The Prey

by Andrew Fukuda

  I continue speaking. “I thought the meats we’ve been eating here were from the farm. Not shipped in. But now it makes sense. At the rate we consume meat, there’s no way the cattle could be self-sustaining. Most of the meat would have to be brought in.”

  But Sissy’s head is turned away down the length of the train tracks. Her jawline ridges out, hard as a granite cliff face in moonlight. She looks at me out of the corner of her eyes, then down to her exposed forearm. At her branded flesh. “I don’t know, Gene,” she whispers, frowning. She bites her lower lip. “Call me overcautious but I still need more.”

  We quietly observe the activity on the platform. More elders arrive. There’s laughter and smiles, their pleasure with the shipment obvious. Already, a few of them are opening the alcohol chests, uncorking a few bottles. I hear Krugman’s laughter lifting into the night air seconds before his face glides into view. He’s gripping two bottles by their necks like a man strangling a pair of geese.

  The girls work en masse in a silent, coordinated movement: lines of them radiate out from the train station carrying containers, while other girls—empty-handed now—sweep in like a returning tide. They move slowly on account of their diminutive feet but their sheer numbers ensure that progress is steady. They will be finished unloading by dawn, noon at the latest. Then the train will be ready to make its return trip.

  Sissy knows what this means. She has to make a decision soon. But her face is twisted with uncertainty.

  “I have an idea, Sissy,” I say. I shift position to face her as I place my hands on her shoulders. “I’ll get on the train. But only me. You and the boys stay here. No, hear me out. I’ll go to whatever is on the other end of these tracks. If it’s everything we hope it is, if it is indeed the Promised Land, I’ll return on the next train back and get you and the boys. Then we all leave here together.”

  “And if—”

  “If I never make it back, you’ll know not to go there.”

  She’s still shaking her head but slower as I finish speaking. A brief hesitation ripples across her face—the plan makes sense, and she knows it. But then she stares straight into my eyes. “No way,” she says.

  “Sissy—”

  “No. You don’t get to play sacrificial hero.”

  “I’m not trying to play anything. Think it through, Sissy. With my plan, you and the boys stay together. Isn’t that what you want?”

  Her eyes waver for just a moment. “We stay together—that’s what I want.”

  “The boys will be fine without me.”

  She places her hand on my cheek. “When I said we stay together, I meant you and me.”

  My hands slip off her shoulder. “Sissy…”

  “I don’t want to be without you,” she says. A breeze flows across the meadows, blowing hair across her face. Her eyes, sharp and intense, catch mine through her windswept bangs. Moonlight swims silver in them. Then it is as if all sound vanishes, the breeze soughing through the grass, the voices on the train platform, the sound of livestock in the train, all fading away. As if the only sound left in the universe is her voice. “I don’t want us to be apart,” she whispers. “Not for a week. Not for a day. Not for a single hour, Gene.”

  My hand reaches out to brush aside strands of her hair. I tuck them behind her ear, and she leans her head into the palm of my hand, pressing her cheekbones against my skin. I pause, thinking.

  She must feel the resolve stiffen in me, the contraction of my pupils. Because as soon as I pull my body away, she reaches up to stop me. But she’s too late.

  “Gene! No!”

  I’m sprinting across the meadow for the platform. I hear her slicing through the grass giving chase. But I’ve gotten too big a lead on her. I bound up the stairs three at a time to the platform.

  “Krugman!” I yell. He’s halfway along the platform. I sprint toward him, crowds of girls parting before me.

  “I’ll get on the train,” I tell him as I reach him. I’m gasping for air and trying to speak at the same time. “But it’ll be just me. The others will stay here and await my return. Only then will we all leave together.”

  Sissy catches up seconds later. “Whatever he just told you,” she says, “it’s not going to happen.” She turns to me now, and anger sizzles off her face. “You are not getting on this train alone.”

  “Just let me do this,” I say.

  Krugman starts laughing, uproariously, his leg stomping on the ground as if pixie dancing. The crowd of elders behind him glance at one another, then start smiling. A few guffaw loudly with Krugman.

