The Hunt - Megan Shepherd Page 0,50

him set up camp in a Mosca safe room.

Like hell, he had told her. She hadn’t run, so he wasn’t going to either.

Now he stroked the zebra’s neck, wincing at its sunken eyes and the blood crusted around its nostrils, and thought of how Mali had said that no one was looking out for the animals but him. He rubbed the zebra’s neck gently, long strokes along the direction of its hair, the same way he did with the horses on his granddad’s farm when they were laid up with colic. The bullet extractor lay on the floor beside him, ready to use. Press it to the wound and in minutes the zebra would be healthy again.

But would it? he wondered. What does it really mean to look out for them?

After all, just having a heart that pumped and lungs that breathed didn’t make an animal healthy. It only kept it alive until it could be shot all over again. Once, on his granddad’s farm, a yearling horse named Newt had been attacked by coyotes. Newt had broken two legs trying to get away from them and blinded himself on a wire fence.

Get my rifle, his granddad had said quietly.

But he could recover, Lucky had said.

His granddad had taken one long look at the horse and shaken his head. Maybe he could survive, his granddad said. But not without suffering.

Lucky picked up the bullet extractor hesitantly. Part of him wanted to toss it away and let the zebra die in peace. That was a cruel sort of kindness, not one a lot of people could stomach, but he thought maybe, if his granddad could do it, then he could too.

A giggle came from the supply rooms, and he whipped his head around. Pika was in there debating aloud to herself whether zebra or giraffe tails were cuter.

Who was he kidding? If he refused to heal the animals, Pika would just do it herself.

He clenched his jaw and set the tool against the wound, extracted the bullet, and took out a revival pod from his pocket. Its waxiness rubbed off on his skin as he set it next to the zebra’s nose. The animal’s nostrils twitched. Then its eyelid cracked open, showing a half-moon of milky whiteness beneath. At last, the animal jolted awake.

“Shh,” Lucky said, pressing a firm hand on its shoulder. “Shh, girl. You’re all right.”

Slowly, its pulse returned to normal.

A sneering voice behind him ruptured the silence. “What next, you going to train it to wear a little saddle?” Dane strode into the cell block. “Bet the Kindred would pay extra tokens to see that. Maybe they’ll transfer you to a circus menagerie. You could be part of the freak show.”

“We’re already in a freak show,” Lucky muttered. “Look around.”

Dane hovered in the shadows outside his cell, smirking. Then he went inside, rooted around a little, and emerged with a small notebook. “Here. A present. Now you can write down all these deep tortured feelings so the rest of us don’t have to listen to them.”

He tossed Lucky the notebook. A few pages had been ripped out, but the rest were empty. Lucky threw it aside, next to his jacket. He didn’t like accepting things from Dane. He didn’t like even talking to Dane. But, right now, he needed him.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“Makayla said you wanted to talk to me, so talk.”

Lucky could hear the note of interest in the other boy’s voice, behind the sneer. Not that he had anything against a guy liking a guy or anything, but Dane would be disappointed if he thought that’s how Lucky played.

“Yeah. Yeah, it was cool of you to switch my work assignment before, and you said if I ever needed anything else—”

Pika came in, lugging a bucket of water for the antelopes and dribbling water all over the floor. Her face lit up. “Hi, Dane! You need a break? You want me to take over making the announcements? I wouldn’t mind. Really.”

Dane looked her up and down. “You? Onstage? The Kindred would probably mistake you for some sniveling little animal and try to shoot you. Too bad you don’t weigh enough for any kind of record.” He pulled out his yo-yo. “And keep your grubby hands off this. I know you’ve been trying to swipe it.”

Pika’s face fell. Her braid sagged over her shoulder, the tip slightly damp. Her eyes went bigger and bigger until she had to draw in a sharp sip of air to keep from crying.

Dane