The Hunt (15 page)

The sight of the hatch rising and falling demonstrated in no uncertain terms that Mara's luck had finally run out. She remembered seeing Julie stand rooted to the spot in terror as a Hunter appeared before her. Now Mara knew exactly how she felt. Her legs would not move, not that it made much difference, since there was nowhere to run. The Hunter climbed onto the roof and looked directly at her, a smile of satisfaction on his face. Mara vaguely recalled him from the meeting. He was in his forties, balding, and overweight, wearing jeans, a black leather jacket, a Dukes of Death Metal T-shirt, and a small backpack. The detector was no longer in his hands, having been replaced by a Taser.

The Hunter walked across the roof slowly
, but confidently, holding his Taser like a dagger. Standing directly in front of Mara, he took off his backpack, reached inside it, and removed a steel collar which he held out to his terrified captive. “Do you know what this is?” he asked.

Mara nodded. She wanted to speak, but the words caught in her throat.

“Put it on.”

Mara shook her head.

“Put it on, or I'll use this,” shouted the Hunter, brandishing the Taser in his other hand.

Mara managed to find her voice.
“No. I'll come with you, but I won't wear a collar. Knock me out with the Taser if you like. You're the one who'll have to lower me through the hatchway and carry me down twenty floors.”

The man laughed.
“If I have to use the Taser, I'll lock the collar on you while you're unconscious, then wait until you wake up.”

Mara was forced to admit defeat. She took the collar, which looked like the rotating arm on a pair of handcuffs, only larger and thinner, with several evenly positioned holes containing electrodes on the interior. There was a ratchet at one end. Mara shuddered. She still had a slight hope of being able to run, but once she put on this collar, there would be no way to remove it without a key. The Hunter gestured with his
Taser; he was becoming impatient. Mara had no choice but to place the collar around her neck and lock it into position. The click of the rotating arm engaging with the ratchet was the most hideous sound she'd ever heard.

The Hunter felt the collar to check it was secure, and with a grunt of satisfaction replaced the
Taser in his backpack, which he hoisted onto his shoulders. “After you,” he hissed with mock chivalry, bowing slightly as he indicated the hatchway. Mara squeezed through and descended the climbing frame, then waited in the stairwell while the Hunter followed. When he reached the bottom, he stood there staring at her, as if only just noticing she wasn't in uniform.

“
Where are your clothes?” he asked.

“
I left them in a room on the seventeenth floor.”

“
I suppose we'd better go and collect them.”

As she silently walked down the stairs, the Hunter following closely behind her, Mara seemed to be looking at herself from a great distance, studying her responses as if they belonged to somebody else, clinically noting how remarkably calm she felt. But the first faint
tremblings of terror were already evident, and she knew that when her mind allowed itself to acknowledge the enormity of what was happening, that terror would spread until it became the whole of her existence. The event she'd dreaded for the better part of a decade had now occurred.

When they arrived at Apartment 1708, the Hunter, suspecting a trap, insisted on entering first. He burst through the door and moved rapidly from room to room. He struck Mara as
rather comical. Having satisfied himself that the apartment was empty, he beckoned for Mara to enter.

“
How the hell did you find this place?” he demanded.

“
I stumbled across it by accident,” she replied, following him into the living room.

“
You were lucky,” he said, kicking a stack of books as if he found them rather loathsome. “Where's your uniform?”

“
In the bedroom.”

“
Go get it. And be quick.”

As Mara collected the uniform, her body started shaking, but she managed to control it. When she returned to the living room, the Hunter gestured at his backpack, which he'd deposited on the floor, and said,
“Put 'em in there.” Mara dropped her skirt, tights, blouse, jacket and shoes into the backpack, then waited while the man closed it and said, “Let's get going.”

Taking one last look at the apartment where she'd hoped to spend the rest of the week quietly reading and drinking wine, Mara walked out the door. In response to a series of commands, she returned to the stairwell and began the long climb down to the ground floor. By the time they'd reached the lobby, the Hunter was visibly out of breath, and Mara felt confident she could have outrun him if she hadn't been wearing a collar. As things stood, her only option was to walk in the direction her captor indicated, towards the Hunters' block.

They made their way via a route mostly unfamiliar to Mara, but the devastation here was similar to that she'd encountered elsewhere. The Hunter walked behind Mara, ordering her to turn left here, right there. When they came to a long stretch of road which required them to walk in a straight line, the Hunter broke the silence by asking, “What's your name?”

“
Mara.”

“
Well, well! So you're the famous Mara! We've been hearing quite a bit about you. Stop and turn around.”

Mara did as she'd been told. The Hunter was holding a mobile phone, which he used to take her picture. Putting the phone back in his jacket pocket, he looked coldly at Mara and said,
“I just needed some visual evidence. When the Hunt is over, I intend to report you for being out of uniform. Just a token gesture to express our appreciation for your trick with the tracking devices. Get moving.”

As Mara proceeded down the road, she shouted back,
“This isn't a public place, so I'm not obliged to wear a uniform.”

“
We'll see about that,” replied the Hunter, sounding uncertain. “Go right here.”

Mara turned into a relatively uncluttered street. At its end loomed the Hunters' block, a large modern structure more terrifying than any of the crumbling wrecks amidst which it was situated. Mara could not tear her eyes away from it. She didn't even perceive herself as approaching this house of torment; it was as if she were standing still while the building grew progressively larger. When she arrived at her destination, the Hunter moved in front of her and placed his thumb on a scanner attached to the door, which opened immediately. Making another mock bow, he indicated with a sweep of his arm that he required Mara to go in. She entered a well-lighted lobby with plush carpets, recently painted walls, and an elevator. The Hunter pressed a button and the elevator doors swung open. Placing a hand on Mara's back, he gently pushed her in. They ascended swiftly to the sixth floor, where the doors automatically opened with a soft ping.
“Go left,” ordered the Hunter. Mara stepped out, turned left, and found herself standing in front of a door with the number eleven on it. Placing his thumb on the scanner, the Hunter opened the door and again pushed Mara in ahead of him.

