The Prey (29 page)

Four down, twenty to go.

The Man in Orange scowled. The Hunters inched their way forward, cutting the braided line to pieces with their massive knives. The fishing line fell to the ground.

They began moving up the hill, firing their M4s. The bullets pinged off granite boulders and embedded in tree trunks. We stayed low, waiting for Cat to give us the signal. I shot him a pleading glance. Finally, when it seemed we could wait no longer, he let out a piercing whistle.

In groups of two, we rose and leaned on branches positioned beneath the boulders. The enormous stones budged, shifted, then began rolling down the hill, picking up speed.

The one I launched collided dead-on with a Hunter, bouncing over the metal plates of his vehicle and catching him square in the chest. He went tumbling to the ground, flattened and bloody. The boulder rolled off him and continued its descent, scattering ATVs.

We raced up the slope to the next sets of boulders. Four Fingers and I were lucky; we managed to throw ourselves behind cover without getting hit.

Others were not so lucky. To the far right I saw someone go sprawling—a Sister, by the looks of it. I couldn't tell who it was, but I prayed it wasn't Hope. The air was suddenly alive with lead and smoke.

When the bullets waned, Four Fingers and I repeated our actions and sent an unwieldy granite stone careening down the hill, scattering Hunters. Enough time for the Sisters to fire off a quick succession of darts. We raced to the next boulder and dove behind it. There was a fourth station to get to, but I wasn't convinced we'd make it.

Their bullets were coming fast, ricocheting off stone and splintering trees, making the air sing. We cowered behind rocks, ducking beneath the whizzing bullets. At this rate, we'd have no chance at pulling off the rest
of our plan. We were stuck—helplessly pinned down. Unless we did something—soon—we'd be dead before we even got to the next phase of our attack.

Hope didn't wait for Cat's signal. She got up and took off, darting between trees so that none of the Hunters were able to get a clean shot. One of them gunned his four-wheeler, chasing after her.

My breath caught at the sight of her; she was still alive! But she was visibly panting, and the ATV had no problem closing the gap. He raised his weapon and tried to steady it. Hope zigzagged behind trees. The Hunter waited for just the right moment. The perfect shot.

Hope broke into a small clearing. It was madness, leaving the safety of the woods, but she tore straight up a small hill in the open ground. The Hunter revved his engine and followed. She was as good as dead. Nothing separated the Hunter from his prey.

“Come on, Hope! Come on!!” I yelled. “Get out of there!” Soon others were chanting as well.

“Hurry up, Hope!”

“He's right behind you!”

Then, without warning, Hope disappeared. Completely vanished. Here one moment, gone the next. A fraction of a second later, the Hunter's vehicle went airborne as though launched from a rocket pad. The four-wheeler sailed in one direction, the Hunter in the other. Both landed with ground-thumping thuds.

Hope popped up out of a tiny foxhole. On the downslope side was the ramp she and Scylla had created from rocks and logs, covered with pine needles. One moment the Hunter was gunning his ATV, ready to extinguish her life . . . and the next he was soaring through the air.

Now he writhed in pain, his left leg bent at a grotesque angle. Hope steadied a crossbow and fired a dart that pierced the Hunter's groin. No Kevlar there.

One less Hunter . . . and Hope was still alive. My heart hammered in relief.

We'd survived the first three phases of our plan—fishing line, boulder rolls, and ramps—and still more than half of the Hunters were uninjured. We were running out of options.

Cat gave a double whistle and we scrambled up the hill. Below us, Hunters moved forward like an advancing tidal wave, their engines rattling our teeth. We reached the crest of the hill and lowered ourselves into shallow foxholes. We were down to our final scheme. If this didn't work, we'd have to run.

I tried to swallow, but couldn't. We'd been in tough situations before, but nothing like this.

Dozer began freaking out. “I can't do this!” he shouted, tears streaming down his cheeks. “I can't take it anymore!”

Four Fingers and I tried to calm him. He shook us
off and kept screaming. “Lemme outta here! I wanna go home!”

Nothing we said or did could quiet him. Even when Four Fingers clamped his hand across Dozer's mouth, Dozer bit him, hard. Four Fingers let go and Dozer rose to his feet, walking toward the Hunters.

