Inamorato

by Keira Michelle Telford

  “Don’t test me, Cadet.” The teacher fixes his eyes upon her. “I won’t hesitate to exclude you from the class.”

  “Maybe you should do that anyway. It’s the only chance the other Cadets will have to outperform me.”

  “Your arrogance is unappealing and puerile, Miss Cross. Real Hunters garner the respect of their peers by their actions, not by the sharpness of their tongue. If you want a career that relies on your mouth, I recommend that you relocate to the Fringe District.”

  Laughter abounds.

  The Fringe District, once Old World Staten Island, is a prison district. It’s filled with murderers, thieves, and rapists, and prostitution is big business out there.

  Ella sighs. Last night, she was a dyke. This morning, she’s a whore. She’s beginning to reach the end of her tether with the name-calling.

  The teacher ignores her obvious displeasure and turns his attention to the rest of the class. “You’ll each find a number painted onto your bracelets. Find the Chimera with the corresponding number, dispatch it, and bring its ear tag back to me.”

  “Just one?” an exasperated student whines.

  “One kill, one chance. This is a game of skill, not brutality.” The teacher turns back to Ella. “The first one back will get extra credit.”

  Ooh, incentive.

  Ella likes that. Her muscles are tensed and ready for battle, and she’s impatient to get going.

  The teacher checks the time and sets a stopwatch. “Time begins now. Be fast, be stealthy. If you run into a number that isn’t yours—or an animal that doesn’t have a number—you’ll need to be swift and agile to evade it. Any shots fired against the wrong animal will constitute a violation of the rules, and will result in your immediate disqualification from the challenge. Do you understand?”

  A wave of nods ripples through the Cadets.

  “Kill, or be killed,” Ella mumbles to herself, checking the number painted on her bracelet.

  Five.

  As the teacher releases the class, the other Cadets scatter at great speed, their shadows keeping tight on their heels. Ella, however, remains stationary and surveys the landscape.

  The teacher watches her curiously as she finally begins to walk away, heading casually for a multi-storey building at the end of the street. Her speed implies certainty, not urgency, and both her teacher and McKean are intrigued.

  She approaches the building, taking note of the fact that the main doors are sealed shut. Firing one round to break the glass, she forces entry and shoulders her gun. As she steps inside without hesitation, McKean pulls her back.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” he growls.

  Ella jerks herself free. “I thought you were meant to be a silent observer?”

  “Intervening when your safety is threatened.”

  She looks up and down the quiet, empty street. “Threatened by what exactly?”

  “You’re entering a building without your weapon drawn, and that’s a violation of the Division’s primary safety protocols.”

  Ella looks at what remains of the door, and then looks back at McKean. “You saw this door, right?”

  He nods.

  “And you know what separates us from them?” she continues. “Besides a better sense of personal hygiene and the ability to walk on two feet.”

  “Intelligence and a sense of purpose?”

  “Not what I was thinking of, but okay.”

  “Language? Higher order thinking?”

  “Only some people. I’m thinking more along the lines of opposable thumbs.” She waggles her thumb at him and points at the door. “There’s no way a Chimera got through that. Besides, this is a game of skill, right?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “If I do run into a Chimera in there, and it’s not my number, I’m not allowed to kill it. And I don’t know about you, but I run and jump and dodge much better with my hands free. Get it? I respect Hunter Division policy, but I don’t think the same rules apply in this particular game.”

  McKean sighs, aggravated by her logic.

  She disappears inside and he should be right behind her, but he takes time to punch out a window before joining her on the steady climb up to the roof.

  Twenty floors.

  At the top, Ella is barely out of breath. McKean, on the other hand, is struggling to keep up. A slight limp appears to be holding him back.

  A limp.

  His left leg.

  A bell rings in Ella’s head.

  Of course, he’s one of her papa’s errand boys: the one who fell off the roof and broke his leg while trying to extract her from the Belt almost eight weeks ago.

  He doesn’t look pleased with his charge.

  “What the fuck are we doing up here?”

  Ella looks around, trying to get her bearings. “Surveying the playing field.”

  “It’s daylight. All of the Chimera are going to be seeking shelter and shade, not basking in the crisp dawn of day.”

  “I agree.”

  “I don’t understand you.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  Ella isolates the largest building within the three square mile sector and makes a confident assessment. The low-lying building racks up massive square footage without extending above three levels.

  “There’s safety in numbers,” she explicates. “The Chimera will be drawn to congregate, whether they’re from the same pack or not. And since they’re natural ground dwellers, they’ll be looking for a place with as few vertical challenges as possible.” She turns to mock McKean. “You might appreciate that, too.”

  He scowls at her, still trying to catch his breath. Giving him no chance to recover, she suddenly picks up the pace and races for a fire escape stairwell.

  “What the … ?” He gasps for air.

  “Come on!” she calls out behind her. “You’re supposed to be up my ass, not half a mile behind it.”

  She hops over the ledge while he curses under his breath.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Numbers

  Standing in the entrance to an Old World school—the building she spied from the rooftop—Ella listens to the sounds echoing all around.

  Shots.

  Screams.

  Whoops.

