Бекки Чейз
My Stockholm Syndrome
′′You didn't… kill it…′′
I was struck by his expression as he stared at me, as if digesting the fact that I had dared to talk to him. And I couldn't tell if that made him angry. Or was he not even taking my impudence seriously?
′′The snake is a perfect predator,′′ he said curtly, stepping toward me and lifting me up by the collar of my T-shirt.
Interesting classification. I'm clearly lower than reptiles on the food chain.
′′Quadrant two five,′′ the radio on Jason's shoulder came to life. ′′The rat is in the noose. You wouldn't believe how that fatso got himself tangled up in it! You should see it!′′
There was a distinct chuckle.
′′Bronx, stop cluttering up the airwaves,′′ Jason cooled down the funnyman.
Bronx is probably that dark-skinned man. A typical ghetto dweller.
′′Quadrant four-two,′′ Jason looked around, as if he were estimating the distance. ′′Satyr, over.′′
′′Quadrant six one.′′
The roll call continued.
′′Englishman, over.′′
′′I'm in quadrant three one,′′ said a voice with a distinctly British accent.
′′Quadrant four two. Intercept.′′
′′Copy that. Ten minutes.′′
I didn't remember Englishman and got to see him better when he emerged from the nearby thicket, purring to himself. He was of medium height, dark-haired, with a two or three day stubble. He gave off a perfectly ordinary appearance and looked seemingly harmless, except for the mere trivialities of a sniper rifle, a huge number of magazines in his vest pockets and a handgun in his waist holster.
Jason disappeared behind the trees without giving any explanation. The gamekeeper took aim at me and pointed with his head in the direction of the camp. Rubbing the sore back of my head, I headed forward, watching my step to avoid another encounter with a viper. Behind me, Englishman kept humming an unfamiliar tune while I worked my way through the roll call on the radio in my head. The gamekeepers divide the area into quadrants, and there are at least six of them. I couldn't get a mental estimate of the total area, but I hoped the guys could do it if I recounted the dialogue to them. While I was thinking this over, we arrived. Englishman pushed me into the barracks and handcuffed me. I looked for familiar faces. Simon, Barty, and Lesha were already sitting in their beds. The latter smiled when he saw me.
Waving back to them, I rushed to the shower where I spent a long time washing the clumps of earth and cobwebs out of my hair and rinsing my jacket and T-shirt. It was impossible to take them off completely with the handcuffs on, but I couldn't walk around in dirty clothes anymore, my skin was itchy. I tried not to think about the smell. I washed the jeans and put them on soaking wet. They would dry out quicker that way. When I returned from the shower, I saw that dinner had already been delivered. All the survivors had finally been rounded up.
I was reluctant to count the dead, but it happened automatically anyway. The cowboy kept his promise, Laila didn't come back. One of the Germans was killed. Also the big guy with the beard, whom Armand had been eyeing this morning. The curly-haired fellow who had assumed someone would be left alive out of the twenty-five targets. And… Ian wasn't in the barracks.
A grim-faced Simon sat cross-legged on the floor with his back resting on the legs of the bed. Barty was half-sitting next to him, twirling a half-empty water bottle in his hands.
′′I'm sorry,′′ I knelt down beside them and added, taking the bottle away. ′′But you shouldn't. Or do you want to be sleepwalking all day tomorrow?′′
Chapter 3
Simon, Barty and I were lying across the bed so that our faces were covered by the top bunk. A joint from Ian's supplies passed from hand to hand, but we just pretended to smoke. Better to be underestimated. Bending my knees I spread a tattered meal box with a mapped layout of the camp on my hips, blocking it from the cameras. All of my makeup was in the suitcase, pens and pencils were gone, too, but Barty had a box of matches.
′′Here's the creek,′′ Simon said, drawing a curved line with the charred end of a match. ′′It goes right up to the wall and under it. It's impossible to get under the wall, there's netting, and two guards.′′
′′The lookout towers are here and here,′′ I drew two X's on the layout. ′′We have to pick a place between them, wait for darkness, and climb over the wall.′′
′′There's only one question,′′ Barty concluded. ′′Where to wait for nightfall.′′
After marking all the known traps on the cardboard and roughly dividing the area into quadrants, we moved closer to the window. We could see only part of the site through its narrow opening. While the guards were on watch outside, slowly strolling along the barracks, we kept watch at the window from the inside, hoping to learn something new. The surveillance didn't reveal anything new. Throughout the whole day we didn't see any of the hunters. They either lived further up or preferred to spend their free time in the cottages. Outcast hung out near the trailers for a while. After lunch Satyr appeared from under the canopy at the entrance to the camp with a trap on his shoulder and disappeared into the thicket. The woods were being prepared for the hunt again.