  “My, my,” Krugman says, smacking his belly, “I’m caught in the middle of a lovers’ spat! Who knew it’d be so much fun to watch. All so … drama!”

  And then the smile snaps shut, his laughter coming to an abrupt end. The elders also stop smiling, dropping their lips to cover their teeth. Krugman stares at us, his bunched cheeks drooping into jowls. “Fact is, it’s all neither here nor there. Because this discussion is academic. You’re all getting on the train. You read the official Order from the Civilization—you are all to journey there. All of you. Discussion closed. Train should be ready to leave in several hours.”

  Sissy’s next words are spoken quietly and with calm. But the elders jolt with every spoken syllable. “I don’t think so,” she says. “We’re not getting on.”

  Krugman presses his chin inward, and scowls at Sissy. “And what has got your knickers in a twist?”

  She speaks in a near whisper. “I guess it’s out there now, so let me just say it. We have questions about the Civilization. We don’t know if it’s the place you’ve represented it to be.”

  “So I’ve gathered,” Krugman says. He exhales slowly, phlegm in his throat combining with the stink of halitosis. “I’ll try not to be offended by this apparent lack of trust in me. I’ll try not to feel … betrayed—is that too strong a word? No, I don’t think it is—by this misbegotten belief that I’ve somehow lied to you about the Civilization.”

  He spits to the ground, and the phlegm, large as bird poop, is acidic yellow, half-solid, and dotted with tiny bubbles. “After all I’ve done for you, after all I’ve provided for you, this is what I get in return? Not only ingratitude, but suspicion? Come now, what have I ever done to deserve this kind of distrust?”

  “Take a wild guess,” Sissy says, her words cutting into the thick, tense air.

  Krugman smiles, then slowly bends forward to examine her forearm. A slight flick of his tongue at the corner of his lips. “I think it’s getting infected,” he says with a miniscule smirk.

  She jerks her arm out of sight.

  “I’ve treated you like guests in my home,” he says. “But this is still my home. There are rules and regulations that all, even honored guests, must abide by. I’m sorry you chose to run afoul of these rules. But that was your choice.”

  He gazes at the girls with a look of fondness. Their heads downturn as his eyes fall on them, their postures closing inward like sleeping grass touched. “These bylaws and precepts that you have such narrow opinions on? They are nothing more than the blanket that bestows warmth and coziness to this community.”

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t feel a lot of warmth or coziness here,” Sissy retorts.

  “My, my, aren’t you full of interesting comments today.” He snaps his fingers, and a girl approaches with tumblers of whisky on a tray. He downs a shot, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, but roughly, smearing a trail of whisky on his cheek. “Let me give you a small suggestion. You’ve been through a lot, okay. You look tired. Why don’t you just relax over the next few hours? Make the Mission your own veritable Shangri-la retreat. Until tomorrow when you—all of you—depart on this train for the Civilization. So in the meantime, just sit back, stop asking pesky questions, and simply enjoy the rest of your time here in this happy place.”

  “You say the Civilization is a paradise?” I say, stepping in front of Sissy. Krugman’s demeanor is making me suspicious all over again.
I’m feeling less optimistic by the second.

  “Very much so,” he says.

  I pause. “Then I’m confused. Maybe you can help me with something.”

  “How so?”

  “If the Civilization is such a wonderful place…”

  “Yes?”

  “Then I’m wondering why the Scientist chose not to go there. Why he chose never to board the train.”

  The leer on Krugman’s face dies. The eyes of the elders behind Krugman swing toward me, their irises taking on the quality of cold steel.

  Krugman stares at me for a long time. “We’ve been through this already. He was a disturbed man.” His words come out not as a suggestion but as a threat daring me to disagree. “Our mistake was not forcing him back to the Civilization. The man needed professional treatment. He needed to be institutionalized.”

  “Really?”

  “And besides, who can blame him for wanting to stay here at the Mission? Granted, it’s not the Civilization, but it’s not exactly the dumps, either, now is it? A close second, if I may say so myself. A pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, a ray of buttery sunshine. Where singing and smiles and joyful dispositions are de rigueur.”

