Play or Die

by Jen Cole

  Richard slipped into his car and keeping one eye on the doorway, pressed the numbers for Marilyn’s apartment on the cheap phone. No one picked up – not surprising as Jo would be reluctant to answer Marilyn’s phone, and eventually the answering machine kicked in. Jo should be there right now to hear his message but as Marilyn would hear it too, he decided on a cryptic approach.

  “His people have your new description and are closing in. He’s wearing jeans and a cap, and now has black stubble hair. Stay put until I call.”

  The faded cap appeared in the doorway and Richard twisted around, pretending to be getting something from the back seat. When he turned back, the Hunter was climbing into a Passat parked three spaces down.

  Quickly Richard added, “He’s driving a black VW Passat,” before closing the connection and dropping the phone into his pocket. He risked another glance at the car. Had the Hunter seen his face? The man was starting the engine and checking his rearview mirror. He cast no glance in Richard’s direction.

  When he drove off, Richard followed, trying to keep some distance between himself and the Passat, but the volume of vehicles on the road made it hard to keep the car in sight, and he couldn’t afford to drop too far behind. On the plus side, the heavy traffic also made a tailing car less noticeable, and the Hunter would be concentrating on trying to find Jo.

  Richard noted that while he’d directed his troops to cordon off the northern area, he himself was circling and weaving in and out of streets to the south. Obviously the Hunter was expecting Jo to double-back and was hoping to chance upon her. This made following tricky, but at least he wasn’t travelling fast.

  The thought had barely crossed his mind when the Hunter accelerated through an intersection as the light turned red. Richard, two cars behind, was stuck. He leant out of the window and spotted the Passat turning between two buildings about a hundred meters down the road.

  When the light turned green, he sped to the spot – a narrow lane, and turned into it. Immediately he saw the black car, parked at the far end. It was blocking most of the lane except for a small passage on its right.

  Richard pulled up behind it. The Passat was empty. The Hunter had taken off on foot. Jumping out, he thumbed the remote lock on his keys, and dropped them into his pocket as he ran. From a niche at the side, a leg extended. As he fell, Richard sensed a looming shape before something solid hit the back of his head.

  A splitting headache combined with a feeling of suffocation made Richard reflexively attempt to gasp. He couldn’t do it and panic brought him quickly to full consciousness. He was lying cramped in a dark place, dragging air heavily in through his nose. His mouth was held shut by something wide and strong, which seemed to be wound tightly around his whole head.

  The duct tape, he thought. Hoist by my own petard. He struggled and discovered tape bound his ankles and that his wrists were fastened behind his back. He tried to dispel the panic by concentrating on his surroundings. They were dark, cramped and rocking. He was a prisoner in a car boot – exactly what he’d planned for the Hunter.

  Jo hadn’t been kidding when she’d warned him the Hunter was smart. Was this the end then? Was the Hunter about to drive him off a cliff or leave him somewhere he wouldn’t be found until it was too late? With his hands taped behind him, Richard could reach neither phone nor the knife at his calf, and his struggles only increased the need for oxygen and heightened the terrifying sensation of suffocation. Pain lanced through his head, adding to the surreal nightmare.

  …

  Jo reached the apartment without incident and immediately changed into her cycling outfit. She left Marilyn’s clothes folded on her bed, and was unzipping the bike bag when the phone rang. She started, half expecting Marilyn to enter the room and answer it. The phone continued to ring. Ignore it, Jo thought, struggling to extract the bike from its carry case. Finally the answering machine kicked in and she froze at Richard’s voice.

  “His people have your new description and are closing in. He’s wearing jeans and a cap, and now has black stubble hair. Stay put until I call.” There was a pause and then the words, “He’s driving a black VW Passat.” The connection clicked off.

  She should have known. Richard’s agreement to part ways had been too ready. He must have followed her to the cafe. The open laptop on the coffee table now registered on her consciousness and Jo walked over and pressed a key to wake it up. In the password field she typed ‘Fitani’. Six words leapt out at her. Sorry love, we’re in this together.

