Authors: Brad Stevens
***
Friday morning arrived all too quickly. Mara knew she'd have to leave at one-thirty in order to catch the tube. Remembering that food would be hard to come by during the Hunt, she made a large lunch, and, despite having no appetite, forced herself to eat it. All she needed to bring with her were the railcard, some spare change, and her phone. She wouldn't be able to take the phone into the arena, but she'd promised to call Yuke as soon as possible after the Hunt ended. At one-fifteen, Mara reluctantly removed the jeans and jumper she was wearing, already looking forward to the moment when she could change back into them. The process of donning the uniform was more than usually frustrating, since she'd be wearing it for several days. She found a new pair of tights, and after putting on the blouse and skirt, added the now obligatory jacket and stepped into the shoes. She was ready to depart. Casting a last fond glance around her apartment, with its reassuring stacks of books, Mara walked through the front door and closed it behind her. She was on her way to the Hunt.
Book 2
Mara Gorki
(During the Hunt)
Chapter 7
Friday March 23rd
Mara arrived at Hunt tube station around two-twenty. She'd never visited this area before, even when it had been known as Kilburn, and was surprised to discover what in most respects looked like an ordinary London suburb, with rows of houses and shops full of customers. But there was no mistaking what those walls in the middle distance signified. Mara was supposed to present herself at the stadium between two-thirty and three. Not wanting to be early, she decided to go for a coffee in one of the nearby cafes. The waitress, who was presumably used to seeing Hunt participants arrive on Friday afternoons, smiled at her sympathetically. Mara spent ten minutes drinking a latte and attempting to
steel herself. At two-thirty-five, she left the cafe and walked towards the stadium. Drawing closer, she saw a steel door with the words 'Hunt Stadium' emblazoned on it, and a buzzer situated beneath a 'ring for admission' sign. Mara could have gone in immediately, but it didn't appear anyone else had arrived yet, so she decided to walk around and try gauging the arena's size. The wall was approximately fifty feet in height, and curved inward at the top. Climbing it would be impossible.
Arriving back at the entrance, Mara noticed a car parked outside. A middle-aged couple were standing by the vehicle talking to a girl with long black hair who seemed too young to be wearing the uniform, let alone participating in a Hunt. Yet, as Mara approached the car, it became obvious that she was witnessing parents seeing off their conscripted daughter. Mara felt for all of them: mother and father unable to contain their grief, daughter on the verge of hysteria. The parents were clearly making the girl's departure more stressful, and Mara decided to intervene. She held out her hand, saying,
“Hi. My name's Mara. Shall we go in together?”
The girl calmed down immediately, shook Mara's hand, and said,
“I'm Julie. Yeah, I guess we'd better.”
Julie hugged her parents one last time and walked towards the entrance with Mara, trying to ignore her mother's pleas. Mara felt almost angry with the woman. Did she think her daughter was entering the stadium by choice? Mara turned to Julie and smiled.
“Pretty scary, huh?”
Julie smiled back, relieved to hear she wasn't the only one who found this situation frightening. Mara rang the buzzer, and a few seconds later the door opened. It was obviously
an automatic door, which had been activated by somebody inside the building, but it made Mara think of those scenes in horror films where the portal of the haunted house mysteriously swings open, as if controlled by ghostly hands. She stepped inside, followed by Julie.
The two women found themselves standing in a reception room that wouldn't have looked out of place in a medical clinic. There were rows of chairs and a counter, behind which sat a female receptionist. Fighting back the urge to turn around and run, Mara approached the receptionist and said,
“We're here for the Hunt.” The woman indicated a scanner sitting on the counter and asked Mara to place her thumb on it. Mara tried to keep her hand from trembling as she pressed down on the screen.
After consulting a computer, the woman said,
“Mara Gorki, welcome to the Hunt. If you have any personal belongings, please hand them over.” Mara removed the phone, loose change and railcard from her jacket pocket. The receptionist sealed these items in a plastic bag, which she deposited in a cubbyhole. “Take a seat and wait for your name to be called,” she said before gesturing to Julie and going through the same routine with the scanner. “Julie Weisz, welcome to the Hunt,” she declared before collecting Julie's belongings. When asked to take a seat, Julie hesitantly selected the chair next to Mara, as if fearing her presence might be unwelcome. Julie's nervousness was actually helping Mara control her own fear, and she gave the girl's hand a reassuring squeeze.
“
How you feeling?” she asked.
“
I've never been so scared. Oh God, I don't want to do this!”
Mara leaned over and whispered,
“Stay close to me. I know a few things that might help us.” Julie looked at Mara with something approaching awe. She was obviously eager to hear more, but Mara, who didn't want to risk being overheard, shook her head and mouthed the word 'later'. After a few minutes of silence, Julie asked the receptionist if she could use the toilet. The woman pointed at a restroom located to the right of the counter, and Julie walked quickly towards it.
After Julie left, three women were buzzed in almost immediately. Mara heard the receptionist identify them as Anne Radford, Susan Anderson and
Zong Xifeng. Zong, an attractive Chinese woman, sat down next to Mara, while Anne and Susan took separate seats and looked around without saying anything.
“
Are you nervous?” asked Zong, adding, “I'm terrified.”
“
I'm sure we all are,” replied Mara, turning her head so she could see the other new arrivals: Anne, a blonde in her late twenties, was sitting on her hands, while Susan, who appeared to be Mara's age, repeatedly crossed, uncrossed and recrossed her legs. Mara was struck by her waist length hair, though she couldn't help thinking it would be a liability in a chase. Mara approached Anne, and as the two women shook hands, Mara asked how she was doing.
