The Prey (27 page)

I suddenly remembered the roll call. “But when Karsten burned that tattoo on your arm, he seemed to be enjoying himself.”

Cat shook his head. “Just a show. To fool Westbrook.”

“But he was cursing you.”

“That's what he wanted it to sound like.”

“Why couldn't he just acknowledge you?”

“'Cause who knows how Westbrook would've reacted. An officer with a son who runs away from YO Camp? Not good. And the night we escaped—my dad made so much noise banging on that door to help us, to give us time to get away.”

A picture began to take shape—a picture far different from one I'd ever imagined. “So the Brown Shirts really hope to wipe us out?”

“Anyone and everyone who doesn't look like them.”

I was in shock. It didn't lessen my jealousy of Cat, but it gave me a fuller picture of who he was. There were still a million questions I was dying to ask, especially about his dad, but the aroma of grilled lizard had awakened the others. The conversation ended as abruptly as it'd begun.

Once the other Sisters and Less Thans saw what Cat was cooking, they went on a hunting rampage of their own, spearing and grilling as many lizards as possible. We devoured the blackened reptiles, bones and all. After a diet of grit and sand, they weren't half bad. The tails were like crunchy hash browns.

“What, no ketchup?” Flush asked.

“It's over there with the ice cream sundaes,” Diana said.

Although it wasn't much, it marked the first time Less Thans and Sisters had really spoken to each other.

“How about some steaks?” Red asked.

“Right after we finish the lobsters,” Helen said.

Ripples of laughter followed, and more jokes after that. Finally, when Twitch chimed in and said, “I think we've got company,” we all assumed he was talking about the flies.

“You ain't kidding,” Flush said, trying to shoo them away, as the rest of us laughed.

“That's not what I mean.”

We looked up. In the far distance, coming straight across the desert itself, was a rising coil of smoke. Vehicles.

My heart rose in my throat.

“Smother the fire and head for that rise,” Cat said, pointing to the far side of the road. “There's a gully there we can hide in.”

The laughter was long gone, and everyone scrambled into action. We threw handfuls of sand onto the flames and retrieved our belongings. Racing across the blacktop, we shot a look at the approaching vehicles. Not Humvees. Not dirt bikes.

Four-wheelers. Around a dozen of them.

Hunters.

Cat and I exchanged a look. In that brief glance was all that needed to be said.

We reached the gully at the same time, tumbling in the small ravine. Cat withdrew his binoculars and gave a look. His jaw tightened and he passed the binocs to me.

The four riders in front of the procession were painfully familiar; they were the very ones we'd seen in the mountain. Once more they were led by the man in blaze orange—the hunt master—who'd taken such pleasure in finishing off Cannon.

My mouth was so dry I could barely swallow.

I had to admit it was an impressive sight, especially for those of us who'd never seen the Hunters before. Twelve four-wheelers, all souped-up, tricked-out, armor-plated. Part prehistoric beast, part futuristic time machine. Locked and loaded, ready for battle.

They veered apart as they approached the gas station, arriving at the building from different angles. An impressive display of military precision. They lined up their four-wheelers at the gas pumps and switched off their engines.

“They don't know about us,” Twitch whispered. “They're just here for gas.”

It was true; they were jury-rigging the pumps, figuring out a way to siphon the fuel. Once they filled their tanks they'd be on their way. We'd caught a break and all of us knew it.

One of the Hunters went around to the side of the gas station, probably to take a leak. Something by his
feet caught his attention and he bent down to pick it up. Even before he grabbed it I knew exactly what it was. Breakfast. Lizard-on-a-stick.

The Hunter motioned for the Man in Orange.

It wasn't long before the Hunters found the fire pit. They kicked at the sand, extending hands to feel the heat of the glowing embers. The more animated their voices grew, the more my stomach clenched.

“But they don't know which way we went,” Flush said, as though his insistence would make it true. “Right?”

No one had the heart to answer him. All the Hunters had to do was cross the road to see twenty-some sets of footprints leading to the gully. A bunch of them began inserting magazines into their M4s. Even from a couple hundred yards away we could hear the cold, metallic clicks.

