Monica didn't move, and Josie was forced to wait further still, trying to time her last line perfectly. Finally, she sighed deeply and tried to make her voice quiver a little, though it wouldn't quite appease her needs. "You probably think I'm a total bitch," she finished. "I know I sound like one." Then she looked downward, trying to see through the desk and into the floorboards.
So there it was. The fabulous lie was on the table. Though not completely a lie, it wasn't completely the truth either. Everything Josie had said had been true… she was merely suggesting it was the reason for her change in behavior. There was so much more hidden under the shade of that tree. Deep down, under the earth, the roots ran thick and long and tangled. She kept as still as possible while staring through the floor and anxiously awaited Monica's response.
"What more would you like to do, Josie?" Monica said with her fingertips still touching. "You're already our top recruiter. What do you feel is missing?"
Yes, I feed the machine, Josie thought. I bring them in so they can be spit right back out.
This was a test. Monica wouldn't buy any story that easily. And so Josie plowed on, laying it thicker and higher, feeling herself doubling down.
Josie let a brief moment of calculated silence pass. "It's not that I want more to do. It's difficult enough keeping up as it is. I think that it's just…" another pause, a brief flicker of eye contact, and then she pushed all of her chips into the center of the table. "I don't get to see the fruits of my labor. I help Rhonda to train every day, and after we release them, I never see them again. When we go on recruiting missions, I can pick out the next asshole so easily. There's no challenge in it anymore. Then they get here and I help train them, and that I enjoy, but… even though some are difficult to break, most are easy. It's all getting so old. All I ever hear are the reports of transferals and kills. I want to see them die, Monica. I want to drive them down myself. It just feels like I'm… missing out on my whole reason for being here."
She let another moment pass. Monica didn't breathe. "The truth is," she went on, and now she was worried she was talking too much but felt the only choice was to finish what she had started, "I don't know if even that would satisfy me. How long would it be before hunting felt like training does now? Forgive me, but I feel like the whole process is old for me."
She stopped. If Monica saw the lie, she was dead. If she believed, the risk was still substantial. The last thing Josie wanted was to become a hunter.
As she waited for Monica to speak, she was somewhat surprised to realize her heart was rapid and strong. It confirmed how real the danger was and how deeply she felt about her secret, how far from the trunk those roots grew.
Monica then pulled one of her classic moves. One of her best. Without articulating a single word, she humphed softly and continued to stare into Josie's eyes.
Josie's heart broke at that quiet, little sound. But she could only stare back at Monica with all the courage she could muster.
When Monica spoke again, her voice was sweet and lustrous, just like she used on the men whenever she wanted to break their spirits. She had always imagined the air from her lungs floating across space like a poisonous wind, and that was exactly how she felt Monica's breath was now.
"That's a wonderful story, Josie," Monica said, "but I don't believe you."
CHAPTER 6
FAMILY
1
Silence filled the alley. No man moved and every head faced where the car had been. Obe allowed himself to pant out his held breath. His feet were a screaming blaze of agony, but he was still laced with enough adrenaline and triumph to hold it at bay. Finally, a voice broke the silence.
"Well, that was different."
Obe turned and looked at the speaker. He was a little shorter than Obe, yet so incredibly thin that it was mildly shocking. As his vision took on the sea of men before him, Obe realized all of the men were exceptionally thin.
'Your second test will be food,' Obe remembered. This was what Rhonda had told them all the day they'd been released from the fortress. 'Your first test will be survival, and your second test will be food,' she had explained. 'If you survive them both, you'll have to learn the third test on your own. But if you pass that one, we will send you home.'
The man who had spoken had hard eyes and he stood with an air of confidence which was emphasized by the mass of men behind him who had drawn back allowing him to speak. The man's beard had flakes of gray, and Obe now realized that all of the men before him also seemed to have full, masculine beards. Greens weren't permitted to grow facial hair. Every grocery day the women shaved all the Greens with a straight razor. The lines would begin forming just after daybreak and only men who had a freshly-shaven face would be given food. While some men had thick shadows by that time, Obe had never grown much facial hair. Even now, five days since his last shave, he had but a few dozen sparse hairs on his cheeks and chin. In this group of men, it was embarrassing.
Obe nodded to the speaker. "Yeah. I guess," he said.
"Never seen 'em not know what to do before." The man lifted his chin as if studying Obe. "Damned funny if you ask me. What's your name, son?"
"Obe. O.B.E," he said aloud even as his mind told him it was something else entirely. Something with the sound of 'C'. Something like Calvin or Conroy or Connor.
"I'm Doov," and Obe clearly heard the conspicuous blank space that came after. Women's rules dictated a spelling of your name when first introducing yourself. "I'm the head elder of the Family of Blue– that's what we call ourselves here– and we're glad to have you."
"Thanks," Obe said.
"When was your transfer? Less than a week?" Obe nodded. "That's good." There was a pause that Obe did not understand. "Very good. Some guys take ten or twenty days to make contact with us. Some die because they never do."
"Thanks," Obe said again, now feeling horribly childish.
"So," Doov said, "would you care to enlighten us about your visitors there?"
