over.′′
′′I'm in quadrant three one,′′ said a voice with a distinctly British accent.
′′Quadrant four two. Intercept.′′
′′Copy that. Ten minutes.′′
I didn't remember Englishman and got to see him better when he emerged from the nearby thicket, purring to himself. He was of medium height, dark-haired, with a two or three day stubble. He gave off a perfectly ordinary appearance and looked seemingly harmless, except for the mere trivialities of a sniper rifle, a huge number of magazines in his vest pockets and a handgun in his waist holster.
Jason disappeared behind the trees without giving any explanation. The gamekeeper took aim at me and pointed with his head in the direction of the camp. Rubbing the sore back of my head, I headed forward, watching my step to avoid another encounter with a viper. Behind me, Englishman kept humming an unfamiliar tune while I worked my way through the roll call on the radio in my head. The gamekeepers divide the area into quadrants, and there are at least six of them. I couldn't get a mental estimate of the total area, but I hoped the guys could do it if I recounted the dialogue to them. While I was thinking this over, we arrived. Englishman pushed me into the barracks and handcuffed me. I looked for familiar faces. Simon, Barty, and Lesha were already sitting in their beds. The latter smiled when he saw me.
Waving back to them, I rushed to the shower where I spent a long time washing the clumps of earth and cobwebs out of my hair and rinsing my jacket and T-shirt. It was impossible to take them off completely with the handcuffs on, but I couldn't walk around in dirty clothes anymore, my skin was itchy. I tried not to think about the smell. I washed the jeans and put them on soaking wet. They would dry out quicker that way. When I returned from the shower, I saw that dinner had already been delivered. All the survivors had finally been rounded up.
I was reluctant to count the dead, but it happened automatically anyway. The cowboy kept his promise, Laila didn't come back. One of the Germans was killed. Also the big guy with the beard, whom Armand had been eyeing this morning. The curly-haired fellow who had assumed someone would be left alive out of the twenty-five targets. And… Ian wasn't in the barracks.
A grim-faced Simon sat cross-legged on the floor with his back resting on the legs of the bed. Barty was half-sitting next to him, twirling a half-empty water bottle in his hands.
′′I'm sorry,′′ I knelt down beside them and added, taking the bottle away. ′′But you shouldn't. Or do you want to be sleepwalking all day tomorrow?′′
Chapter 3
Simon, Barty and I were lying across the bed so that our faces were covered by the top bunk. A joint from Ian's supplies passed from hand to hand, but we just pretended to smoke. Better to be underestimated. Bending my knees I spread a tattered meal box with a mapped layout of the camp on my hips, blocking it from the cameras. All of my makeup was in the suitcase, pens and pencils were gone, too, but Barty had a box of matches.
′′Here's the creek,′′ Simon said, drawing a curved line with the charred end of a match. ′′It goes right up to the wall and under it. It's impossible to get under the wall, there's netting, and two guards.′′
′′The lookout towers are here and here,′′ I drew two X's on the layout. ′′We have to pick a place between them, wait for darkness, and climb over the wall.′′
′′There's only one question,′′ Barty concluded. ′′Where to wait for nightfall.′′
After marking all the known traps on the cardboard and roughly dividing the area into quadrants, we moved closer to the window. We could see only part of the site through its narrow opening. While the guards were on watch outside, slowly strolling along the barracks, we kept watch at the window from the inside, hoping to learn something new. The surveillance didn't reveal anything new. Throughout the whole day we didn't see any of the hunters. They either lived further up or preferred to spend their free time in the cottages. Outcast hung out near the trailers for a while. After lunch Satyr appeared from under the canopy at the entrance to the camp with a trap on his shoulder and disappeared into the thicket. The woods were being prepared for the hunt again.
′′The guards change every six hours. That makes at least eight people watching us every 24 hours,′′ Barty calculated.
′′I wonder how much they get paid for their silence′′, Simon chuckled. ′′They look pretty well-fed. I don't think they're undernourished.′′
′′Maybe they're killed as unnecessary witnesses?′′ I shrugged. ′′It's cheaper.′′
′′Where would they hide so many bodies?′′
′′Maybe there's a crematorium here′′ Barty assumed. ′′Or a cold room.′′
′′It's costly,′′ Simon disagreed. ′′It would consume too much electricity.′′
′′It's easier to drown them in the swamp,′′ I agreed. ′′There are quite a few on the grounds here′′.
′′Enough with the theories,′′ Barty reached for the map. ′′Let's see what we know about the traps. So far we know for sure about the wolf pit and the steel traps.′′
′′They're not the only ones here,′′ Lesha was obviously attracted by our playing spies and joined in, despite his father's disapproval.
I hurriedly charted everything he told me: the loop in which one of the Germans had gotten tangled yesterday, and the net along one of the glades that Snezhana had almost fallen into.
′′Keeping an eye on her?′′ I winked.
The boy blushed and looked down, not knowing what to say.
′′Come on,′′ I reassured him. ′′She's pretty. And you're a hundred times better than Diego.′′
But either not needing my approval or failing to appreciate it, he retreated, muttering that he needed to talk to his father.
We put the new info on the map and hid it in the toilet in case we were searched.
The next day we were herded out of the barracks as soon as it dawned. The sky was overcast, and it seemed even darker in the woods. Sandra greeted the party with her usual pomposity, and we raced forward followed by the blasting sound of the siren. Simon and Barty wanted to run with me but there were too many gaps in the map so we split up to explore them.
I stopped when I heard the gunshots and turned my head, trying to figure out the direction they came from. I couldn't figure out which way to go, so I crouched down and waited. There was no point in running in a random direction, I could run into a hunter. It turned out to be the right thing to do because I soon saw one of them. Vogue flashed between the trees first, followed by Frost. Walking stealthily, like a cat, the hunter slowly moved forward, gesturing to the other. I ducked, hiding behind the remains of a stump. Both were still too far away to see me. I huddled in the grass, holding my breath and occasionally looked up. They were slowly turning to the right, coming closer, but they still weren't looking in my direction. Finally Frost raised his gun, taking aim. I couldn't see his target, but when he pulled the trigger, his satisfied smile told me that he hadn't missed.
′′With one shot,′′ Vogue nodded approvingly.
′′When has it ever been otherwise?′′ Frost asked self-contentedly,
