The Headhunters Race (Headhunters #1) (5 page)

“Helping,” he says and follows me.

I see his kill six inches from mine. The heat rising up in my cheeks multiplies when I see that he downed the other two with twin blades that look like a ninja set I had before being imprisoned. I know I should leave it alone. It could be payback for his gesture yesterday, but I whirl on him anyway. “What makes you think you can come in here and steal my prey? These are my hunting grounds. I bait. I wait around all day for something to show up and then you just waltz in and steal it from me?”

He shakes his head, scoffing. “There was no way you were gonna get all three and you know it,” he says, reaching down to collect his quarry. “Dang, Avene, we’re partners now. Look at the going-away feast we can have with one of these beauties.”

He holds one of the rabbit’s limp bodies in the air and grins proudly. I narrow my eyes. “We are not partners. I told you last night I don’t need your help.”

I walk out. I have nothing more to say to a thief. I’m not sure where he got the idea that I need help. I’ve never needed him before. I’ve never asked for his assistance. If anything, I’m the one that has skills and he’s the one mooching. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I realize he’s been stealing from me all along, not just following me. No wonder I didn’t find anything in the past week.

I go back to the darkroom. My anger turns to rage the more I think about how McCoy has swindled me these past few months. He’s untrustworthy and I can’t afford to have him freeloading off me during the race. The least he could have done was ask me about splitting the hunting grounds so we didn’t step on each other’s toes. If he had, I might have felt different about it. About him. But now, I can already see he doesn’t plan to help me. He plans to use me.

People don’t just decide to help others for no reason. That’s what Verla said. She told me up front why she took me in—because she wanted me to get revenge on King. And I was all right with it because it’s what I wanted too. It’s why I let her help me. I don’t know what McCoy wants, other than to irritate me.

When I arrive at the darkroom again, all is quiet. I realize it’s likely McCoy hunted here first and robbed me of whatever bugs or rodents I might normally find. I sit there anyway, just to be sure. After a while of thinking angry thoughts about him and waiting—still nothing shows itself. Not even the smallest of insects.

I walk home, grouchy that I don’t have much except one rabbit to give Zita, and sad about leaving her. I suppose it’s good she established a friendship with Boom. He’ll keep her company, although I’m not sure he can protect himself, let alone her. And I know he can’t fight for slop. Not in his condition. Zita will have to do all the providing while McCoy and I are gone.

I glance at my pouch filled with rabbit, my stomach grumbling, and think maybe I should’ve taken McCoy up on the going-away meal. I pass the Greenies’ cell, glad they’re not in. They must be out scavenging themselves. Who knows when the next slop drop will be? I hope they can manage on their own, because I’ll be gone by then.

When I near our alcove, the air smells of roasted rabbit. McCoy is in the corner, inspecting his blades. Boom is over the fire, turning the spit and talking to Zita, who is laughing.

“Avene,” says Zita, looking up at me. She rises to her feet. “You’re just in time. We’re about to celebrate. McCoy caught two rabbits!”

I swallow the angry words rising up in my throat. “Sorry Zita. I don’t have time to celebrate.”

McCoy doesn’t look my way as I pass into our alcove. I dump my pouch on the table, ignoring the gnawing in my gut, swallowing down the saliva building in my mouth. I drown my belly’s desire for the rabbit by gulping down handfuls of water. Right now, I still have one more task to accomplish before I can work on plans for winning this race. And the sooner I get today’s workout done, the better.

I don’t get very far into Boom and McCoy’s cell when Boom calls out to me. “Please, Avene. Eat with us.”

I want to. It smells heavenly. “I can’t,” I say and walk out quickly. I’ll eat some of our rabbit later.

Time is short, so I head to my special room and spend a couple of hours immersed in exercise. Wanting only to finish so my mind is completely free to think about tomorrow. I have a lot to plan, many things to consider, and I’ll need Zita’s help. When I start running in place, she steps into the room.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hey.”

