Authors: Brad Stevens
The Hunt (6 page)
At twelve-thirty, Mara and
Yuke changed into their uniforms and set out for the Soho Medical Centre. Soho was London's salvation district, its streets dotted with neon signs reading 'Licensed Church Downstairs' or 'Souls! Souls! Souls!', and anyone having non-religious business in the area was obliged to run a gauntlet of aggressive priests trying to drum up business. The Soho churches' main attraction was that their obligatory donation fees tended to be considerably lower than those charged by more mainstream institutions, but they were notoriously dangerous places in which women ran the risk of being raped, sometimes by the priest conducting the service. As Mara and Yuke ascended the medical centre's steps, they noticed an angry-looking man wearing a clerical collar standing in the doorway of the Christ club next door. “Step inside and be saved!” he shouted. “Two for the price of one!”
Mara's appointment was for one-thirty, but there were always delays, and she didn't end up seeing the doctor until almost two. She'd encountered few health problems in her life, and as a result had never previously met Dr. Rodman, the man who was theoretically her GP. He turned out to be a tall, friendly individual who asked her what the problem seemed to be in a tone of voice which suggested that whatever it was, he could make it go away with a flick of his prescription pad. Mara decided the straightforward approach would be best.
“I've just been conscripted into the Hunt, and wondered if there was any way I could be exempted on medical grounds.”
“
And what do you think is wrong with you?”
Mara wasn't sure how to answer this. She could hardly point out that torture might be hazardous to her health.
“I'm not really sure,” she mumbled.
The doctor nodded understandingly.
“Go behind the curtain, take your clothes off, put on a robe, and we'll have a look at you.”
Mara did as she'd been told, and Dr. Rodman, with the assistance of a nurse, gave her a thorough examination, including a test for blood pressure. After the nurse had left and Mara was dressed again, the doctor asked her to sit down.
“Well, you're in perfect health. Normally, I'd say that was good news, but in your case I suppose it's a mixed blessing.”
Mara shuddered as she heard this. She hadn't really expected a different verdict, but this had been her one hope, and now that it was gone, the reality of the Hunt loomed over her more terrifyingly than ever.
“Couldn't there be a psychological reason for me to be exempted?” she asked desperately. “I'm so scared, I've seriously been contemplating suicide.”
The doctor seemed to see this blatant lie for what it was.
“I wish I could help you, but if I provided a medical exemption to every healthy young woman who didn't want to take part in the Hunt, then pretty soon nobody would be taking part in the Hunt. As far as I'm concerned, that would be an excellent thing, but the reality is I'd lose my job. Your ordeal will be closely supervised by a qualified doctor, and he'll make sure you don't suffer any permanent damage. Come see me when you get out and I'll ensure you receive whatever treatment is necessary. If you have to be hospitalised, list me as your doctor and I'll examine you there. And who knows, perhaps you'll manage to avoid capture.”
“
Have many of your patients been in the Hunt?”
“
Certainly. I've received specialist training in post-Hunt trauma.”
“
Do you know of anyone who managed to avoid capture for all seven days?”
The doctor was unable to meet Mara's gaze.
“I...I can't discuss the details of my patients' lives. You understand, I'm sure.”
Mara thanked the doctor and quickly departed.
Yuke looked up from her seat in the reception area as she saw Mara approaching. Mara shook her head and said, “Well, back to the drawing board,” with as cheerful a tone as she could muster before walking over to the woman behind the counter and settling her bill. Yuke wished she could take Mara's hand to comfort her, but it was necessary for them to maintain their distance.
As they left the medical centre, Mara had to lean on
Yuke for support. The last remaining barrier between herself and the Hunt had come crashing down. She stared at the pedestrians carrying on with their everyday activities, apparently oblivious to the fact that at any moment a chasm might open beneath their feet. Mara felt as if she'd been made privy to a terrible truth of which these people had no knowledge, like one of those H. P. Lovecraft characters who glimpses an infernal universe concealed behind the thin veneer of mundane reality, constantly threatening to break through and assert its dominance. The priests shouting at her as she staggered along the street now seemed almost demonic.
Mara needed to take some kind of action - anything that would help her cope with the next few days - and as soon as she arrived home, she asked if
Yuke could think of any way to contact somebody who had participated in a Hunt, adding, “I'd like to get some practical advice.”
Yuke
brightened at this suggestion. She felt helpless, and being given a task provided her with a sense of purpose. “I'm sure my friends will be able to put me in touch with somebody.”
They agreed that
Yuke would return to East Finchley until Friday, giving Mara some space to come to terms with her situation and resume work. Mara was sorry to see Yuke go, but maintaining a calm facade for her benefit was becoming increasingly difficult. She turned on her computer and opened the
French Kill
file. The text broke off in the middle of the sentence she'd been composing when the postman arrived yesterday. How much had changed since then! But an interrupted sentence is easy to complete, and Mara was soon pounding away at the keyboard as if Melissa Valance's current case were her only concern.
She worked for five hours, then made a snack and, though it was only seven o'clock, decided to spend what remained of the evening in bed.