′′The guards change every six hours. That makes at least eight people watching us every 24 hours,′′ Barty calculated.
′′I wonder how much they get paid for their silence′′, Simon chuckled. ′′They look pretty well-fed. I don't think they're undernourished.′′
′′Maybe they're killed as unnecessary witnesses?′′ I shrugged. ′′It's cheaper.′′
′′Where would they hide so many bodies?′′
′′Maybe there's a crematorium here′′ Barty assumed. ′′Or a cold room.′′
′′It's costly,′′ Simon disagreed. ′′It would consume too much electricity.′′
′′It's easier to drown them in the swamp,′′ I agreed. ′′There are quite a few on the grounds here′′.
′′Enough with the theories,′′ Barty reached for the map. ′′Let's see what we know about the traps. So far we know for sure about the wolf pit and the steel traps.′′
′′They're not the only ones here,′′ Lesha was obviously attracted by our playing spies and joined in, despite his father's disapproval.
I hurriedly charted everything he told me: the loop in which one of the Germans had gotten tangled yesterday, and the net along one of the glades that Snezhana had almost fallen into.
′′Keeping an eye on her?′′ I winked.
The boy blushed and looked down, not knowing what to say.
′′Come on,′′ I reassured him. ′′She's pretty. And you're a hundred times better than Diego.′′
But either not needing my approval or failing to appreciate it, he retreated, muttering that he needed to talk to his father.
We put the new info on the map and hid it in the toilet in case we were searched.
The next day we were herded out of the barracks as soon as it dawned. The sky was overcast, and it seemed even darker in the woods. Sandra greeted the party with her usual pomposity, and we raced forward followed by the blasting sound of the siren. Simon and Barty wanted to run with me but there were too many gaps in the map so we split up to explore them.
I stopped when I heard the gunshots and turned my head, trying to figure out the direction they came from. I couldn't figure out which way to go, so I crouched down and waited. There was no point in running in a random direction, I could run into a hunter. It turned out to be the right thing to do because I soon saw one of them. Vogue flashed between the trees first, followed by Frost. Walking stealthily, like a cat, the hunter slowly moved forward, gesturing to the other. I ducked, hiding behind the remains of a stump. Both were still too far away to see me. I huddled in the grass, holding my breath and occasionally looked up. They were slowly turning to the right, coming closer, but they still weren't looking in my direction. Finally Frost raised his gun, taking aim. I couldn't see his target, but when he pulled the trigger, his satisfied smile told me that he hadn't missed.
′′With one shot,′′ Vogue nodded approvingly.
′′When has it ever been otherwise?′′ Frost asked self-contentedly, pulling out a cigarette.
Instead of answering, the gamekeeper saluted him with his gloved hand.
I waited until they started moving away in the opposite direction and slowly followed them, not something they'd expect me to do. But I was unable to sneak into the camp unnoticed: one of the nets that wasn't marked on the map ruined my plan.
When I hit the wire, I instinctively threw myself to the side and that was fortuitous. The net opened in flight but it only entangled my legs, pulling them together rather tightly. Twisting, I tried to take it off. The rope bit into my fingers, but I'd rather lose some of my skin than my life. Having broken free, I looked around. No one had noticed me yet, but I was undoubtedly drawing attention to myself by thrashing through the woods like a bear. Unwilling to tempt fate, I ducked and continued on my way, crouching.
Catching movement in the corner of my eye, I darted behind a tree just in time. I was being shot at. I had to run away again.
Gasping for breath, I raced through the woods, weaving through the trees. My heart was pounding frantically as if it was going to explode. Wet branches whipped my cheeks but I ignored them, dashing through the brush. I didn't even realize it was raining and that the grass was wet until I ran into the clearing and fell down. The camera on the pole in the middle of the clearing slowly turned in my direction. Another, on a special crane, came down to get a close-up of my face. I was tempted to give the invisible viewer the middle finger, but it could have cost me my life. This was not the time to play Katniss Everdeen. Not wasting valuable seconds, I jumped up and ran again.
