The Hunt (The Hunt 1)

“What is it?” David asks. Now they’re all turning to look at me.

I thump the deck with all my might. And I hear it again, the sound of dislodgment. Of something secreted under the boat, hid- den from unwanted eyes. A lump suddenly forms in my throat as I realise something.

“Gene?” Sissy says. “What’s going on?” I look at her with dazed eyes.

“Gene?”

“I think something is under this boat,” I say. And now everyone’s staring at me. “

It’s been under our noses this whole time.”

Ben studies the deck, confused. “Where? I don’t see anything.” “The only place a hunter wouldn’t think – wouldn’t dare –

look,” I say. “Underwater.”

Diving into the river is like cracking through the face of a mirror. And as welcoming; it’s all shards of cold that slash and cut my bare skin. My lungs contract to the size of marbles. I surface, gasping for air. The current is a beast. Although a rope is looped around my chest in the off chance – not so off, I now realise – that I might get swept away, it offers little comfort. I immediately grab the side of the boat. I allow myself a few seconds to get used to the cold, then duck under.

For grip, I wedge my fingers between the wooden planks of the deck. My legs go flying with the current, pulling me parallel with the boat. I’m like a flag flailing in high wind. Sunlight pours between the planks, thin slats of light cutting downward in the murky waters. It’s eerily quiet down here, just a deep mournful humming broken up by the occasional swishing sound. My eyes dart around, trying to find something, anything, out of the ordinary.

There. A boxed compartment, jutting from the boat’s dead centre. Carefully, I allow my body to drift towards it until I’m wrap- ping my arms around it, thankful for the support. A metal latch,

rusted over, hangs on the underside. It doesn’t give on my initial pull. I yank it and the whole underside swings open.

A large slab of stone tumbles out, hitting me on the back of the head. The pain is numbing and disorienting. I make a quick, blind grab for the tablet as it slides down my body. But I’m too late. The tablet slides down my legs, bounces off my left shin, and fades into the murky depths.

Lungs bursting, I spin around until I’m crouched upside down, feet planted on the underside of the boat. It’s now or never. One chance to make a dive for the tablet before it descends past the point of retrieval. I kick off the bottom of the boat. My body mis- siles downward, into darkness, into the cold.

A fraction of a second before the rope looped around me pulls taut, my fingertips touch stone. I grab it. Then I’m bounced up as if on a bungee cord, the force of it almost dislodging the tablet from my hands. I cradle the tablet against my bare chest, feel grooved lettering engraved into it.

I surface out of the water in a spray of white, my body reduced to one gigantic mouth gasping for air. Epap and David see the tablet and pry it from my tired arms. They leave me in the water, clinging to the side, barely able to hang on.

By the time I heave myself onboard, my body flopping wet and heavy, they’ve all huddled around the tablet. Heads pressed together and angled, they’re reading the words chiselled into stone:

STAY ON THE RIVER.

– The Scientist

Their mouths are cracking open. A chorus of giggles and laugh- ter leaks, then bays out. They are all smiles and astonishment and delirium.

“I told you! I told you! I told you!” Ben is shouting, slapping ev- eryone on the back. “He’d planned this all along!”

Sissy is standing, hands clasped to her mouth, her eyebrows arched high, tears brimming in her eyes.

“I knew he’d come through for us!” Jacob shouts. “The Promised Land! He’s leading us to the Promised Land. Of Milk and Honey, Fruit and Sunshine!”

Sissy’s face breaks into a smile that almost feels like physical warmth. Her eyes close in relief. “How did you know the tablet was under us, Gene?” she asks.

I pause before speaking. My father would often play treasure- hunt games when I was a toddler, leaving me clues around the house. I remember how flustered I’d become, unable to find the clues I knew were there. He’d force me to slow down, take deep breaths, survey the scene with equanimity. He’d say: You’re looking but not seeing. The answer is right under your nose. And almost inevitably, once I calmed down, I’d find the clue wedged between cracks in the floor, laid between the pages of a book I’d been holding the whole time, or placed in my very own pocket.

But I don’t tell them any of this. “I was just lucky, I guess,” I an- swer. I start to shiver, the wind gusting blades of ice into my body. I’m only wearing underwear, having taken off my clothes before diving in.

One of the hepers says something; a burst of communal laughter follows. Sissy rejoins them, clapping her hands. So much emotion genuflecting off them.

I walk into the cabin where I’ve left my clothes in a pile. I strip off my underwear, wring it with shivering hands and arms. I can still hear them guffawing, their eruptions of laughter hee-hawing back and forth. I don’t understand why they have to so demonstrably display what they’re feeling. Can’t they simply feel their emotions without needing to project them? Maybe captivity has stunted

them, rendered them incapable of intuiting another’s emotions un- less it’s spelled out for them in a vomit of colours.

They start giggling now, talking about the Scientist this, the Sci- entist that. This is the confirmation they’ve been looking for. The sign that the Scientist never left them, or betrayed them, that he is in fact waiting for them at the end of this path. For them.

And not for me.

Me, he abandoned in a metropolis of monsters. To fend for my- self. A boy who cried himself to sleep and wet himself in bed for months afterward. But for them he created an elaborate escape plan involving a journal (clearly meant for them to find), and a boat to lead them to the Land of Milk and Honey, Fruit and Sunshine.

I hear another giggle, then another, their laughter like taunting jabs. I am about to tell them to shut up when I realise they have, in fact, fallen into a silence that is as sudden as it is eerie. I glance through the cracks in the cabin wall. I can’t make out very much, just David and Jacob raising up the stone tablet. Quickly, I slip into my dry clothes and walk out of the cabin.

They’ve stood the tablet up on its base and gathered behind it. Water is still dripping out of the grooved letters and down the face of the tablet, forming a puddle on the deck. I read the words again.

STAY ON THE RIVER.

– The Scientist

But the Dome hepers are looking not at the front of the tablet but the back. Their eyes, seeing something I cannot, are wide with shock as they travel up the tablet, past the top rim, and fall on mine.

“What?” I say.

Slowly, they turn the tablet around for me to read.

Four words. Four words that will become as indelibly etched in my mind as they are permanently chiselled into the stone tablet.

Don’t let gene Die.

The first words in years from my father for me, about me. A whis- per from the past, growing into a breeze, then gusting into a blaze. A skein of electricity jolts through my body and I feel the crackling of ice thawing in my marrow. And though it is a surge of light and hope and strength that flows through me, all I can do is collapse to my knees.

Jacob and David are the first to reach me, and they’re picking me up. I feel their hands clapping me on my back, their voices loud but no longer jarring, their bodies pressing against me but somehow no longer intrusive. Their arms sling over my back as they hold me up, wonderment spreading across their faces. Smiles break out, and their eyes are warm with welcome. Sissy’s eyes clench shut as she presses her hands to lips, balled with excitement. When she opens her eyes to look at me, they are hot and tender.

“I knew it,” she says. “It’s no accident that you’re here, Gene. You were always meant to be with us. To be a part of us.”

I don’t say anything, only feel river water dripping down my body. A wind picks up and my body shivers. She wraps her arms around me and gives me a hug. I’m still wet but she doesn’t mind.

“Don’t be a stranger anymore,” she whispers into my ear, so softly, the words can only be meant for me, and she pulls me in closer one last time before we separate. Her face and the front of her chest are damp as she throws the blanket Ben has just brought over across my shoulders. Sunshine pours down on the boat, on the river, on the land, on us.