  “Well, that begs another question,” I say.

  “Go ahead.”

  “If this village is such a ray of sunshine…”

  “Yes?”

  “Then why did the Scientist kill himself here?”

  Silence.

  “Careful, boy,” one of the elders warns.

  “No, I mean, you just said this place was the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. That’s exactly how you put it. So why do you think he decided to hang himself if this village really is so great?”

  Krugman’s words snap out quickly. “Like I said, who can explain the actions of a madman? But he was the exception. Everyone is happy here. Look around for yourself and tell me you don’t see the smiling faces abounding.”

  “You mean the faces tattooed into their arms?” Sissy asks.

  “Well, no, I wasn’t referring to those ones. But we can go there. The girls wear their tattoos proudly; in fact, they love to flaunt their Marks of Merit. They’re like trophies. It really feels like that for them. Notches on their belt marking their dream-come-true ticket to the Civilization.”

  “Seems like everyone wants out of here,” Sissy says.

  A cow in the last train car moos loudly.

  “Seems like nobody particularly cares for this place. For its rules. For—”

  “Enough.” Krugman says.

  “—the elders, the—”

  A movement to my right, an elder taking one step forward, his finger pointing at Sissy. “She’s gone too far! We should just feed her to the dus—”

  “Enough!” Krugman’s voice booms, jowls vibrating, jolting me. The flesh of his face loosens from his skull and his hairy mole bounces on his bobbing chin. The elders tense like a collective muscle around me, like a tightening noose. For a few moments, Krugman sighs heavily, as if with regret at his outburst. But when he whispers his next words, slowly, each word fraught with a menacing undertone, it’s clear that regret is the last of his emotions.

  “You will all get on the train tomorrow. There’s nothing further to discuss.”

  “Oh, yes there is. There’s plenty to discuss. But we’ll discuss it privately among ourselves. Just the six of us. Come on,” Sissy says to me. “Let’s go. This conversation is over.”

  “It’s over when we tell you it’s over,” barks a salt-and-pepper-bearded elder.

  “Let me spell something out for you,” Sissy says. “We’re going back to the cottage now. And we’re going to be left alone. We will decide for ourselves whether we get on that train or not. If we decide not to, don’t worry, we’ll get out of your precious village. We’ll head on out, see what’s out there. But we decide our own path. Until then, the six of us will be preparing and eating our own food.”

  “Now you just hold on—”

  “C’mon Gene,” Sissy says, pulling me along, “let’s go.” We start moving backward. “We don’t want choirs with singsong voices coming to wake us up with a song. We don’t want any food deliveries by smiling girls waving GlowBurns—”

  “You’re a piece of work, you know that?” Krugman shouts suddenly, in a volume and with a venom previously unheard. Something has finally snapped in him. It is as if a totally different person has taken over his body.

  The group of village girls closest to us shuffles quickly away.

  “You should know your place, girl!” Krugman’s ears ring bright red. “You see any other girl interrupting me, you see any even speaking to me, even daring to look me in the eye? You’ve learned nothing,” Krugman says, his voice lower but tense with rage. “One branding wasn’t enough, was it?”

  “If there’s anyone who needs to be branded,” Sissy retorts, “it’s you.”

  Krugman’s mouth drops open. His cheek fat wobbles sideways as if he’s actually been slapped across his face. “You ugly, big-footed, opinionated wench,” he whispers. “You don’t speak to me like that in front of the elders and expect to get away with it. You don’t speak to me like that in full view of all the girls and not face consequences.” And he takes three quick steps toward Sissy, his fat-swollen hand raised.

  I step in front of Sissy. “Enough!” I shout.

  Krugman stops midstride. His eyes are lava pits of fury, the redness spreading into his cheeks. Nostrils flaring, his barreled chest heaves up and down. His stare knifes through me, trying to penetrate through to Sissy.

  “I’ve been playing nice,” he says. “Asking politely. That’s clearly been the wrong approach. But I can be tough. Is that what you want?” he says, glaring at Sissy. “Because Daddy can play rough if you want.”

