The Hunt

by Megan Shepherd

  He raised a fist to bang on the door, but stopped. The last time he’d seen Lucky and Mali was when he’d abandoned them, unconscious and sopping wet, on a control room floor. There was a strong chance they wouldn’t be thrilled to see him again.

  But still. It was Mali.

  He raised his fist to knock.

  He stopped again.

  What if there were Kindred on the other side too? It didn’t seem likely; Kindred didn’t seem the type to hang around manure, zebra or otherwise. Lucky and Mali were probably locked in some jail or fake world behind that door; they probably needed him. He should knock.

  But again, he didn’t.

  Sweat dripped onto the chalky rock floor. What was he thinking, anyway? Rescuing them from some zoo-themed jail was a heroic thing to do—and he only looked out for himself. Back in Auckland, when he was just a tyke, his dad had taken him aside right before they’d locked him in prison. There’s nothing in the world more important than kin, he’d said, and pointed to the tattoos on his face that told the history of their family’s achievements. Your brothers steal, you steal with them. They fight, you fight with them. They go to prison, you go to prison too. Everyone else in the world can go to hell, but not your kin.

  And Leon’s only kin on this station was Leon.

  Slowly, heart pounding, he drew a zebra-stripe symbol next to the door with chalk, so he wouldn’t mistakenly stumble upon them again. Then he crawled away. He turned one way, then the other, trying to get away from the voice in his mind urging him to go back and help them. He crawled past the next few doorways, sniffing. He swore he smelled campfire smoke, and then later, strawberries, and stopped to make marks next to each of the doorways. He continued crawling down random tunnels, just barely avoiding another cleaner trap. Screw the map. And screw Lucky and Mali and the others. They aren’t kin, he told himself again. He just wanted to breathe some fresh air. Gulp it down, like a man dying of thirst would drink water. These tunnels were so tight. Were they getting smaller? Chalk was getting everywhere. It tasted ashy, almost like something burning. The air had taken on the smell of smoke, not the pleasant campfire smell from before, but like something roasting and rotten. He pressed a hand to his nose, his eyes bleary with the smoke, and took a corner too fast.

  Something zapped his arm.

  A cleaner trap!

  There it was, that thin sparkly line, and his hand right smack in the middle of it. His throat closed up, but no ball of gas came. No flames.

  And then he saw why.

  Just ahead in the tunnel, curled in a ball, was the charred body of some kid who had already triggered the trap—it must not have been reset yet.

  Leon jerked his hand out of the trap’s laser light, eyeing the charred body with a grimace. Judging by the smell, it had been there a few days, at least.

  He crawled closer, shining his light on the body hesitantly. A black kid about his age, arms covering his face. Most of his clothes were too charred to be recognizable, though they were made of a khaki material with a lion emblem on the pocket. Leon nudged a pair of half-melted goggles around his neck. Part of the boy’s skin oozed off, and Leon gagged and stumbled toward the closest door.

  “Gross gross gross.”

  He shoved the door open a crack. Blessedly, it led to an empty hallway.

  Fresh air came pouring in, smelling like ozone, and he gulped it greedily, trying to get the smell of burned skin out of his nose. He should climb out, figure out where he was, deliver this reeking package, and go drown himself in vodka until he’d forgotten everything he’d just seen.

  He started to open the door farther.

  But then he thought of that lion emblem.

  The boy wasn’t far from the door where he’d drawn the zebra-striped symbol. Lions, zebras—it didn’t take a genius to guess the dead kid probably came from the same place where Lucky and Mali were being kept. What if Lucky and Mali ended up in the tunnels too? Would he be crawling over their charred bodies next?

  He slammed the door closed. In the cage, he wouldn’t have hesitated to leave them behind. But something had changed. He had changed. For the first time in his life he had . . . friends. Friends who he’d rather not have die in a ball of fire. And in a way, he realized, his dad had been wrong. Friends mattered too.

  Grumbling, he turned around. He retraced his chalky marks through the maze of claustrophobic tunnels, back toward the door with the zebra-stripe symbol.

  Maybe—just this once—he could be a damn hero.

