Slave Hunt Page 7

  He was wandering, just, you know—I don’t want to say clueless, but he has this Alice-in-Wonderland expression . . . all kinds of crazy shit can be going down around him, and he’ll be staring around only half-surprised, like . . . Oh this is all so very peculiar. Now lemme drink this potion. You’ve seen people like this? They’re pretty much a step-off-the-curb away from getting hit by a bus.

  Someone like that, you protected him sometimes as much out of exasperation as out of love, you know?

  And I did love him. He was Kel’s slave, but he was my . . . He was mine. I guess is the best way to put it.

  I was straight. I know that sounds like bullshit. But I wouldn’t call myself bi or anything. I understood there were lots of degrees of bi, but I didn’t feel bi. I felt straight. But what I had going with Gould was more than friendship. Don’t know why only him. Maybe because he was kind of like a lot of women I’d known.

  I’d told Kel that once and she’d acted like I was being douchey. But in all seriousness, why would “like a woman” be bad? I loved women. And wasn’t it possible that if Gould had some qualities that I normally associated with women . . . good qualities; I’m talking being sensitive and thoughtful and not running his mouth all the time just because he’s got a dick and a voice . . . that’s why I felt attracted to him?

  Kel said all qualities belonged to all genders, which I agreed with. But . . . for instance, she and I got into an argument a while back, because I asked her if she was drawn to Gould because she kind of pitied him . . . wrong way to say that, for sure. She’d said, “I don’t fall in love with people because I feel sorry for them.”

  Good thing, huh? Because when she’d met me I’d been a pretty sorry bastard.

  All I’d meant was that Kel liked protecting people, and I got why Gould brought that out in her. Because me, hell, I’ll shoot the shit with anyone. I’ve got no problem striking up conversations, telling people what I want, being an asshole . . . I am a class-fucking-A livewire.

  But when you put yourself in a position of being responsible for someone who’s not like that . . . someone who doesn’t give his trust real easy, whose brain is always working quietly but who can’t make himself say what he needs to say . . . it’s a pretty heavy thing when a person like that trusts you. Loves you.

  I didn’t feel sorry for him like he was pathetic or anything. I felt sorry for him because society wasn’t really built with people like him in mind. Which was a shame. People like him were extraordinary. I didn’t say that lightly.

  He was about to walk right by me. How he could miss my radioactive piss-colored vest, I had no idea.

  “Hey, gorgeous.”

  He jerked around. Saw me and smiled. “The woods patrol. What’s up?”

  “You need a granola bar? Juice box? Condom?”

  “Nah. I’m good.” He stuck his hands in his pockets. “What’s going on, sir? You seen anyone get shot?”

  “Nope. Lots of making out, but no shooting.”

  “Yeah, same.”

  I approached him. “I just saw Dave and Kamen.”

  “Together?”

  “Yep. They have an alliance.”

  He frowned. “Dave said he was flying solo.”

  “He said he thought you were too subby for the rigors of competition.” Kel said I liked to stir shit up. Guilty as charged.

  Gould raised his eyebrows, and I thought for a second he was actually offended or something. But then he grinned. “Ohh, Dave. That asshole. I’ll have to give him shit about that when he’s up on the post and I’ve got a gift card.”

  “So you think you’re gonna win?”

  “If you quit distracting me, yeah.”

  “I don’t think you need any help being distracted.” I reached out and carefully took his wrists. Eased his hands out of his pockets. He bowed his head instantly and crossed his wrists behind him. I whistled a little tune and slid my hand down his back. Over his crossed wrists and onto his ass. “You almost walked right by me.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “Didn’t you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I pinched his ass lightly. “What about how bad you wanna get strung up on the post?”

  “Kel told me to win, sir. So I will.”

  “Yeah? You do whatever you’re told, slave?”

  I caught his smile, half-hidden by his mass of hair. “Depends who’s doing the telling.” He raised his head. “Don’t you have some patrolling to do?”

  I kissed his cheek, his hair tickling my nose till I almost sneezed. “I got distracted.” I kept my lips close to his ear. “You sure there’s nothing you’d want a condom for?”

  He fake-gasped. “Sir!”

  “Because I know how we could add some action to this hunt.”

  “You’re such a dork.”

  I grabbed his crossed wrists and squeezed. “Are you disrespecting me, slave?” I squeezed harder. “Saying no to me?”