“I give up!” he cried, hands in the air. “Don't shoot! I surrender!”

Four Fingers took off in a mad run. He tackled Dozer to the ground just as the Hunters began firing. Somehow, Four Fingers was able to drag Dozer back without either of them getting shot. But Dozer put up one last challenge. He lifted Four Fingers up and threw him to the ground, smashing his head against a slab of granite.

All of us began pelting the Hunters with every rock and dart and arrow we could lay our hands on. I saw that of all the Hunters, the Man in Orange had gone completely untouched. Even though he wore no protective gear, not one of us had managed to slip an arrow past the plating of his ATV.

But Cat was ready to take him on. He pulled back his bowstring until his thumb rested against his cheek, held the draw . . . and then released. The arrow zinged forward through a gunpowdery haze.

At the final moment, the Man in Orange ducked, and it seemed like Cat had missed entirely. Then a thin line
of crimson rose to the surface of his cheek: pearls of blood from lip to earlobe. The arrow had grazed the uninjured side of his face. He lifted a hand to inspect the damage. When he pulled his fingers away, they were slick with blood.

His bared his teeth, and they were pink and blood-stained. Like the wolf that had dragged June Bug away.

We stumbled to our feet and made it to the very top of the ridge, just managing to avoid a hailstorm of bullets that pitted the ground. We dove behind boulders. Hope was one rock away. I caught her eye.

“You okay?” I mouthed.

She nodded. It looked like she wanted to say more, but there wasn't time.

The Hunters were closing fast, no more than fifty yards away, drawing closer.

“Now!” Cat shouted at the very top of his lungs.

Emerging from the earth itself—from shallow pits
behind
the Hunters—hidden Sisters rose up and unleashed a flurry of darts. Scylla and little Helen and a dozen others began catching the Hunters in the backs of their necks. The Hunters went tumbling off their four-wheelers, and those who weren't struck by arrows were pummeled by swinging rocks we'd festooned with spikes.

“Don't let up!” Cat roared. We pelted them with everything we had until it was a horizontal rain of missiles.

The Hunters were in disarray. The Man in Orange
took in the situation with wild eyes and flared nostrils, blood dribbling down his chin. Then, with a snarl, he gestured to his troops. They turned their vehicles and began heading down the hill. A retreat!

He swung his eyes back at Cat and me a final time. And then he did something utterly unnerving. He smiled. It chilled me to the bone.

A spontaneous celebration erupted, and for the first time, Less Thans and Sisters hugged and congratulated each other. It was as though the act of fending off the Hunters—
together
—had torn down whatever walls existed between us, created some new and lasting bond. High fives and laughter overtook us. Hope and I found ourselves next to each other and shared a quick embrace. It was only for the briefest instant, but I was certain I could feel the beating of her heart against my chest. We pulled away, barely able to look at each other.

“Let's see who's wounded and get the hell out of here,” Cat said. “These guys'll be back.”

He was right. Celebrations were for later.

We rounded everyone up. Red had caught a bullet, but it only grazed his arm. Four Fingers suffered severe head trauma when Dozer threw him against the boulder. Dozer had no memory of his freak-out, or if he did, he didn't acknowledge it.

“What the hell, Dozer,” Twitch said. “Why'd you go and hurt Four Fingers?”

“I didn't do nothing,” Dozer responded, and left it at that.

But worst of all, we were missing one Sister.

We spread out and searched. Our joy at fending off the Hunters turned to grim reality when we found her, the girl named Iris, her body riddled with bullets. When I looked at Hope, I saw her eyes were filled with moisture. She turned away and gritted her teeth.

The grave was shallower than we would've liked, but time was not on our side. We cleared away pine needles and burrowed as deep as we could.

“We can always come back later and give her a proper funeral,” Flush said as we stood awkwardly around the mound of earth. But we all knew that was a lie. Once we reached the new territory, we'd be done with this place. I hoped never to set foot in the Western Federation Territory ever again.

“Grab your arrows and let's clear out of here,” Cat said.

