“We’re fed,” another voice offers. “We have beds and… a roof?”
“In an ironic way, we still manage to have more than the homeless living on the streets,” someone muses.
“In a less ironic way, our deaths will be just as noteworthy here as theirs are,” another guy murmurs.
“There’s no hope of surviving this experience, is there?” the guy behind me asks. “Like, no hope that someone is going to find us and rescue us.”
Malcolm shakes his head. “I gave up on that hope a long time ago. I don’t know what they’re doing to hide us, but yeah, I don’t see that happening. We’re going to live out the rest of our days here, be that two or two hundred. We’re going to die fighting for our lives.”
Once, I might have made a joke about how dooming that sounds, but that’s my new reality. There’s no escape.
The familiarflipflipflipflippenetrates the quiet room. I’m not the only one who jumps. Not in surprise or startlement, but because that sound incites fear. It’s a roll of the dice on your fate.
“What the hell is going on?” someone mutters.
Feet shuffle around the room as everyone moves to get a look at the board. I wonder what would happen if someone refused to come out of the barracks. Would they be dragged out? Killed right there?
“Three hunts in three days,” someone hisses. “What the fuck?”
“This one is later than usual—why?”
“The game is changing,” Malcolm notes. He’s standing at the end of the bunks. I haven’t gotten up. I don’t want to see. “I don’t know if this is a good thing or not.”
“More hunts mean more of us die more rapidly. I think that’s a bad thing.”
“But is that to clear out their inventory of human game? Are they shutting down? Relocating? Or is this something like… an event for their clients? Maybe a hunting party booked,” Malcolm muses. He comes back and retakes his seat.
“You talk about this disturbingly calmly,” a guy says as he stands where Malcolm had been a minute ago.
Malcolm shrugs. “You don’t live by panicking over why the changes are happening. You live by adapting to them. Understanding them makes adapting easier. Quicker. Understanding your enemy allows you to outsmart them.”
“What’s your conclusion?” the guy asks.
“I don’t have one yet. Not until we figure out if this is a permanent change. If those dying are being replaced or if they’re weeding down our numbers. Not the best answer, but it’ll be a few more days before I have the beginning of a hypothesis.”
“In the meantime?” I ask.
“Rest. Keep our strength up. Survive the hunt.”
“Are you called up?”
He shakes his head. “Neither are you. We get to sit this one out.”
I sigh with relief and close my eyes again. That flipping sound is the new voice of doom. It determines whether it’s your turn for a gunfight without a gun. It determines whether you get to live on frayed nerves, waiting to see who leaves and doesn’t return, or whether you get to be one of the ones running for your life.
Along with the memory of the teenager being brutally murdered in front of my eyes, mere feet away, that one sound instantly makes my stomach roll.
29
VOSS
Azlan Deth hastwo male partners and a female partner. I rarely see their girl, but the guys come around the office somewhat frequently. Azlan mostly because he handles contracts with Myro and Loren. He’s picked up a lot more since Loren has maintained that he’s retired.
His two partners are Wade Parker and Isidro Tatum. Wade is quiet, kind of introverted if I had to guess, covered in tats, and built like a house. I often see Isidro with a smile. He’s a very happy person from what I’ve seen.
I don’t generally have a lot of dealings with any of them. My job is verifying contracts. Not giving them or hearing their debrief. We tried that. That’s not my forte.
Which only lends to the fact that what Dad said is right. What my brothers said is right. This isn’t the best job for me. I’m not a killer. Not the likes that are needed for what we’re about to do.
