out of a pack and lit it.
′′Eric, are we hunting or not?′′ he asked the Viking, letting out a puff of smoke.
′′Patience, Frost,′′ he grinned. ′′Letty will take her pick now, and then we can begin.′′
With a smile on her thin lips, the brunette studied potential targets displayed on the screen and then turned her gaze to the crowd. No one seemed to be looking at me. I hope none of the five deviants were interested in me yet. But before I could relax, the crowd parted before me, and Jason emerged. He grabbed my forearm roughly and dragged me along with him. My knees buckled from fear. Outcast shoved a screaming Snezhana out of the crowd too.
′′These two have an extra minute each,′′ he explained.
I closed my eyes and took a breath, but the relief was replaced by panic. Oh, shit. Shit. Dammit! I'd agreed to run with Simon today. I looked at him questioningly, and he shook his head. No waiting, then. That's noble.
In the woods we split up: Snezhana ran forward, and I, coming across a camera, turned towards the wall. The siren howled. I had to hurry.
After about a kilometer, I realized that I had poorly remembered the way and had gotten myself lost in an unfamiliar spruce forest. I circled around it, trying to figure out the right direction, but no matter where I ran, the wall was nowhere to be seen. There was a clearing on one side, while the spruce forest turned into bushes on the other. Trying to avoid the cameras, I walked along the edge of the trees, staying away from the open space.
There was a small hill far ahead, and I decided to go around it. When I went round an embankment, I had to duck – Armand was in front of me. The hunter drew his pistol and reached for his knife, but his hand froze midway. A gamekeeper in a leather vest stealthily appeared from behind and shoved me with the butt of his gun. I fell down to my knees.
′′Are you sure you don't want this one?′′
Armand shook his head and started climbing up the embankment while the gamekeeper went around me, keeping his sights on me. I closed my eyes. He leaned over and hissed right into my ear:
′′Run!′′
He didn't have to say it twice. I jumped up and dashed across the clearing.
′′Satyr,′′ Sandra's voice sounded in the radio behind me. ′′Stop fooling around and get her away from the wall!′′
′′Don't be jealous,′′ grinned the gamekeeper.
I didn't hear Sandra's answer because I'd run a fair distance away from the gamekeeper. When the clearing and the embankment were far behind me, I sat down for a moment, catching my breath. If Satyr and Armand caught up with me, I wouldn't have to worry: the Frenchman wouldn't touch me – I was too minor a target for him.
The wind was rustling the leaves in the trees overhead, the birds were chirping; as I closed my eyes and leaned my back against the tree trunk, I found myself enjoying the sounds of the forest. Perhaps nature could have cured my depression after the death of my loved ones. However, that would have been in that former life. In the present one, there was only the countdown to my own demise.
A shot rang out in the distance echoed by Eric's contented voice and Letty's laughter. Forgetting the beauty of nature, I ran again. My legs carried me toward the wall. As I jumped over the creek, I landed on one knee. It was sure to leave a bruise, but it was more important not to damage the joint. Sitting on the ground, I carefully bent and unbent my leg, felt the bone, and tried to stand up: my knee hurt in both cases, but it was tolerable.
′′Poor thing hurt her knee,′′ the mocking chuckle of Outcast behind me took my mind off my leg.
I'd forgotten to look around while I was nursing my leg! Not looking back, I dashed back across the creek. Two bullets hit the ground to my right. I fell onto the ground with my hands over my head, and the gamekeeper, whistling and hooting, kept firing at me, and only stopped when a pair of combat boots grew before my eyes. I looked up, already knowing whose face I was about to see. Given my pathologically bad luck, it could only be Jason.
On the other side of the creek, Outcast kept laughing. There were no hunters nearby, which meant that death had once again added to its daily quota of taken lives. Not waiting for orders, I got up. Jason indicated with his head the direction to go and we headed through the woods. Outcast went the other way to help the others. As we walked toward the barracks, I found myself thinking that I would certainly try to talk to any other gamekeeper. This one scared me more than any of them, even more than the hunters. He didn't say a word; I could only hear his footsteps behind me, and in that heavy silence the feeling of fear did not recede. Perhaps it would have turned into panic had I not slipped on a mossy log. Trying to keep my balance I waved my arms but stretched out on the ground anyway, hitting both my tailbone and the back of my head. For the first few seconds I couldn't even get up: my head was buzzing, and the dense crown of trees swirled in a vague circle before my eyes. The figure of Jason loomed over me from one side. I tried to get up, groaning.
′′Don't move,′′ his voice sounded through the humming in my ears.
Or did I imagine it? I followed Jason's gaze, and froze, not because I was ordered to, but because paralyzing fear came over me: a snake had slid out of the grass and onto the log. It came right at me, a large viper! It may have been of average size, but it was as frightening as an anaconda. They say you can survive its bite, but that possibility was not in the cards for me – I was unlikely to find a doctor within a 5-kilometer radius. The viper twisted through the moss onto my unmoving boot and slithered higher up my leg, to my knee. I opened my eyes wide in terror. Either the snake didn't like being stared at, or I twitched and it noticed the movement. The viper froze, rising to an aggresse stance. Keeping my eyes on it, I saw Jason leaning in slowly through my peripheral vision. Enjoying the spectacle? Or making sure the viper would definitely bite me? My neck stiffened, but I couldn't move. The snake's head swayed in a hypnotizing dance. Now it will strike at me, and my part in this game of survival would be over. A flashing movement! A shadow flickered across my face and I barely had time to draw in air. I thought for a moment it was the snake, rushing forward like lightning, but the viper didn't have a chance to attack. Jason had grabbed its head and was slowly lifting it, staring at it. It was writhing in his fist, trying to close its jaws. The tail dangled in agony right in front of my eyes. He must be nuts… was he going to strangle it with his bare hands? But Jason just tossed the viper aside. Was it a twisted form of mercy? Or a tribute to his own kind?
′′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.
