 |
|||
|
|
THE PLEASURES OF THE HUNT
©2004 Cameron Smith
Part 1
Amelia was nervous. She had just toweled off after her shower and already streams of perspiration were trickling down her sides from under her arms. She wished she could put on the little leather vest that two of the six girls were wearing. There was no way of cinching it closed in front and the gap was so wide it concealed the nipples only if you stood stock still, so it was useless for purposes of modesty, but at least it would help keep the other five girls from seeing the evidence of how scared she was. She and Ken had decided on complete nudity, however, because for every item taken into the Hunt thousands of dollars would be subtracted from her prize. They needed every penny to pay off her debt. At his suggestion she had even turned down the shoes and sandals. They had decided that a month of training in bare feet should toughen her soles enough to withstand the abuse of running through the forest.
The one item she had elected to carry was a six-inch knife in a nylon sheath which she was now buckling in place around her narrow waist. She had removed her belly ring so the belt wouldn't snag on it. Ken had questioned it value, saying her best insurance for survival would be to run fast and far and hide well. But she insisted she would not attempt to run in the Hunt without that minimal piece of survival equipment and last ditch defensive weapon, even if — as Ken scoffed — the weapon the hunters would be carrying rendered a knife practically useless. She was glad she had won the argument. Strapping it on now did make her feel a tiny bit more in control.
Ken had made a half-hearted effort to talk her out of entering the Hunt at all, but her logic and strength of will had prevailed. Still, she was surprised he had not put up more resistance. After all, more than half of the quarry who ran in the Hunt were captured for slaughter. "Yeah," he had said. "I sure hate to see you taking such a risk. It will kill me if they catch you. But I guess I underestimated you. Who would have thought that my beautiful, soft-spoken, 110 pound girlfriend could stand up to my185 pounds of solid masculine authority? Who would have guessed that those incredible blue eyes and that curly blond mane could melt my arguments so thoroughly? How could it be that so handsome a young man as myself could be so easily pussy whipped by any female, no matter how exquisite her figure and lush her endowment and astonishing in bed?" Her most compelling argument, of course, had been that only a month earlier Ken had risked his own life running as quarry in the Hunt to pay off his own debt. So why shouldn't she, especially with the stakes so important to her?
Theirs was a familiar quandary. The times being desperate, both their parents, finding themselves up against the financial wall, had done what most parents were doing these days. They sold their children to the National Meat Service as soon as they reached the optimum ages for prime meat, 12 for boys and 15 for girls, simultaneously taking out options on them through bank loans. The infusion of cash greatly helped the family and the understanding was that the children would take over the loan payments within three years. It was important to pay these loans off quickly because the payments increased steeply every year the body aged beyond prime. To default on an option, of course, was an instant ticket to an NMS abattoir.
In Amelia's case, the urgency was even greater. Extinguishing her debt and its crushing payment schedule would enable her to afford a Baby License. She couldn't bear the thought that she and Ken might accidentally make a baby without a License. Giving birth to an unlicensed child was unthinkable for her. She would have to give it up to the National Meat Service to be raised in a cage until old enough for slaughter. Better to give herself up as captured prey in the Hunt than do that! With mandatory pregnancy tests every sixty days and abortions easy to detect, it was impossible to undo a pregnancy without incurring a particularly horrible penalty: any woman reported by the NMS testers to have aborted an embryo without NMS approval would be arrested on the spot and detained without a hearing to be gutted and cooked live at the next NMS Punishment Banquet.
At 18, Amelia was three years past prime. Her monthly loan payments were taking more than half her income and were about to increase again. But she could still command more than enough in quarry prize money to pay off the balance, with some left over to put toward the Baby License. In fact, her potential prize was several times greater than what Ken had been able to claim. The reason, of course, was that she was a young, beautiful female and sporting gentlemen would pay tens of thousands of dollars more to hunt lovely young women, bind them up and take them in for the kill — all as part of the vital national meat harvest. But the most scintillating aspect of the NMS Hunt was what happened between the capture and the kill. Amelia had no illusions of what that would be.
