steps forward.
“We need to get back to the group. It’s dinnertime.”
At dinner, most of us are pretty spent. We’re too tired to engage in anything more than middling conversation, a far cry from the gab-fest we had at lunch. I worry about my body odor and discreetly sniff my underarms from time to time. I eat quickly, mindful of my THE HUNT 79
proximity to others. Gaunt Man seated next to me is given to occasional twitches. He doesn’t say anything, but a couple of times, his nostrils enlarge in my direction.
Ashley June sits on my other side. I am conscious of her every move: the closeness of her elbow to mine, every time she picks up and puts down her utensils, the sway of her hair as she ties it into a ponytail to keep it from faling into the drip cups. Mostly, I notice her silence. A strong urge puls in me to look at her. And to move away from her, keeping my odor from her.
By midmeal, I’m more than worried about my body odor. And the more ner vous I get, the more odor I emit. A quick and quiet exit is what’s needed. I stand up; al eyes at the table immediately turn to me. Stepping away from the table, I look for my escort sitting at his own table somewhere in the surrounding darkness. He emerges from behind me a few moments later.
“Everything okay?”
“Yes, fi ne. I should be heading back to my lodging. I’m worried about the sunrise.”
He looks at his watch. “It’s not due for another hour.”
“Even so, I’m a worrier. I don’t want to chance getting caught outside by a premature sunrise.” Everyone at the table is staring at us now.
“I assure you, our dawn– dusk calculations are never wrong,” he says.
I cast my eyes downward, realizing I actualy don’t have to feign tiredness. I’m truly worn to the bone. “If there’s nothing else for to night, I think I’m going to retire early. Pretty pooped.”
I sense him staring at me, trying to understand. “But the food—
there’re so many more succulent dishes to come.”
I realize what’s going on. “You know you don’t have to escort 80
ANDREW FUKUDA
me back. Stay and eat. To your fi l. Realy. I know my way back from here. Two fl ights down, left down the halway, right, another left, then out the double doors with the Institute emblem.”
“You don’t want to stay for dessert?”
“No, I’m fi ne, realy.”
“But the choicest, bloodiest meats are yet to come!”
“Just knackered, is al. Realy, don’t you worry about me.”
“You sure you’re fi ne getting back without assistance?”
“You sure you’re fi ne getting back without assistance?”
“I got this.” And before he can object, I leave. And as I walk away, I shoot a quick look at the table.
They’re al supposed to be eating, ignoring my conversation with the escort, stuffi ng their faces. But instead they’re looking at me with befuddlement. No; more than befuddlement. This is bewilder-ment , the kind that nests in people’s minds, keeps them wondering.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” I mutter to myself as I walk down two fl ights. Idiot, idiot, idiot , I inwardly reprove myself as I head down the halways. “Moron, moron, moron,” I say out loud as I push open the double doors to the outside. And then it is my father’s voice in my head: Don’t do anything out of the ordinary, don’t do anything that sticks you out from the crowd. Avoid anything that’ll draw attention.
Even when I reach the doors to the library a few minutes later, I am stil chastising myself. Imbecile, stupid, moron, doofus.
Back in the library, I roam the aisles, the back rooms, hidden corners, scour every inch. But it’s useless. There’s no drinkable liquid of any kind in the library, not so much as a drop. And in the restroom, like in al bathrooms, there’s nothing but hard sanitizing dispensers. Knowing better, I dab a few drops of the sanitizer on my tongue. The sanitizer drops scour my tongue with an acidic my tongue. The sanitizer drops scour my
“We need to get back to the group. It’s dinnertime.”
At dinner, most of us are pretty spent. We’re too tired to engage in anything more than middling conversation, a far cry from the gab-fest we had at lunch. I worry about my body odor and discreetly sniff my underarms from time to time. I eat quickly, mindful of my THE HUNT 79
proximity to others. Gaunt Man seated next to me is given to occasional twitches. He doesn’t say anything, but a couple of times, his nostrils enlarge in my direction.
Ashley June sits on my other side. I am conscious of her every move: the closeness of her elbow to mine, every time she picks up and puts down her utensils, the sway of her hair as she ties it into a ponytail to keep it from faling into the drip cups. Mostly, I notice her silence. A strong urge puls in me to look at her. And to move away from her, keeping my odor from her.
By midmeal, I’m more than worried about my body odor. And the more ner vous I get, the more odor I emit. A quick and quiet exit is what’s needed. I stand up; al eyes at the table immediately turn to me. Stepping away from the table, I look for my escort sitting at his own table somewhere in the surrounding darkness. He emerges from behind me a few moments later.
“Everything okay?”
“Yes, fi ne. I should be heading back to my lodging. I’m worried about the sunrise.”
He looks at his watch. “It’s not due for another hour.”
“Even so, I’m a worrier. I don’t want to chance getting caught outside by a premature sunrise.” Everyone at the table is staring at us now.
“I assure you, our dawn– dusk calculations are never wrong,” he says.
I cast my eyes downward, realizing I actualy don’t have to feign tiredness. I’m truly worn to the bone. “If there’s nothing else for to night, I think I’m going to retire early. Pretty pooped.”
I sense him staring at me, trying to understand. “But the food—
there’re so many more succulent dishes to come.”
I realize what’s going on. “You know you don’t have to escort 80
ANDREW FUKUDA
me back. Stay and eat. To your fi l. Realy. I know my way back from here. Two fl ights down, left down the halway, right, another left, then out the double doors with the Institute emblem.”
“You don’t want to stay for dessert?”
“No, I’m fi ne, realy.”
“But the choicest, bloodiest meats are yet to come!”
“Just knackered, is al. Realy, don’t you worry about me.”
“You sure you’re fi ne getting back without assistance?”
“You sure you’re fi ne getting back without assistance?”
“I got this.” And before he can object, I leave. And as I walk away, I shoot a quick look at the table.
They’re al supposed to be eating, ignoring my conversation with the escort, stuffi ng their faces. But instead they’re looking at me with befuddlement. No; more than befuddlement. This is bewilder-ment , the kind that nests in people’s minds, keeps them wondering.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” I mutter to myself as I walk down two fl ights. Idiot, idiot, idiot , I inwardly reprove myself as I head down the halways. “Moron, moron, moron,” I say out loud as I push open the double doors to the outside. And then it is my father’s voice in my head: Don’t do anything out of the ordinary, don’t do anything that sticks you out from the crowd. Avoid anything that’ll draw attention.
Even when I reach the doors to the library a few minutes later, I am stil chastising myself. Imbecile, stupid, moron, doofus.
Back in the library, I roam the aisles, the back rooms, hidden corners, scour every inch. But it’s useless. There’s no drinkable liquid of any kind in the library, not so much as a drop. And in the restroom, like in al bathrooms, there’s nothing but hard sanitizing dispensers. Knowing better, I dab a few drops of the sanitizer on my tongue. The sanitizer drops scour my tongue with an acidic my tongue. The sanitizer drops scour my
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