I peer into the box to see a pile of white fluffy fabric. When I snatch a handful, I realize the box is full of white romper suits. Adult-sized. A sort of Easter Bunny playsuit.
If not for the context, it might be cute. There are even bunny-ear headbands.
I’m not a huge fan of the Easter Bunny, but the fabric seems thick, and I’m so fucking cold that hypothermia is now a legitimate concern.
The romper in my shaking fist is pink in places, but I try not to think about why that might be so. Perhaps a previous wearer spilled blackcurrant juice.Yeah.That’s the story I’m going with.
The brunette grabs a suit too. She avoids my eyes as she pulls it on. I sigh with relief when the thick fabric warms my skin afraction. It’s scratchy as hell but surprisingly warm. There are no shoes, so I’m stuck wearing one sneaker.
Two of the women don’t move from their spots on the floor, still catatonic. In shock perhaps. Aware that time is ticking, I hurry over and bend down to try talking to one of them, but she stares blankly into space. Not even my shaking her has any effect. It’s like she’s mentally checked out.
I feel bad for her, but maybe the man in the camo gear will realize they need medical help.
Right on time, he returns with three other men. We’re hustled outside into a large stone courtyard. Thick walls and turrets loom over us. There’s a flagpole on top of one tower, where a fabric square bearing a heraldic coat of arms flaps in the stiff breeze.
I peer at it, trying to figure out what the symbols mean. There’s a dragon, a shield, and a pair of swords. It looks like something from a Harry Potter book. Is the owner of this castle a member of the aristocracy? I guess it would make sense in a twisted way. Rich men from the upper classes have a long history of committing debauched acts.
We’re all herded onto a flatbed truck, each of us wearing a rabbit suit. Several men carrying automatic weapons stand around, their breath steaming in the early morning air.
The sun’s barely risen over the mountains that surround the castle. When I peer through the gates, there are trees on my left and desolate moorland to my right. No buildings. Just vast open space as far as the eye can see, overlooked by towering, snow-capped peaks.
“Listen up, little bunnies,” the man in charge says in a thick accent. Several of the surrounding women are sobbing, which makes it hard to hear him, but I do my best. Unless I figure out what the fuck is happening, I have no chance of escaping.
It sounds like this is a game, albeit a sick one. Most likely a game heavily skewed in favor of the hunters, who’ll have guns, but perhaps if I can evade capture, I can find a way out of this place. Surely there must be a road somewhere nearby? Not to the right, but through the trees maybe?
“We will drop you off at various locations. If you’re smart, you might escape the hunters. If not…” The man makes a throat-cutting gesture, which triggers a few horrified gasps. I note the brunette next to me remains quiet. She seems to understand the rules of the game.
“Have you been here before?” I whisper.
“No, but I know a guy who bought into the game last year.” The hopelessness in her eyes tells me the outcome isn’t anything either of us wants, but I refuse to give up.
My nails dig into my palms, drawing blood. The pain helps sharpen my mind. I’m not exactly fit, but multiple gym sessions with Kane have improved my strength and endurance. There’s no way I can outrun a super fit man, but if I can stay out of sight, there’s a chance I might survive this.
“Do we stand a chance?” I ask while the man turns away to talk to one of his team.
“Nope. These fuckers pay a fortune to hunt us. They expect to draw blood. It’s a major selling point.” My heart beats frantically as a wave of terror hits me; it’s a wonder my chest doesn’t explode.
Footsteps crunch across the frosty gravel. I half turn to see a tall figure wearing a thick camel coat and leather gloves. His perfectly coiffed hair and stylish attire put him at odds with the men wearing fatigues and carrying guns. But they all lower their eyes as he scans the yard.
“Ladies.” A cut-glass English accent grates like nails on a chalkboard. Once again, I hear a faint note of something coarserhiding in plain sight. “Welcome to our annual Hunt. May the Lord be with you on this fine day.”
The sun disappears behind a thick cloud. Fine speckles of snow float down from an iron-gray sky. I watch as they collect on the posh man’s shoulders like dandruff.
“Sick fucker!” A sharp feminine yell makes me jump in surprise. I wasn’t expecting anyone to dare challenge the man. A woman with bleached, roughly chopped hair screams when a guard yanks her out of the truck by her hair. She tumbles to the floor and cries out in pain. The guard kicks her once, twice, and then a third time for good measure before the older guy with the buzz cut shouts at him to stop.
The woman’s muffled sobs cut through the cold air, echoing off the granite walls behind us.
“Enough!” the man in the camel coat barks. “Now let’s begin.” He gestures at whoever’s driving the truck. The engine roars to life, pumping out pungent diesel fumes that make me want to vomit.
Two guards lift the crying woman and throw her back into the truck. Scarlet blood stains her white bunny suit from where the guard cut her lip.
I make a move to comfort her, but the brunette stops me. She leans in close enough that I can smell her sour breath.
“It’s every woman for herself, girl,” she says in a low voice. “Helping someone will get you killed. When they drop you off, ditch the bunny suit and find a hiding place until it gets dark. Then go west until you reach the wall. If you get that far, you might survive.”
I hope she’s right.
6
