The Cage: The Hunt Part 9

The vehicle jostled, and Christopher and Jenny clutched onto the back b.u.mper, trying not to get jolted off. A low hiss came from the backseat.

"Focus on your driving," Roshian ordered.

Mali put both hands back on the wheel. "Sorry," she mumbled. Beside her, Lucky gave her a sympathetic smile.

Roshian returned to scanning the savanna. "There," he said. "The hyena."

Ahead, the track split. One track led to the single hill, the other to a watering hole where giraffes and antelope often cl.u.s.tered. Today, a skinny hyena lay panting in the shade of an acacia tree. One of its ears was a little shorter than the other.

Mali's hands tightened on the wheel.

It was the hyena that slept in the cell next to hers. The one that would sometimes reach a paw through the bars to be scratched. She had nicknamed him Scavenger. She wished Roshian had picked any of the other animals, but she'd make up for it that night, and slip Scavenger an extra cake after he was revived.

"Hey, you okay?" Lucky asked.

"Yes. It is nothing. Get a carca.s.s bag ready." She nodded toward the glove box.

She continued driving to the end of the track, where the truck stopped automatically. Jenny and Christopher started readying the rifles. One was a compact model for close-range shots, the other a long-range scope.

Roshian stepped onto the parched soil, but he waved away the rifles that Christopher offered him. He strode twenty feet off, scanning the horizon, motioning for Christopher to stay close, as Jenny slid into the shade of the backseat.

Lucky unfolded a fresh canvas bag as they watched from behind the windshield.

"He's so short," Jenny whispered. "He has to be the smallest Kindred I've seen. I think he has a Napoleon complex." Roshian beckoned toward the truck again, and Jenny sighed and opened the side door. "Probably wants a freaking parasol now."

Once Mali and Lucky were alone in the truck, Mali asked, "What is a Napoleon complex."

"When a short guy makes up for his lack of height by being a d.i.c.k," Lucky said.

Mali considered this. d.i.c.k. She'd have to remember that word. She tried to focus on cleaning the dust from her driving gloves, but her eyes kept creeping back to Roshian. He was arguing with Jenny, who looked displeased.

"Why do you wish to see the animals being shot," Mali asked.

Lucky looked at her with surprise. "I didn't come along because I wanted to see them shot. Backstage, all I ever see is the stunned animals. Bleeding, bruised messes. Or else cramped up in their cages at night. I wanted to see them differently, for once. Out in the open." He paused. "Even if none of it's real."

Mali looked back at Scavenger. He licked a paw slowly.

"You care about the animals as much as you care for people," she concluded.

He shrugged. "I'll always care a lot about you guys, and, h.e.l.l, even Leon. Even Dane. I've tried to help, where I can. I even thought I could lead, once." He paused, squinting at the giraffes in the distance. "But it's different with the animals. Who's looking out for them? We're all so focused on setting humanity free, but even if Cora beats the Gauntlet, it wouldn't change anything for the animals. They don't have a champion. They don't have a chance to prove their worth." He let out a sigh and started picking at some marks carved in the truck's dashboard.

Mali blinked at him. "You."

"Me what?"

"You asked who is looking out for them," she explained. "You are." She paused, considering if she was using the correct tense. "You can." And then reconsidered again. "You must."

Lucky leaned back, as if he'd never quite considered this. Outside, Roshian and Jenny were still arguing. They called over Christopher, who rested his hands on his hips, shaking his head. They argued more, and at last Christopher gave in to whatever Roshian wanted. He came back to the vehicle and wordlessly dug through his expedition bag before returning to Roshian with a rifle.

"Why does Roshian want a different gun?" Lucky asked.

"I do not know. I do not recognize it from the armory. I think he brought it himself." She glanced sidelong at Lucky. She didn't need to tell him that was against the rules.

Ahead, Roshian c.o.c.ked the rifle.

Jenny turned away, her face pinched.