The Aging Boy
was proving highly engrossing, and she read until well past midnight. The experience of being able to escape her troubles by writing and reading made Mara feel a connection with other writers, both living and dead. It gave her a much-needed sense of community, something that was always welcome, since it existed only in marginalised forms today. What kinship could she possibly feel with men who would enjoy torturing her?
As she unsuccessfully attempted to sleep, Mara began thinking about something that happened in 2051, when she was eight years old. A woman had stayed in the apartment for a week, sleeping on the living room sofa. But this was clearly no ordinary houseguest. Mara's parents usually made a point of introducing their daughter to their friends, and even including her in adult conversations, most of which went right over her head. But they deliberately kept her away from this visitor, whom they addressed in hushed tones behind closed doors. All they told Mara was that nobody must know about the woman. Mara only talked to her once, after waking in the middle of the night and getting up to use the toilet. Passing the living room, she noticed that the door was open, and a light on. Looking inside, she saw the woman sitting up, writing in a notebook. The woman appeared to be around thirty, had bright red hair, and was strikingly thin and pale. She beckoned Mara to enter. Mara was nervous, but didn't want to appear rude, so she approached the sofa.
“You must be Mara,” said the woman, putting down her notebook.
Mara nodded and asked,
“What's your name?”
“
Do you think names are important?”
“
Not really. But it's important to have one.”
“
Quite so. You may call me whatever you wish. Rosa Luxemburg, perhaps, or Sophie Scholl.”
“
Rosa's a nice name.”
“
Then Rosa it shall be.”
“
Why are you staying here, Rosa?”
“
Because I'm hiding.”
“
Why are you hiding?”
“
Because men are trying to find me.”
“
But why are they trying to find you?”
“
Because I'm hiding.”
“
So it's a kind of game.”
“
That's exactly correct. People often use theories to explain what is happening today. Political theories, sociological theories, financial theories, psychological theories, feminist theories, malinist theories. But the truth is as you say: it's a game. Shirts against skins. Men against women. Boys against girls. At the moment, we are playing hide and seek. The girls hide, and the boys, they seek.”
“
What will happen if the boys catch you?”
“
They'll pinch my arms and make me cry. But these boys are expert pinchers, Mara, and if they pinch hard enough, I might tell them where the other girls are hiding. And that would be very bad. Do you understand?”
Mara had understood, probably for the first time in her life. The woman had gone on to say many things Mara could not comprehend then, and which she failed to recall now, but the image of a game played for genuine stakes was one she’d never forgotten. And since participation in the Hunt was inevitable, this childhood memory seemed the best way to make sense of her forthcoming ordeal. She would be required to play hide and seek. And if found, she would be pinched. Pinched hard.
Chapter 5
When Mara checked her email the following morning, she found a message from
Yuke.
---------------------------------------------
From: [email protected]
Subject: Claire
Hi honey
Are you feeling better today?
I asked around, and have been told you should get in touch with a woman named Claire
Richardson, who took part in a Hunt 18 months ago and would be willing to talk about
it. I've never met her, but her boyfriend is a friend of mine, so she knows who I am and
is expecting to hear from you. Her email is [email protected].
I love you so much. I'll always be there for you.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Y.
------------------------------------------------
Mara sent a response thanking
Yuke, and composed a carefully worded email to Claire.
-----------------------------------------------
From: [email protected]
Subject: The Hunt
Dear Miss Richardson,
You don't know me, but I'm a friend of Yuke Morishita. I recently learned that I will
have to participate in a Hunt which begins next Friday. I would like to obtain as much
information as possible about methods of avoiding capture. If you'd be willing to share
information with me, whether by phone, by email, or in person, I'd greatly appreciate it.
Yours,
Mara Gorki.
-----------------------------------------------
After hitting 'send', Mara, thinking it best to keep her mind as occupied as possible, resumed work on
French Kill
. The writing went well - it didn't flow as freely as usual, but was pretty good considering the circumstances - and she'd been working for almost two hours when her computer alerted her to the arrival of an email from Claire.
------------------------------------------------
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: The Hunt
Dear Miss Gorki,
My boyfriend told me I might be hearing from you. I am sorry to learn of your
predicament. I was captured on the second day of my participation in the Hunt, and
would be happy to talk to you about what happened prior to that. I think the information
will be helpful. But I would prefer not to talk about what happened after I was taken
captive. I'm cautious about what I say over the phone or by email, but please feel free to
call on me any time. My address is:
27 Upper David Cameron Road
SW16
I will be home for the rest of today, and all of tomorrow.
Yours,
Claire Richardson.
------------------------------------------------
Mara looked up the address. It was in Tooting, an area she'd never visited before. Deciding to set out immediately, she emailed Claire saying she'd be coming over, and changed into her uniform. Since the tube journey would take almost an hour, she slipped
The Aging Boy
into her jacket pocket.
The Northern Line platform at St. Pancras was surprisingly quiet for a weekday afternoon. The first train to arrive included Tooting
Bec among its destinations. Mara was glad she wouldn't have to go through the tedious process of changing to another line. She grabbed a seat and began reading her book. There were only a few passengers, and when the train arrived at Elephant & Castle, Mara noticed she had the carriage entirely to herself. She relished the quiet atmosphere. But at the next stop, six young men strode through the doors, talking loudly among themselves. Instead of sitting down, they walked towards Mara and stood over her.
