The Prey (The Hunt 2)

“But remember what the girl with pigtails said,” I say. “She warned us to be careful.”

“But think about what the other girl said,” Jacob says. “That we shouldn’t go looking for a devil in every bush. Maybe this place really is the gateway to paradise.”

Sissy groans in pain, eyes still closed.

“Look what these same people did to Sissy,” I say. “How can you trust anything they say?”

Jacob gets off the floor, stands by the window. “Listen. I had this dream last night. About the Civilization.” He pauses, hesitating. But then he starts speaking, and a warmth suffuses his cheeks. “It was so real. I saw outdoor stadiums full of humans watching sports in sunlight, just like in all those books we read. Outdoor markets with hundreds of different stalls, summer concerts on lush grass, city blocks filled with restaurants, tables spilling out onto the streets, humans sitting and eating … salads. And there were amusement parks with parades and magical castles and thrilling rides. Carousels full of laughing children, magical boat rides surrounded by singing puppets that the Scientist told us about. We can’t not go there.”

“C’mon, Jacob, that’s just a dream. We can’t make a decision based on something so fluffy,” Epap scolds mildly.

“It’s no more fluffy than your guesswork.” He runs his hand through his hair. “All I’m trying to say is we don’t know anything. Not for certain, anyway.”

We fall quiet. I throw in another piece of wood and we gaze at the fire as if somewhere in the swirling light lies an answer.

“But we do know one thing for certain.” It’s Ben, his voice a high squeak. He is sitting hugging his bent legs, chin on kneecaps. He lifts his head off his knees with a smile. “The Origin. What it is.”

We all turn to him.

“Who it is, actually,” he says. He lifts his arm, his finger stretched out and pointing right at me. “You are the Origin,” Ben says. “It’s so obvious.”

“Me? How do you figure that?” I say, wanting to scoff, but somehow unable to. A skein of goose bumps breaks out along my body. The boys are all staring at me with the same expression they wore a few days ago. On the boat when they’d turned over the tablet and read the engraved words—

“Don’t let Gene die,” Ben says.

“Don’t let Gene die,” Jacob repeats, slowly and thoughtfully, as if feeling out the texture of each syllable. His eyes, when they rise to meet mine, widen. “Ben’s right. The Origin’s not a thing. It’s a person. It’s you. You must be the Origin.”

Wood crackles in the fireplace behind me.

“It kind of makes sense,” Epap says, pulling on his lower lip. “I mean, we’ve searched high and low for it. Through all our belongings, clothes. We’ve scoured the pages of the Scientist’s journal and come up empty every time. If the Origin was a thing in our possession we’d have found it by now.” He glances at Sissy lying on the sofa. “You said the elders believe it has something to do with lettering, maybe words tattooed into our skin. But what if the lettering isn’t something on our skin. But—”

“—in our name. In your name,” Ben says, staring at me.

Gene.

“What if the Origin is in your genes?” Ben says. “Like genetics. All that DNA stuff the Scientist taught us.”

They are staring at me as if I’ve suddenly grown five heads. “Naw,” I say, shaking my head. “Not that simple.” I frown, catch my reflection in the darkened window. “Is it?”

“Gene,” Epap says, slowly rising to his feet. “Did your father ever mention anything to you?”

“About what?” I ask.

“Did he ever tell you why he named you Gene?” Epap asks. If he’s mocking me or joking around, it’s not showing in his voice or steely gaze.

“Hold on,” I say. “You think I’m the Origin because … it’s in my genes? You think the cure for the duskers is in my genetic code?”

Their wide eyes and gaping mouths are answer enough.

“C’mon now!” I snort. “Don’t be ridiculous! Look here, a name’s just a name! A sound. There isn’t any special meaning attached to it!” I look at Epap. “You’re going to tell me that Epap has some special significance? Or Ben does? Or Jacob?”