Under the acacia tree, Scavenger had picked up their scent. Some of the animals, the newer ones especially, would run at first whiff of a predator. But Scavenger had been through this countless times before and just laid his head back down. Christopher picked up a dusty rock to rouse Scavenger into a run that would make things more sporting.

"No." Roshian's voice cut like a knife. "Leave it."

"But it will be too easy to shoot-"

"Leave it."

Christopher let the rock fall. He paced back to the vehicle, chewing anxiously on the inside of his cheek.

Mali leaned out the driver's-side window to ask him what was happening.

"Better if you don't know," Christopher said. "Trust me."

Mali folded her arms tight, squinting into the sun. Last night, Scavenger had slipped a paw through the bars. She'd scratched his head, and his tail had wagged.

They watched as Roshian hefted the rifle. Scavenger's head swiveled toward them. He was panting from the heat, blinking slowly at the rifle. Just as Roshian pulled the trigger, he looked away.

Crack.

The bullet tore through the air. Scavenger flinched with a yip of pain than shot through Mali's heart, and by instinct her hand went for the door latch to run to him, but she let her hand fall. It wouldn't do any good.

Scavenger tried to stand, only to collapse. Chemicals in the simulated bullets would be spreading through his bloodstream, inducing temporary paralysis and triggering extra blood flow and bruising around the wound.

"Jesus," Lucky said softly. "This is even worse than what happens backstage."

Jenny leaned on the hood of the vehicle and muttered through the open window, "Seriously. He's one sick b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

Mali looked at her, but Jenny didn't elaborate.

Christopher signaled to Jenny, who s.n.a.t.c.hed up the carca.s.s bag and crossed the dusty plain to Scavenger's body. Mali waited behind the wheel, her arms folded tight. Lucky was still rubbing his finger over the words carved in the dash, looking anywhere but at Scavenger.

Christopher and Jenny started to load Scavenger into the back of the vehicle, but Roshian shook his head.

"Wait."

Roshian knelt by the carca.s.s bag and extracted a knife from his pocket. Real metal. An artifact from Earth-highly contraband. Roshian opened the bag's netting and took out one of Scavenger's stiff front paws.

Mali threw open the drivers side door. "This is not protocol-"

Jenny reached out, stopping her. "Hey, let it go," she said in a hushed warning.

"He is going to hurt Scavenger."

"Scavenger's already dead, don't you get it? Roshian made Christopher replace the simulated rifle with a real one. Said he made some deal with Dane about it."

The flames of anger inside Mali flickered wildly. She threw a look back to Lucky, who looked as shocked as she was. Dead? Scavenger was dead? He wouldn't wake up later, rubbing his nose with his paw?

The flames of her anger dimmed lower, growing hotter, until they were tight as coals. She climbed back in the truck and slammed the door, flexing and unflexing her hands, as they watched Roshian press the knife point against one of Scavenger's toes.

Jenny leaned close to the window. "I think it's the kill he wants," she whispered, "not just the hunt. And I don't think this is the first time. Remember that whitetail deer that died? Dane said it was sick, but it didn't look sick to me. And he claimed he had to saw the antlers off to make it fit down the drecktube, but that tube's pretty big when it's unlocked."

Mali whirled in confusion. "What do you mean."

"Think about it-none of us ever saw those antlers again. I think Roshian wanted them as a trophy. Hunters do that on Earth, sometimes. Hang them above the television set or whatever. It's like how the Axion think certain body parts have medicinal uses."

"It is against the moral code."

Jenny let out a mirthless laugh. "Yeah. Well, no good reporting it to Dane. He's in on it."

They watched as Roshian dug the knife blade deeper. Blood seeped from the wound as he sawed at flesh and fur and tendon, then slipped the claw into his pocket. Mali flexed her own scarred fingers.

"Take me back to the lodge," he ordered, climbing into the rear seat.

Beside her, Lucky was quiet.

Mali started the truck with shaking fingers.

