Man Hunt (5 page)

A cloud of shrill voices grew slowly louder as the young women who voiced them walked toward the all-white room. The large woman who had been hovering over her square map for nearly a quarter-hour winced at the sound. As the voices grew closer, her fingers began to curl around the edges of the map. Soon a single, shrieking laugh rose above the rest and pierced through the walls. The woman's fingers clenched harder, bringing her blunted nails to a short, harsh scratch on the beautiful desk. Moments later, the door to the room was flung open and three faces appeared. Immediately the woman behind the desk saw the important details.

Lucy was tall and strong, silent. She held a wooden bat in her left hand. Currently, she did not approve of their presence there but as always she was controlling her emotions. Emma was wild-eyed and the owner of the shrieking laugh. Coiled in her hands was a long whip. She was delighted at being there and… and at what was about to happen. Sherry, the only blonde of the three, stood between the other two. Her shirt was not tucked in. There was a smudge on her left shoe. Her eyes showed fear.

The woman felt an urge to get a soapy rag for the shoe and to tuck the shirt in with a fair bit of cruelty.

"Well, go on and ask her, Sherry-Berry," pushed Emma. Sherry was already looking at the woman and now frowned. "Go on!" Emma prompted again, this time actually nudging her lightly in the back. But Sherry only clammed up even tighter. She stared, eyes wide and vulnerable at the intimidating woman behind the desk.

"What is it, Sherry?" the woman asked. "I don't have all day." Her voice, as always, was brusque but not grinding. Like a dog's bark, it was effective and efficient without becoming a true growl. Growls only came before bites.

At the direct comment, Sherry reluctantly gave in. "We were... um... wondering if... uh, if..." But finally Emma could hold back no more.

"She wants to know if you'll go with her to the feeding!"

"Us!" Sherry interjected. "I wanted to know if you'd like to join
us
for today's feeding. The blue feedings are always so much fun and you look like—"

"No," the woman said. "I don't go to feedings. That's why we have you girls here. Now if that's all, you'll excuse me. I'm very busy."

The silence that lingered didn't seem to bother this huge, powerful woman as much as it did the three girls. She merely looked back to the black square on the map to continue her interrupted thoughts. Sherry soon turned to leave but Emma blocked her path to the hallway.

"
Go on,
" she whispered, giggling. "
Tell her how lonely she is.
" The woman did not look up. With a gentle look of assurance from Lucy, Sherry boldly spoke out.

"Gertrude?" she asked. The woman slowly raised her head and met Sherry's eyes. "I know I'm new on the black squad, but I've noticed that you... well, you work so
hard
all the time. The girls and I were just thinking you could use a little fun every once in a while, so we're inviting you to join us."

The woman's fingers began straining against the paper once again. "There's no need for me to be there," she said in what was almost a whisper and what was becoming a growl.

"I know," said Sherry. "We're just going along with Sharon and her girls to watch. They're going to take care of everything, of course. You could maybe just watch with us. It won't take but a half hour." Sherry paused, looking for any sign of acceptance. When she saw none she poked Emma in the stomach and widened her eyes. "
Emma!
" she whispered. Finally, Emma had had enough of her fun and acquiesced.

"Come on, Gertie. We all know you could lighten up a little. Sherry was just trying-"

"Ger
TRUDE
, you screaming
mimis
! MY
NAME
IS GER
TRUDE
!" The three girls, even Lucy, flinched at the explosion. The woman took only a single moment to calm herself and continued in her normal, controlled voice, though there was a level of growl now in every word.

"I don't appreciate pet names, and I think you've forgotten who's in charge of the entire black squad's operation. I
don't
do frivolous outings. I
work
. And so will you,
and be happy about it
, or get off the island. I can find another girl to replace you in mere days."

"We
are
happy, Gertrude," Sherry almost blubbered.

"Don't bother trying to kiss up to me, child. That's not how to earn respect and make advancements. The state of your clothes is bad enough, but this makes me wonder if it was a mistake promoting you to black squad."

"I wasn't trying to kiss up, honest," Sherry said. "I was just trying to be nice." A tear rolled down her left cheek as she spoke.

