She noticed that number 80 was not on her list. It was a relief. He was the one slated to get his Emotional Marker Introduction today. Watching a man struggle through speaking his new name with conviction– and recording the long, repetitious process, of course– had always been a favorite job of Rachael's, and Josie suspected Rhonda had assigned it to her.
"Before you begin today, girls, we all have to pitch in to let number 21 out of solitary. And when I say 'we', I mean 'you.' I'm not going near the filthy bastard. Have fun. When you're done, let me know. I'll be filing." That Rhonda hated filth was common knowledge. In fact, Solitary Confinement was the only job she refused to do because of the stench alone. None of the women liked it.
"You're always filing, Rhonda," one of the green women said.
"Yeah," her partner joined in, smiling. "Why don't you get out from behind that computer and help us? You always say it's less work with more people."
"Nice try, girls," Rhonda said, "but it won't work. You know how I feel about solitary. I wouldn't use it at all if it weren't so damned effective. Now get along."
Rhonda walked away from the small group and back to her office area. The six women were left to look at one another. Josie and Steph found each other's eyes and a thousand messages transferred between them, but the only one that mattered was 'Keep your nose clean.' Finally, Rachael broke the silence.
"C'mon, girls. The sooner we get started, the sooner we'll be done." She walked toward the left-hand corridor briskly. When the parade of women reached the end of the corridor, they turned right and into the very dark back half of the training area. Josie and Steph were at the back of the pack, but neither of them said a single word. As it always had been, for the rest of the day they would each be on her own.
2
Lorraine walked through the heavy door to the training area just as the six trainers turned the corner and entered the darkest hallways in the fortress. Though not as impressive as Gertrude, she was also extremely large and muscular to the point of infemininity. She wore one of the five white shirts on the island, and it was accompanied by one of the three colored armbands.
"Hello, Lorraine," Rhonda said politely. "What can I do for the blue squad today? Any kills this morning?" Behind her, Rhonda's computer screensaver displayed a disturbingly graphic image of a row of emaciated, naked men standing outdoors in the snow. Behind them stood another row of men, these well-clothed men and holding a raised rifle. What made the picture so graphic was its authenticity. The photograph Rhonda had used was originally taken in Germany, 1943, and the line of prisoners, all Jewish, had presumably all died only seconds later. Somewhere in a nearby room, a generator kicked into life and the screensaver disappeared, leaving behind only an open document covered with Rhonda's ongoing writings.
"Hello, Rhonda. Actually, there was a kill in blue sector just before noon, I've been told, but Beatrice will be reporting it to you since it was one of hers."
"Another Green gone wandering, has he?"
"Apparently. Those buggers can never stay still. Too many of them. They're like rats."
"So true, so true. Well, then. What can I do for you?"
"I'm just here for my files. Can you print out a list for me?"
"No problem." Rhonda began typing away at her computer while she continued the conversation. "What's the occasion?" She closed her personal document on the computer and brought up another, fiddled with it in a way that only she understood, and soon printed the needed information.
"Well, word has it that Gertrude is near another kill. Been adding up those clues to their newest hideout. I thought I'd like to be ready for the transferal just in case she succeeds." She paused, then added, "the moon is nearly full, after all."
Rhonda chuckled. "Oh, wonderful! Some of those Blacks have been here far too long. I hope she can get more than one." She pulled the two-page printout of the current blue jumpsuits and corresponding E.M.'s and handed it to Lorraine.
"Well, I'm not so sure about that. You know how keen she is on the pure hunt. Thanks. I'll just take the files and bring them back in a few days."
As Lorraine moved over to the wall of filing cabinets, Rhonda knew she would find one file missing but preferred not to say anything until the discovery was made. The constant bickering between the three headwomen, Gertrude and Lorraine in particular, was none of her business. Her business was training, and she took it seriously. In order to keep her own passion running smoothly, she needed all of the women on the island to be on her side.
Lorraine busied herself with collecting files and Rhonda turned back to her computer and her tablet of handwritten personal notes. She had been keeping an ear tuned into the back corridor for sounds of any struggle from man #21. Though Solitary Confinement could work wonders, it sometimes backfired. If a man lived through torture for too long and still remained unbroken, time away from the women, regardless of the circumstances, could be viewed as a welcomed change. So far there had been no sounds at all from man #21. Rhonda chose to see it as a sign of success.
"Where's the GOPHER?" Lorraine asked.
"What's that, dear?"
"I don't mean to insinuate anything, but there seems to be a file missing. Do you have the GOPHER'S file somewhere else? He was just moved to my sector, and I thought you might be still updating his records."
"Now, Lorraine. You know better than that. My files are always up to date, including the GOPHER. Gertrude has his just now. She wanted to look into him because of some disturbance he was involved in with the black squad today."
Lorraine didn't speak at first. Her hand twitched a bit, and her eyebrows narrowed, but her mouth stayed firmly closed. Behind her, Rhonda saw Rachael coming toward her quickly. Something was plainly wrong, and Rhonda stood from her chair.
"Did she now?" Lorraine said. "And why, exactly, does she feel the need to worry herself with my new arrivals?"