She had thought the Kindred were like family. Ca.s.sian, who had rescued her. Sera.s.si, who had healed her wounds. But now, as she threw the truck into reverse and glanced at Roshian in the rearview mirror, she realized that none of them were family. Her real family was still in that desert on Earth, with the camels and the hot tea.

Cora had been right. They didn't belong here.

She glanced at Lucky. His attention was still on the carving in the dashboard. Numbers, it looked like. Or letters. "You seen these before?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Chicago used to drive this truck. Maybe he carved them while he waited for the guests to hunt."

"I think I've seen the numbers somewhere."

In the rearview mirror, Roshian snaked a hand up to his buzzed head, where a line of sweat ran down to his face. He dabbed at it slowly, all the while stroking the claw in his pocket.

Mali flexed her hand again.

Yes, he was definitely more dangerous than anyone imagined.

16.

Cora BACKSTAGE, THE CLOCK CLICKED over to indicate that Free Time had ended.

All the kids climbed into their cages. Sighs and grumbles, blankets being rolled out, Makayla kicking off her shoes and rubbing her feet. In the shadows, Cora could just make out each of their shapes as they lay down shivering on the cold metal floors.

"Good night, Roger," Jenny whispered to the bobcat.

But Cora didn't go to sleep.

Ever since that first lesson with the dice, she had met with Ca.s.sian every few days to continue the telekinesis training secretly, and she'd been practicing on her own after lights-out. Night after night, she had concentrated on the small blue dots, willing the die to move. After three nights, she could make it slide across the floor a full foot. After five nights, she could make it flip over, turning itself from 3 to 1 to 6. After seven nights, she could make it hover a half inch off the floor.

If you can achieve levitation of a medium-sized object for thirty sustained seconds, Ca.s.sian had said, you will have a chance of pa.s.sing whichever test the Gauntlet gives you.

It was still a ways to go, she knew, but the progress was undeniable. The Gauntlet would arrive in just under one rotation, which gave her somewhere between ten and fourteen more days.

But levitation wasn't the only skill she needed to develop.

She hid the die under her blanket, waiting for the others to fall asleep. Beside her, the fox gnawed a small wooden giraffe from the lodge that Lucky must have stolen for it. She could just barely make out Lucky's silhouette in the near darkness. He leaned against the wall, blanket balled up for a pillow, arms hugged close against the cold. She guessed he was just as awake as she was.

After a few more minutes, someone started snoring. Jenny gave a soft sigh like she had fallen asleep too. Soon, Shoukry stopped rolling over and was quiet. Cora waited longer, at least another hour, just to be sure. When she opened her eyes, they fell on the blue lightlock.

It was time for a bigger challenge than dice-getting out of her cell.

She examined every detail of the lightlock. The raised circular ring in the center. The slight dent in the bars where it was attached.

Move, she willed.

She was getting light-headed. She licked her dry lips and tried again.

Move.

Something was missing; that click. The amplifier attached to the lightlock was weaker than the one on the training die. Her vision slid around in the darkness, making her feel as if the entire room was rocking like a ship. She gripped the bars on either side of the lock, steadying herself. She visualized cutting through the pain that was building around the edges of her mind. Focusing on the lock, only on the lock, until everything else vanished.

Move!

Her mind pulsed all at once, like two hands had suddenly squeezed it, and for a second, she thought, Yes, that's it! But the lock still didn't move. She hissed in frustration.

She concentrated harder, until her mind was screaming so loud that she was shocked the others hadn't woken. The pressure grew and grew. She felt wetness under her nose and tasted the bite of blood, but she didn't wipe it away. She was so close. She could feel the catch on the lock. There was a force holding it together. If she could just shut off that pressure . . .

Blood dripped on the floor.

Move, she willed. Move.

And then . . .

"Magnetic."

Her eyes flew open. Someone had spoken right in her ear. Who? Who had whispered? The fox in the neighboring cell gnawed calmly on its giraffe statue, oblivious. Across the pa.s.sageway, someone snored softly. The room was just as quiet as it had been.