Cat slung a quiver of arrows over his shoulder and leveled his gaze at us. “Don't fire until you see them start to move,” he whispered. “Then give 'em everything you've got.”

He scrambled away, clutching his bow. I watched him leave, not knowing what he was planning, or if we'd ever see him again.

We spread out, stretching our line fifty yards from left to right. As the Hunters mounted their vehicles, I felt a
tightening in my chest. The lead four-wheeler neared the road and Dozer yelled, “Fire!” We let loose a volley of arrows, darts, and stones. Although all fell off target, they were enough to get the Hunters' attention. They scrambled to find hiding places.

“More!” Red commanded. We loaded up as quickly as we could and fired again. We began to find our aim. An arrow struck a Hunter's leg. A Sister's dart grazed an arm. Maybe we could hold them after all.

“Take that!” Diana cried when one of her darts pinged against the pump a Hunter hid behind.

“Hunt
this
!” Flush screamed as he reached back and let loose the rubber sling. His rock shattered the gas station's front window. It spiderwebbed and left a gaping hole. Sisters and LTs alike let loose a full-throated yell.

Then the Hunters returned fire and the ground exploded. Bullets pockmarked the earth, spraying sand. We ducked into the gulley, shielding our bodies while the rounds went zinging overhead.

“Where the hell's Cat?” Dozer yelled.

He was nowhere in sight.

The Hunters were remounting their vehicles, shielded behind armor plating. We stood little chance of stopping them. Whatever Cat had planned, I knew it had to happen soon.

Then I caught sight of him. He had made his way
around their left flank, crawling low through the desert. An arrow was poised against his bowstring and it guided him forward. He raised and fired. The arrow caught a Hunter in the middle of the back and he crumpled to the ground. None of the other Hunters noticed.

Cat ran crouching to the Hunter's side, stripped the weapon from his hands, and scurried back to a low ditch.

A moment later we heard the revving of engines.

“They're coming!” Twitch shouted.

A rain of rocks and arrows bounced weakly off the vehicles' steel plating. The thought of running away suddenly made sense. Although I knew we couldn't outrun the Hunters, it seemed just as crazy to stay. Like we were serving ourselves up to be massacred.

That's when Cat rose to a kneeling position, the butt of the rifle pressed against his shoulder, eye peering through the scope. He was behind the Hunters now, out of their line of vision. He fired, smoke curling from the barrel. The bullet ricocheted off the back of the Man in Orange's ATV. He turned and pointed, and the Hunters swarmed in Cat's direction, guns blazing, muzzle flashes spitting orange.

“Cover!” Red yelled.

All of us pelted the Hunters with everything we had. The Hunters didn't seem to care. Their attention was
suddenly on the lone Less Than who had the audacity to outflank them.

“He's gonna get himself killed,” Flush said.

And it was true. There was no way out . . . and I regretted every jealous thought I'd had of him.

Bullets rained. The earth exploded at Cat's feet. Still, he knelt there, unfazed, sighting down the rifle barrel.

A bullet struck a rock and a fragment of stone bit into his shin. His leg buckled and he fell to the ground, the rifle nearly slipping from his hands. With a grimace he regained his balance. The injury only seemed to make him more determined.

“Come on, Cat,” I found myself saying. “Get out of there.”

Others were echoing me. “Get out of there, Cat. Run away!”

And then he did a curious thing. Right before he squeezed the trigger, he swung his weapon around, away from the Man in Orange, away from the other Hunters. It wasn't a person Cat was aiming at, but a
thing
.

The propane tank.

A blinding explosion swallowed up the world as we knew it. Cat was thrown off his feet and tossed backward some twenty yards. A wave of heat raced across the desert and shoved us on our backs, searing our bodies. By the time we reopened our eyes, an enormous orange-and-black fireball mushroomed upward into the sky.

Whoosh!
The gas station, the car wash, the Hunters, and their ATVs were vaporized. All that remained was a yawning crater of scorched earth. The sand around it was inky and petrified. Shards of burning metal discharged a choking black smoke.

