Chapter 2

Greta is dreaming. She dreams she's lying on her back, looking up at a cloudy sky. One of the clouds looks like the head of a dog. Yes, it's a dog with big ears, and his tongue is sticking out. Mariah lies between Greta's legs, licking her pussy. It feels wonderful. Greta shivers with pleasure and closes her eyes. When she opens them, the sun has come out from behind the clouds.

She found herself awake, staring up at a skylight in the bunkhouse. Mariah lay asleep next to her, her large breasts resting against Greta's shoulder. Greta slid out from beneath the coarse wool blanket and stood up. The other women were still asleep, each in her own bed. Only Greta and Mariah had slept together.

Maybe I'm oversexed, Greta wondered.

Then she heard the sound of men's voices outside. She crept to a window and looked out. The big man named Loopy was there, along with four others. Two carried shotguns. Loopy was talking into a two-way radio. He clipped the radio to his belt and told the others,

"Okay, time to get these sluts up and moving. Our great white hunters are on their way."

He walked over to an iron triangle hanging from a pole and began banging it with an iron rod. The clanging was louder than Greta had expected. She retreated to the bed where Mariah was awakening in confusion. The other women were also stirring.

"They're coming to get us," Greta told Mariah. "Be brave."

A door opened, and Loopy walked in.

"Okay, girls, up and at 'em. Get your clothes on and get your asses outside." Mickie, who wore only a T-shirt, was nearest him, and he suddenly grabbed her arm and pulled her to him. With one big forearm pressing her neck, he ran the other hand down her body, then inserted three fingers into her slit.

"Nuthin' like the taste of pussy in the morning," he said with a grin. Then he licked his fingers, released Mickie and left.

"The son of a bitch," Mickie sobbed, falling to her knees and trying to pull her shirt down to cover her crotch. Tiffany knelt beside her. "Come on, honey. Get your shorts on. We're going to make it. Somehow, we'll get through all this."

They had all been told, in the letter inviting them to what once looked like a profitable weekend, to bring shorts, T-shirts or tank tops, and running shoes. Greta had chosen a white, ribbed tank top and khaki shorts. It looked like the others had pretty much the same idea. All except Layla were putting on white tops and khaki shorts. Layla wore shiny black bicycle pants and a grey top that barely covered her nipples and left her belly exposed. Not very practical, thought Greta. But she did have nice tits.

The triangle clanged again, and Loopy called, "Don't make us come in there after you." Instinctively, the women gathered together and hugged, then headed one by one outside.

Greta was first. When she emerged into the sunlight, there were several whistles from the men. "Get a load of them legs," said one. "What I wouldn't give to get between 'em."

"The fuckin' hunters are giving a lot more than you ever could, Danny boy," said Loopy. "So just forget about it."

Whistles and wisecracks greeted each of the other women. Mariah, with her big breasts, drew an especially enthusiastic reaction.

"Line up, girls," said Loopy. "Line up and pay attention." He held up a pair of stainless-steel semi-circles, attached by a hinge. "This is a collar," he said. He reached out and pulled Mariah out of the line. "Turn around and face them," he commanded. "And push up your hair so your neck's exposed."

Mariah did as she was told.

"The collar attaches like so," he said, closing the two semi-circles around her neck and clicking the ends into place. "There's an electronic gizmo in them that's activated when you get close to the fence around the Ranch. When that happens, the little radio inside lets us know where you are. The ranch is big, but there's a road running all the way around it, just outside the fence line, and we've got guys in Jeeps, guys with guns. They're stationed every half mile on that road. You might make it through the razor wire to the outside, though I doubt it. But even if you did, one of our guys would be on you like one of them Jurassic velociraptors."

The other men began attaching the collars. The one who stood in front of Greta looked like a college kid, a good-natured jock. She smiled tentatively at him.

"Being sweet won't do you no good," he said in a low voice. "All of you cunts is going to die today."

He stepped back and looked expressionlessly at her. She felt defeated. Ever since she was 15, she had been able to handle men with a smile that was three parts friendliness and one part pure lasciviousness. It wasn't going to work here.

More men were coming up the path the women had followed the night before. They passed the big wooden frame, but the body of the gutted woman had been removed.

McTeague joined Loopy. "Have they been cooperating?" he asked. "So far, so good," said Loopy. "I explained about the collars."

"Excellent," said McTeague. Then he turned to the women. "Now, listen closely. Each of you will be given a chance to get as far from here as you can in two minutes. At the end of two minutes, the hunters who've drawn your name will begin pursuit. Since you'll be leaving separately, you won't be able to stick together. So get any notions of teamwork out of your pretty little heads. It's every girl for herself out there.