Her eyes narrow a little, like she’s uncomfortable. “Can I say something without you getting angry? I just want you to think about what I have to say because I’m saying it to help you.”

I nod, but I’m a little nervous about what she’s going to tell me. Mostly I’m scared she’s back on her psychology kick where every once in a while she tries to analyze me and make me talk about things I don’t want to talk about.

“You have an issue with men.”

I can’t help it when I grunt in disbelief. If I do, I never noticed it. Even if I do, it doesn’t affect me personally. “I don’t really see a problem with that,” I say and continue running in place, although I mix it up a little and turn the opposite direction.

Zita sighs. “Well, someday you’ve got to trust them again. That’s all I’m saying.”

I nod. I know she’s mostly referring to McCoy right now. But I don’t really want to talk about this and I definitely don’t feel the need to act on it. Especially when he just poached my prey and didn’t even ask if he could hunt with me. That’s against the hunters’ code. That’s why I can’t trust him.

“You okay?”

I see the concern in her eyes, the worry in the way she hugs her own arms. “Yeah. I don’t want to let you down,” I say, taking the opportunity to change the subject.

Zita shakes her head. “No, Avene. You could never let me down. I know you’ll come back for me.”

I nod. The truth is I’m not sure I know what I’m doing. I don’t know what to expect. I’ve only heard the rumors. I might not make it back at all. When I say nothing more, she leaves me in peace. I’m thankful, and sad.

Two and a half hours later my body is overextended with a debt of exhaustion that I might not be able to recover from. I fill up on water and allow myself a few minutes to rest. Zita is out, probably walking with Boom so that he remains agile. Who knows where McCoy is, but I can guess he’s in some dark corner spying on someone. Maybe me.

I spread out on my bed and think. First about the number of miles I’d like to log in a day. The number will depend on whether I’m hiking a mountain or crossing the desert. I need a goal and decide on twenty miles. That’s eight days travel time. Four there and four back. This leaves one day for hunting Gavin.

Gavin. The last time I heard word of him was after the previous year’s race. A woman from town who was sentenced a month after the race ended said he was still alive and he’d been spotted in Millers Creek. None of the racers that cycle were able to bring him back though, to the town’s dismay. For me, this news was a relief. It meant there would be at least one more race and one more chance at freedom. And revenge. One more chance to kill him for what he did to my mother.

I wake up in the middle of darkness, sweating and shaky. I don’t remember falling asleep. Streaks of light from town illuminate the back wall in our alcove. I sit up and look around while nervous energy rushes through my veins, wondering if someone awakened me or if it was a dream that I was being watched. I listen for any sound, for footsteps, any rustling in the dark, but the prison is quiet except for the occasional chirp of a cricket.

After a moment, I lie back on the ground and stare at the ceiling, still listening, still uneasy. Maybe it was McCoy, or maybe he and Zita have become targets by other racers brave enough to enter our wing. I’d feel better if it was McCoy, sneaking around and making noise, but I can see his feet sticking out in our doorway.

It’s a long while before I realize my mind is not going to let me sleep. I’m eager to get on with the race. To find Gavin, take him to his father, and kill them both. It’ll be ironic since the way I plan to do it is with the very skills King drilled into Gavin and me. Knife throwing. Hours upon hours of practice each day from the time we were six until the very day my mother died.

Hours later, when the birds start chirping, I know it’s almost time to wake up. I get out of bed and change into my special clothes. The ones I’ve been saving for this day: a sturdy pair of jeans and a man’s blue flannel shirt. Underneath I wear my white fitted tee-shirt, depicting a crudely drawn skull. I added the crossbones bearing a set of daggers with a nearly dried-up marker I found a year ago. It represents my mantra for the race: stay away from me or I’ll kill you.

I tie my sheath around my thigh, re-lace my boots with longer and sturdier cord I found on a pair of men’s boots in the goodie two shoes clothing pile, and then gulp down several handfuls of water. I wipe the droplets from my mouth while I pace like a caged panther. A few minutes later I slug down another five handfuls before I remember to fill my water bottle.