  Inside the school, beyond the collapsed entranceway, Chimeran mutterings roll through the hallways like thunder. Stepping past the threshold, keeping her balance steady on top of all the rubble and debris, Ella resists the urge to take her gun in her hand. Stopping in front of a staircase, she pauses again to listen.

  Bolting out from a doorway at the top of the stairs, a Chimera launches itself at her. Without panicking, Ella waits until the animal is in the air—its violet eyes locked on its target—before she makes her move.

  A sidestep to the right.

  A moment before impact, the Chimera realizes its mistake, but can do nothing to correct itself. Slamming headfirst into the wall at the foot of the stairs, it’s rendered instantly unconscious. Disappointed with the ease at which the animal fell, Ella sighs.

  She checks the Chimera’s ear tag.

  Eleven.

  Not hers.

  Another sigh.

  “There are plenty more where that came from,” McKean assures her. “Like the big, ugly fucker that’s standing right behind you.”

  Ella spins around.

  Nothing.

  McKean laughs at her expense. “Gotcha.”

  Unamused, Ella keeps her back to him and scowls. She’s about to fire up her tongue to lash him with some cruel sarcasm, most likely aimed at his less-than-peak physical condition, but a rumble distracts them both.

  A Chimera, feeding on a dead rat in the gym hall till now, has just caught on to their presence.

  Number eight.

  Ella rolls her eyes. “Fuck.”

  With speed and agility on her side against the lumbering beast, she bolts down a long stretch of hallway. From classrooms she passes along the way, other Chimera join in the pursuit, shrilling to
their companions to let them know that a fresh meal has been found. Meanwhile, McKean, left somewhere far behind, tries to seek out a shortcut to the front of the pack.

  Not that Ella thinks she really needs his help. Ducking and dodging obstacles, diving around corners and making good ground ahead of the Chimera, she pushes through a fire escape doorway and sprints across the playground. Centuries of abandonment has left the tarmac cracked and brittle, opening up gaping holes where determined seedlings have managed to take root.

  Growing trees have expanded the cracks, tearing up huge chunks of tar, their exposed roots ready to trip or entangle. One tree, grown up around an old park bench, has become a twisted work of art. The metal bench protrudes like a tumor from the tree’s lower half, and provides a well-placed stepping stone. Ella uses it to leap up into the higher branches, and quickly pulls herself up into the safety of the tree.

  Her heart hammering beneath her ribcage, she’s pleased with her good fortune. She looks down upon the raging Chimera, all pawing desperately at the base of the trunk. As they shrill, more Chimera are drawn to investigate their fuss, and Ella scans each and every ear tag for the one she needs.

  Absent.

  Resting herself in a ‘v’ shaped cradle of criss-crossing branches, Ella leans back and takes out a pocket knife. Laying the blade against the palm of her left hand, she fills her lungs and holds her breath tight, pressing the razor sharp edge against her skin.

  Her nerves tingling and burning from the sensation, she manages to force back ninety percent of a squeal of pain. A small whine escapes from her lips as her blood starts to drip down onto the ground below, and the Chimera, tasting her—lapping her up—rise into a frenzy.

  Excitement abounding, two more Chimera appear in the distance. They hold their noses up high into the air, the smell of their cornered prey triggering an immediate response from their saliva glands.

  Drooling uncontrollably, they scamper into the mob beneath the tree, clambering over their counterparts to get a better reach on their dinner.

  Finally.

  Five.

  Ella heaves a sigh of relief and draws her gun. She fires one shot between the animal’s eyes before realizing: what next?

  “Shit.”

  Coming to terms with some very obvious flaws in her plan, she has little choice but to sit and watch as the Chimera begin to feed on their dead friend. Checking her invisible watch, she fears that, without drastic action, she won’t be the first Cadet back to base and that her pride might take a severe knock.

  About to embark upon a treacherous climb between branches, maneuvering herself between trees with all the grace of a drunken squirrel, Ella stops dead in her tracks, right above their heads.

  A whistle.

  A ‘here I am, come and get me’ attention grabber from the other side of the playground.

  Ella looks out from the tree and finds another Cadet standing at the edge of the school building, her PP-2000 at the ready. Her ballsy whistle has had the desired effect, and all the Chimera are now barreling in her direction.

  Satisfied with that, the petite Hispanic Cadet bolts, darting around the side of the building and out of sight, the pack of hungry Chimera only a second or two behind her.

  Finding herself alone with Five’s corpse, Ella jumps down from the tree—more relieved than she would care to admit—and tears out the ear tag. Preparing to go and help out her peer, she hears shots ring out.

  Shots.

  Plural.

  Her heart stops.

  She dashes across the playground and around the corner of the building, only to find …

  Dead Chimera.

  Everywhere.

  Against the wall of the building, the bloodstained Cadet lights up a post-massacre cigarette. She’s much shorter than Ella, and doesn’t look very strong. Her upper arms lack the muscular definition of some of the other female cadets—including Ella—indicating that she’s most likely a recent transfer from another Academy department.

  Her calm demeanor renders Ella almost completely speechless.

  Almost.

  “You’re going to be disqualified.”