In three days I had explored the area only partially: I barely remembered this sector of the forest. I hesitated at the fork in the trail and turned to the left. I almost fell into the hole of a wolf trap: slowing down sharply, I slipped on the wet ground and fell, inertia dragging me forward. The distance was enough for my legs to overbalance, pulling me into the trap. Imagining the sharpened stakes below, I grabbed at everything within reach and hung on the edge. I tried to get out by pressing my toes into the trap walls, but the rain was making my shoes slip. There was a scream in the distance, interrupted by a gunshot. I pulled myself up again, whimpering in pain: two fingernails were broken and splinters were stuck under the rest of them. ′′Think positive,′′ I was trying to urge myself on. A shot means a hunter, and a scream means death. And that death means that at least one more killer's daily limit is exhausted. It really doesn't take much in this life to become a cynic. Just three days of running through the woods from armed degenerates eager to kill you. Another push and I climbed out of the trap for good, falling on my back with a sigh of relief. I was alive. But the smile was immediately wiped off my lips by the crackling of a broken branch: they were close. The hunters' footsteps were barely audible, but I knew he was among them. He was following me, raising goosebumps all over my skin. I have felt his presence since the first day of the hunt. And here it was again, the quintessence of danger and fear…
There were three pursuers. They were approaching from the right, and there was nothing I could do but go past the trap deeper into the woods. I had hardly run five meters when a bullet chipped a piece of bark off the tree in front of my face and made me freeze. I got the message, I was not allowed to go that way. I rushed to my left, but another bullet stopped me again. I could see the gamekeepers encircling me, but I kept darting from side to side, twisting and weaving. They weren't going to kill me today. They were just trying to scare me, as they routinely do. The circle tightened, and another pirouette brought me too close to one of the gamekeepers. He swung his rifle at my ankle, knocking me down. Well, that was that. This is it. I knelt without raising my eyes, and could see two silhouettes on both sides. The cold metal touched the back of my neck. I couldn't see their faces, but I knew exactly who was behind me, and whose gun was pointed at me. Jason.
′′Freeze.′′
The warning was unnecessary: in his presence I was afraid to even breathe.
With a yank, he made me get up, and pushed me toward Outcast standing nearby. I limped forward, but before I'd gone ten meters, he had me pinned against a tree.
′′You know what the blondie did to get the fat man to let her go, don't you? I can let you go too, if you want?′′ he hissed into my ear with a nasty smile.
I could feel his tobacco-soaked breath on my face. Mixed with sweat, it turned into a nauseating cocktail of smells. The greasy hair touched my cheek. I jerked to the side, but Outcast was holding me tight.
′′Come on, doll, work your mouth,′′ he grabbed me by the hair and tried to pull me down on my knees.
′′Get your hands off me,′′ I gritted through my teeth.
′′Outcast,′′ Jason called out to him. ′′We're running out of time. There are four more to find.′′
The gamekeeper pulled away in annoyance.
′′I'll do you tonight,′′ he promised, shoving me in the back.
I almost ran to the barracks. The rain was getting heavier. Streams of water ran down my face and into my eyes, hindering my vision. My jacket and jeans were soaked through and my boots were sloshing with water. Outcast's radio crackled behind me announcing the statistics: two targets had been caught in pit traps, and the snare traps remained undisturbed. The first thing I did when I crossed the threshold of the barracks was to look for Simon and when I found him, I was relieved: he was alive. Outcast chained me to the wall, giving me a nasty goodbye groping. I broke free from his hands. Simon jumped up, followed by Lesha, but I shook my head: don't mess with him.
′′Wow, you have defenders here,′′ chuckled Outcast and swung his rifle butt at Lesha. The boy jumped back in fear and the gamekeeper laughed again. ′′Pussy!′′
With the rifle on his shoulder, Outcast leisurely walked away and I looked around, counting the casualties. The Nigerians had lost Dayo, her mother was sobbing on her son's shoulder.
′′The fucking prick didn't just shoot the girl, he raped her first,′′ Snezhana shared the details. ′′Yesterday Lila wouldn't let him, so this time he made sure he shot the girl in the legs first so she wouldn't run away.′′
I could barely contain my gagging.
′′Why are you telling me this?′′
′′Do you think it's easy to keep it to yourself?′′ Snezhana sobbed hysterically.
′′So you… saw it!?′′
I threw up after all, barely making it to the bathroom in time. And then I sobbed under the cold shower for a long time, washing the vomit out of my hair.
The gamekeepers kept bringing in the rest of the survivors, and I kept adding up the bloody results. The Russian, Egor, had been killed. The knife didn't help him after all. And another Mexican, Roberto. A Vietnamese couple who irritated us with their wailing. And Barty wasn't back yet, but they were probably still looking for him. We stubbornly pushed away the thought that he was gone.
′′Maybe he fell into one of the traps.′′ I suggested.
