The Headhunters Race (Headhunters #1) (6 page)

“I’ll be back for you,” I whisper and grab my water bottle.

We head out, McCoy ahead of me, Zita and Boom watching us from behind, my heart pounding like a hammer. What if someone recognizes me? Will they throw me back in prison, or something else, like a town hanging? I don’t want to think about it. I only want to think about running. Running and the freedom that comes with a win.

McCoy turns back to me. “Stick with me,” he says. “People know Zita and I are friends.”

There’s just no getting away from him and his never-ending quest to assist me.

The main center is crazy when we arrive. People stand all along the perimeter. It’s loud with buzz, people acting obnoxiously. McCoy finds a spot near the front door, and several prisoners skirt out of his way while I reluctantly follow. I realize he has quite an effect on people. A few minutes later my heart sinks to my belly when several hatch doors high in the walls open. Rifles are inserted, trained on the prisoners below. A guard calls out the first name and a prisoner I don’t recognize walks to the front entrance where several guards with rifles cuff and remove him from the premises with a cheer from the crowd.

One by one, the race candidates are cuffed and removed while the remaining prisoners shout their well-wishes. I check out every one of the prisoners who will be competing with me for their freedom, and while I’m scrutinizing a particularly large man, I hear the name I’ve been waiting for.

“Zita Papadakis!”

I must have hesitated too long because McCoy elbows me. “See you outside.”

I step toward the door, guns in my face from all angles. A guard motions me to turn around. I follow directions and let them cuff me. One of the guards knocks the water bottle out of my hand as I’m propelled forward. Once the door closes behind me, they add a blindfold. The guards, one holding onto each arm, walk me away from the prison and although my nerves are sparking like firecrackers, I’m glad to finally be outside the prison walls.

The first thing I notice is the air, fresh and clean, not dank and smelling of sewer or of the dead. A warm breeze gently caresses my face. It feels nice against my skin, flowing over my body, through my stringy hair. I’m enjoying the outside so much, taking in the wind, the sound of leaves rustling in the trees and whirling on the ground, children playing somewhere in the distance, that I almost forget I’m still a prisoner.

We halt suddenly. The guards position me in a particular spot. They remove the blindfold and the cuffs. I blink a few times and find that I’m in formation with the prisoners that were called out before me. There must be twenty of us here already. Men, women, teenagers, girls and boys, old people, and what looks like a kid no more than ten.

In the front is a platform that rises above us with a podium. Chairs are placed on either side. Guards are stationed all around us. Behind me is the trail that leads to Bitter Mountain. Now the trail is roped off, to contain the townspeople who stand behind it.

Another prisoner is brought up beside me. I turn to see who it is and just as quickly avert my eyes so I don’t draw attention to myself. It’s one of the killers, Squint, recognizable by the long scar that runs through the lid of his right eye and his white beard. He must be at least fifty.

I try not to move or look his way, even though I can sense him scrutinizing every inch of me. A prisoner is placed on the other side of him. Thank goodness he has a new meal to devour. I look to see who it is, I can’t help myself, and see that it’s the Brit Devil that told me I wouldn’t last an hour. I wonder what he’s thinking now with Squint ramming his eyes down him.

Every minute or so, I hear someone else being brought up behind our row. A couple of times I sneak a look at Bitter Mountain, the mountain we have to climb to reach Millers Creek. For a moment, I contemplate going around it, until I realize just how long this mountain range actually extends. It would take days to go around it. Going over is the only option.

When all the prisoners have arrived, King steps up to the podium. He looks the same: dark auburn hair, a clean shave over his stony face, and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. His ever faithful right-hand man, Victor Lanning, whose head reminds me of a turtle, steps beside him. And following behind him, a one-armed man I’ve never seen before.

King takes a long puff on his cigarette and then crushes it under his ugly pointy-toed red boot. “Welcome,” says King. “I’m pleased at the turn out. Much better than last year. It would have been nice, though, to have twenty more, but this ought to do.”

The townspeople cheer. The roar is deafening. King’s gaze sweeps over us and I’m grateful some of the taller prisoners stand in the rows ahead of me. “Let’s get right to the rules, shall we?”

Grunts, whoops, and hollers erupt from the prisoners. I join in just for the sake of looking like I belong.

King smiles with approval. “There aren’t too many rules,” he says with a chuckle, like it’s so funny. “It comes down to this … bring me Gavin’s head, or Gavin himself within nine days and you win your freedom. Simple, right? Well, don’t be fooled. You see this man behind me?” he asks, waving a hand toward the one-armed man and pulling him forward. “This … is Mr. Sokolov, a brave man he is. He nearly had Gavin in his grasp only a few weeks ago. Needless to say, Gavin killed his partner and took Mr. Sokolov’s arm.”

The townspeople and prisoners alike gasp in unison. Gavin really has become unrecognizable from the once kind boy that used to protect me from King’s wrath. How can he kill? What drove him to kill my mother? This man’s partner? And based on the drawing I saw in his journal, why does he want me dead? There’s only one way to get to the truth … be the first to find Gavin. But judging by his recent history, it’s not going to be easy, especially since he’s chosen a place to hide where criminals tend to congregate.

“Not very nice, is it?” King waves Mr. Sokolov back while he sticks another cigarette in his mouth. “Now let me give you a little tip. We’ve got a maniac on our hands. So it’ll be much easier if you just bring back Gavin’s head, less baggage to carry.”

This time everyone laughs, except me, although I pretend. I just want to get on with it.

King lights his cigarette, takes a long puff, and continues. “You’ll also receive a house on the outskirts of town and fifty thousand dollars in cash. Of course, you don’t have to stay in Water Junction. If you win first prize, you can go anywhere you want. Now for those that are unable to bring back Gavin’s head and who survive long enough to make it back, there’s a prize for you too. Each survivor will be upgraded to the leisure prison. Imagine a comfortable cell complete with your own bed and private bathroom. Not to mention three square meals a day.”