Gertrude closed her eyes for a quick second to envision the inside of her nearby closet with its many bottles, sponges, and gloves. For the first time in several days, she suddenly wished for a few uninterrupted hours so she might properly clean her room. She hated losing control of her emotions like that, and a proper cleaning was the only way to set herself straight again.

She opened her eyes and looked into Sherry's. The girl was ignoring the rolling tear, which was good. She was unashamed of showing emotion. But she also showed genuine fear, which was bad. Her girls needed to be confident even in the face of admonishment.

Gertrude looked to Emma, who was obviously useless. She was entertained and actually holding onto a touch of hope. As she so often did these days, Gertrude reminded herself that if Emma wasn't such a good hunter she would have been gone years ago.

Then she looked to Lucy. Lucy stood firm behind the other two and met Gertrude's eyes without fear, without hope. She was merely awaiting the outcome. Gertrude detected a soft curiosity in the corner of her eyes but nothing more. This was standard Lucy, of course, but it was also something Gertrude had come to trust.

"Fine," she finally said. "I appreciate the sentiment, but it's not for me. Go be nice to someone else. The Cause is too important to allow a headwoman time for pleasantries. That's something you learned incorrectly under Lorraine's guidance that you'll have to relearn under mine. Now you and your friends go on and have your fun, but next time just save us all the expense and don't bother coming here."

The woman said no more and gave no indication whether she was done or had more to say. Finally, Sherry pushed Emma aside to find the safety of the hallway. Emma didn't restrict her this time and soon followed. Lucy turned to go as well, but Gertrude called her back. In turning, the girl spun the wooden bat in her hand around the imposing door jam with a practiced, blinding speed and then rested the fat end gently on the floor as if standing at attention.

"I want you to schedule Sherry for a session with Monica sometime today or tomorrow. Do it before you go to the feeding."

"Yes, Gertrude. Right away." Lucy's voice was deep in her long upper body, nearly as deep as a man's.

"And tell Emma to lay off her," Gertrude said. There was no further explanation, no clarification of any kind, but Lucy no longer found this method of communication uncomfortable.

"Yes, Gertrude. I'll tell her right after I schedule the appointment."

The woman did not thank the girl's swift adherence to the given tasks, did not acknowledge her confidence of understanding, did not so much as formally send her on her way. She only looked back to her map.

Lucy thought for a moment before speaking again. "I'd like to talk with you about something whenever you get the chance, Gertrude," she said. "We may have had a potentially hazardous incident."

The woman's eyes narrowed as she looked back up and met Lucy's. "How hazardous?" she asked.

"Rather," Lucy said. And again Lucy was struck by how her own speech had begun to emulate Gertrude's over the years. So often she spoke one word when once she would have spoken ten. Emma, she knew, would never advance in Gertrude's eyes simply because of her ever-yapping mouth. How the headwoman could stand Monica, she couldn't fathom.

"Fine," Gertrude said. "Come by this afternoon when your regular schedule is completed." Lucy nodded and quickly exited to attend to her tasks. Gertrude, meanwhile, closed her eyes, hung her head, and thought of the thick rubber gloves in her closet. But she soon took another deep breath and opened her eyes again to the black square on her map.

What she saw, however, caused her eyes to glower and her teeth to clench. Where once had been the perfectly flat, blue border of a new hand-drawn map was now a crumple of creases and folds. She grunted, almost troll-like, as her huge hands tried vainly to flatten the scars. She soon gave up, placed the map neatly on the floor where a chair should have been, and fished another perfect sheet from the enormous center drawer of the desk.

This paper, like the damaged one on the floor, measured four feet by four feet. It was, at the moment, totally white and had not a single wrinkle, fold, or curl. Gertrude laid it on the desk, grunted another sound which might have been a sigh or a curse, and reached into another drawer for her colored pencils and ruler.

"Piggies can't hide forever," she mumbled softly. Behind her, the soft wind pushed in another stream of cool, crisp air. In another minute, it was being poisoned by Gertrude's lungs.

CHAPTER 4

Obe sat inside an open dumpster and looked up through its green-framed window to the sky above. He sat on a small pile of ratty newspapers. A pool of black ooze wafted its foul odors from the far corner. With his ears carefully tuned to any approaching cars, he was looking at the passing clouds. The only true memory of his brother had been not just of the spectacular silver-lined gray cloud, but also a formless knowledge that afterwards they had lain on the grass with their faces to the sky and had created stories out of the white and gray clouds that constantly changed.