  He took a step back, narrowing his eyes. I let him go. Kel had been training the hell out of me lately in how to interact with him. She said it sometimes seemed like I was misusing my power. Which I didn’t mean to do. I just liked messing with people, liked kidding around. But I figured this was the kind of thing she was referring to. Gould wasn’t allowed to disobey an order. So, like, even joking about “You have to do this or else . . .” wasn’t fair to him.

  I just wasn’t used to being around anyone this sensitive. Again, didn’t mean that in a bad way . . . but it was confusing. And it was hard to explain, since Kel seemed to know instinctively how to deal with Gould, and I just had to keep trying . . . fucking up . . . trying again . . . Even after more than two years of play, he and I sometimes ended up on completely different pages. And I was the one who looked like a jerk, because I mean . . . delicate flower, big clumsy boot, you know?

  For the first few weeks after we signed the master/slave contract with Gould, Kel had laid into me for everything. I needed to be more specific when I gave Gould orders. I needed to remember to praise him when he did things right. I needed to be able to tell the difference between his fuck-yeah breathing and his freaking-out breathing . . . It was like, Christ. What did I sign up for?

  But then I’d thought about it and realized I’d had to give the same level of attention to learning to submit to Kel. Had to learn how to read what she wanted even when she wasn’t saying anything . . . had to quit thinking about what would get me off, and figure out what got her off . . .

  Same deal here. Except I had to put myself in the shoes of a guy who probably cycled through more thoughts per second than I did in a full twenty-four hours.

  I grinned again to show him I was just fucking with him.

  But he was already smiling. “Guess I am. What are you gonna do about it?”

  See? Same page.

  “Mmm.” I stepped close enough to get him to start shifting his weight. “Bet I can make you pretty sorry.”

  He turned his head slightly. Nuzzled my cheek in a way only girls had ever done before I met him. “You’ll have to catch me first,” he whispered.

  And then he ran.

  Time: 0945

  Weather: Cloudy.

  Nature: White pine. Bur oak. Stinging nettles. American basswood. (Note: Had to pull a blacklegged tick out of my hip. In the absence of tweezers, the head is still buried.)

  Mood: Neutral

  Target: Target fears deep woods and will remain close to open land. Have picked up a trail along the meadow line. Distinct sneaker prints in soft ground. Truncated strides match the limitations of target’s extremely tight pants. Partial imprint from larger footwear found alongside target’s suggests target may not be alone.

  POA: Must keep in mind, having trained target myself, that target has an intermediate ability to plant false trails. See: deep, clear shoe print, versus companion’s partial. Target appears to have halted, and then very deliberately stepped upon soft ground. Will continue tracking toward the eastern perimeter.

 
I USED TO WORK WITH THIS LAWYER WHO WAS ALL “THE END JUSTIFIES THE MEANS.” SHE’D DO WHATEVER SHE HAD TO DO TO WIN A CASE, AND I SORT OF LOVED IT. LIKE, I WANTED TO PUT HER ON TV AS A PATTY HEWES–TYPE CHARACTER. I WANTED TO LEARN HER SECRETS. I TALKED A BIG GAME BECAUSE WHEN YOU WERE AS SMALL AS I WAS, YOU HAD TO HAVE A HUGE MOUTH. BUT I WAS NOT USUALLY VERY RUTHLESS.

  TODAY, THOUGH, ALL BETS WERE OFF.

  MILES WAS A GOOD GUY, AND I WAS GRATEFUL TO HIM FOR SHOWING ME THE WAY. BUT SOMETIMES, WHEN SOMEBODY HAS TINY DOLL HANDS, YOU DON’T NOTICE WHEN HE’S HOLDING ONE OF THOSE HANDS BEHIND HIS BACK AND HAS HIS FINGERS CROSSED WHILE HE’S SHAKING ON YOUR DEAL.

  THE MAIN THING I WANTED OUT OF TODAY WAS PUBLICLY GROPING KAMEN WHILE HE WORE PANTIES. BUT THE MORE I THOUGHT ABOUT IT, THE MORE I REALIZED THAT THE WAY THE HUNT WAS SET UP, THE HUNTERS WHO WERE THE BEST MARKSPEOPLE WOULD ACTUALLY SUFFER IF THEY SHOT TOO MANY SLAVES. BECAUSE EACH TIME, THEY’D HAVE TO TRAIPSE ALL THE WAY BACK TO CAMP, TIE THE SLAVE UP, AND THEN GO BACK INTO THE STUPID WOODS. THERE WOULD ALSO BE SOME LESSER SNIPERS WHO WOULDN’T SHOOT ANYONE AT ALL, OR WOULD ONLY NAB ONE SLAVE.