"The Ranch is big, over 5,200 acres. The northern half is hilly and heavily wooded. We're in the southwest. The hotel is over there." He pointed east, where the men had just come from. "There are buildings of various sorts scattered about. You can hide, or try to hide, anywhere you want. After all, you're running for your lives.

"As for our hunters," he said, turning to the men, "they will be operating in two-man teams, and though they are restricted to bagging their assigned prey, they can radio me anytime they run into another team's quarry. So, in a spirit of cooperation, we should be able to round up all of these young ladies before nightfall. And while their bodies are yours, to be disposed of as you wish, remember that the Medical Center will pay $2,500 each for usable hearts and livers, $500 each for kidneys and $150 for corneas."

"Fuck you," yelled Tiffany. "I'm not playing this game."

McTeague moved toward her. She tried to back away, but one of the staff men grabbed her from behind and pinioned her arms.

"You don't have to play," McTeague said calmly. "You can just let the pair of men who drew your named take you directly to the Abattoir. That's where we discipline naughty girls like you. I don't ordinarily participate in such exercises, but in your case I would make an exception."

Then he hit her with a backhanded blow that snapped her head to the left. She went limp in the embrace of the man behind her.

"Tiffany will be released last," McTeague said, in an even voice. "That will give her a chance to come to her senses." He rejoined Loopy and pulled a stopwatch out of his pocket. "Okay, Greta, you're up first."

Greta hugged Mariah and stepped forward. "I'm ready," she said. "Who'll be chasing me?"

McTeague waved toward Davis and Tom. "Great. A fat man and a cripple," Greta said, in a deliberately loud voice. "This should be easy."

"They won't go easy on you when they catch you," said McTeague. "Alright, start running."

Greta had already decided on her course. With long, effortless strides, she ran northeast, toward a low hill that led to the forested northern half of the Ranch. When she reached the crest, she found herself looking down into the valley she had seen from the hotel dining room the day before. The hotel was on the farther side, its windows gleaming in the sunlight. Greta glanced back at the group of men. She figured she had almost a half-mile lead before two men detached themselves from the group and headed toward her. Davis and Tom were trying hard, but they moved slowly.

She smiled and continued running. She wanted to put as much distance as possible between herself and her pursuers. She would need time to set up an ambush.

Back at the bunkhouse, the second runner, Mickie, had started out at a very fast pace, headed northwest, toward the nearest big stand of trees. The men who were to pursue her, two brothers named Tony and Raymond, were doing calisthenics to loosen up. They appeared to be in good shape.

Bob and Paulie were checking their gear. Another hunter, Jeff, came up and asked, "I've never seen a bow like that. What kind is it?"

"It's a compound bow," said Paulie, "very powerful, but very smooth."

"What kind of arrows do you use?"

Paulie pulled one from his quiver and handed it to Jeff.

"Boy, it's really light," said Jeff.

"Yeah. The shaft is made of graphite."

"But the barbs here look like they're slanted the wrong way," said Jeff. "They're swept forward, instead of back."

"Yeah," said Paulie. "But when the arrowhead enters an animal — Layla, for instance — the blades swing back and lock into place. Sort of like a toggle bolt. These kinds of heads do a lot more damage."

Jeff whistled softly.

"Hey," said Bob, in a tone of mock indignation. "What about me? What about my nifty crossbow? These bolts will do just as much damage as my friend Robin Hood's arrowheads. Watch this."

He raised the crossbow and aimed at a stack of firewood next to the bunkhouse. There was a sharp twang, and the top log split in two. Bob looked around the group for approval. The men were laughing appreciatively. The faces of the four remaining women were filled with fear.

Layla's lips trembled, and she started crying. She had been selected as Bob and Paulie's quarry.

"Retrieve that bolt, Bob," said McTeague. "You and Paulie are up next. After Miss Layla gets her head start, of course." He winked at her.

One by one, the women fled and the men pursued. Mariah was last. Her hunters were Jeff, who she thought had a rather gentle appearance, and Dozney, a large, athletic man with a completely bald head. He hadn't smiled once that morning, or at the reception the night before. After McTeague announced that Mariah would be his and Jeff's quarry, he had kept his dark eyes on her. He was trying to spook her, she thought. Well, it was sure working.

When McTeague gave the signal, Mariah ran up the hill and tried to follow Greta, though of course Greta had long ago disappeared. But what worked for Greta, a trained and graceful runner, wasn't appropriate for someone with Mariah's generous build. Her breasts flopped wildly, and her knees began hurting before she had gone 200 yards. Jeff and Dozney started after her at a trot.

No use expending too much energy. This was going to be a cinch.

