The Hunt - Megan Shepherd Page 0,82
and metal. A gun. He counted ten smaller ones and at least three bigger ones, though the drawer went back quite far. He took out one of the smaller kill-dart guns. It was heavier than he had expected. Or maybe that was just the weight of his guilt for not telling Cora about this. But Cora was unpredictable, and so were Mali and Leon. That Kindred-made pistol Mali had stolen was only useful for show, which had secretly relieved him. Cora and Mali and Leon working with firearms couldn’t possibly end well.
He cradled the kill-dart gun in his hand, taking a deep breath. He had no intention of using these weapons against any Kindred, or against any humans either. He kept thinking of that day when he’d been about to heal the zebra and had been reminded of that sick horse on his granddad’s farm.
Sometimes just surviving isn’t enough, his granddad had said.
He put the gun away quickly and closed the panel door. At the time, he had thought of killing the animals as a cruel sort of kindness. One that he’d like to avoid at all costs, if possible. Hopefully he’d find another way to save them. Maybe if Cora did beat the Gauntlet, he’d be granted more authority, and could take the animals away from the menagerie and care for them properly. But in case the worst happened, he’d rather put every single animal out of its misery with his own hand than force them to continue this sick cycle of pain. As for the other kids, well, they could each make up their own minds. If it got bad enough, or if someone was wounded very badly . . . a quick and painless option could be good for them too.
He felt through the darkness for the door, and then was back in the cell block—moving faster now, glancing at the clock—and into his cell. He pulled the door all the way closed. The lightlock clicked on, casting a glow over the crumpled journal pages in his hand. He slid them into his journal and sank to the floor.
Someone was still snoring, but now Lucky knew it was probably just an act. All these nights while he had lain awake, the others probably had too.
He kept his eyes going between the hallway and the clock.
Cora didn’t have much time.
The fox nudged against the bars again. He petted it, a little hard, but the fox didn’t seem to mind, or to notice just how feverishly, in that moment, he hated himself for what he one day might have to do to it.
His mind raced, and he knew there’d be no sleep for him. He grabbed up the journal and the pencil nub, and started writing to get it out of his head.
The others know. All this time, they’ve been protecting us. . . .
His pencil paused. He caught a glimpse in the faint light of the markings on his hand; coding that designated him as a human only suitable for menagerie work.
Maybe Cora is right about what happens after the Gauntlet. It isn’t fair to ask people who have already been through so much to give up a chance of going home. And god, I think about what it would be like, if we did get back. I’d walk into a grocery store and fill up three shopping carts with bacon and Pop-Tarts and soda. I wouldn’t join the army. I’d take over the farm—just me and the horses and the stars. And Cora—if she’d come.
He flipped a page.
But then—and here’s what I can’t shake—why does going home feel so wrong? And it does. It makes me sick to my stomach. The animals, the humans: we’re all marked the same way, might as well be brothers in captivity. I can’t picture a world where we’re free and they’re not. If it comes to it, I’ll do what I have to. But I hope it doesn’t. I hope Cora beats the Gauntlet. I hope she decides to stay.
I hope she decides to build a life here, where we’re needed.
Where I’ll be.
34
Cora
“OKAY,” CORA SAID, AS soon as she and Leon reached the end of a service tunnel. “Ready?”
“Do I have a choice?”
She reached up and brushed a drop of his sweat from his forehead. “It’ll be okay. Put the shackles on me so I look like a prisoner.”
They listened for footsteps on the other side of the tunnel door, and when it was evident that the hall was empty, Leon