But this version didn't bear out. The last to be brought to the barracks were two Germans mutilated by the traps: one had his hand cut off at the wrist and was cradling the stump in a bandage made from a T-shirt. The other was more fortunate, having only a minor injury on his hip. He collapsed on the bed right in his blood-soaked jeans. Barty was still gone, though. After counting the rest of the men, we realized he was sixth victim after all. Could a hunter have broken the rules?
We leaned against the windows, hoping to overhear something, but nobody mentioned a possible disqualification.
′′Maybe he escaped after all?′′ Lesha said with hope.
Dinner was brought in. I hid in the bathroom as a precaution to avoid being seen by Outcast, but he either forgot about the threat or found a better option. After habitually separating the probable sedative-laden contents of the meal boxes, we ate, still not touching the bottles, preferring tap water.
For the rest of the day and the rest of the next, the guys and I discussed an escape plan.
′′If Barty could do it, so can we,′′ said Lesha.
I didn't try to dissuade him. Hope is not the worst incentive.
′′Armand is not a problem for us, he only chooses strong and hardy targets,′′ Simon said with an authoritative manner. ′′Eric and his girlfriend hunt together, so we have to run in different directions and climb over the wall in different places. Our problem is Frost or the cowboy. I can't understand Frost's system, he's more into spontaneity, but the cowboy is only dangerous for you. You're the last pretty girl in the group.′′
′′Thanks, that's reassuring,′′ I grimaced.
Lesha timidly put his hand on my shoulder.
′′I… we won't let you get hurt,′′ he promised, stammering. He blushed when I smiled back.
′′Sweet couple,′′ Snezhana passed by.
Without makeup on her face, she was surprisingly pretty. Or maybe the right mood had its effect. Snezhana had cheered up noticeably since last night when she was reunited with Diego. They were rather quiet during the night, but in the morning they activated the mode of non-stop sex with breaks for meals. Judging by the condition of the others, we were only given tranquilizers after the hunt and the following morning, because by evening the general lethargy usually disappeared. People lay down less and moved around more. Apparently, the hunters preferred cheerful targets.
In the morning we were escorted out of the barracks. Sandra, with a snarky smile, informed us that attempts to escape from the territory would be punished most severely. How, I wonder? Are they going to kill us twice? Then we saw Barty, or rather what was left of him in a clear plastic bag. Someone in the crowd threw up. Simon bellowed and rushed forward. I tried to hold him back. The gamekeepers drew their guns and the crowd went wild. Seeing Jason raise his gun, I kicked Simon under the knee with all my strength. He fell onto the ground.
′′You can't help anyone this way!′′ I vigorously shook him by the collar of his shirt. The only way to get revenge is to get out of here!′′
The gamekeepers made their way through the crowd toward us. Jason roughly pulled me away from the raging Simon, throwing me to the ground and took aim. I squeezed my eyes shut, expecting the worst. The gamekeeper was going to pull the trigger and my friend would be gone.
′′I'm ready to continue.′′
Did that resolute voice belong to the freak from Massachusetts?
Jason put the gun down. I got up off the ground shaking the dirt off my knees, and when I straightened up, I saw the cowboy shifting his assessing gaze from Snezhana to me. I could tell by the greasy smile that Stu had finally made up his mind and that his choice left me no chance of survival.
′′Ready… set… Go!′′
The echoes of Sandra's shout were still in the air when I grabbed Simon's hand and dragged him into the woods. Lesha and his father were running beside us, but Andrei was gradually lagging behind.
′′Don't patronize me,′′ Simon shrugged off my hand. ′′I can manage on my own.′′
There was a loud click behind me, followed by a scream full of pain. A trap had been triggered. I turned around: Andrei was convulsing on the ground, trying to free his leg. Lesha stayed with his father trying to help him get out. The siren wailed. Here we go. After another half a mile, I stopped Simon by the sleeve.
′′Time to split up,′′ I nodded toward the wall. ′′Run.′′
′′Better you!′′ He still hesitated. ′′You're a girl′′.
′′Exactly. That's why you have a better chance of getting out!′′ I countered, forcefully pushing him away.
Simon darted to the side, and I sprinted forward, trying to run, making as much noise as I could to attract attention. Hopping over tree stumps and holes in the ground, cutting through the bushes, I was getting deeper into the woods, veering away from Simon's direction. I stopped to catch my breath, and then ran on again. I ran, and ran, and ran… until a cowboy hat loomed between the trees. Seeing Stu before he spotted me, I dove forward like a fish and stumbled, sprawled out on the grass. He heard the noise and moved toward me.
′′Jason, find out what quadrant she's in!′′
′′No need,′′ a familiar, intimidating voice sounded behind me.