  Tears welled, and between guilt and relief, a little spark of hope began jumping. Jo closed the laptop. She couldn’t leave now. If Richard was following the Hunter with the aim of capturing him, it would be a while before he called back.

  She checked her watch. 11.20 a.m. For the first time since the game began, she was at a loose end but dismissed all thought of taking a nap. Worrying about Richard would make sleeping impossible. Instead she threw herself into a tried and true remedy. Tidying up always reduced her to an unthinking trance-like state and this was exactly the kind of mental break she needed. The morning’s dishes were still on the draining rack. Jo walked over and put them away. Then she carefully wiped every inch of bench, cooktop and sink, restoring the kitchen to its previous immaculate state.

  A familiar cough broke through her daze. Turning, she felt her mouth drop. Fitani was wearing the same outfit as before! How could he have forgotten to change? His face was grave, almost haggard.

  “Danny, you look terrible.” She moved into the living room and sat in an armchair. “What’s wrong?”

  The host materialized opposite on the red settee.

  “I have your answer about the H Group. Sorry it took so long, but my technicians could not believe what they found and nor could I. We’ve triple-checked, but it always comes out the same.” He opened his mouth and closed it, for the first time at a loss for words.

  Guessing why, Jo knew Danny’s audience would soon be in the same state of shock. She spoke quietly. “I think I know what you’re finding so hard to say. BEAM’s attempts to destroy the H Group will fail.”

  The host nodded and cleared his throat. “The people running your H Group are nasty, very nasty. Over the next seventy-eight years their increasingly devious and immoral machinations will enable them to take control of your world’s primary industry. As they grow stronger they will worry less about keeping their links and tactics hidden and will come to control first primary industry and ultimately all commerce that matters.

  “In building their power they will use deception, bribery, blackmail and murder, rolling over any who stand in their way. They want the world’s population to keep expanding because more mouths require more goods and services, which means more gold for their coffers.”

  “So you’re saying when my people finally blow themselves up, they will be the only company still operating.”

  Fitani nodded, drawing a shaky breath. “The H Group epitomizes all that is worst in the Ancestors – greed, selfishness and unthinking rapaciousness to the point of influencing world governments to encourage procreation in a world already grossly overpopulated.” His voice faded away.

  Jo prompted gently. “And when the H Group realizes that the world they’ve been exploiting is about to self-destruct?”

  Fitani hung his head. “They will make preparations to save themselves. They will build vast underground bunkers, equipped to house and feed their families and the families of their most valuable servants over the many years of the nuclear winter and its aftermath. The rest of the world they will leave to its own devices.”

  Jo waited. It was not for her to say what must now be said.

  Fitani drew breath. “As I tell you this fact, so I announce it to the rest of my world. The H Group is… The Company. For hundreds of years we have toiled for and given our loyalty to those we have most despised.”

  With an effort he straightened and his voice became firm. “However, I urge my people not to lose faith. I believe that s
hame at the part they played in bringing about The Great Destruction, caused the H Group – The Company, to repent and change its ways. I believe that in saving the survivors and helping us to rebuild our Earth over all these years, The Company has tried to make amends. I urge my people not to lose their faith in our great Company.”

  Jo was frowning. “Danny, what you say may be true, but for your people, I suspect faith alone will no longer be enough.”

  To her surprise, Fitani stood proudly. “Faith alone will not be required. I will soon be able to provide proof of what I say.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “It’s possible because of the blurred areas. They are proof The Company seeks redemption. There is a reason why the blur in every Safe Place has grown so much over the years. Each one is hiding a great gift that The Company Executives have been building for our world.

  “For hundreds of years the Executives have toiled, preparing these gifts to demonstrate their true repentance. Perhaps they are not quite ready to reveal, but for the sake of all, they must now be shown lest our love and faith in our Company be lost.