  13

  Cora

  CORA BLINKED AWAKE TO find herself staring at the dead, black eyes of a deer.

  She sat abruptly, nearly knocking heads with the mousy-haired girl who Dane had called Pika. She was in the backstage cell block. A dead deer lay nearby on the floor, half covered by a burlap sack. Pika absently stroked its snow-white tail.

  “What happened?” Cora pressed a hand to her head. The deer’s blood made her remember other blood—Cassian’s blood—and the gleaming sharp point of the toy jack.

  Lucky swam into her vision. “You blacked out,” he said. “Your nose was gushing blood. Cassian carried you back here and Pika revived you.”

  The girl held up a greasy package that smelled like lemon, before heading to the medical room. Mali took her place, forehead knit in concern.

  Cora sat up, wincing, blinking so her vision would refocus, and looked at the clock. Free Time, about halfway over. The other kids were spread out in groups around the room. Christopher was reading from a dog-eared paperback by the feed bins. Makayla was twisting her hair into tight balls, using the reflection of a metallic wall as a mirror. Shoukry and Jenny played dominoes around a makeshift table. Dane came in with a saw, ignoring Cora, and grabbed the dead deer’s legs. He dragged the deer into the corner, where he began hacking at its antlers.

  Lucky leaned closer. “What happened to you out there?”

  Cora squeezed her temples, keeping her voice low. “I told Cassian I’d work with him, but then I got overwhelmed. There were some game pieces. A jack, the kind with the sharp points.” She remembered Cassian’s touch on her cheek. “I . . . couldn’t stop myself.”

  “You stabbed him?”

  Mali leaned in on all fours, sniffing around Cora like an animal. She gave a flat smile of satisfaction. “Yes. She stabbed him with her mind. This is why her nose bleeds.”

  Cora tossed a look around. The last thing she needed was the whole ensemble knowing her secret.

  “Is this true?” Lucky asked. For a second—just a second—fear flashed in his eyes, as if he was looking at some freakish imitation of a girl, but then he blinked, and his eyes were only filled with concern.

  “Has she died yet?” Dane called from the other side of the room. He kept hacking at the deer. When Cora narrowed her eyes at him, he smirked. “Oh. Still alive. Congratulations.”

  She jerked her chin toward the saw. “I thought they didn’t kill the animals.”

  “Not for sport.” Dane threw his weight behind the saw to break off an antler. “But this one was old. Organ failure. An exception to the moral code.”

  “Why cut off the antlers?”

  Dane wiped a speck of blood off his forehead. “Won’t fit down the drecktube with them attached.” He unceremoniously bagged the deer in the burlap sack, unlocked the tube with his key, and shoved the deer down the same drecktube that Chicago had probably disappeared down.

  Pika sighed deeply. “Poor little deer. It had such a cute tail.”

  Cora pitched her head down. Memories of the gleaming jack and that tug in her mind shot through like streaks of pain. The sound of the backstage door opening came, but she couldn’t bring herself to look up at the bright lights again.

  “She looks sick,” a deep Kindred voice observed.

  She jerked her head up. With her hazy vision she didn’t see more than a tall figure at first, and her head throbbed harder—if it was Cassian, what would she say?—but then her vision cleared. A dark-blue suit with
twin knots down the side. A face with a sharp wrinkle cutting down his forehead.

  “She’s fine,” Lucky said quickly to Fian.

  “I will be the judge of that.” Fian looked around the filthy room, as though one wrong step could get him contaminated. “Come with me, girl. I need to investigate this incident.”

  She glanced at Lucky. They both knew that Fian was on their side, a secret member of the Fifth of Five initiative, but she was still wary.

  Fian motioned for her to follow him into the shower room, which, with its groaning pipes, was the best place to talk in private. He cast one look at the dirty drain and stepped carefully to the cleanest spot on the floor.

  “Why are you really here?” she said, once they were alone.

  “Cassian asked me to check on your condition. He wishes to see you himself, but he thought you might prefer to speak with someone else.”

  “Because of the whole stabbing thing, I assume.”

  Fian only blinked.