She stared at her clothes, neatly stacked in the locker, wondering if she had worn them for the last time. The girls around her were absorbed in their own thoughts, probably contemplating their own self doubts and fears.
All but one: a girl named Shara. Tall, close to six feet, long dark hair verging on black, large dark eyes, slim graceful body, she appeared cool and collected, almost bored. This was her fourth Hunt. She had amassed a small fortune in prizes and could now afford the entire array of accouterments available to quarry: leather vest, running shoes, knee-high leggings, sweat bands, knife and a packet of rations. Amelia particularly envied her the vest because while it did little to cover the breasts, it nevertheless offered protection for the upper back, the broadest target for hunters in hot pursuit. Overall, Amelia's feelings toward the tall, bronzed beauty were mixed. She admired her daring in going up against bad odds, not just once but four times. On the other hand, she resented her presence at this particular Hunt because it lowered Amelia's own chances of survival. The hunters were allowed to bag only one girl, so, there being four hunters and six quarry, two girls were sure to survive. Shara would almost certainly be one of those two, which lowered Amelia's odds of survival from two out of six to one in five. From 33 percent to 20 percent. Thirty-three percent was bad enough!
Amelia removed the knife in its sheath from its hook inside her locker and began to strap its leather belt around her waist. It felt better than being completely nude, but a knife would be meager defense against the hunters. They could wear whatever clothing they wished and would be armed with dart guns and tough, thin cords to bind up their quarry. The darts, she had learned during last night's orientation, had a range of roughly 100 feet and were loaded with a serum that would cause intense pain and some loss of muscle control in the immediate vicinity of the dart, but would not kill them. That would come later when they were carried or dragged back to the lodge to have their throats cut.
She fingered the watch locked on her left wrist. That was the only additional equipment quarry were allowed. Awareness of how much time was left in the Hunt would be crucial information, of course, but the watches also contained a GPS locator so that those who escaped capture in the vast hunting territory could be found and picked up by helicopter. It also contained her identifying serial number which the hunter would need at the time of her capture to confirm her as his. The watch had been locked in place last night as part of the orientation.
She considered the difference between her two meager possessions and what the men would bring to the Hunt. In addition to clothing, hats and shoes to protect them from the weather and assaults of forest vegetation, they each had a cell phone, inflatable bed roll, compass, food packs, water, knife, binding cord, watch and, of course, the dart gun — carried as a side arm with God knows how many darts.
As she waited for the call to assemble at the starting line, Amelia found herself focusing on the disturbingly confident Shara. The contrast she made with the frightened young women around her was riveting. Amelia wanted to talk to her, glean from her the secret of her survival through three Hunts, but felt cowed in her presence. Damn! She scolded herself! Now is not the time to be shy. Your life is in the balance! She forced herself to approach the olive skinned beauty.
"Hi. I'm Amelia."
"I know. We all introduced ourselves last night."
"And you remember all the names?"
"Of course. Retention of details can mean the difference between being alive or being meat. It's a skill I hone constantly."
"I'm impressed. I mean, I don't think of myself as stupid, but remembering six names from a single introduction when I can barely concentrate on anything but the possibility I'll be dead tomorrow is more than I can manage. How old are you? If you don't mind my asking."
"Nineteen."
"Nineteen! And this is your fourth Hunt?"
"Yes."
"When did you start? When was your first Hunt?"
"Four years ago."
"You were fifteen?"
"That's right. They offered top dollar because I was not only juicy young pussy but maximum prime."
"Were you scared?"
"Of course."
"But you're not scared now?"
"Now I know how to beat them."
"How?"
"I kill the hunter before he can capture me."
"That's allowed? They didn't mention it during orientation."
"Of course they didn't. Why put the idea in your head? They downplay the death of hunters. Bad for business. The big, bad hunters out there aren't keen on the idea of their prey making meat out of them ."
"Do the quarry ever go in groups?" She was hoping to tag along with Shara.
"Sure. And they invariably wind up in grocery stores. The special of the week."
"So you always run alone?"
"Always. It's easier for the hunters when the prey sticks together. They're easy to track and take down."
"How about the hunters? Do they hunt in groups or alone?"
"Both."
"Which is more dangerous? For us?"