"She didn't specify," Rhonda said offhandedly, still watching Rachael approach. "She only said that it did affect black squad and that she'd have the file back later today. I can see that you get it when she returns it."
"God damn it! That's it! I've had it with her dictator bullshit! Nobody is going to hunt my men except my hunters. This time she's gone too far." Lorraine gathered the files she had already assembled and stormed out of the training area. In her mind she saw only one thing: Gertrude with her perfectly clean maps in her perfectly idiotic all-white office and the mirror behind her closet door she thought nobody knew about. Lorraine made up her mind right then and there to visit Gertrude's office and give her an important message.
Despite the disquiet Lorraine had suddenly just caused her, Rhonda was glad the blue headwoman was gone. Now the training area was all hers again, and she could deal with man #21 undividedly.
"The bastard's dead," Rachael said simply.
"What? No. No, he isn't. He can't be. You must have mistaken his inevitable weakness as utter surrender. I'm sure he's just broken. A ripe fruit ready to be plucked and stewed."
"Sorry, Rhonda. We checked close. He starved himself. There must be three dozen bowls of food stacked in the corner. Didn't eat a thing from any but the bottom four or five. There's another four lying on the other side of his mail slot. Must've died four days ago."
"That son of a…" but Rhonda didn't say the next word. She didn't believe in it. "You say he stacked them up out of the way?"
"Yup. Neat as can be in piles of seven. We figure the pig was using them to count the days of the week."
"He wanted us to know," Rhonda fumed. "Shit! How dare he take away my control over him! Kill him! The right way! Now! I want his body mutilated! And throw the leftover parts into the incinerator!"
Rachael looked at her quizzically. She wasn't sure if Rhonda was serious. The incinerator wasn't even working just then.
"DO IT!" Rhonda screamed again. "Now! I don't want that prick to even be a memory! Despite what he thought, he will not get the last word! Nobody sabotages my work! Nobody! Now kill
that fucking pig!"
Rachael ran back the way she had come. It was indeed a bad day to see Rhonda lose her temper. And on top of it Josie had been all sorts of somber lately. She hoped things would get back to normal soon. She didn't feel equipped to deal with so many difficulties in one day.
As she ran, Rachael thought again that deep in her heart she didn't want to be chosen as Gertrude's new second-in-command despite what everyone else thought of her. She didn't like the prospect of all that responsibility, all that weight. She feared it, in fact, almost as much as the men feared Rhonda.
3
So, GOPHER loves his brother, Gertrude thought as she muscled out her last set of bench presses. What a wonderful weakness.
Her biceps and chest screamed in agony, and she loved it. When she finished her last rep she sat up, releasing her grip on the handles of the machine that had helped to sculpt her into the pillar she was. The stack of weights fell along their slide bars and slammed to the metal base of the machine, shaking her in her seat and ringing in her ears. She often allowed gravity to remind her of her own strength in this way.
She walked to the locker room with the muscles of her upper body throbbing. This week was bulk-up week, so she had been lifting a true mass of weights– enough to exhaust her muscles after just five repetitions. Three sets of that twice a day and the muscles really grew. Next week would be definition week and the weights would go down drastically while the repetitions would jump to one or even two hundred. There was always room for improvement.
She stepped into the shower thinking about her latest issues. Gertrude was a big believer in multi-tasking. It was part of efficiency. Even when she showered, she worked.
But she wasn't concerned about the GOPHER. She already knew how to handle him. Her real priority was the problem of selecting a competent replacement for Lucy. It was an issue she'd been fighting for weeks. In the back of her mind she reminded herself she needed to get to that broken incinerator as well.
She considered Emma. Despite being the loudest of any woman she'd ever commanded, she nevertheless had the strength and attitude of a good woman. But once again she concluded Emma would never be right for the title of second-in-command. There was no commanding presence. Emma was just what she appeared to be: loud. In a position of authority, she'd only annoy others and make mistakes.
But then, Gertrude reasoned, Sherry is an even worse candidate. She's barely more than a baby.
Sherry had so little experience and was prone to let her emotions get the better of her. Perhaps if she learned to toughen up she might be a future candidate, but she'd need many serious sessions with Monica over the next few years to get there.
Gertrude sometimes wondered what the hell Beatrice and Lorraine were doing to suggest someone like her was the best girl they had worthy of promotion. It was true she had shown courage just that morning, but surely there must be others who were more advanced.
Rachael seemed the obvious choice, but Gertrude was observant of her reserved nature. Something would always keep her from following through on the last, crucial step.
Josie, on the other hand, was the strongest-minded girl she'd seen in years. At such a young age, she could grow into a formidable asset to the island. Possibly even the next headwoman. But Gertrude was worried about her slack attitude lately. It could be a phase, or it could be trouble. Her session with Monica that morning had been inevitable, and Gertrude was eager to hear the report.
By the time she'd finished showering, the blue feeding would have already ended, and she needed to get moving. Her posted office hours began in just under two hours, leaving little time for extra-curricular activities. Besides, she could hear her maps crying for her to come finish them.
Minutes later, Gertrude's footsteps moved across the marble floors of the grand foyer. The sneakers she wore were glaringly white, as always, almost to the point of brightness.