  The Cadet shrugs. “If that’s the worst that happens, it’ll still be a good day.”

  “Where’s your shadow?”

  “He got a little tied up.” A one-sided smile betrays her mischief. “What about yours?”

  “Lost? I don’t know. He’s not very fast.”

  “Why were you hiding in a tree?”

  “I was following the rules,” Ella defends herself.

  “That’s your first mistake, then.” The Cadet holds out her hand so that they might shake. “Pryor.”

  Ella accepts it. “I’m—”

  “I know who you are, Prodigy.”

  Ella is noticeably riled at the mention of her Academy nickname. “If you know my name, then have the good grace to use it.”

  Pryor looks unconcerned. “You’d better get back to your shadow before you get caught out here with me. Otherwise, I might say you did it.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “Do you know me?”

  Ella doesn’t.

  “Then don’t speak for me.” Pryor smirks.

  Footsteps.

  Hunter Division boots against tarmac.

  Ella turns to see McKean rounding the corner with his gun drawn.

  “I heard shots fired …” His words melt on the air. “Fuck!”

  Ella, despite distinctly lacking any fondness whatsoever for her shadow, doesn’t like to be thought of as foolishly insolent, and finds it hard to bear the look of horror on his face as he casts his eyes upon the corpses scattered at her feet.

  “It wasn’t me,” she insists. “It was—”

  Her own words die.

  Pryor is gone.

  Turning back to the spot where Pryor once was, only the lingering scent of cigarette smoke and half of a bloody shoeprint remains.

  With a heavy sigh, “Uh-oh.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The Game

  Ella, handcuffed once again, is escorted back to base by her shadow, McKean. Five’s blood-smeared ear tag is dangling from her pocket, her hands are covered in the gooey remnants of her righteous kill, and the palm of her left hand is still gushing from its introduction to the blade of her knife.

  Approaching the class teacher, McKean rips the ear tag out of Ella’s pocket and tosses it down onto the ground, throwing her down into the dirt with it.

  “Disqualified,” he snarls. “And she deprived several other Cadets of their chance at success by slaughtering their numbers.”

  Ella, on her knees in the dirt, keeps her eyes pinned on the ground, not daring to look up at the stern face of her teacher, who’s now bearing down upon her.

  “What did I tell you?” He looms over her.

  “I only discharged my weapon once. You can check the clip if you don’t believe me.”

  He reaches out and takes her by the chin, forcing her to face him. “If not you, then who?”

  Ella remains silent.

  He pushes her away from him, disgusted.

  “You’re a disgrace to the Academy.”

  From her periphery, Ella spies another Cadet returning victorious.

  It’s Pryor and her shadow.

  Their eyes meet and Ella glares daggers at her. Pryor looks smug, and she’s carrying a bloody ear tag. As Pryor winks cruelly at her, Ella feels a ripple of anger begin to stir in her core, and it radiates out toward her toes and fingertips.

  Humiliation now, revenge later.

  In addition to a verbal beating in front of her peers, Ella is escorted back through the city under armed guard, still handcuffed. By sheer misfortune, her walk of shame toward the Academy Director’s office is witnessed by a small gathering of Hunters who’ve just returned to the safety of the city after a twelve-hour extermination shift in the Second Reclamation Territory.

  Ella can feel their eyes upon her.

  Yet again, the Hunter Gener
al’s rebellious daughter disappoints.

  Still, refusing to appear weakened by this, she lifts her head to meet their condescending gaze.

  Shit.

  One familiar pair of eyes is looking right back at her.

  Alexander King.

  Somehow, that makes it worse.

  *************************

  Fresh from a bollocking in the Director’s office, Ella returns home with her tail between her legs. Her papa’s still at work, so the apartment is empty and quiet. Running the water for a hot shower, she looks down at her hands. They’re bloodstained and dirty, and the fresh bandage on her palm is already soaked through.

  She sheds her clothes and lets her hair loose, stepping into the scalding downpour for more punishment. Here, she’s free to cry without ever letting it show. Not even the bathroom mirror can tell the difference between her tears and the distracting mimics surrounding them.

  Hours later, too subdued to eat, Ella is lying in her bed, tucked up in the sheets. Darkness has fallen, and the only light in her room is the faint glow of her cell phone on the bedside table.

  The front door of the apartment opens and shuts.

  Papa.

  Ella counts his footsteps down the hall, knowing precisely at which footfall the fateful knock will ring out against her door.

  Rat-a-tat-tat.

  “Ella? Are you still awake?”

  Already, she can hear the disappointment in his voice. Not a hint of anger or frustration, just sadness and displeasure. Even though she doesn’t answer him, he can sense her despondent insomnia oozing through the walls and he pushes the door open.

  Silently, he enters her room and sits upon the edge of her bed. From the hallway light spilling over the bed sheets and over her pale face, he can see that she’s awake, and she can see the blood of today’s victory upon his clothes, and the crusty leftovers of it beneath his nails.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” she mumbles.

  “If you deny it, then why not name the culprit?”

  Ella shakes her head. “I can’t. That’d just make things worse.”

  “Worse than being suspended from classes for a whole month?”

  “I can work with a private tutor to make up for the missed time.”