Man Hunt (21 page)

For the second time that morning, Obe woke from an unconsciousness that didn't involve sleep. The headache that greeted him, however, was immense.

His brain didn't just throb inside his skull, it clanged like a jackhammer. Though the rundown city was always filled with more silence than people, even the soft wind whistling through the tops of the buildings sounded like screeching banshees. He groaned aloud, which only worsened the pain.

His sneakers, of course, were gone. He knew this even before checking. Yet when his hands slowly found the soft flesh under his opened zipper and then the emptiness that surrounded it, his heart broke nevertheless.

Fuck Rule Three,
he managed to think. There was more in his head, much of it involving Rein, but he simply didn't have the energy. He felt like the time in college when he'd pulled an all-nighter studying for an exam. He'd managed to push through breakfast and the exam itself, then had gotten a mere hour's sleep before being woken by his roommate. The lethargy was so intense he could barely move. His body clearly needed real rest.

And yet Obe smiled.

Where did that come from?
he wondered. The women had allowed his memories from the months before the island to remain mostly intact, however this was a new memory. Something he hadn't thought of at all while they had tortured and 'trained' him. Was he beginning to get his memory back? He tried to remember his name, his brother's face, the color of his father's eyes. There were only more sharp daggers in his brain, and he gave up the effort immediately.

Above him the sky was a dull gray. The bright blue of earlier was gone, and he realized the wind was no longer a lazy, occasional draft but a consistent breeze.
There's a storm coming,
he thought.

Once again he felt the strange dichotomy of hatred and appreciation for the change in himself that the women had brought. Back home, his only knowledge of the weather had come in what he would passingly watch on the news. But these days he could feel an oncoming change hours in advance. He marveled how his foreknowledge of this basic element of nature had grown so quickly. Even the air was a clear indicator to him. It was cooler than it should have been. Far too cool for a summer afternoon.

Are you sure it isn't just the early onset of fall, 'Mr. C.'?
his evil side countered.

There were no clouds visible, of course. Only a light gray fade which darkened as he looked west. The storms always came in from the west, almost as if Asia were in collaboration with the women and eagerly claimed itself the harbinger of more suffering. To the east, the American mainland, was light and warmth and home.

A revving engine echoed quietly through the streets, and Obe

like probe!

knew that the prescribed hour of safety after grocery day had passed. Wincing at his mangled feet and slamming brain, he slowly stood and walked out of the alley. The worst place to be discovered by the women was with your back to a wall.

Obe decided to leave the city and explore the fringes of the island in hopes of finding the freshwater stream, however every step was pain. He quickly began walking on the outsides of his feet where the flesh was still whole, but in minutes a cramp began to set in. He settled instead for a kind of waddle that spread his weight across both areas.

Before he reached the end of the second block, he was forced to spend ten tense minutes digging another stone from the depths of his left instep. With the pain lessened he managed to concentrate on his surroundings more than his injured feet.

When he reached the periphery of the city, he paused to survey the landscape. Similar to green sector, overgrown dirt roads still wound here and there through the various glens and hillsides. Each, he knew, would end in empty lots where once had been someone's vacation house or another rental shop. The women, of course, had demolished these long ago.

As he searched, he saw several men and twice one of the cars. Each time he hid behind bushes and they all passed by unknowingly. He stuck mostly within sight of the city streets, not yet ready to venture into the complete unknown of the blue sector's expanding wilderness. The women had been very specific about their rules. Men discovered in the city streets would often be hunted, but men discovered in the wilds beyond would
always
be hunted.

Around one particular bend in a very long, thin path he came to a small clearing and stopped, smiling. At the top of a small rise soared an old metal water tower.

Water!
his mind insisted, though he knew better than to believe to have found any. Rust had claimed so much of the sides of the tower that the original baby blue color was nearly invisible. The attached ladder that wound its way to the top, however, was still there and looked strong.

"Did they forget about this?" he wondered aloud as he began to ascend the brown, flaking stairs.
Of course not
, his mind told him.
They left it here on purpose to toy with you. There won't be any water in it.

