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I glance over at Ashley June, so wonderfully drooped on the sofa, her chest rising and falling, rising and falling. Beneath closed eyelids, slight bulges of her eyes move side to side. A spittle of saliva sits at the corner of her open mouth. I finally let my eyes close, sleep tugging me into a deep, blissful well. It is new, this sensation. Of falling asleep, lying down next to someone. I drift asleep, as intimate and daring and trusting an act as I’ve ever risked.
Hunt Minus One Night
AT FIRST, NO one is particularly alarmed when Beefy fails to show for breakfast. He’s notoriously difficult to rouse from sleep, something his now departed escort often complained about. Only after the dishes have been cleared from the table and we’re all moving to the lecture hall is a staffer sent scurrying to his room to check on him.
There is surprise, but not sorrow, when news of his disappearance breaks out. We’re in the lecture hall by this point, listening to a senior staffer drone on about upcoming weather conditions (heavy rain and windy) and how they might affect the Hunt tomorrow night, when another staffer pigeon walks into the hall. He whispers something to his superior; the superior stands up and walks out, leaving the junior staffer at the lectern.
“One of the hunters has disappeared,” he says. He pauses, at a loss for what to say next. “Teams are now scouring this building in an effort to find him. Another search team is surveying the grounds outside. There’s a possibility of a sunlight disappearance. But there’s no need to be worried.”
Not that anyone is. No tears lost here: it only means less competition for the rest of us. But no cause for outright jubilation, either – it’s not as if Beefy were ever a contender. If either Phys Ed or Abs had been missing, there’d be an all-out celebration right now.
“I’m sorry to have to say this,” he continues, “but with all staffers preoccupied at this moment with the search, the lectures for the early evening are cancelled. You are free to do as you wish. Be mindful that the Gala begins in three hours at high moon, midnight on the dot. May I suggest you use this time to get some beauty sleep? You do want to look your resplendent best for the cameras and guests.”
Gaunt Man walks up to me as we’re all leaving. “Did you see the lectures that were cancelled?” He bends down to read the pamphlet in hand. “ ‘Taking Advantage of the Fauna and Flora of the Vast’ and ‘The Sociological Heper Tendencies in an Environment of Fear: How Best to Leverage Gain’. Remember how I said all this was a crock, that these lectures, this orientation, even the Hunt, was just a show?”
I nod, making sure to hide my irritation. I’m hoping to leave, but he’s planted himself firmly in front of me without the slightest inclination of letting me go. Once he gets going, Gaunt Man can go on for a while. From across the hall, Ashley June shoots me a knowing look. She leans back against the wall, settling in.
“Need any more proof?” Gaunt Man says. “They’re admitting this is all a sham by how easily they cancel the lectures. Without even batting an eyelash. It’s all just a joke.” His tongue slips out, wet and oily, lubricating his lips. “Release the hepers already. Just let us have at them.”
“What do you think happened to him?” I ask, trying to change the topic.
“The big guy? He’s a fool. He was trying to imitate me. Went out there trying to show ingenuity and nerve the way I did. But what an idiot. Probably went out there with his SunBlock Lotion foolishly thinking it’d help. For my money, the search teams should start looking for him outside – what remains of him, anyway – somewhere between here and the Dome.”
“Maybe,” I say non-committally I pause, waiting for him to go away. But he doesn’t. “What do they have you wearing?” I ask. Gaunt Man has shown such a disdain for the event, perhaps any topic related to it will cause him to pick up and leave.
“For the Gala?” He humphs. “A traditional, boring tuxedo that has ‘Irrelevant Old Guy’ written all over it. What about you? Something high-end and splashy, I’d expect.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Media’s been arriving in droves since yesternight. Reporters, photographers, journalists. This Hunt’s becoming more and more a media event by the hour. Heard they’re jockeying for post-Hunt interviews,” he says irritably. “And for the Gala, they’re gonna want to front the good-looking hunters. Including you, pretty boy; they probably have you in one of those dapper suits.”
“Hardly,” I say. But he’s right. My suit, Super 220 with worsted cloth and full silk linings with my name sewn into the inseam, felt like a regal carpet when it was fitted on me yesternight.