Everyone scrambled from the gully and ran for Cat. He lay sprawled on the desert sand, his hands still clutching the rifle. He wasn't moving. Hope was the first to reach him, and she knelt by his side and propped him up. Cat's clothes were singed. Wisps of smoke drifted from his shirt.

“Cat! Are you okay? Can you hear me?”

His eyelids butterflied open. “Did I get 'em?” he croaked. His face was charred.

“You blew 'em up to smithereens!” Flush shouted, and everyone began to cheer.

“What're you all so happy about?” Cat said. “Look at the mess we're in now.”

We had no idea what he was talking about. Then he gestured to the still-ballooning cloud of black and red. It seemed to consume the very air itself, biting a hole in the pale blue sky. Even now, a full minute after the explosion, we could feel its scorching heat.

Although we'd managed to defeat the Hunters, we'd also just announced our exact location to the entire world.

“Look,” Twitch said, pointing in the far distance.

Everyone turned. A lone four-wheeler scurried across
the Flats, trailing a plume of white. Apparently Cat hadn't killed
all
of them. Somehow one had managed to escape. And not just anyone: the Man in Orange. Flames lit the back of his jacket.

“Come on,” Cat said bitterly. “Let's get the hell out of here.”

He threw down the rifle with a look of disgust, and began to walk away. The rest of us scrambled to catch up.

A
S THEY HEAD EAST
, everyone is talking nonstop about Cat's annihilation of the Hunters. Everyone except Hope. She races up to Book, staring him down. “What was that about?” she asks.

Book looks at her, startled. “What was
what
about?”

“Those Hunters. Why are they chasing us?”

“They're not chasing you. Just us.”

“Um, in case you didn't notice, those bullets were aimed at all of us. Why?”

Book tells her the story, how sadistic “sportsmen” have paid for the right to hunt down Less Thans.

“And now that you've escaped and the Brown Shirts can't sell you off?” Hope asks.

Book shrugs. “Maybe the Brown Shirts are paying
them
.”

“So how come no one told us? Don't you think it would've been nice for us to know there was a group of cold-blooded killers trying to finish us off? Or were you planning on keeping that little secret to yourselves?”

“We were going to tell you.”

“Really? Like when Twitch spotted them in the Flats?”

“We just hadn't gotten around to it.”

“Yeah, well, thanks for sharing. And thank God Cat came to the rescue—again.”

Hope sees something change in Book's face. “No one forced you to come with us,” he mutters.

“Then why'd you come back for me—for us?”

“Thought you needed rescuing.”

“I told you in the fields: we didn't.”

“Guess I missed that.”

“Yeah, I guess you did.”

They walk in silence.

“And twenty-eight was better than eight,” Book says, finally.

Hope's eyes widen. “Oh, so that's it. It wasn't out of any affection for me or any interest in our well-being, it was because you wanted more numbers? Well, that's good to know.”

“No, that's not what I—”

“Glad we could help you out.” Her voice drips sarcasm, and she hurries ahead.

As she marches on, Book's words rattle around in her head. This is why she has no faith in the opposite sex. Her father is the only man she ever trusted . . . and now he's dead. She certainly never trusted the repulsive Dr. Gallingham or Colonel Thorason. Definitely none of the Brown Shirts back at Camp Freedom. And not Book either.

She comes to a sudden stop when she hears the dull, rhythmic sounds of metal. She knows these sounds.

With a series of quick gestures, she motions everyone into the underbrush, and they hide amid ferns and low-hanging branches. The sounds grow louder—
kuh-lunk, kuh-lunk
—coming straight for them. The others look to Hope for answers, but there's no time for an explanation. She holds her breath and ducks deeper into the foliage.

There are five of them, all middle-aged men, marching so close Hope can hear their labored breathing. They sport long, scraggly beards and look as though they haven't bathed in a year. Smell like it, too. Their rank, pungent odor drifts toward Hope from fifty feet away. While the Brown Shirts are outfitted with M16s and the Hunters with the newer M4s, the guns these men carry look like something from centuries past: more like muskets than actual rifles. Along with hubcap shields and rebar swords. They clank as they walk.