  She slumped against the wall. “You can tell him I’m fine. And despite what happened, I haven’t changed my mind. I’ll run the Gauntlet. We can begin training as soon as he wants.”

  Fian pressed a hand against each side of her head gently. She tried not to recoil as he tilted her head up to inspect the dried blood rimming her nostrils. “Your mind needs time to heal first. Four days.”

  “That’s too much time. Cassian said we only have thirty days to train and”—she did a quick tally—“at least five have already passed. The module must be halfway to the station by now. I can’t afford to lose another four days before it docks.”

  “Three days, then. But that’s the soonest. You cannot run the Gauntlet if your mind ruptures.” His words had a ring of finality, but he didn’t leave. Instead, he cocked his head, eyeing her up and down.

  “What?”

  “You still do not trust me.”

  She gave him a hard look. “It’s a little hard to get over the fact that you nearly killed me once.”

  He looked down at his hands and then closed his eyes. For a second it seemed like he was meditating, but Cora had seen this before. The change that passed over them when they uncloaked. Facial muscles easing. Joints loosening slightly. When he looked up again, his eyes were clearing.

  “I’ve uncloaked so we may speak honestly,” he said. Even his voice was different. Not quite as deep, words blurred together a little more. “I’m not in the habit of apologizing to humans, but for you, I will. You need to understand how much we are all risking for this initiative. For you.”

  Her hand drifted to the base of her throat where he’d strangled her, as she nodded for him to go on.

  “Cassian has spent nearly ten human years infiltrating higher ranks, and I’ve spent the last five. He became a Warden so he could find an ideal human candidate. I became a delegate, so I can work from within the Intelligence Council. If we’re found out, we’ll be as good as dead.”

  “I’m risking a lot too.”

  “I know that. Cassian knows that. But the other initiative members . . .” He glanced at the doorway. “Some are less certain of your potential. They want to know specifics of which perceptive abilities you have achieved, and to what extent.”

  Her headache had returned. She started pacing, blinking hard against the pain. “Ask Cassian.”

  “You don’t understand our ways. As a delegate, I may be his superior on paper, but not within the Fifth of Five initiative. We don’t ever question our superiors. Which is why I’m asking you.” He stepped closer. “I don’t need reassurance. I believe in you. But the others don’t know you.”

  “The fail-safe exit,” she said, somewhat warily. “In the cage. I sensed that the exit was hidden beneath the ocean.” She didn’t mention the time she’d sensed Kindred standing behind a panel, or the time she’d read Cassian’s mind. Another thing Queenie had taught her: always keep your best cards close, even with people you think are your friends.

  “That is all?”

  “Yes.”

  He smiled. “I am sure Cassian will be able to further develop your abilities, but in the meantime, the others will be reassured. I will inform Cassian that you will be ready to resume training once your mind has healed.” He squeezed her shoulder a little too hard. “We are on your side. Remember that.”

  As soon as he left, Cora slumped back against the wall. She rubbed her head, wondering if what he’d said about her mind rupturing was true. How far would she have to push it for that to happen? Would the damage be permanent?

  A knock came from the shower room drecktube.

  She stared at the drecktube door in surprise. It was waist high, locked so the wards could only open it a few inches to dispose of garbage. Hesitantly, she bent down.

  “Chicago?” she whispered, feeling like she might be going insane. “Is that you?”

  And then the door swung open, and she shrieked and stumbled back.

  Massive shoulders. Short dark hair. A faded gray T-shirt covered in white, chalky dust. Black tattoos swirled around his left eye.

  “Hi, sweetheart,” Leon said.

  14

  Cora

  CORA CLAMPED A HAND over her mouth. “Leon!” She hadn’t expected to see him again, especially not here, especially not covered in grime. She threw her arms around him.

  “I heard you chatting with your new friend,” he said. “Figured I’d wait for him to leave before stopping by for a visit. Kindred are the jealous sort, you know.”

  “I knew you’d come back for us!”

  The shower room door cracked open, and she swiveled her head around in alarm, but it was only Lucky and Mali, peeking their heads in.