“So I’ve been hearing something about you.”
“What’s that?”
“You have a partner in crime. That the two of you’ll be going out in force during the Hunt. The dynamic duo, you and the pretty one.”
“The pretty one?”
“Right there,” he says, pointing at Ashley June, still waiting for me across the hall. “That’s the word on the street, anyway.”
“Where are you hearing all of this?”
“I have my sources,” he says. “So what’s your strategy?” His voice takes on an edgier tone. Now I know why he’s approached me: to talk about this. “Cut out fast, make us chase you both? Or start with the pack, beat us out with a gradual but methodical increase in pace?”
“Well, you know we—”
“Separate the heper pack into two groups, then divide and conquer? Or keep them together, play to their group hysteria?”
“It’s really something I can’t get into right now.”
He’s quiet, as if mulling this over. “Say,” he whispers, “got any room for an old geezer like me? In your alliance, I mean. I may not have the brawn, but I’ve got the brains. Not saying you and her ain’t brainy, but I’ve got street smarts only experience gives. Maybe I can help.”
“You know, we prefer to work in just a small group. Just the two of us, actually.”
“What is it they say? ‘Though one may be overpowered, and two can defend themselves, a cord of three is not quickly broken.’ ”
“Look, I don’t know.”
He stares at me, his gaze turning cold. “I see.” He begins to walk away, stops, half turns towards me.
“Things I know about you,” he says. “Don’t think I didn’t notice heper smells coming off of you the other day. Don’t think I’m unaware that you’ve somehow got access to heper flesh. Really, just what is going on in that library during the day when you’re all alone? What kind of access to heper meat do you have in there? Is there a secret bootleg stash you’ve discovered? Information like this could come out to harm you.” He sniffs viciously, his nostrils shrinking inward. “I still smell it.”
A staffer approaches; Gaunt Man shoots him a look, then walks away.
“Yes?” I say to the staffer.
“Pardon me. I wanted to let you know that your tuxedo is ready and has been delivered to your lodging. Also, the evening gown for your date tonight” – the staffer looks quickly at Ashley June – “has been delivered to your lodging. The Director approved her request to get dressed there.”
“OK.”
“Something else. When you walk to the Gala from the library, the media will be lined up along the brick walk, waiting for you.”
“Is that really necessar
y?”
“The Director’s orders. Once he realised the two of you were going as a couple, he decided you’d make an entrance of the first order. ”
“I see.”
“One more thing.”
“Yes?”
“You and the girl are not to spend the day in each other’s rooms again.”
“How do you—”
“How we know is irrelevant. But the Director is afraid of public perception. With the media here, he wants to avoid even a suggestion of impropriety among the hunters.”
“You’ve got to be—”
“Make sure you wake up in your own rooms tomorrow.”
“Listen, I—”
“The Director’s orders,” he says, and leaves. I watch him walk over to Ashley June. A short, clipped conversation later, he’s walking out. I head towards Ashley June.
As I walk past Gaunt Man, now talking to Abs and Phys Ed, I hear him giving the same spiel about joining their alliance. He’s desperate. Desperately hungry for heper flesh, desperately in need of help. He doesn’t stand a chance of getting either. That’s someone to keep an eye on. There’s no telling what a person can become capable of once desperation takes hold of him. Can’t put anything past him.
Back in the library, Ashley June and I get changed for the Gala, she in the periodical section, I by the front desk. My tuxedo, which I find hanging off the reserve shelf in plastic wrap, fits me to a tee. It comes with bells and whistles I could have done without: diamond-embedded cuff links, iron buttons embossed with the Ruler’s face. Despite these, it’s an impressive suit that compliments me well.
Ashley June, her voice travelling down the length of the library, keeps warning me not to sneak a peek until she’s ready. And she takes her time, much more than I think necessary to simply take off clothes and throw on a fitted dress.
Before she’s done, there’s a knock on the door. A retinue of staffers walks in. Each carries a small case in tow. “Make-up,” they say curtly, and I point them to Ashley June. To my surprise, one of them stays behind. “I’m going to do your face,” she says.