At the top was a space where a hatch had once been. It was gone now, and Obe could see right to the bottom where a foot-wide gash had clearly been cut in the metal.
Can't let any rainwater collect either, can you?
he thought. Inside were only shadows and leaves and probably the remnants of so many more shattered hopes.

"I'm dead," he mumbled, thinking of what three days without water might feel like.

Behind him, a distant voice suddenly cut through the growing noise of the wind. Across the small valley he saw the black car idling on the last paved road of the city. Two of the women were standing outside it, talking, while the other sat behind the wheel. One woman held what looked like a wooden baseball bat in her left hand. The other carried a shotgun.

"Your name is Lucy," Obe said softly toward the one with the bat. He recognized her from both the alley rooftop and his spectacular introduction to the Family of Blue.

He was too far away to distinguish their words, which was comforting, and his vantage point atop the water tower helped ease his mind a little further. Even if they saw him up there, he was technically within sight of the city and wasn't breaking their rule. And even if they decided to hunt him anyway, he was perhaps a quarter mile away and up a long, winding hill. He was practically as safe as a soaring bird.

Lucy was clearly directing the others. After a minute of more conversation, she walked into the alley the car had parked in front of. The shotgun girl stayed put, hoisting her gun at the ready.

Lucy approached the depths of the alley but stopped within Obe's view at the long shadow of a dumpster. She shouted, waited. Shouted again and waited some more. Then she reared back with the bat and slammed the side of the dumpster. The bang echoed quickly across the valley and up the hills to Obe's ears. Shotgun-girl laughed and shouted– Obe thought he heard the single word 'pig' as the wind momentarily dropped. Lucy reached back and slammed the bat home again.

Just as she was ready to reach back a third time a man in blue suddenly vaulted from the open cavity of the dumpster. Lucy swung and hit him with her bat, landing a solid blow on his shoulder. Obe winced at the pain it must have caused. The man was knocked to the ground but never stopped moving. In seconds he had scrambled away and was outrunning Lucy's feeble attempts to catch up. The two women raced to the waiting car and jumped into it. Even before they had settled in, the tires began to spin and smoke. The screech sliced across the entire island, winding down only as the tires gained traction and took off after the fleeing man.

In moments, Obe was left alone on the abandoned water tower. The squeals, however, continued for several minutes before suddenly ceasing.

Alive or dead?
Obe wondered. He hadn't recognized the man from that distance, but had no doubt he had been in the alley earlier that day. In all likelihood Obe had even told him his story of finding the sneakers.

He climbed down from his perch, intent to expand his search for the stream. To that end he also added the hopes of finding Leb, the one man who had stood up for him when that jerk Jain had challenged him. He doubted there were many others who would have done so.

He skirted the city's edge, still not confident enough to entirely leave its sights. He came across rock outcrops and thickets of thorned bushes and many small hills and valleys. But nowhere did he see any signs of a stream. The only men he saw kept their distance, and he proceeded across the unknown world of the blue sector on his own.

When he noticed the sky had turned a gray so dark it was bordering on black, another familiar sound came billowing across the island's empty expanses. This noise from a manmade

womanmade!

machine had taunted him every few days and sometimes at night. It was an unmistakable clatter, a rapid and reverberating
thwapping
that could never be mistaken for anything but what it was: the rotors of a helicopter.

He turned and looked for the thing, wishing for the thousandth time to be on it rather than below it. But the coming storm had removed so much sunlight from the waning day and he could only hear its progression across the sky.

A minute later it suddenly appeared out of the gloom, and its distant, gentle
thwapping
grew rapidly into a pounding chaos of beating drums. It flew directly over him, the air first stirring then attacking him from above. All Obe could do was look up into the metal belly and wish again for more fleeting salvation. He knew that in another day or maybe three the helicopter would return. And inside it would be more men, unknowingly mere hours away from beginning the torture he had already endured.

He cursed the helicopter and the women inside, hoping to see it spin and fall into a fiery crash. But it only sailed on, unheeded by his paltry vehemence. Just as quickly it, too, was gone from sight.

As the wake of its clamor moved toward the lighter skies to the east, Obe thought he heard something else from behind him. A scream of some kind. He turned and looked, but there was nothing. No people. No sounds but the accumulating wind. He was sure he had heard
something,
but of course now the emptiness only mocked him.