  “Cora?” Lucky said. “You shouted. I thought—” But then he caught sight of Leon. “Holy shit.”

  Mali elbowed past him into the room, her eyes wide. For a second, Cora thought Mali might give Leon a hug, but she just punched at a piece of armor sewn to his shoulder. “What happened to you.”

  Leon rubbed his arm where her fist had made impact. “Nice to see you again too, kid.” He gave Lucky a nod. “All of you. I’ve been shacking up with a Mosca operation. Not bad guys, actually, if you can make out what they’re saying behind those masks. Bonebreak, he’s their leader. Reminds me a bit of my uncle. Likes vodka. Snores too.” He motioned to a wrapped package on the floor that was letting off a smell even worse than the shower room drain. “They’re black-market dealers. They use the drecktube tunnels to smuggle their stuff around the station, and humans are the only ones flexible enough to crawl around in there.”

  “Have you been looking for us this entire time?” Cora asked.

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh . . . yeah. Sure have.”

  “How did you come up through the drecktube?” Lucky asked. “It’s locked.”

  “Not from the inside,” Leon said, but then scratched the back of his head as if avoiding something. “Actually, I, uh, found something in there. Someone. Sort of like a, well, dead guy. Don’t know if he was a friend of yours.”

  Cora and Lucky exchanged a look. “Was he wearing driving gloves?” she asked. “And goggles?”

  Leon nodded. “Charred up bad. He shouldn’t have been down there, eh? Those tunnels are death traps if you can’t navigate them.”

  “He didn’t go down there intentionally,” Lucky explained. “His name was Chicago. The Kindred threw him down there. They do that to humans when we turn nineteen.”

  “If we have misbehaved,” Mali clarified.

  Leon eyed Mali warily, as if he was worried she might attack him again, but then his hand itched at the spot on his neck where the markings that paired with hers used to be.

  “Listen,” Cora said in a rush. “If you can pass through the drecktubes safely, then we need you to do something important.” She told him about the Gauntlet and their plan to cheat it, which elicited a rare nod of approval from him. “But we need a girl for it all to work,” she continued. “Her name is Anya. She’s being kept i
n the Temple menagerie. Short blond hair, about ten years old, missing some fingers. We’re going to have to get her out of there somehow. See if you can break into their backstage area. If you find her, leave a mark with that chalk on the floor here, so we’ll know. Be careful. Don’t let anyone see you.”

  “Tell her that you are friends with me,” Mali added. “She will trust you more.”

  Leon raised an eyebrow. “Friends, is that all?”

  Mali only blinked stiffly, and Leon seemed disappointed.

  “Have you seen Nok and Rolf?” Cora asked, but he shook his head. “Try to find them too. We need to make sure they’re okay.”

  Leon rolled his eyes. “Anything else? Chocolate milk? Gumdrops?”

  Someone drummed on the shower room door sharply. “Cora.” It was Dane. “Get out here. Break’s over. Who’s in there with you?”

  Cora shoved Leon back toward the drecktube. “Go. Quick.” He grumbled as he climbed in. She paused, holding the door open for a second. “It’s good to see you, Leon.”

  He gave a reluctant half smile. “Yeah, sweetheart. You too.”

  She closed the drecktube just as Dane opened the door. He froze when he saw her and Lucky standing so close, and Mali off to the side. His eyes slid over Lucky, tracing the shape of his body as though looking for imperfections. “What’s going on in here?”

  “Nothing,” Cora answered quickly. “Sorry. I’m going.”

  She started down the corridor and opened the backstage door, letting in the sounds of birds and clinking glasses, but a hand stopped her.

  Dane had followed her. “Hang on, songbird. A word.”

  Her heart thudded with fears—had he heard Leon?

  “Look, I’m not blind,” he said, and then nodded back toward the shower room. “I can guess what that was. You wanted to sneak off to be with Lucky, and have Mali stand guard. Well, I can’t blame you—we don’t get many guys looking like him around here. But we’re here to work, and that’s it. Any privileges you had before—to date, to eat when you want, to take long baths—are over now. You gave that up when you failed out of your last enclosure.”