"Depends. Stupid hunters make stupid groups. They're loud and easy to avoid. Smart hunters are deadly in groups. They lay traps and flush their quarry into the trap."
"Oh God!"
Shara smiled. "Don't sweat it, Amelia. You just have to be smarter than they are. If you aren't, you shouldn't have signed up in the first place." She took a moment to assess Amelia's crestfallen look. "So why did you sign up?"
"To pay off my NMS loan. And I want to have a baby. It's the only way I can afford the license."
Shara sighed. "I assume that's why you didn't buy the vest. You didn't want to spend the money."
"Yeah. My boyfriend ran in the Hunt a month ago. He said the darts aren't that bad."
Shara laughed. "Did he get hit with one?"
"Yeah."
"Where?"
"In the arm. The left arm."
"Good for him. The thing about the darts is that if they hit you in the right place it's just pain. Terrible, soul shattering pain, but something that comes and goes. On the other hand, if they hit you in the leg, you can be disabled. Your leg just won't work. If they hit you in the back, breathing becomes a real chore. In the face or neck, you go berserk! Next thing you know, you're trussed up and on your way to a gang fuck and then you're strung up by the ankles for the final kill."
"O my God!"
"The good news is, the jerk hunters usually aim for your midsection. I caught a dart in the breast on my second Hunt. The pain was sheer hell and I fell down, rolling around in agony. But I had the presence of mind to draw my knife and have it ready. When the asshole hunter stepped in to tie my hands, I stabbed him in the nuts. He screamed, clutched his gonads and I stabbed him again in the heart. I slunk off to a thick bush and lay there crying and shivering for half an hour until the pain subsided enough for me to function again. Thing is, don't ever give up. That's why I'm still here and getting rich off the scumbags who think they can turn me into meat. I never give up."
"Why don't we just go hide? Find a really concealed place and just stay there."
"Yeah, right!" Shara snorted. She tapped her watch.
At that point the door to the locker room opened and a sleek, middle-aged woman with tightly knotted black hair and shiny spandex leotards glued to her still striking figure — the Hunt Mistress — announced that it was time. They were to assemble now at the starting line inside the lodge main entrance where they would be given their final instructions.
Amelia closed the door to her locker. There was no actual lock. What would be the point? No one was about to steal the few scraps of clothing a girl wore for her appearance at the Lodge as quarry. Indeed, the papers she signed when she originally registered for the Hunt advised against wearing or bringing anything of value, because in the event of her capture, it would all be destroyed.
All six girls shuffled forward through the door and found themselves walking through a gamut of leering men, cheering them on. Amelia, agonizingly aware of her nudity, felt herself turning beet red. She had never been naked in a crowd of fully dressed strangers before and no matter how much she had mentally prepared herself, it was excruciatingly embarrassing. She swallowed hard and kept her eyes glued to the floor as the six young women lined themselves up on a line painted in front of a large double door. She barely heard the final instructions of the Hunt Mistress, aware only of the gaze of dozens of male eyes on her private parts.
How ridiculous this modesty! she thought. If I'm captured I'll be gang raped and strung up naked for slaughter. If I'm carried back in a helicopter, I'll still be naked. Get over it! But public nudity is not easy for a girl who has never exposed herself to any men but her lovers.
The Hunt Mistress was checking each girl against her registration, making certain no one took anything into the Hunt that would not be paid for out of her prize.
"You will have a twenty minute lead on your hunters," she was saying. "The hunt will last thirty-six hours from the time you leave here. Check your watches. It is now 7:00 a.m. Is everyone's watch in agreement?" There were no complaints. "Good. At 7:00 p.m. tomorrow the hunt will be over. Those of you who have not been reported captured at that time will be picked up by helicopter and returned here to collect your prize. Those who are reported captured and on the way back, dead or properly restrained, will be returned to this facility by their captors on or before 9:00 PM Sunday to be presented in the Concluding Ceremony, after which all carcases will be claimed by the National Meat Service. Good luck to you. The Hunt has begun!"
The doors were opened and the six young women dashed forward into the open parking lot, and beyond that into the forest.
|
|
|