“Actually,” Epap says, and his face is blooming with realization, “they do. All our names do. The Scientist said he christened us according to some aspect uniquely ours. Ben got his name after Big Ben, a mythical clock tower, because of his chubby arms and legs when he was a baby. He named Jacob after the biblical character because of how he walks with a slight limp. As for Sissy, he named her ‘Sis’ so Ben would remember they’re siblings, half-siblings, anyway. Eventually, we just started calling her Sissy because of the way it rolled off the tongue. He named me Epap—”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” I say. “He gave you cute names. I’m happy for you. But I can tell you this: he never explained my name to me. It was just a name. No special significance attached to it whatsoever.”

But it’s as if they haven’t heard me. They’re smiling, eyes wide with awe. “This whole time,” Jacob says, his eyes glistening, “right in front of us. The Origin. The cure for the duskers, the salvation of humankind. The freakin’ Origin.”

I stand awkwardly before them, wanting to wave off their attention and unwarranted conclusions. The stiff leather on the sofa creaks.

“Well, there’s hope for you dunderheads after all.”

It’s Sissy who’s spoken. We turn to her. Her eyes are open, her head propped up on the sofa arm. She’s trying to smile. “Maybe I should pass out more often,” she says. “Remove myself from the picture. Apparently, it forces you guys to think on your own. Come up with some pretty good ideas.”

“It was me, Sissy!” Ben shouts, smiling and running over to her. “I was the one who thought of it first!”

She kisses him on the cheek. “But of course you did. You’re my brother, aren’t you?”

Ben points at me proudly. “And he’s the Origin.”

28

SISSY IS UP for only a few minutes before she violently heaves into a basin. She wipes her mouth free of dangling vomit, tells us she feels better now that it’s out of her system. The odor is foul, and I take the makeshift vomit basin outside. When I return, they’re having a heated discussion.

“We should get on the train,” Jacob is saying, one hand cupping the elbow of his other arm. “I really believe it’s why the Scientist brought us to the Mission. This place, it’s like a waiting room where we board a train to paradise. Okay, it’s a weird waiting room, I’ll grant you that much. It’s filled with eccentric regulations and ruled with an iron fist. I get it. But it’s a waiting room nonetheless.” He sighs with frustration. “A week from today, we’ll be eating at fancy digs or being paraded in luxury around town and laughing at these silly suspicions. This is the time to be celebrating, not second-guessing the Scientist. He brought us here to get on the train. I mean, how much more obvious can it be?”

“If that’s the case, why didn’t he board the train himself?” Epap says.

“He was waiting for us, for Gene—the Origin—to arrive. Probably, he wanted to board with us and personally escort us to the Civilization.” He wave

s his arms in frustration. “He’d be rolling in his grave if he could hear us now.”

“And you just made my next point for me. Because he is in a grave. If he was waiting for us, why did he kill himself?” Epap asks.

Jacob swallows hard. “I don’t know,” he says, his voice shaky. “Maybe he was expecting us to arrive much sooner. Months, years earlier. When we didn’t show, maybe he thought he’d failed us and that he no longer deserved to go to the Civilization. But we can honor his life now by going where he’d strived for years to one day take us: the Civilization.”

The room falls into a heavy silence.

“I don’t know, Jacob,” Sissy says quietly. “I’m sorry, but there’s something unnerving about the Civilization. About the Scientist’s suicide. I think we honor him best by staying alert and using our heads. We need to know more before boarding the train.”

“And how long is that going to take? A week? A month? A year?” Jacob’s eyes settle on Sissy’s brand. “We can’t stay here indefinitely.”

Sissy notices Jacob staring at her brand, and half turns her arm. “We have food and shelter here,” she says. “This mark they gave me tonight is nothing. A little scratch. Barely hurt at all.” She gives him a reassuring smile. “We’ll be fine here.”

Jacob stares down at his feet, his eyes glistening over. “You know me, Sissy,” he says, his voice shaking with emotion. “I’d never go against what you decide for us. If you say you need more time to investigate, then I believe you. But find out quickly, will you? And promise you won’t keep us here a day longer than necessary?”

She walks over to him, pulls his head against her chest. His body, taut with tension, wilts with release. He puts his arm around her waist, his body quivering against hers. Tears stream out of his closed eyes. “Not a second longer, okay, big guy? You’ll be the first to know. Hey, no more crying! You’re too big for tears now.”