Free The Hunt by Andrew Fukuda Page B

hear. He answers, energy now beginning to course through his body, and points at a number of different monitors. She asks another question, her body turning slightly toward the monitors, inching closer to the man.
    62 ANDREW FUKUDA
    He notices. And when he answers, his head bobs enthusiasticaly on his narrow shoulders.

    on his narrow shoulders.
    No doubt about it, she’s good at this fl irtation game. And she’s up to something.
    She raises her long arm, pointing at one of the monitors. Her arm stretches out effortlessly upward like the exclamation point at the end of a sentence that reads: I’m gorgeous! That arm has always done a number on me, al those years sitting behind her, especialy in the summer months when she wore sleeveless shirts and I could view the whole length of her wonderful, perfectly sculptured arms.
    They were neither too thin nor too thick, just the perfect dimensions with perfect ridges that exuded both assurance and grace. Even the light freckles that sprinkle her arm, exploding in a splattering of dots as they disappear into her shirt, are more seductive than imperfect.
    Slowly, I edge closer to Ashley June, positioning myself behind a smal pilar. I peer around the pilar; she’s moved even closer to him. Above them, images from security cameras shine with a dul blur. At least a good half of them center on the Dome.
    “Can’t believe they’re running al the time.”
    “Twenty- four/seven,” he answers proudly.
    “And is there always someone watching these monitors?”
    “Wel, we used to station a staffer here. But, wel, it became . . .

    “Wel, we used to station a staffer here. But, wel, it became . . .
    there was a policy change.”
    “A policy change?”
    There is a long pause.
    “Oh, c’mon, you can tel me,” Ashley June says.
    “Don’t tel anyone,” the staffer warns, his voice hushed.
    “Okay. Our secret.”
    “Some staffers became so lost in these images of the hepers that they’d . . .”
    THE HUNT 63
    “Yes?”
    “They lost their senses, they were driven mad with desire. They’d rush out at the heper vilage.”
    “But it’s enclosed by the Dome.”
    “No, you don’t understand. They’d rush out in the daytime.”
    “What?”

    “Right from this very seat. One moment they’re staring at the monitors, and the next they’re rushing down the stairs and out the exit doors.”
    “Even with the sun burning?”
    “It’s like they forgot. Or it just didn’t matter to them anymore.”
    Another pause. “So that’s why there was a policy change. First, no more recordings— ilegal bootleg copies were somehow winding up on the streets. And second, now everyone leaves this fl oor before dawn.”
    “It’s completely unstationed during the day?”
    “Not only is it unstationed, but look, the windows have no shutters.
    They were taken down. So now, the sun pours in during the daytime. The best security system. Nobody’s coming in here after dawn. Nobody.”
    There is a pause, and I think that’s the end of the conversation when Ashley June speaks again. “And what’s that big blue oval button over there?”
    “I’m not realy supposed to say.”
    “Oh, c’mon, it’s safe with me.”

    Another pause.
    “Like everything else you’ve told me, al the stuff you could get fi red for disclosing, it’s al safe with me,” says Ashley June, this time with a hint of a threat in her voice.
    “It’s the lockdown control,” he says tersely after a moment.
    “What’s that?”
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    “It shuts the building down, locks al entrances, shutters al windows. There’s no leaving the building once lockdown has been deployed. Push it to set the system, push again to cancel—”
    His voice gets drowned out by the approaching tour group, which has moved away from the windows and is now mumbling its way toward the back of the fl oor, toward the monitors. I slink back into the mix. Nobody’s noticed my absence. I don’t think.
    By the time the group reaches the