“How about the guns?” Dozer asked. He reached for the assault rifle clutched in the stiff fingers of a dead Hunter.

“Leave 'em,” Cat said. “They'll just slow us down.”

“But that's our ticket outta here,” Dozer said, his tone belligerent. There was no hint of the cowering LT who'd cried for help moments before. “That's how we'll win.”

“We won just now because we used our heads,” I
said, shooting a glance at Hope. “Because the Sisters knew how to use their weapons—and because Frank taught us how to use ours.”

Dozer's eyes darted from Cat to me and back again. I thought his head was going to explode. “You're all crazy. Let's at least take the four-wheelers then,” he sputtered.

Cat shook his head. “And lead the Hunters right to us? No way.” He pulled the M4 from Dozer's hand, aimed it at a nearby ATV, and shot the engine to bits. Then he did the same to all the four-wheelers.

“If we can't use 'em, no one can.” He tossed the rifle to the ground. “Come on. We don't have much time.” He reached down and began collecting stray arrows.

We spread out across the ridge. The task was tedious and gruesome, but we needed the darts and arrows. Who knew how long before the next attack? As we worked, I edged toward Hope. I wanted to make sure she was all right.

I was nearly by her side when a strong, acrid smell tickled my nostrils. At first, I assumed it was the stench of death—all those rotting corpses surrounding us. But then I realized the smell was drifting toward us from somewhere distant. I lifted my head and tried to place it, as Argos began to bark.

All at once we realized what it was, and cried out in unison.

“Fire!”

D
RIFTING TENDRILS OF SMOKE
slithered on the ground like snakes.

“Run!” Hope screams.

Everyone tears up the hill: scrambling, falling, picking themselves up. Four Fingers still doesn't understand.

“Run?” he asks, a string of drool dangling from his lip.

The others pull him along.

“Stay together!” Hope yells, and the two outer flanks move inward.

In no time the smoke overtakes them. At first it is thin and delicate, like wispy tentacles, making the world a hazy blur. Following it is a hollow, rumbling roar so deep it shakes the ground beneath their feet.

“What's that?” Helen asks.

“The fire,” Twitch answers.

At first, no one believes him. No fire makes that kind of noise. But this isn't just any fire. This is the Brown Forest: the biggest, driest box of kindling ever put on earth.

Something tells Hope this is no accident. This is the Man in Orange's doing, meant to consume the Sisters and Less Thans and burn them to a crisp.

Leave no trace.

The smoke thickens and they run faster. Behind them is the inferno, like a pursuing monster. Though they can't yet see it, they can imagine its dragon's mouth.

They make it to the top of the ridge and Hope glances down behind her. The smoke is suddenly thick and heavy, like an avalanche—an avalanche coming
up
hill, billowing past the trees. They cover their mouths and noses as best they can.

“We have to reach the end of the forest before the fire does,” Hope yells.

“No way,” Twitch says. “We can't outrace it.”

“We'll have to.”

“How about that stream?” Flush shouts. “We could lie there till the fire passes.”

“The water's too shallow. We'd be cooked in no time.”

Which is the worse way to die, Hope wonders: consumed by flames, or poached in a thin stream of boiling water?

A spark of light catches her eyes and she turns. Nearly a mile away are the first hints of flame, cutting through the thick white smoke. Jagged bolts of red and orange and black. A mesmerizing sight.

“Let's go!” Cat cries, grabbing Four Fingers and pushing him forward.

They're on level ground now, tearing through the forest like panicked rabbits fleeing the coyote's jaws. Hope trails the others to make sure everyone's keeping up—Helen especially. No one gets left behind.

But before she knows it, Hope's lost the others. Their shapes grow dim and she can barely make them out in the smoke. Then can't see them at all. Can't hear them either. There is only one sound: fire. Complete, engulfing flames.

Smoke burns her mouth, throat, lungs. It pricks her eyes, like a thousand needles jabbing her cornea. A throbbing, stinging agony.

Worse is the panic of falling farther behind, and in her confusion she stumbles and falls, slamming into the thick trunk of a spruce. Stars spot her vision. Dazed, she pushes herself to a standing position, prepared to start up again . . . and realizes she's completely turned around.