  THEREFORE, THE HUNTER WHO WON TODAY MIGHT VERY WELL WIN BY SHOOTING ONLY, SAY, TWO SLAVES.

  SEE WHERE I’M GOING WITH THIS?

  ONCE MILES GOT ME TO THE OAK TREE WHERE I WAS MEETING KAMEN, I COULD SHOOT MILES AND KAMEN. IF I COULD WIN THE HUNT BY BAGGING TWO SLAVES, I’D LAND A GROPEFEST PLUS A HUNDRED-DOLLAR GIFT CARD TO A SEX SHOP.

  BOOM SHAKALAKA.

  ALL I HAD TO DO NOW WAS GO ALONG QUIETLY WITH MILES, AND NOT GIVE HIM ANY HINT I PLANNED TO BETRAY HIM.

  WE WALKED FOR WHAT SEEMED LIKE HOURS, BUT ACCORDING TO MY WATCH WAS ONLY THREE MINUTES. THE SKY WAS GETTING GRAYER.

  “THANK YOU,” HE SAID EVENTUALLY. “FOR MAKING THE DEAL, I MEAN. IT’S IMPERATIVE THAT I WIN TODAY.”

  “WHY?”

  “DRIX AND I NEED THOSE GIFT CERTIFICATES. WE’VE BEEN SAVING FOR A VAC BED, BUT IT’S STARTING TO SEEM LIKE IT WILL NEVER HAPPEN. KIDS ARE MORE EXPENSIVE THAN I’D IMAGINED.”

  IT WAS UNLIKE MILES TO ADMIT TO NOT FORESEEING SOMETHING, SO IT WAS KIND OF LIKE HE WAS LETTING HIS GUARD DOWN WITH ME. WHICH MADE ME FEEL A LITTLE BAD ABOUT MY PLAN TO SHOOT HIM. BUT NOT REALLY.

  “WELL,” I SAID. “GOOD LUCK. I HOPE YOU GET YOUR VAC BED.” BUT YOU AIN’T GONNA BE GETTING IT WITH A GIFT CARD.

  “THANKS.”

  I WAS CURIOUS ABOUT WHAT WOULD HAPPEN TO MILES IF HE WAS CAPTURED, SINCE HE WAS INTO HARD-CORE SHIT. I COULDN’T RESIST ASKING: “SO WHAT KIND OF STUFF WOULD YOU LET PEOPLE DO TO YOU ON THE WHIPPING POST?”

  “I WON’T BE ON THE POST.”

  “BUT IF,” I PRODDED.

  “OH, I DON’T KNOW.” HE PULLED HIS CARDIGAN SLEEVES TIGHTER AROUND HIS WAIST. HE LOOKED LIKE A MOM AT DISNEYWORLD; I WANTED TO GIVE HIM A NEON-GREEN VISOR AND SOME TORTOISESHELL SUNGLASSES AND SNAP HIS PICTURE WITH GOOFY. “I’M REALLY NOT MUCH FOR EXHIBITIONISM.”

  EXCEPT I COULD SEE HOW HOT AND BOTHERED HE WAS GETTING. SO I HAD THE URGE TO POUR SOME GASOLINE ON THAT FIRE. “NO? YOU DON’T WANT TO BE UP THERE AND HAVE PEOPLE MESSING AROUND WITH YOU?” I’D ALWAYS THOUGHT IT WAS WEIRD AS HELL HOW KAMEN TALKED TO HIS FRIENDS ABOUT SEX. BUT I DUNNO. I WAS STARTING TO SEE THE FUN SIDE OF GETTING PERSONAL.

  “I FAIL TO SEE HOW IT WOULD BE OF INTEREST TO ME.” HE WAS WALKING PRETTY MINCING-ISHLY, LIKE HE WAS CLENCHING HIS ASS.

  “WHAT IF IT WAS SOMEONE YOU WERE REALLY INTO? DRIX, OR BOWSER?”

