprise didn’t last, and he kissed her back. Hard, like someone reaching out of the shadows toward a single point of light. And for a second she felt the way she had the first time they’d kissed. Back when he had been a farm boy with motorcycle grease staining his hands and she’d been so certain they would go home. He had kissed her softly, then. Not like Cassian had. Cassian had kissed like it was his first time—and it had been—and he wanted to experience everything in that single instant.

  She broke off the kiss, breathing hard. She couldn’t do this. Kiss one boy while thinking of someone else.

  She wiped the blood from her nose.

  “I don’t know where that came from,” she started, but he silenced her by pulling her close, pressing another kiss to her forehead.

  “You don’t need to explain.” His voice wasn’t angry. “It’s this place. It’s being far from home and only having each other.”

  His voice caught on the word home. She wondered if he was thinking of his granddad back in Montana. His motorcycle, rusting and covered with dust in a barn somewhere. A world she might never see again either.

  “Can I stay here tonight?” She hadn’t meant to blurt it out. But he was right—being so far from home made her feel like some limb was missing, and when she was with him, she felt just a tiny bit more whole again.

  “Of course,” he said.

  They curled up on the floor of his cell, blanket pulled tightly around them.

  “What do you miss most?” he asked softly.

  “The sky,” she answered. “And the air. How it smelled like rain sometimes, and you could see the storms rolling in from the distance.” She brushed away a tear forming in the corner of her eye. “Do you really think it’s all gone?”

  He hesitated. She could feel his heart beating hard beneath his shirt.

  “There’s something I’ve been trying to figure out,” he started. “Something I found when I went on a hunt with Mali a few days ago. It was carved into one of the trucks that Chicago used to drive.”

  “Wait.” She pressed a finger to his lips, and he looked at her questioningly. “Do you trust me?” He gave a slow nod. “Let me try to read it from your mind.”

  He hesitated.

  “I need to learn how to read minds if I’m going to learn to control them.”

  He looked hesitant. “Just promise you won’t root around in there too deep.”

  She closed her eyes and concentrated. Her cheeks warmed as she thought of the last time she’d gone digging in his mind, and found memories of her. But this time, he was focused, too. On a word. No, a number. She could almost picture it, rough lines carved into a dashboard.

  “Is it 30 . . . 1?” she asked.

  His body went rigid in surprise. “Yeah. Well, close. It was 30.1, and it had the letters POD in front of it. I’ve been trying to figure out where I’ve seen numbers like that before.”

  Her eyes went wide.

  “I know where.” She couldn’t keep the excitement from her voice. “POD. It stands for Probability of Destruction. But Cassian says the POD for Earth is 98.6, not 30.1. If it was just thirty point one percent, then that would mean there’d be a nearly seventy percent chance that Earth is still there, which would be . . .”

  “Incredible,” Lucky whispered.

  Cora felt her heart thumping hard. “When they took Chicago away, he said the Kindred had been lying to us. Maybe, if he was the one who carved that into the dashboard, this is what he meant. Maybe he figured out the algorithm was wrong.”

  “If it’s true, and if we could get out of here, we could go back home, tell everyone to come back with intergalactic weapons—”

  She shook her head. “No one would believe us. They’d lock us up in a mental ward. Even if we could get someone to believe us, our rockets are nothing against the Kindred.” She shook her head. “No, we’re on our own. If we ever get free, we can’t tell anyone back home what happened.”

  “So how do we find out if the probability is wrong?”

  She paused. Cassian had insisted that the percentage was too small to even investigate, but what if Chicago was right? And what if Cassian didn’t know that the algorithm was wrong?

  “Cassian didn’t want to look into it before, but this might change things.”

  “Cora, he’s the enemy.”

  The word caught her off guard. Enemy? It was a word she’d used herself to describe him, when they’d first learned that he was their captor, and again after he had betrayed her. And yet for some reason, it didn’t seem to fit anymore. “He wants to help us. And he’s as convinced as everyone e
lse there isn’t an Earth to return to. But if there is, and if we beat the Gauntlet . . . maybe we can go home.”

  She smiled into Lucky’s shirt. She thought of a big, rolling sky filled with clouds, a sky that maybe Charlie was flying across this very moment in a small but sleek airplane.

  At least for this one night, she didn’t feel hopeless.

  VERY EARLY, CORA SLIPPED back into her cell. When morning came and the lights flickered on, she went about her usual task of checking the floor by the drecktube, expecting nothing.

  She froze.

  Today was different. Chalky words and a drawing of a hand with only three fingers had been drawn on the floor.

  FOUND HER.

  She heard footsteps behind her and hurried to wipe away the chalk marks just as Dane walked down the aisle for inspection, tossing the yo-yo. “Going to behave today, songbird?”

  She smudged the last of Leon’s message. “Of course.”

  “Just remember what I told you.” His eyes were on her, but his head was turned slightly toward Lucky.

  She smiled tightly. “Right. Keep my hands to myself. I wouldn’t dream of anything else.”

  It was all she could do not to look in Lucky’s direction.

  Dane threw the yo-yo again. Cassian had said that if she did beat the Gauntlet, change wouldn’t happen overnight. It would take months to establish a system to bring humans equality, with some suffering longer than others. Maybe, in Dane’s case, she would make sure he was handed his freedom last.

  17

  Cora

  AS SOON AS SHE could, Cora told Lucky about Leon’s message.

  “I put a note down the drecktube telling him to wait until tonight,” she said, whispering across the water trough. “I’ll unlock my cell again. Night lasts at least eight hours; that should be plenty of time to get Anya—”

  “Well, well.” Dane seemed to have been lying in wait, ready to pounce on them alone together.

  Cora clenched her jaw. “We’re talking about work.”

  He smiled thinly. “You have bigger concerns than me right now. Guards are outside. They’re demanding you go with them.”