She walked through the doorway leading to the west wing of the fortress and headed towards her office. She heard loud footsteps behind her, approaching quickly. Almost in front of her unlocked office door, she heard the thin, warbled voice of Monica.
"Gertrude! Just a minute. I need to talk to you." Gertrude stopped walking and turned on her heels. The woman was waving a file folder in her hand. "I've been waiting and waiting for your return. I have disturbing news about Josie. It was good you sent her when you did." Gertrude had been about to turn back to the door so she could listen to Monica from within her office– from behind her desk– but now she remained where she was. Her need to know superseded her need for dominance.
"I'd had my suspicions, of course," Monica continued, "but nothing beats seeing it in her eyes even when she talked about the shithead who date-raped her. I must say, others talk about how good she is at recruiting, and I'm not denying that fact, not at all. But I always thought there must be something not right about her. I have an eye for these things, you know." Gertrude held back a strong urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she feigned surprise once again, and let Monica drone on some more.
"You know, every time I ask a potential island girl to meet me for the first time, the first thing I do that very day is to diagnose her problems. Some of them have it written so plainly on their faces it was as if they came with instructions! Now, Josie, she was someone I noticed right off the bat. Might be a good looker, sure. That's great for recruiting. And she sure had a great deal of energy, but then they all do when they first arrive, don't they? But there was something else about her that just screamed to me 'Danger, Monica! Something's wrong here!' I daresay it took me quite a while to crack her open. She's a tough one, she is. So today when you had her see me on short notice like that I knew the time was right for the heavy artillery. So when she got there I waited until just the right moment. It's an art-form, really, but I've nearly perfected it, I believe. And then when she was just at her most vulnerable, I pounced on her with something she never saw coming her way. I'm quite proud of how I maneuvered it, to tell you the truth."
Gertrude had been listening to the familiar wish-wash of unproductive talk for too long, and her patience had worn too thin. "What is it, Monica? What did you find out?" She didn't yell the words, but her forceful voice and harsh glare were all the more effective. Monica didn't get flushed at all like the others always did, but she focused better just the same.
"Why, she's gone soft, Gertie. She doesn't want to kill men anymore!" Gertrude winced both at the information and at the vandalism of her name. "Not that she actually tries killing them in training, of course, but she certainly doesn't like hurting them anymore. Quite possibly, she'd like to help them, though I'm sure it's a recessed thought and she wouldn't have the courage to act on it anyway. I did my best to help her remember the kind of slugs we work with here, and I'll be more than happy to set up a regular schedule for her until this whole thing is rectified, but I did think it was important you know right away. You are such a good influence on your girls, Gertrude. Just look at how Lucy came out. Remember how she had a problem with authority when she first came? It took some work to get it out of her system, but just look at her now. One of the best we've had. She'll be a big loss. How do you think she's going to take her departure?"
"Not well," was all Gertrude could say to the subject change. She saw a woman from the green squad cross the grand foyer and waved her over. "About Josie," she veered back, "how serious is it?"
"Well, that's difficult to say, of course," Monica beamed. "It would take a few more sessions to know the extent of it. For now it may be best to let her be and to watch her to see how today's session affected her. But she's your girl, of course. What do you think you will do, Gertrude? I'll need to know for her next session."
The young woman from the green squad had arrived. "Rebecca is your name, right?" Gertrude said.
"Yes, Gertrude," the woman said. She was obviously nervous to be in the presence of the black headwoman and the island counselor at the same time.
"I've heard from Beatri
ce you're a promising trainer." The young woman blushed. "Is there a reason you're not training right now?"
Flustered but confident, Rebecca answered. "Rhonda sent me to Beatrice for her updates. There was a green kill late yesterday and one already this morning. You know how Rhonda is with her files."
"Yes, always working," Gertrude smiled. "When you get back to the training area, could you tell Josie come to see me as soon as she's finished tonight? Tell her it's urgent." Rebecca nodded happily at this easy task and hurried away.
"What are you going to do, Gertrude?" Monica asked.
Gertrude didn't answer at first, but when she did her voice was as soft and seductive as Monica's could be in the heat of her sessions. "I'm going to test her," Gertrude said, "and you're going to help me." She finally turned back to her office door and didn't stop when Monica started blabbing again.
"Oh, I'm not so sure she's ready for anything drastic, Gertie. She is so young yet. Though she was also telling me about how she felt out of place, like she needed a challenge, so you could be on to something. But it's so soon, Gertrude. I think it would be best if she had regular sessions with me and together we eased her up into–"
Monica's voice stopped dead behind Gertrude's stopped feet. The sight before her was something to take her breath away. Gertrude's office had been trashed.
Carcasses of large crumpled maps laid everywhere. On the floor, on the desk, there was even one shoved between the Venetian blinds. Her desk lamp was hanging from the curtain rod by the cord, dangling a foot from the floor like a dead man on a gallows pole. Her expensive Prisma Color pencils had been thrown across the room and now lay sporadically like discarded confetti, though the vandalizer had first taken the time to scribble violently on Gertrude's desk. Chips and streaks of colored graphite covered it.
Man Hunt Page 17