He saw a wolf, a rabbit, a turkey with one missing leg. He imagined his brother would have told him the wolf had eaten the turkey's leg and the rabbit was too quick to get caught. He chuckled to himself and wondered if the stories they had told that day were real or only the wishful thinking of his damaged mind.

When he heard the distant rumble of a car engine, he flinched and slid off his perch, plunking his battered right foot into the pool of ooze. He listened and heard the growl of the engine grow in volume. Without pausing to think, he leaped from the bottom of the dumpster straight to its ledge some five feet above. His silver litany came with him. "Lining… silver lining…" he mumbled.

He jumped down, landing hard on the balls of his feet and listened again.
Left or right?
he wondered. But there was only silence. Wherever the car was, it had either stopped or was rolling silently. He trotted cautiously to his right, his motions nearly graceful in his own purposeful silence. He approached the open road at the end of the alley, but just ten feet from his goal an engine suddenly roared and he stopped dead. The car was just around the corner.

A single flash of terror swept over him before a green blur floundered past and wiped it clean. Dumbfounded, Obe saw it was the same man he had seen earlier that morning, and that he was nearly dead, with or without the car behind him.

The change in the man with the new green sneakers was incredible. He was utterly exhausted, panting like a dog under the summer sun. And still, he ran. His jumpsuit was soaked with sweat down to the knees. His shoulders sagged. His arms hung and wavered loosely as if the fists at the end of them were fifty pound weights. And still, the man ran, favoring one cramped leg even as he did so.

Then, just as quickly as the man appeared, he was gone, in and out of Obe's line of sight in a single second.

Obe leaned forward to see more, but tires squealed and he froze, willing himself to blend into the scenery of the alley behind him. An instant later a blur of vibrant, sky-blue roared past. He felt a hot blast of exhaust fumes and then his own hot flush of panic. Both were followed by a fresh, cool drain. The women inside the car had not seen him. He was safe.

He knew he should run the other way, and fast. Instead he took several careful steps forward. His fingers caught the corner of the wall as he peeked out to see taillights. His eyes were immediately drawn to the vanity license plate: "MAN KLR".

Like all of the island's cars, it had several horrible modifications. This one, painted a garishly-bright glossy blue, had a trio of foot-long barbed wire strands extending from the sides of each hubcap. The spinning vortex of hellish chaos they created as the car rolled along would easily shred a man's calves.

But not knives,
Obe thought.
Oh, no. Knives would cut his legs clean off, and then how would he run? How would you bitches have any fun?

From the rear of the car protruded four sharpened forklift tines. The front, he knew, was adorned with a simple steel grill into which triangular shark's teeth had been cut.

The man in green was attempting to cross the street and into a far alley.

"
Run
, you son of a bitch!"
Obe whispered. But the women, it seemed, had finally grown bored and were ready to finish the job.

In a single motion, the car swerved and accelerated, the powerful engine taking the flow of gas from the open throttle and turning it into raw speed. A second later the car's battered front end connected with the ill-fated man, adding another dent to its long, history.

The man's head snapped back as his body flung high into the air, arms and legs flailing unnaturally. In a moment of eerie silence, the car zipped by directly underneath his awkward flight. It then screeched to a halt far beyond the unmoving body that had fallen in a formless crumple. The tires squealed and smoked, and the front end lurched downward as it hurriedly reversed. It thumped over what was left of the man in green and came to a gentle stop.

The scene paused then as the women seemed to discuss something. Obe strained to understand but could hear only the engine gargling away like a dog's warning growl.

Finally, the car pulled slowly forward and drove leisurely over the limp body one more time. The front tires eased up and over the man's head, reluctantly giving way to the pressurized shocks. Obe's gut hitched at the loud
crack!
of the dead man's skull splitting open under the car's immense weight.

A moment later the rear tires eased over, squashing a torrent of blood and brains onto the road. Obe saw the spreading pool on the blacktop and envisioned the eventual faded mark it would become.

Then the car simply kept on going, gathering speed as it went. Two blocks later it turned and vanished out of sight.