  “I therefore announce that my team’s programmers have been working on breaking the security protocols of the land surveillance software and are close to success. Soon The Company’s gifts will be revealed and all will know that our savior is as good and beneficent as we have always believed.”

  His speech ended, Fitani turned solemnly to Jo. “I have answered your question and become the stronger for it.”

  Bowing, he disappeared.

  ~~~~

  CHAPTER 45

  The car stopped and as a door thunked, Richard felt his heart racing. A pop, and the boot lid rose. Blinding daylight flooded in, silhouetting the shape of the Hunter. He stood for a second and then bent forward, showing white teeth.

  “Richard Sayers, I presume? Fortunately not as bright as you think, since you fell right into my trap. You should have stuck to selling farming machinery.”

  Casually the Hunter held up a thick metal bar about thirty centimeters long.

  “How’s your head?”

  He tossed the bar into the air and caught it, rotating it back and forth between his fingers before bringing one end to rap smartly against Richard’s collarbone. There was an audible crack and the Hunter chuckled as the duct tape muffled Richard’s involuntary cry.

  “Perhaps you’re wondering how I set the trap.”

  The bar, now vertical in the Hunter’s fist, jabbed viciously into Richard’s thigh. As he clenched his teeth, the other end cracked against his kneecap, and he jerked in agony.

  The Hunter spoke calmly. “I said to myself, if I were the boyfriend, what would I do to save my darling from the nasty Hunter?”

  He reached forward and seized Richard’s lapel, chuckling again as his victim flinched, but merely flapping his jacket open, finding the phone and transferring it to his own pocket. Next he found Richard’s wallet and tucking the bar under one arm, examined the driver’s licence inside and nodded.

  “I’d probably say, this Hunter fellow needs to be put on ice and no doubt I’d then ask my dear darling girlfriend for tips on the Hunter’s strategy.”

  He pocketed the wallet and raised the bar.

  “No doubt my girlfriend, that wily little bitch, would have told me the Hunter liked to send his troops to cover the most likely options, while he worked the outside possibilities alone, and this would have sounded ideal for catching him. How am I doing so far Ricky?”

  The bar circled and Richard closed his eyes, but not knowing where it would land was worse than following its mesmerizing path, and his lids sprang open of their own volition.

  “Naturally I expected you to be waiting for me at the next broadcast point and on entering the cafe I immediately guessed you were the one holding the newspaper so high. I made sure to take a nearby table so you could hear me talking and know you’d found me. I’d already picked out an ambush spot – that handy little alley near this car park. All I needed was for you to follow me.”

  The bar delivered a smack on the anklebone. Water welled in Richard’s eyes and he swallowed the liquid building at the back of his nose.

  The Hunter laughed. “Did you think I hadn’t seen you when I walked out of the cafe? And then what fun we had driving all around Carlton together. Unfortunately I couldn’t allow it to go on for too long. I do have Prey to catch you know.”

  The Hunter held one end of the bar between thumb and forefinger and started it swinging to and fro.

  “Once I’d knocked you out in the alley and lifted your car keys, I opened your boot to stuff you in. Imagine my pleasure at the surprise you’d left me – duct tape! I’d planned on breaking your legs to stop you from escaping, but duct tape allows a more leisurely approach. Far preferable to draw out one’s pleasure, don’t you think?”

  The metal tip caressed Richard’s cheek.

  “I then drove your car to the rooftop of the nearby car park, which is where we are now. They have long-term parking up here, so we’re pretty much undisturbed.”

  The bar snaked down to the broken collarbone and pressed. Richard groaned, rolling back onto his bound hands, and the metal flicked in a quick jab to the groin.

  Tears and mucus filled Richard’s eyes and nose and the Hunter watched silently for a few minutes as his victim writhed, choking and gulping. When Richard finally regained control of his breathing, the Hunter leant forward and spoke in confidential tones.