First my memories, and now my sanity,
he thought to himself.

The cry had sounded like child's happy laughter. But of course no child would ever be on the island, and of course no man there ever laughed.
What was it, then?
he wondered. But the fading rotors and gusting wind didn't answer. They only continued eastward together, unaffected.

With a feeling of genuine disquiet, Obe turned from the mysterious cry and stepped deeper into the island's outskirts. He was consciously leaving behind the sights of the city streets for the first time.

To his far right, an almost inaudible thunder rolled across the hills.

Obe heard them long before he finally saw them, and though it was shocking to actually see what they were doing, the worst part wasn't the action itself, but where they had chosen to do it.

He stumbled onto the largest outcropping of rock he had yet seen on the island, and there they were. Smack in the middle of the giant gray field, two men were having sex.

Obe wasn't surprised. He had equated the island to a prison long ago and knew if it happened in one it was likely to happen in the other. If anything, he was surprised it was the first time in three months that he had witnessed it.
But only my third day in blue sector,
he reminded himself.

Nevertheless, hearing and then seeing the two men unnerved him and he immediately wondered about the circumstances. Was this really just the desperate carnal lusting which it appeared, or could he be witnessing the intimacies of an actual relationship? How often did this kind of thing happen? And finally: Was the man in front whoring himself out for food?

I'd rather starve
, Obe thought. But a moment later his mind offered an alternate theory.
Really? Have you ever been that close to actual starvation? Have you considered the atrocities women have sold themselves for over the centuries? They have fed everything from children to drug habits on their backs. There's a reason it's known as the world's oldest profession.
And for once this wasn't the voice imposed upon him from the fortress. The thought was his alone, and he didn't correct it.

What Obe didn't understand was why they had chosen to be so observable like that. There were plenty of bushes nearby, but they apparently felt no modesty.
Is there a rule against it?
he found himself wondering. He didn't remember. Nevertheless, he was certain the women would not approve. Men weren't supposed to enjoy themselves for any reason.

It's defiance
, he suddenly realized.
A big 'fuck you' to the women. They do it in the open because they can
. And despite his own displeasure at the act itself, Obe ignored them easily enough and gave them a wide berth. Neither of them ever appeared to notice him.

When the rain finally started some minutes later, he was no closer to finding the stream and he was glad for the cold precipitation. He opened his mouth to the sky and allowed his tongue to become slowly dappled with moisture, but it was a tantalizing endeavor. The rain was still a mere drizzle, and after many minutes his neck ached and he felt no closer to quenching his thirst.

I need a bottle or something else to collect it
, he thought. But he owned no such container. His best bet was to find a puddle and lap up what he could. The streets, however, were better for finding such natural basins, and he was determined to continue searching for the stream.

He thought he heard the helicopter again, but when he listened for it the sound only faded into more rumbling thunder. The laughing cry he'd heard before came again as well. This time it seemed right in front of him where nothing existed but a long, empty hillock. Obe shook his head and the sound died instantly.

I'm going insane,
he told himself again. Yet the conscious knowledge of it did nothing to stop it. The child's laugh echoed in his mind, mocking him with every step he took like the unremitting insistence that his name was truly 'Obe' had been doing for months.

An hour later, the drizzle had turned to fast, stinging needles and he had managed to fill his open mouth with a half-swallow of rain four or five different times. His cheeks, however, were getting sore at the constant battering, and the air and rain were truly cold now, causing him to wish for another layer of cover or even just longer sleeves.

Then he saw a group of four men standing atop a small hill in the distance. He made his way to them, determined to get some kind of answer from one of them. Cold rain, he knew, could never replace his real need. He would be willing to give up some of the food from his next bag if he had to.

"Well, well, well," one of the men said as he approached. Obe couldn't quite see his face in the darkened afternoon skies, though the voice was definitely a familiar one. "It's the crybaby, O.B.E. Obe. What's the matter, crybaby, looking for your momma?"

The speaker was Jain. Obe looked at the other three men but didn't know any of them. That they had chosen to give audience to the one man who had so quickly assaulted Obe wasn't a good sign.