Obe looked around and saw dozens of eyes staring at him, and a lump suddenly formed in his throat. "I… saw them kill a green just a couple minutes ago." Doov nodded, and others nearby did the same. Men all around were climbing back to street level and inching in.
"They had been chasing him all day," Obe continued. "I saw the start of it this morning. I wished him luck, but then forgot about him. He stumbled past me just a few minutes ago, and the blue car was still on his heels."
At this many men nodded understanding. "I saw it run over him…" and here Obe trailed off a little, mesmerized by his recollection of the gruesome act. "Went through him, really. Not over. He went ten feet in the air." He paused and heard more mumbles of understanding. "It backed up and ran over him a second time. Then pulled forward. Third time. Casual. Like they… like they just wanted to enjoy it again."
He was staring at the back wall of the alley, not realizing that every other man was staring at him. "I heard his skull split open under the weight of the car. It sounded like dry firewood." Men throughout the alley winced. "But then it just drove away. Somebody else's job to clean it up. That black one, I guess. Found me at his body. I… I didn't even hear them at first."
"Now wait a second," Doov interrupted. "Are you telling me that you hung around a dead body? It's no wonder they found you, boy." Obe began to shake his head, but Doov continued. "Don't you know they radio each other and clean up within minutes? Wait. Don't tell me. Food, right? You finished your transition supply and thought you'd take a little peek." Here he turned to the crowd behind him and told them, "Classic Greenhorn mistake." The crowd smiled in obvious assent.
"No," Obe said. "It wasn't like that." He saw all their eyes now, and understood in an instant that their little society, their 'Family of Blue', had deep roots and that he was a very new member of their flock.
"Well then," another man said. "Why don't you tell us."
Slowly and deliberately, Obe unzipped the front of his jumpsuit and fished out a single, green sneaker. There
was an instant murmur across the blue-clad men in the dead-end alley, and Doov whistled softly before addressing him again in a newer, respectful voice.
"Well… that is something," he said slowly. "That's… that's downright beautiful sir. I believe I'd have done the same thing myself. Though if I were you," and here Doov leaned forward and lowered his voice to a near-whisper, "I'd hide that beauty pronto and get your groceries early today."
Obe's growing smiled faltered as he noticed how the many men were staring at his sneaker. There were perhaps forty of them, and he saw only a few wearing sneakers of their own. Each of those were faded, ripped, and worn down to the inner soles by the looks of them. He suddenly became defensive and thrust the sneaker back into his jumpsuit, zipping it up tight. Doov chuckled a bit before raising his voice to the crowd behind him.
"Meeting's over!" he said with that same air of authority. "You can go about your business now." And slowly the crowd of men began to dissipate.
Turning back to the newcomer he said, "Come with me O.B.E. Obe. We've got some talking to do."
2
Doov took Obe to a back corner of the alley and offered him a plastic crate to sit on. With the bottoms of his feet still yelling at him, the walk there and even the act of sitting down was a delicate procedure.
Thank God I have sneakers now, he told himself.
Doov waited, watching as the rest of the men in the alley grudgingly moved back to former locales and conversations. When he was satisfied he had some privacy, he nodded, took and let out a quick breath, and nodded again while looking Obe in the eyes.
"My name is Doov, as I've already said. That's spelled D.O.O.V. It's my job to officially congratulate you on making it to the blue stage and to welcome you to our family."
"Thanks," Obe said.
"Welcome," he said. "Well, let's see. You've been here about a week already, so I'm sure you've been picking some things up. Have you heard about the family yet?"
"No," Obe said. "I've seen a few other Blues around, but today is the first I've talked to anybody."
"Well, there's a lot to learn. We're different from green life. Much different. The Family of Blue, as we call it, is just that: a family. We are all part of the same team. We'll support you when you're down, we'll celebrate with you when you succeed, and we'll mourn you when you're gone." Obe nodded, but not without a lump in his throat. Death was everywhere. And yet, Obe liked that this man was honest. Even better, he realized that there was a real chance of making friends here. In green sector men pretty much stuck to themselves, keeping relationships and conversations to an absolute minimum. This 'family' intrigued him.
"For example," Doov went on, "if there is news about a car, we share it. Every time. No every-man-for-himself bullshit like in green sector. That comes in handy, as I'm sure you can imagine." Obe nodded a little excitedly. "There are other, less needed favors you could attain– I won't waste time explaining. You'll figure them out for yourself– but other than reports of nearby cars, all favors incur a repayment, usually with food. I'd recommend not racking up too many favors early on, though if you need them, they are and will remain available from just about every man."
Obe nodded slower now. He was wondering just what kind of favors Doov was hinting at. But as instructed, he pushed it off for later. He could find out when the time came.
"We have some rules to help set things straight and keep everything running smoothly," Doov continued. "Some are written, and others like the favors you'll simply have to learn on your own, I'm afraid. A lot of what goes on here is based on what you can earn."
Obe nodded again. "Ok," he said. "I get it. I like that. Go on."