Things weren't going easily for Davis and Tom, however. They had started quarrelling even before reaching the summit of the low hill that Greta had climbed so quickly. Tom was winded, and he kept yelling for Davis to slow down. Davis, despite his shoulder injury, was all for pressing ahead at full speed.

When he reached the crest of the hill, he saw Greta, far in the distance. She had veered off to the right, down from the ridgeline toward the tree-lined stream. Once in the trees, she could continue north to the broader woods. At that point, tracking her would be difficult.

Davis would be the first to concede that he wasn't really an outdoorsman, and God knows Tom wasn't — fat Tom, in his overpriced safari outfit. Davis complimented himself that at least he wore something appropriate: a grungy camouflage jacket and plaid Bermuda shorts. You were supposed to fucking relax on a weekend like this one.

He heard Tom wailing behind him. He was yelling about how McTeague and Sims had said the teams should stick together. Don't get separated. Yada, yada, yada.

Fuck Tom. Fuck Sims and McTeague. Fuck 'em all. He had paid $60,000 for this hunt, and he wasn't going to let this slow-footed piglet hold him back. He quickened his pace, and Tom's yelling began to fade in the distance.

One by one, the women fell to the hunters. Mickie was hit in the breast by a tranquilizer dart and carried to the Abattoir, where she would die a slow and agonizing death. Jeff and Dozney caught up with Mariah before she had gone a mile. She turned and surrendered, promising a wide and enticing array of sexual favors. But Dozney stuck a knife in her stomach, and Jeff finished her off by stabbing her in the back. Then they cut off her beautiful breasts for souvenirs. Layla was felled by an arrow in her left buttock while she fled. Paulie and Bob then tied her to a barn door and took turns filling her guts with arrows and crossbow bolts. They produced a nice, tight pattern. Not a single projectile was more than five inches from her navel.

Davis had followed the creek north, wading upstream in the middle of it, and the going was difficult. The terrain got more and more rugged, and he was being forced to climb. At one point, he had slipped on wet rocks and had reacted instinctively by reaching for an overhanging branch. That reopened the wound in his shoulder.

All in all, the day was not going well. To make matters worse, he kept getting urgent radio messages from Sims and McTeague. They wanted to know where he was. Tom had snitched on him, no doubt. He hadn't heard directly from Tom because the radio system only allowed communication between the hunters and "Base," meaning wherever Sims and McTeague were at the moment. Radio traffic among the hunters would be too confusing, Sims had said.

Fuck him, Davis muttered to himself. Fuck 'em all. He'd track her down and bag her. He'd use his hunting knife to rip her guts out, because he made $250,000 a year doing tax law and he didn't need to be peddling sluts' organs to some fucking medical center for chump change.

Davis was so wrapped up in his internal monologue that he almost failed to notice that he had reached a point where a smaller tributary flowed into the stream. Which way should he go? Greta had angled down from the hill to the stream, and twice since then he had seen her, well ahead of him, splashing as she ran. He was gaining on her, but now he had to decide which way she might have gone.

He looked to the left, up the main stream, which now ran through a deep ravine. He could see something white through the trees. Maybe it was just some kind of water bird, like the egret he's seen a few minutes earlier. But maybe it was her.

The tributary was little more than an unpromising rivulet. He decided to explore that distant splash of white in the green gloom of the main stream.

Greta watched him from atop a rock outcropping above the ravine. She had tied her tank top to some bushes below, hoping Davis would spot it. Her strategy seemed to be working. He was plodding through the water. The shoulder of his camouflage jacket was stained dark red. He must be bleeding.

When he was almost directly below her, Greta picked up the stone she had chosen. It was rounded on one side but had a jagged edge on the other. She guessed it weighed 25 to 30 pounds. She lifted it over her head and stood for a second like some magnificent, bare-breasted Amazon. Then she heaved it just as Davis, who sensed danger, looked up. He caught the rock square in the face, with a sound like an axe hitting a watermelon, and fell backward into the water. His face was a mass of blood.

Greta retreated from the ledge and hurried down a circuitous path that led to the water. She hoped Davis wouldn't regain consciousness before she got to him.

She needn't have worried. He lay staring up at the sky. At least, one eye stared skyward. The other had been knocked deep into his skull. He didn't seem to be breathing.

She reached out and placed her hand on his throat. No pulse. Good. She took his jacket and cap. She would need them. Her fair skin and blonde hair had made her too easy to spot. She took his knife, his radio and his map, too.

She picked up the dart gun, examined it, then tossed it into the water. She had fired guns before, but she hadn't ever seen one like this and there wasn't time to learn how to use it.

Then she pulled off Davis's shorts and underpants and let the water carry them downstream. She considered cutting off his dick, as a warning to her other pursuers, but that seemed too barbarous. They were into mutilation. She'd be satisfied with survival.