“
I'm scared shitless,” responded Anne, “though hopefully I won't have to participate. I'm a standby.” Mara wasn't familiar with this term, so Anne explained, “Sometimes women who are drafted into the Hunt obtain medical exemptions, or simply don't turn up on the day, so there are always a few standbys. Like a theatrical understudy,” she added with a wry smile.
The buzzer sounded again, and a woman with her hands cuffed behind her back stumbled through the door. She was followed by two male police officers. As this group approached the counter, one of the officers unlocked the handcuffs, enabling his charge to place her thumb on the scanner.
“Isabella Braschi, welcome to the Hunt,” said the receptionist. Isabella had no personal belongings, and when told to take a seat, she grabbed a chair in the front row while her guardians positioned themselves by the stadium door, watching her attentively.
Mara and Anne moved forwards and introduced themselves. Isabella shook their hands and said,
“As you can probably guess, I'm a Hunt Evader.”
“
How'd they find you?” asked Anne sympathetically.
“
I don't really know,” sighed Isabella. “I couldn't face the prospect of participating in a Hunt, so when I was conscripted I decided to run. A friend in Brighton let me stay with her. I was hiding in the attic, just like Anne Frank. But after I'd been there two months, I had to get out, so I started taking walks along the front. One day, the police followed me back to the house and arrested me. I was probably detected by some kind of facial recognition technology. That was three weeks ago, and I've been in a cell ever since. Now I'll have to take part in a Hunt anyway, and when it's over, I'll be sent straight back to prison. The court sentenced me to five years, and the woman who hid me got one year.” Isabella began sobbing, and Anne gently rubbed her back.
Julie had been gone several minutes, and Mara was starting to worry. While Anne did her best to comfort Isabella, Mara went into the restroom, where she found Julie bent over a toilet, attempting to vomit. Mara stroked her hair and said,
“I know it's awful, but we'll have to be brave.” As she said this, Mara remembered her interview with Catherine, during which she'd insisted she was not a brave person. Could she be brave now? She supposed she didn't have any choice.
Julie wiped her face with toilet paper and followed Mara back into the reception room. During their absence, the remaining women had arrived, and were being processed. Mara
didn't catch their names. She sat down next to Isabella, who seemed calmer, and introduced Julie.
One of the new arrivals, a short woman with spiky black hair, flopped down next to them.
“I'm Kate Mackendrick,” she proclaimed sardonically, “and I don't want to be here.”
Noting the woman's accent, Mara asked if she'd travelled from Scotland. Kate proudly declared herself to be a native of Glasgow, and complained of how exhausted she felt after the five-hour train journey.
Mara was about to say hello to the others when the receptionist shouted, “Anne Radford. Rachel Kahn. We won't be needing you today, so you may leave whenever you wish.”
Anne and one of the women who had just arrived jumped up, expressions of relief on their faces. Anne's happiness quickly turned to embarrassment as she regarded her less fortunate companions.
“I...I'm sorry that I...I...”
Mara grasped her hand.
“I'm not,” she insisted. “I'm glad you're getting out of this.” They embraced each other, and after collecting her belongings, Anne left without saying another word, waving weakly as she did so.
No sooner had the two standbys departed than a door to the left of the reception counter opened and a man wearing a grey suit entered. After consulting the receptionist, he approached the seating area and clapped his hands for silence, something he received immediately.
“Ladies,” he announced to the ten draftees, who were giving him their full attention, “thank you for arriving on time, and welcome to the Hunt. Please follow me.” The women followed their escort into a narrow corridor, where he took a quick head count and said, “In a moment, we will proceed to the room in which you will interact with the Hunters. But first, please line up with your backs against the wall.” Once the women were in position, the escort moved down the line, carefully frisking each of them in turn. Mara resented being fondled so intimately by this stranger, who even raised her skirt and ran his hands over her crotch and backside, but there seemed little point protesting. Unless she was very lucky, this would be the least of the indignities she'd be subjected to over the next few days. Satisfied nobody was concealing anything, the man opened a door at the corridor's end and said, “Ladies, please enter the meeting area.”
The room into which they were shown looked like a provincial dancehall, a resemblance underlined by the presence of ten men standing in a row by the opposite wall, as if awaiting the appearance of their dance partners. They struck Mara as an unimpressive bunch. Physically they ranged from the razor thin to the absurdly fat, and while some were well
groomed, others looked like they'd fallen out of bed a few minutes ago and so far failed to locate a comb. Mara thought they had an air of malevolence; not unsurprisingly, given that they'd paid large sums of money for the privilege of abusing young women. One especially obese man actually licked his lips. Most of the men were wearing loose-fitting jeans or tracksuit trousers. All of them wore trainers. Clothes that allowed for rapid movement. Mara glanced at her fellow conscripts in their knee-length skirts and court shoes. She had difficulty imagining them outrunning even the fattest of the men.
As he closed the door, the escort cheerfully said,
“Ladies, gentlemen, please mingle.”
For at least two minutes, neither group moved: the women nervously shuffled their feet, while the men consulted each other, pointing at the women and talking intensely, as if trying to agree on something. It occurred to Mara that, in their way, the Hunters were as nervous as the hunted. Finally, several members of the male group approached the female group, and the rest soon followed.
The one Mara had seen licking his lips came up to her, said, “Hello, I'm Simon,” and initiated a handshake with his right hand while grasping Mara's forearm with his left. This struck her as a curiously friendly gesture under the circumstances. “Hope we get to know each other better,” he grunted.
Mara couldn't think of an appropriate response - 'Yeah, I'd love to be raped and tortured by you' didn't have the right ring to it - so she attempted a smile and said,
“Sure.”
Appearing to take this as a sign of encouragement, Simon shuffled away, grinning at her over his shoulder.
Seeing these men up close, she was struck by how much they reminded her of the sadistic boys who had tormented her on the train. It was nothing she could put her finger on, just a certain look in the eyes, a certain way of moving.