I turned around. Jason was hovering over me, aiming his gun at my head. Stu walked over to me and gave a contented laugh:
′′Speak of the devil.′′
I got up.
′′You shouldn't have,′′ he gritted his teeth in a semblance of a smile, and hit me under the knee with the butt of his rifle.
I cried out in pain and staggered, but kept standing. Stu struck a second time. I collapsed onto the ground with a groan. On my knees in front of him, I thought I wouldn't part my lips even if he tried to strangle me.
′′Keep her in your sights,′′ the cowboy ordered Jason and put the rifle away.
It was out of my reach, but maybe it was worth a try. Stu followed my gaze and with a chuckle pushed the weapon away with his foot. Then he turned back to me.
′′Come on!′′ He growled impatiently as he unzipped his jeans.
Instead of answering, I spit into his fly.
′′You bitch!′′ The slap made my head rattle.
I felt dizzy and nearly fell over on my side. The cowboy took advantage of my dizziness trying to force my mouth open, and I sank my teeth into his hand. Stu squealed, and I, tasting his blood in my mouth, bit down even harder.
′′Pull the bitch away!′′ He whimpered until I leaned back, unclenching my teeth.
The cowboy recoiled, clutching the wound, but immediately ignored it, picking up and raising his rifle:
′′You'll pay for that!
Suddenly frightened, I flinched backwards. I'd run out of time.
′′Don't touch her!′′ Lesha suddenly jumped out from behind a tree and threw himself right at the cowboy.
No! Why the heroics?!? Stu shot his gun in surprise. It looked as if Lesha had hit an invisible barrier: he froze and collapsed onto the ground right in front of me with a blur of red spreading on his chest. The boy blinked a couple of times, and then his body went limp. Tears welled up in my eyes, but I crawled to him and took his hand.
′′Why?′′ I sobbed as I wrapped my arms around the boy's slumped body. ′′You fool…′′
Why, having made the promise, did he have to keep it? Damn exuberance of youth, and recklessness. The teenager turned out to be braver than the adults around me.
′′Now it's your turn, bitch,′′ the cowboy wheezed. The rifle was shaking in his hands, making it hard to aim.
′′The second murder of the day,′′ Jason reminded him indifferently.
′′I don't give a shit if it's the tenth!′′ Stu went into a rage, rubbing his bitten hand. ′′You think I give a shit about your fucking rules? If I want to, I'll shut your fucking shop down.′′
′′You heard me.′′
′′I heard you. Now you listen to me, motherfucker,′′ the cowboy grimaced again. ′′I put my first target down before you could even say the word ′bullet′! Or you think just because you've been put in charge, you can dictate your terms to me? Shove it up your ass! I'll shoot that girl, and if you try to stop me, I'll shoot you too!′′ He raised his rifle, pointing it at Jason. ′′And don't you try to scare me with the rules. I'm entitled to a bit of compensation, after all, the bitch bit me.′′
Taking the gamekeeper's indifferent gaze as tacit consent, Stu turned towards me. I was still on my knees, holding Lesha's hand, brave Lesha who had died for me. I squirmed instinctively and when the shot rang out, I flinched, but I felt no pain. Instead, I heard Stu's desperate screaming. I opened my eyes in surprise: the cowboy had dropped his rifle and was crouching on the ground, holding on to his wounded hip. His hat had flung off his head. Without it, he looked ordinary and unremarkable.
′′As a warning,′′ Jason explained, not lowering his gun. ′′But if that's not enough, I'll put you down.′′
′′You don't have the guts!′′ Stu hissed, grabbing his rifle. ′′I'm the client, and you wouldn't dare! But I can afford to take you out!′′
The cowboy's hands were shaking. Jason waited for him to take aim, then fired again. The bullet entered Stu's eye through the rifle's telescopic sight. The cowboy's body collapsed to the ground. Unclasping my fingers and letting go of Lesha's hand, I began to crawl back. A hunter had just been killed right before my eyes. Realizing that I wouldn't be allowed to live much longer, I continued crawling until my back was against a tree trunk.
Ignoring my attempt to escape, Jason stepped over the cowboy's body, stopped right in front of me and stared up at the camera above our heads. Jason stared into it, not saying a word, until the red blinking light went out, and then he turned his gaze to me. The gun touched my forehead. I squeezed my eyes shut. As bad luck would have it, no prayers came to mind and I kept repeating to myself: it's over. This is the end now. And as I was mentally saying goodbye to life, I heard Jason's low voice:
′′Get up.′′