"Great! On to the written rules, then. There are three. Rule number one is Respect Your Elders. Remember that word. It's our first rule because it's our most important rule. What it means is that anyone older than you in the Family is better than you, whether you like it or not, and you have a duty to respect what they've been through." Here he paused dramatically, then added, "How old are you, Obe?"
Obe was caught unprepared by the question, but answered anyway. "I… I don't know exactly. I… well, I was in college when they brought me here, so at least seventeen, I guess. Could be twenty or twenty-one, I suppose, but who knows, right? Swiss cheese." The term was a common one among Greens which he was sure Doov would know. It referred to the gaping holes in memory they all shared.
"One," Doov said confidently. "That's how old you are. Exactly one run old. Nobody cares about birthdays here, I'm sorry to say. Age is measured in successful escapes from the women. It's the only thing that truly matters anymore."
"I've survived plenty more than one run!" Obe huffed. "I've been running from those damned cars for three months now!" He felt he was trying too hard to impress this man, but couldn't help himself.
"Of course you have, or you wouldn't be here," Doov acknowledged. "But time as a green doesn't count. Not here. We only count blue runs here, and you're brand new." He paused and watched Obe understand just how low on the totem pole he was.
Here Doov chuckled. "Don't feel so bad, newbie," he added. "Some guys take two weeks to verify their first run. You've done it without even being properly introduced. And that first run of yours sure will be memorable, won't it?"
Obe smiled then loosened again. He pressed his fingers against the form of the sneakers through his jumpsuit and thought of the car backing out of the alley like a dog with its tail between its legs. However guilty he was of scaring his new neighbors, he had flustered the women too, and everyone had seen it.
"If someone's survived more runs than you, then they are older than you. Respect that. I won't say it again. You're just a babe at one run, but soon enough, if you're any good as a man, there'll be newer blues with even fewer runs and then you'll be respected by them. Life here requires a lot of patience, too. Baj is the man who will both verify your run story and mark you if he believes you're not spinning yarns. He's good, so don't try to fool him. The fastest way to lose all of your earned respect is to be caught inflating your age."
Obe nodded again, instinctively keeping his mouth shut.
"Ok. Rule number two, then. Don't Concern Yourself With the Dead. Whenever a family member is killed, we all mourn together at the next meeting. Sometimes we'll have two or three funerals at a time. It's serious business, but once it's done don't concern yourself. There's a time and place, and outside of that you're only asking for trouble. Don't get too close to any man is what I'm saying. Too many of us get killed too often. You follow?"
Obe nodded, and Doov moved on.
"Rule three. And this is sometimes the hardest one to remember. What Happens in the Alley Stays in the Alley. We've tried organizing the handing out of food like the women do in green sector, but it never works. As much as I envy it, I'll never have the power that the women have. Somebody always cheats, and it's never just one man. I guess its only natural considering our situation. So we did away with organizing grocery day and just let it happen the way it needs to happen. But no matter what does happen, everyone is friends again outside the alley. That's tough sometimes, I know. I myself have had to suppress many grudges. But we are a family and the family always comes first. It just works out that in this alley when the food comes down, you're on your own.
Here Doov paused, seeming to think, but he said no more about rule three.
"Now, repeat those three rules back to me so I know you're ok with all this."
Obe felt the child again, but did as he was bidden. "Rule one: Respect men older than me. Age is determined by runs. Rule two: Don't concern yourself with the dead. We all mourn together and getting too close can be dangerous. Rule three: What happens in the alley stays in the alley. It's every man for himself to get food, but afterwards we're all friends again."
"Excellent! You listen well. Ok. There's just one other thing, then. Elders."
"Elders?"
"There are three of us right now. Myself, Leet, and Paist. I'm the oldest. T
hough Leet has been here longer, I've always had more runs. I've got 126. Leet will probably be the next one taken away from us and dumped in the black sector. The women count days it seems, not runs, when they transfer a man. Paist and Leet both have over a hundred runs, too. That's how you become an elder. We had five elders some months ago, but both of the oldest were killed in the same week. It was a real tragedy, a blow to us all."
Here Doov dropped his voice to a whisper, though Obe couldn't imagine who he was hiding any secret from. "We think the women looked for them specifically because they couldn't clear a hole in black sector."
Obe was honestly surprised. "Really?" he asked in a return whisper. "They can… do that?" All men had their rules, but the women had theirs as well, and from his experience they had never been anything but totally honest. Killing a man in blue sector because they couldn't kill or release a man in black sector was completely against their reformation program.
"My friend, those bitches can do anything they want. They moved one other elder to black sector shortly after that, so we were left with only two for a while. That's when I took over as head elder. Paist became our newest elder just last month, and here we stand.
"As for what we elders do… well, we're like a president, I guess. We stand as mentors and symbols, representatives for everyone else. Temporary figureheads who, in each his own way, tries to help those behind him while awaiting his own next great step or demise." Doov stopped, and a crooked smile came over his face that Obe immediately liked. Doov was cognizant of his own vulnerability, and that made him a good leader. "Any questions?" he finally asked. Obe shook his head. "Ok then. Go see Baj so you can mark your first run. Find a man named Rein to take you through the process."
Man Hunt Page 9