  “I’ve enjoyed this a great deal,” he breathed. “So much more satisfying than playing with the neighborhood cats. Of course I have to be careful not to get too carried away and kill you – at least before I bag my Prey. The game has strict rules in that regard. Mind you, once Jo’s dead, the game will be over and I’ll take my money and my little plaything.” He gave a carefree tap to the injured kneecap. “And we can have a delightful time finishing our own personal game.”

  He reached for the boot lid. “I’ll let you have fun thinking about that while I’m killing Jo. Oh, did you think I’d be asking you where she was? No need. Though my agents found your house empty at 9.30, I believe it will contain your girlfriend very soon. However, should she fail to turn up, and I’ve learnt the hard way not to underestimate that little bitch, then I’ll be right back for part two of our play date.”

  The boot lid slammed, leaving Richard locked in a sea of pain but thankful to Jo that at least the brunt of the Hunter’s groin shot had been taken by the iPhone.

  …

  Jo paced the living room. Not a word from Richard and it was eleven-forty. He could still be following the Hunter, waiting for an opportunity to nab him, but she had a bad feeling.

  She opened her laptop and logged into Richard’s iCloud account, telling it to find his iPhone. A Google map appeared, with a blue pin dropped on Leicester Street. Jo zoomed to see the street was lined with what looked like the backs of old factories. Interspersed were occasional newer buildings, and a multi-storied car park. A center-parking strip divided the road.

  Assuming Richard was travelling along Leicester, she waited a few minutes before clicking the Find my iPhone button again. The blue pin was in the same place. Could this mean the capture was happening there right now? Was Richard lifting an unconscious Hunter into his car? If so, the phone’s next location would be on route to, if not right at, Richard’s house.

  Jo walked out onto the balcony and forced herself to wait three long minutes before returning to try again. The location point hadn’t moved. What did this mean? Had the detection software stopped working?

  Seriously worried, she began running possibilities through her mind. Perhaps in his struggle with the Hunter, Richard had dropped his phone in the street and not noticed. He could be home right now, calmly binding the Hunter to a chair and congratulating himself on a smooth operation.

  Not daring to call his iPhone for fear of jeopardizing the situation if something had gone wrong, Jo used the online white pages to find Richard’s home
phone, and lifting Marilyn’s handset, called the number. The ring tone sounded, repeating endlessly before she heard his calm voice saying, “This is Richard.”

  “Richard,” she slumped in relief. “Did...”

  “Sorry I can’t answer your call right now. Please leave a message and I’ll get back to you.”

  A long beep sounded. In despair she left a message. “Richard, it’s me. Please call as soon as you get in. I’m worried.”

  It was now close to noon and Jo set the iPhone search software to do its thing again. A message appeared stating the phone could not be located. What was going on? She swore. If only Richard had kept his promise to stay out of it, she’d now be cycling across Melbourne, with no greater concern than where to be for the next broadcast. Funny how worry was relative.

  Finally she admitted to herself that something was badly wrong, and tried to visualize a scenario in which the Hunter had captured Richard. What would he do with him? Given that Richard’s car would be handy, the logical thing would be to lock him in the boot. His dead phone was a concern, but probably only meant the Hunter had found and destroyed it. He wouldn’t dare murder Richard, knowing that doing so would end the game and cause an assassin to be sent after him.

  Richard’s car was probably parked on Leicester Street right now with its unconscious owner inside. What model did he drive? Her only glimpse had been when they’d pulled into his driveway last night, soon after two am. Their headlights had lit up the back of the vehicle under the carport, but in her exhausted state, Jo had merely registered it to be of medium size and dark silver in color. Dozens of such cars were probably parked along Leicester Street.

  It was time to call in the big guns. Waking up Richard’s laptop, she connected to the Internet and opened his mail program. His latest emails had encrypted attachments but it wasn’t the messages she wanted, it was the address they’d been sent from.