"Hello, Jain," Obe said, trying to keep his voice neutral. "Nice weather we're having." Jain only harumphed and smiled, waiting for the inevitable show.

"Alright then," Obe tried again. "I'll get straight to it. I was wondering if I could buy some information from one of you."

Jain's smiled instantly widened. "Well, that depends on what information you need," he said. The other men didn't speak, and suddenly Obe wished Leb were there to help him once again.

He had been thinking about the price that the men of the Family might ask for simple information. He was sure Jain's would be astronomical and that he'd be a fool to take any deal with him, but it was a starting point by which to judge any future offers.

"I didn't get any food today," Obe admitted, "so any price we agree on will have to wait until next grocery day."

"Ha!" Jain shouted. "Well, if you're asking to sell your sneakers I'll gladly give you a banana for them." Obe didn't respond and the other men all laughed.

Obe waited for them to quiet, trying desperately not to show his growing frustration. "I wasn't asking for food," Obe continued. "I don't want to rack up big favors so early. All I'm looking for is the location of the stream."

Jain's smiled spread even wider, splitting his face in two. The other men mirrored the look and Obe was suddenly sure the stream didn't even exist. It was probably just a mythical tale told only to Greens as the greatest joke that men of the Family could play.

Jain uncrossed his arms and put his hands on his hips. He appeared to be chewing something without swallowing, almost as if he had a piece of gum in there. Then he leaned forward and spoke. "Not… for… sale," he said.

Obe balked. "What? Why not?" he blurted. "It's common knowledge to you. You
have
to at least offer me a price."

"I don't have to do any such thing," Jain said.

"Sure, you do," Obe tried again. "I thought the Family helps each other out?"

"It's not
required
, asshole," Jain said. "If you hadn't been such a pansy-ass prick this morning I
might
have offered you a deal, but I'd rather you just went on and suffered." He paused, watching Obe's dual-colored eyes first widen then narrow. "Any of you boys want to help out O.B.E. Obe here?"

"Nope," one of the men said. His jumpsuit branded him with the KOALA animal.

"No," said a second. He was the VOLE.

After a brief, dramatic pause, the third, a redhead with the inevitable matching freckles, said, "
Hell
no." Obe disliked him immediately. His animal, SKUNK, seemed to fit him.

"But," Obe began to stammer, "Doov said we–"

"Doov is an
elder
," Jain said, "not some greenhorn punk too stupid to stay away from the cleanup car." He crossed his arms again and stood straight. "Jesus, it's a miracle you even made it this far. Didn't get any food on your first grocery day, either, and I can see from the smooth front of your jumpsuit and the blood all over your face that you got your purdy new sneakers stolen, too. Christ, boy, you'll be dead in a week. I wouldn't offer you a single bite of bread for two whole bags in return. I'd never get my payment!" The others laughed.

"I wasn't asking for–"

"Get
lost
, freak, before we decide to make you
really
sorry."

"Jain, hold on. All I'm asking for is a little informa–"

Jain suddenly whipped his arm forward. Brandished in his hand was a sharpened stick about the length and thickness of a kitchen knife. The blade of the stick was long and thin.

"I… said… get…
lost!
"

Obe stood there, dumbfounded. Jain's eyes were wide. His mouth was a snarl. The three men beside him had all moved one hand under their sleeves.
They'll kill me!
Obe suddenly realized. Behind him, the cry of a child's happy laughter came again. He knew it wasn't there, but he turned and looked nevertheless, feeling like his neck was at the command of that sound.

"Yo momma not there, boy," the biggest of Jain's friends said. His voice was slow and deep. It reminded Obe of Rhonda from the fortress. Jain and the others laughed again but in a sinister, melodic way now.

Without saying another word, Obe began to back off, and they let him. Soon he was walking towards the laughter he thought he'd heard, too scared and ashamed to look Jain or the others in the eye.

"Dead in a week!" Jain shouted to Obe's back. He didn't turn. Couldn't think of a retort worthy of turning.

The succeeding laughter from the four men went on into the coming night, echoing in Obe's mind long after the sound itself had left his ears.

Along with it came the echo of the child's laughter and the thumping, invisible aircraft.