  MILES HAD BEEN WATCHING THE GROUND, BUT NOW HIS HEAD SNAPPED UP. “I AM NOT A DISPLAY PIECE. I AM NOT A CLOWN.”

  “I NEVER SAID YOU WERE. I’M JUST SAYING, IF I WERE A SLAVE, I’D BE ALL ABOUT HAVING SOME GIANT HUNTER LIKE BOWSER CAPTURE ME, AND, LIKE, MAKE ME BLOW A LOAD IN FRONT OF—”

  “WELL, IT’S NO FANTASY OF MINE,” HE SAID SHORTLY.

  WE WALKED ON IN SILENCE.

  SUDDENLY, HE GRABBED MY SLEEVE. “SHH!”

  I HADN’T EVEN SAID ANYTHING. ALSO, I WASN’T THE ONE WHO HAD TO WORRY ABOUT GETTING CAUGHT. BUT I STOOD STILL AND LISTENED. PEOPLE WERE TROMPING TOWARD US, LAUGHING. MILES DARTED BEHIND A TREE, PULLING ME WITH HIM. THE TROMPING STOPPED.

  “HARK!” CALLED A WOMAN. ENGLISH ACCENT. “WHO’S THERE?”

  “SHOW YOURSELVES,” ORDERED HER COMPANION, SOUNDING EQUALLY GAME OF THRONES.

  MILES TURNED TO ME AND WHISPERED, “WHY ARE THEY TALKING LIKE THAT?”

  I SHOOK MY HEAD. “I DON’T KNOW.”

  THE WOMAN CALLED, “I CAN SEE YOU, WOODWOSE!”

  I STEPPED OUT OF THE TREES.

  “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” MILES DEMANDED.

  “LEAVE THIS TO ME.” I RAISED A HAND TO THE NEWCOMERS IN GREETING. THE TWO HUNTERS WERE DRESSED IN EARTH-TONED ROBES CINCHED WITH THEIR POD BELTS. “HOLD YOUR FIRE, FRIENDS!”

  “WHY ARE YOU DOING THAT VOICE TOO?” MILES WHISPERED.

  “I DON’T KNOW,” I SAID OUT THE SIDE OF MY MOUTH. “THEY STARTED IT, AND NOW IT’S JUST HAPPENING.”

  THE WOMAN SHIELDED HER EYES. “HAVE YOU SEEN A SLAVE PASS THROUGH THESE PARTS? SHE’S CALLED FARRAH. ABOUT YAY HIGH. YELLOW-HAIRED. SHE ESCAPED US JUST A FEW HUNDRED YARDS NORTH OF HERE.”

  “I’VE NOT SEEN HER,” I REPLIED GRAVELY.

  THE MAN COCKED HIS HEAD, PEERING AROUND ME. “IS THAT A CAPTIVE THERE?”

  “YES. HE IS MY CAPTIVE. WE ARE ON OUR WAY TO CAMP.”

  THE MAN BOWED. “YOU ARE FORTUNATE TO FIND PREY. WE HAVE FOUND THESE WOODS QUITE BARREN.”

  “EXCEPT FOR FARRAH,” THE WOMAN ADDED.

  “YES,” THE MAN REPLIED. “BUT SHE ESCAPED.”

  THE WOMAN NODDED. “CLEVER WENCH.”

  “LUCKY, MORE LIKE,” THE MAN MUTTERED.

  I BOWED BACK. “I WISH YOU LUCK ON YOUR HUNT, FELLOW TRAVELERS.”

  “THANK YOU, KIND WOODWOSE.”

  THEY SALUTED, AND THEN WALKED AWAY.

  “WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?” MILES ASKED WHEN THEY WERE GONE.

  I PICKED BURS FROM MY KHAKIS. “I’M NOT SURE. BUT YOU’D BETTER GET ME TO THAT OAK TREE STAT. I CAN’T AFFORD MORE DELAYS.”

  HE GLANCED AROUND, LOOKING NOT PARTICULARLY CONFIDENT. AND THAT WAS WHEN IT HIT ME. I’M NOT SURE HOW I KNEW, EXACTLY. BUT I WAS AS CERTAIN ABOUT THIS AS I’D BEEN ABOUT ANYTHING: HE DIDN’T KNOW WHERE WE WERE. AND HE NEVER HAD.

  “SO,” I SAID, DRUMMING MY FINGERS ON MY GUN. “YOU DO KNOW WHICH WAY WE’RE GOING. RIGHT?”