More exuberant cheering, like going back to prison is so wonderful, even if it is in a cushy cell. I join in though. But I think most everyone has other ideas about not returning at all if they aren’t the first one to reach Gavin. Why bother coming back if you can escape altogether? It can’t be impossible to overpower the guards they assign you. I guess that’s what I’m expecting, that once they release us, the prisoners are not going to go after Gavin, they’re going to run for their lives. I’m counting on being the only one here that really wants Gavin’s head.

King goes quiet for a second and I peep around the tall guy in front of me to see Victor whispering something in his ear. King scans my section of the formation and I freeze instantly when his eyes land on me. He waves at one of the guards down below. The guard walks up the steps and just when I’m sure I’ll be called out, he hands King a metal object in the shape of a circle. I sigh with relief.

“Now just a couple more things and we’ll get started. First, help yourself to a pack of supplies as you leave today,” says King, pointing off to the side of the stand. “Compliments of the Make Our Town Better Organization. In those you’ll find four days worth of provisions—food and water. You’ll also find matches, a blanket, and, most importantly, a compass. Follow it southeast across the mountains and through Sentimental Desert and eventually you’ll run into Millers Creek.”

I glance at the packs sewn from scraps of mismatched cloth. Maybe the goodie two shoes club isn’t so bad after all.

“Second, there will be no guards assigned to you this year,” says King.

The applause and whistles and hollers nearly deafen me. No guards traveling along with us? No guards to make sure we actually run the race? As usual with King, it seems too good to be true.

“We have something new,” King says, holding up the metal object. “A mechanical time-controlled collar. Now don’t you worry if you happen to be a little smaller or slimmer; we’ve got collars of every size.”

None of the prisoners are cheering now, but the townspeople seem delighted.

“This neat little device will ensure that you return, and on time. If you aren’t here, at this exact spot by noon on the ninth day, you’ll be strangled to death. You see, the collar tightens approximately every three days or so—a little reminder about who’s in charge. And let it be known that I’m the only one with the key to unlock it,” he says, holding up a chain from around his neck with a key dangling from it. “Now there’s one more little catch for those of you looking to get to the leisure prison: you need to prove you’ve been to Millers Creek. That means you better bring back some of their Millers Creek currency or a page from their daily gazette before I’ll unlock your collar.”

There goes my idea that prisoners will attempt to escape. Now I’ll be fighting everyone else to get back before they do. I should have known I wouldn’t get off so easy.

“Avene,” says King. “You’re first.”

I almost choke on my own spittle while the citizens of Water Junction go completely silent. He knows who I am and he’s letting me run? What does this mean? When something seems too good to be true with King, it is. It always is. I should have worn McCoy’s hoodie! I shouldn’t have laughed and whooped and hollered with the other prisoners. Snaggletooth probably gave me away.

Now I’m at a disadvantage because King knows I’m running, but I don’t know what deadly trick he has up his sleeve. A guard snatches my arm and drags me up to the podium.

“Isn’t it ironic that Gavin’s mother-killing sister is going after her own brother,” says King while he places the collar around my neck.

“He’s not my brother,” I spit.

King sighs dramatically. “Well, you’re right. Technically he’s your mother-murdering stepbrother.”

The collar clicks into place. It’s cold and constricting. I gulp for air and all I can think about is what if King doesn’t unlock it when I return?

I stand there, waiting for the guard to send me back to formation when King snatches the shank from my sheath. He takes another puff on his cigarette. “Oh, Avene. This will never do.” King snaps his fingers at Victor. “Victor, let Avene borrow your blades.”

Victor looks like a little kid about to cry when told to hand over his toy, but he pulls out two sleek black ninja knives from his boot and hands them to me. I recognize them instantly, the end of the handle forms a ring where I used to carry them on my middle finger and practice twirling. And there’s the “A” etched at the tip of each blade, so subtle that only King, my mother, and I knew the initial was there. They were mine.

Out of the corner of my eye I see Victor whisper to one of the guards. Who in turn steps down to the formation of prisoners and whispers at a bald, muscle-gifted, tattoo-ridden man I guess to be in his early thirties.

King replaces my shank, drawing my attention away from them. “You might need this too.”

The townspeople and the prisoners alike boo, yelling my name, calling me a murderer, and now I know why King is letting me run the race. He’s set me up as a target. Someone everyone will want to kill first.

King looks at me like he’s shocked I’m still standing here. “What are you waiting for, Avene?” he asks, holding his hands in the air. “Tick tock.”

My mouth drops while King laughs like it’s hilarious to send his stepdaughter on a death race.

“Let the Headhunters Race begin!” yells King and the crowd goes wild. The guards begin attaching collars to the other prisoners as I’m running down the steps. I snatch one of the darker packs from the pile, not bothering to slip it on yet as I sprint between the ropes, dodging objects the heckling citizens of Water Junction are throwing at me. I ignore them. I ignore the heaviness around my neck and continue toward the mountain. I ignore everything because it won’t be long before there’s a trail of prisoners right behind me.

I judge the mountain is only about half a mile off. I scan its face as I approach, looking for the best way up, where the others won’t easily follow, but at the same time not too difficult. I want to be first to the other side and well on my way before I come into contact with any of the other prisoners. Actually, I never want to come in contact with the others.

When I reach the base, I turn right and dash along the edge several yards while I open the pack and drop my ninja knives inside. I pull my arms into the pack and start running up, through the bushes, dodging trees and boulders. A roaring cheer echoes behind me and I wonder what I missed. I glance back to see that several prisoners have started down the trail; it won’t be long before they reach the base of the mountain.