Zita leans up on her elbow. “You’re sure you want to do this?”

“I have to, Zita. It’s our only way out. The only way we’ll be free.”

She throws off her cover and leaps to her feet. “Well, we better do something with that hair. They’ll start calling the prisoners out soon.”

Zita snatches our slop container from the table. She fills it with dirt from the corner and mixes in a bit of water. “I’m not sure how well this will work,” she says, stirring it with her finger. “Sit.”

I sit on the ground cross-legged at her feet. She kneels beside me, takes a small lock of hair, and rubs mud all through the strands. The stringy tresses stick together, cold and wet against my cheek. After one side of my head is finished, she steps back and surveys her work. “Nope, this isn’t working. Your roots are still too light.”

“Why don’t you wash her whole head in it?” says McCoy.

I stiffen. Leave it to him to think of dunking my whole head in mud.

“You’re a genius!” says Zita. She grabs my arm and pulls me to my feet. “Help me,” she says to McCoy and I cringe at the thought of him touching my head when I’m a direct competitor. He might send his ninja blade across my neck.

He grabs the sink, half full of water, water I need to drink, and dumps three quarters of it into the corner. “Hey, I need to drink that!” I say.

“You can drink ours,” says McCoy.

Right. I’m not going to drink theirs. He’d love that. Especially now that he’s going to have to hunt on his own and the only way he knows how is by poaching off me.

Zita stops short of pouring in handfuls of dirt. Instead she goes to the fire pit and scoops out gobs of ash. She swishes it around with her fingers, stares at it like she’s not satisfied, and goes ahead and dumps in a handful of dirt anyway. “Okay, bend over, girl.”

I lean over the sink while Zita pours the murky mixture over my hair and massages it in. It’s gritty and gross.

“Hand me that old shirt in the corner,” says Zita.

I’m looking upside down at McCoy while he retrieves the old shirt she uses as her dust rag. She wrings out my hair and then places the shirt over top and squeezes out the excess water. “I wish I had a comb,” she says, flipping my head up and steering my behind back to the ground.

“It’s okay, I can use my fingers,” I say.

McCoy dashes into their room. “Boom has one, hold on.”

I lean my head back in defeat. He’s determined to help me, to make me feel obligated to help him in return, but his niceties aren’t going to work on me.

My head is heavy when I bring it forward again. Zita takes the comb and carefully runs it through my entire head, removing the gritty parts. This time when she steps back, she looks pleased. “Better. Now we need to do something about that pale face of yours.”

Oh, great,
I think. She’ll probably want to spread mud on my face too and the next thing I know that’s what she’s doing. She darkens my brows, uses a piece of soft-charred wood to carefully apply eyeliner, and randomly rubs splotches of dirt over my face and neck. “Well you don’t exactly look like a Greek beauty, but you don’t look like you. You look like someone people shouldn’t mess with.”

She smiles.

I smile back. As long as I don’t look like me. That’s all that matters.

McCoy leans against the doorway. I catch a look of satisfaction on his face.

Boom hobbles in and takes a look at me too, through his one good eye. “That should do it,” he says, nodding. He looks as pleased as Zita. He hands me a hoodie. “Use this and pull the hood over until after you start the race.”

I take the hoodie from him and immediately smell McCoy all over it. “Thank you,” I manage to say, but I’m not planning to use it. If I look as unrecognizable as they’ve made me out to be, I won’t need it.

“You better get to the main center,” says Boom. “Good luck and Godspeed to you both.”

I nod my appreciation to Boom and turn to Zita. “You coming to see me off?”

Zita exchanges a look with Boom. “I can’t. I might be recognized and you’re supposed to be me, remember?” she says with a smile.

Good point. I hadn’t thought of that. She pulls me to her tightly. “You get him, Avene.”