  HE HESITATED JUST A LITTLE TOO LONG. “OF COURSE.”

  I RAISED MY GUN. “LIAR!”

  HE BOLTED.

  I MEAN SERIOUSLY, JUST TOOK OFF RUNNING. THE FUCKING TRAITOR.

  I WAITED UNTIL HE LOOKED LIKE HE WAS AT LEAST TWENTY FEET AWAY, AND THEN I FIRED.

  AND MISSED.

  “DAMN IT!” I RAN AFTER HIM. “COME BACK HERE, TURNCOAT!”

  I LOST HIM IN SOME TREES WITH LOW-HANGING BRANCHES THAT KEPT SMACKING AGAINST MY PROTECTIVE EYE GEAR, BUT I FOLLOWED THE SOUND OF HIS FOOTSTEPS AND THE FLASHES OF HIS GRAY UNDERSHIRT. WHEN WE REACHED A CLEARING, I STOPPED AND AIMED.

  BUT BEFORE I COULD FIRE, SOMEONE STEPPED DIRECTLY INTO MILES’ PATH.

  THERE WAS A THUD AND AN “OOF!” AS MILES COLLIDED WITH THE PERSON. MILES STAGGERED BACKWARD AND SORT OF HALF TURNED IN MY DIRECTION, ONE HAND ON HIS STOMACH. UNDER HIS PALM, I COULD SEE A PATCH OF RED PAINT ON GRAY FABRIC.

  “I’M SO SORRY,” SAID A DEEP VOICE. “GOD, I’M SORRY. I DIDN’T MEAN TO FIRE AT CLOSE RANGE. YOU SCARED ME, AND IT WENT OFF . . .”

  MILES LOOKED UP AT THE MAN, AND LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, I’LL TELL YOU, IT WAS PRETTY FUCKIN’ ADULT NALA AND ADULT SIMBA, CAN-YOU-FEEL-THE-FUCKING-CLOVER-CLAMPS-TONIGHT. I HAD NO DOUBT WHATSOEVER THAT MILES LOVED DRIX AND ONLY DRIX. BUT HE ALSO HAD A SIGNIF PLAY HISTORY WITH THE MASSIVE REDHEAD BEFORE HIM. AND IT SHOWED.

  BOWSER GRINNED AT MILES, LOOKING HIM UP AND DOWN. “HELLO, MILES,” HE SAID. “I WAS HOPING I’D RUN INTO YOU.”

  “Relax.” I smiled at the slave who walked beside me—a very sweet woman named Farrah. She had blue paint all over the shoulder of her black jacket
, and she kept pulling her goggles away from her face and then setting them back in place. As she did, she’d shake the sleeve of her jacket down so I could see her blue wristband.

  She was the third slave I’d captured. I’d lucked out and nabbed two friends about half an hour ago, and taken them both to camp at the same time. I’d been on my way back into the woods when I’d seen Farrah and managed a lucky shot when she ran. I could only hope that Miles was successfully avoiding capture. I hadn’t seen him on the posts.

  “What are you going to do to me?” she asked, not for the first time.

  She’d been laying on the damsel-in-distress routine pretty thick.

  “Well,” I said politely. “I’m going to take you back to camp, and chain you up to a whipping post.”

  “And then what?” She had this eager sort of preschool-teacher voice, like she was prompting me for the next line in a familiar story.

  “And then I’m going to pin your cards up.” I was trying to keep our dialogue as nonsexual as possible.

  “And then what?”

  “And then . . . people will be able to have their way with you.”

  She picked her way over a cluster of small white flowers. “I wish you would have your way with me.”

  I smiled again. “My boyfriend and I are pretty exclusive.”

  “Oh.” She sounded disappointed. “So you don’t want to ravish me or anything?”

  “I’ll bet you’ll find plenty of people at the posts who’ll ravish you.”

  She glanced sideways at me. “I like your teeth.”

  “Thank you. I’m a vampyre.”

  “I figured.” We walked in silence for a moment. Her footsteps were slightly uneven, like she was favoring one leg. Her whistle lanyard dangled from her pocket. Finally she said, “Do you live with your boyfriend?”

  I jolted. “Most of the time. Why?”

  “That’s cool.” Another moment of silence. We squeezed through a narrow gap between two trees. “Who’s your boyfriend? Is he here?”