The apartment's entrance hall was unexpectedly large, with several closed doors leading off it. The Hunter approached a room that, unlike the others, had an electric lock. He placed his thumb on the scanner, opened the door, and indicated that Mara should enter. To her relief, the room contained nothing but a single bed, a wardrobe, and a window covered with bars.
“This is where you'll be sleeping,” said the Hunter, in what might almost have passed for a friendly voice, the voice of somebody showing a friend his guest bedroom. He pointed towards a door on the other side of the room.

“
That's the bathroom. You'll find a robe in there. You've got half an hour to take a shower, change into the robe, and have a short rest. After that, I'll give you something to eat, and we can have a chat in the living room.”

He walked quietly out of the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. Mara waited a few seconds, then tried to open it. She wasn't exactly surprised to discover that it had been locked.

Mara's head started spinning. What kind of 'chat' were they going to have? And what would happen after the 'chat'? There was no point kidding herself. She knew perfectly well what she'd been brought here for. She sat on the edge of the bed and clenched her hands into fists, squeezing so tightly her nails dug into the flesh of her palms, trying to suppress the panic rising in her throat. She began moaning softly, like a trapped animal, but quickly checked herself. If she was going to survive the next few days with her sanity intact, she'd need every ounce of self-control she could muster. She entered the bathroom, noticing a long black silk robe hanging by the door. Hot water issued from the shower at the touch of a button. Mara removed what she was wearing and stepped into the stall. It felt good to wash off the accumulated dirt of the last few days. She found a bar of soap and a bottle of shampoo, and used the latter to wash her hair. A large towel had been placed on the bathroom cabinet; Mara wrapped it around her. The cabinet contained a toothbrush, toothpaste, a hairbrush, more soap, a plastic cup, bandages, and even sanitary towels. Somebody had thought of everything! She brushed her teeth, turning on the tap by the sink as she did so. The sight of running liquid seemed almost miraculous, and she used the cup to take several drinks of cold water.

When she'd finished, Mara placed her clothes in the wardrobe - even hangers had been provided! - sat on the bed, and dried her hair with the towel, using the brush to comb it. She might as well look good for her torturer! She slipped into the robe, tying the sash around her waist. Peering through the bars on the window, she could see the apartment block where she'd spent Friday night. She recalled standing inside it, looking at the Hunters' building in the distance. And now, here she was, returning the look. She laid on the bed, closed her eyes, and waited for the Hunter to return. She'd never been so scared, but at the same time she experienced a sense of resignation. The worst had happened, and the curse of uncertainty lifted.

Mara soon heard the bedroom door opening. The Hunter stood there, smiling at her. “You look nice,” he said. “Follow me.”

He led her into the living room. It contained a sofa next to a table on which sat a plate of baked beans, some toast, and a cup of coffee. Despite not having eaten for days, Mara couldn't stomach much in the way of food, but the hot coffee was welcome, and she managed to swallow a slice of toast. As she did this, the Hunter sat beside her and said,
“First things first. My name is Stephen Tyner. I completely understand that you don't want to be here, and I know we got off on the wrong foot. But the situation is what it is. There's nothing you can do to change it, so I suggest you make the best it. Our real work won't begin until tomorrow, but after we've finished talking, we'll have a short session in the playroom. Just enough to give you some idea what'll be expected of you.” He paused as if waiting for a response, but Mara only stared at him, her eyes wide with dread. His calmly reasonable manner was intimidating her more than a display of overt sadism would have done. “Is there anything you'd like to know?” he asked.

Trying to suppress her fear, Mara said,
“I spent Friday night with a woman called Julie. She was caught on Saturday morning. She's extremely vulnerable, and I'd like to know if she's okay.”

“
I'll ask around and see if I can find out how she's doing, though you might need to rethink what you mean by 'okay'. I assume you're aware of what goes on here.”

Mara nodded.

“And how do you feel about it?” asked Tyner.

Mara thought for a moment before replying.
“I'm more scared than I've ever been in my life.”

Tyner seemed inexplicably pleased with this answer, and actually slapped his knee in satisfaction.
“Well,” he said, “I can assure you I know exactly what I'm doing. I'm not saying a word against the other Hunters - we get together to compare notes most evenings, and they're a great bunch of guys - but I have a feeling they're pretty new to this kind of thing.”

“
You mean rape and torture?” responded Mara with a forthrightness that surprised even her.

Tyner smiled understandingly.
“Let me tell you something about myself. I probably wouldn't be sitting here today if it hadn't been for a book. Anyone who knows me would be surprised to hear that. I've never made any secret of the fact I hate books. I was forced to read them in school, and loathed every minute. It seemed obvious to me that writers were afraid of life. They made up stories about people who did things because they were incapable of doing things themselves. And of course, everyone who doesn't want to live in the real world loves reading. It's so much easier than dealing with reality. It's mostly girls and queers who read a lot anyway.”

Mara was almost tempted to point out that she fell into both these categories, but decided it would be better to let this pathetic creep speak without interruption.

“I only read one book after leaving school. It was called
Fifty Shades of Grey
. My sister had it, and I happened to pick it up while visiting her. I didn't read the whole thing - I don't have that kind of time to waste - but I skimmed it, and it was a real eye-opener. According to this book, women want to be dominated by men, and are turned on sexually when men tie them up, or punish them in some way. It's called a BDSM relationship. This woman who's like the central character, she falls in love with a man because he does these things to her.”