  And he suddenly leaps forward with frightening speed, bum-rushing me into the crowd of elders behind. Something hard smashes against the back of my head, and my body turns to mush. I collapse on the ground.

  “Gene!” Sissy screams through my haze.

  I hear the slap of skin and fight to regain consciousness. It’s then I see Sissy picked up around the neck like a puppy. Dragged away, toward a train car, fat, hairy arms cinched around her neck like a choke leash.

  “Take her!” Krugman yells to the other elders. “Lock her in the train!”

  “Get your hands off her!” I shout, and I’m somehow back on my feet, charging forward. I grab at the man restraining Sissy and he’s all blubber and liquid fat. I deck him in the face. I feel the crunch of bone, see flabs of fat wobble across his face. He crumples to the ground on one knee, dropping Sissy. He wipes his face and his hand comes away with a smear of blood from an opened gash.

  “Now you’ve done it,” he says and I feel a chill in my bones.

  I kick him in the face, and he falls to the ground nose first.

  A mob materializes in front of me. They are all arms and fists and kicking legs that pummel my midsection. I parry as many blows as I can, but there are too many of them. I get spun around, the air sucked out of me. My vision grays. Arms snake around me, and hands grip over my body, like the talons of a grappling hook.

  From behind me, the clink of blades, a flash of sparks.

  Sissy.

  In her hands are a pair of daggers. One from her belt. The other from the secret compartment in her boot. She twirls the daggers, but it’s not for show. That much is clear from the look on her face. She will do business with anyone who interferes. She will inject lifelong regret into anyone foolhardy enough not to move out of her way.

  Krugman underestimates her. He suddenly lunges toward Sissy.

  She leaps up, her right hand raised above her head. She swings that hand downward as Krugman flies at her; and just as I’m expecting the sickening squish of metal blade into fatty flesh, I hear a thudding clunk.

  Sissy has crushed Krugman’s skull with the handle of the dagger. She came down hilt—and not blade—first.

  Krugman wavers, then his e
yes roll up, whites showing. His eyelids snap shut and he collapses into a heap on the platform. His body wobbles back and forth. He groans.

  Their leader dealt with, the elders quickly wilt.

  Sissy and I make our way toward the stairs. The girls are looking at us with fright, but in a few, I detect a kind of awe in their eyes.

  “He had it coming,” Sissy says to them.

  One of the elders speaks back, his gaunt face pockmarked like a peanut shell. “You’re wrong. You’re dead wrong. You’ll see. Dead wrong.”

  The elders start to laugh. A snicker at first, then a jocular outburst, like a braying that sends shivers down my back.

  “Keep moving,” I whisper to Sissy, “just keep moving.”

  Back in the village square, the streets are deserted, not a soul in sight. Even the cottage windows are shuttered closed, doors shut. Echoes of male laughter from the train platform ring out in the distance, trailing us all the way back to my cottage.

  32

  WE WAIT FOR dawn. Huddled around our packed bags in the room, ready to flee at the first hint of light. Sissy, Epap, and I have drawn up a plan: we’ll follow the railway tracks. On foot. A journey that might take several weeks, if not months, but at least we’ll be free and not trapped inside a train car. We can forage and hunt for food. And once we draw close enough to the destination, we should be able to view it from afar and decide whether to proceed or not. It is this ability to determine our own destiny that sells us on this plan.

  Sissy wants to leave immediately but I talk her out of it. Darkness in the woods would be so dense, we’d be at the utter mercy of unseen dangers. Better to wait for light. And besides, we won’t be able to cross the bridge until it lowers tomorrow. Best to hunker down for now, stay warm, conserve our energy. Sleep if possible.

  Gathered in the hearth, we watch the fronds of fire. Ben complains of thirst. Grabbing a jug, Sissy and Epap steal out to the river, bring back enough water for everyone. No one’s around, everything is quiet, they say. The night deepens, thick with menace. Not a light shines in the village, not even a speck of green light or the flickering waver of candlelight. The night air is thick with menace.