Bello hands Boy El-Saffani an armful of rags. Latu grabs one, wraps it around her still-burning torch. She does it so fast that she’s finished before it’s fully aflame. Bishop quickly tries the same move, hisses in pain as fire singes his skin.
He sucks at the burned finger, looks at me with eager eyes and nods.
We’re ready.
I nod back.
Holding the torch, Bishop heads down the hall, El-Saffani at his heels.
I run after them, Latu at my side.
If I look back, I know I’ll see O’Malley staring at me—so I keep my eyes forward.
I don’t know if this is the right decision or not, but the decision is made.
The hunt is on.
TWENTY
We hunt.
I run with the circle-stars. Torchlight plays off hallway walls lined with patterns and carvings of the usual symbols, but new ones as well—people with shovels, people harvesting crops, people moving things, people working together to build and create. It all flies by as we run, making the tiny images on the walls seem to sprint in the opposite direction.
Bishop is out in front, and for this, at least, there is no question as to who is the leader. He slows and stops. The rest of us do as well, following his every move.
The spear lies on the hallway floor.
He picks it up. He has the torch in one hand, the spear in the other. There is blood on the blade.
Bishop offers the spear to me. I reach to grab it, but I’m already holding the knife. I can’t carry both weapons, and right now Bishop’s ability with the spear is the most important thing.
“You take it for now,” I say. “Give it back when we’re done.”
He nods. He doesn’t care who is in charge—he’s focused on the hunt and nothing else.
Bishop hands his torch to Boy El-Saffani, then kneels and puts two fingers to the floor. He lifts them, looks at them, and we all see what is on his fingertips.
Blood, flecked with dirt.
“We can track it,” he says.
He heads down the hall. We stay close behind.
This is exciting, and that surprises me. I came along to maintain an illusion of control, but my skin feels electric, my senses seem sharp. I don’t remember who I am or what I was, but in my heart I know nothing I did before could possibly make me feel this alive.
How can I feel this way? Bishop is going to find this animal and kill it. We’re going to cut it up…we’re going to eat it. The very thought disgusts me, yet killing the pig is something we must do to survive.
Bishop runs at a half crouch, eyes fixed on the hallway floor. The pig’s blood trail is easy to follow, with a new spluttery streak every few steps. The poor thing must be terrified.
We move quickly. The circle-stars make practically no noise. My steps seem loud and clumsy by comparison. Girl El-Saffani keeps flashing me dirty looks because of it, and Latu isn’t that pleased with me, either. I don’t think they are doing anything special to stay silent—it comes naturally to them.
The hallway opens to a wide, round space. Archways line the curving wall. Ten, maybe twelve of them. At the far end of the room, barely visible in the torchlight, I see the hallway continue—maybe up can’t go on forever, but it still shows no sign of ending anytime soon.
What do we do now? There are only five of us; it will take a long time to look in all these rooms, and if the pig kept going down the hall we’ll lose it if we stop to check even one of them.
I glance at Bishop to see what he’s thinking, but his attention remains firmly fixed on the floor.
“I know where it is,” he says, then jogs to an archway on our right.
We run after him. I glance down as I go, see Latu’s torchlight flicker off a thin streak of blood that shows the pig’s path as clearly as someone standing there, pointing and shouting It went this way!
I hear the grunt of an animal. I stop in my tracks. That didn’t come from up ahead, where Bishop is going. It’s hard to tell in this big room, but…did that come from somewhere off to the left?
“Bishop, wait!”
Latu pauses, but Bishop and El-Saffani either don’t hear my order or they ignore it. Latu is looking back at me, torch in hand. Her face pleads with me to get going before Bishop leaves us behind.
I run to catch up.
Bishop pauses at the archway. The stone doors are partially open. They sit at funny angles, like they are broken and will never close again. There is enough space for us to slide through.
We enter.
Our torchlight reveals a stone dome and the largest room we’ve been in yet. If I stood on Latu’s shoulders while she was standing on Bishop’s, I could probably touch the ceiling with my fingertips. In the middle of the room is a circular stone, the flat top about waist high. It’s big enough that if I lay on it, I could spread my arms and legs wide and my hands and feet would barely hang over the edges.
A grunt and a squeal: no question this time, it came from inside the room. There, against the wall on the other side of the circular stone—the wounded pig. It sees us and starts sprinting madly, racing along the wall’s curve in a hoof-clicking panic.
Bishop takes a hop-step toward it, twists his hips and shoulders: the spear again sails through the air.