Authors: Lillian Bowman
Our house is on a quiet street ten minutes from Cordoba Bay High School and a ninety-minute drive to Los Angeles. Getting my driver’s license last year was so liberating. I was no longer hostage to urban sprawl. Now I won’t be able to drive a car alone again. I’ll be too tempting a target by myself.
Half the school is gathered on my street, waiting for me to return. They’re sprawled on our lawn, sitting on top of their parked cars, and clogging the neighbors’ driveways. It looks like someone’s even cooking hot dogs. It’s like a massive kegger to commemorate the end of life as I know it. Maybe they’ll hit the beach afterwards. It’s one of those gloriously bright September days when the weather is just warm enough yet the air is autumn crisp. I glimpse flip flops, tanned shoulders, and bikini tops.
My eyes rest on the familiar faces of dance squad cheerleaders and football players. A flicker of relief moves through me at the sight of my closest friends. They’re not in beach gear. Then there are the newer faces, the school newspaper crowd I’ve been getting to know ever since breaking my leg junior year. They don’t look like revelers, either.
As for everyone else? I can’t even remember having a conversation with most of them. They’re probably here for the spectacle. There aren’t many anathemas in a town like Cordoba Bay. Mayor Alton has a zero tolerance policy for crime. She keeps the criminal element out of our town.
The criminal element… like me.
God. That’s really me now.
I’m distracted from my dark thoughts by the sight of someone waving both arms at me. My eyes focus on my best friend since first grade, Amanda Sykes, and my boyfriend, Conrad. Relief washes through me. I grab the door handle, planning to spring out of the car and run to them. I want Conrad’s arms around me. I want to hear Amanda tell me this is no big deal. Maybe she’s already thought of a reason I shouldn’t freak out over this.
My hand freezes on the door handle. A terrible thought grips me.
There are hundreds of people here.
Some might be members of hunting guilds.
I read the forums, the information websites. They all said the same thing: forget friends. You can’t trust your friends once you’re an anathema. You can’t trust anyone anymore. Not classmates, not coworkers, not the nice old lady down the street.
You are a non-citizen. A non-person. All anathemas have a default, taxpayer-subsidized bounty on their heads of one thousand dollars. That number only stays low if you don’t have enemies willing to publicly contribute to the bounty and increase it.
“Here’s a cruel lesson about the world, Anathema,”
wrote one of the information sites.
“There is an enormous number of people willing to end your life for one thousand dollars. Accept that now and don’t forget it. Optimists and idealists who see only the best in people die very quickly once they lose citizenship. Be a cynic. Be a pessimist and don’t apologize. See that glass as half-empty because it IS half-empty! See the worst in people and maybe, just maybe, you’ll survive the United Sociopaths of America.”
Mom and Dad slide out of the car to greet the crowd, but I don’t. The faces suddenly look menacing. The eyes calculating. I can’t bring myself to move. Mom ducks back down and says something to me, but I can’t hear her through the roaring in my ears. I am paralyzed, my heart pounding like a war drum.
My classmates seem perplexed. They’re exchanging glances. Mom turns to Amanda and hugs her, then she embraces Conrad. Some of my friends from the school newspaper shoot me encouraging smiles. Siobhan Park practically throws herself into my mom’s arms. Since Siobhan and I aren’t even friends, I suspect that’s a hug of celebration.
Amanda marches up to my window and taps on it delicately. “Come on out.”
Sweat prickles my hairline. I can’t leave the car. I can’t risk it. I shake my head.
Amanda pounds the flat of her palm on the window. “Open the door, Kat!”
Finally, my heart thundering in my ears, I shove the door open. “Get in, get in, get in!” I almost scream it. “And lock the door!”
“I’m doing it.” Amanda’s infuriatingly slow about it. She drapes herself over the seat next to mine. The sunlight burnishes her chestnut hair with gold. “What’s your deal?”
“Do you have to ask?” My voice sounds hysterical. “I lost citizenship, Amanda. I’m an anathema!”
She arches her eyebrows. “Uh, yeah. I know. We all know. Colin’s mom works at the courthouse. She called him the minute she heard the verdict.”
Colin Schwartz. Right. That kid who always does Amanda’s chemistry homework for her.
“Don’t you get it?” My eyes rake over the crowd. Every flash of sunlight across keys and belts makes me flinch. I keep thinking I see knives. Just like the hunter with his machete. “These people might be here to kill me.”
“They will not kill you.”
“A guy with a machete was waiting for me outside the courthouse. An actual machete.” I’m gasping for air now. This can’t be my life. It can’t be. “He was really there. He wanted me dead.”
Amanda grabs my shoulders and looks right into my eyes. “Kat, focus on me.”
“I am focusing.”
“Breathe.”
“I
am
breathing. Hear that sound? It’s me breathing!”
Her eyes bore into mine. I can see the line of her contact lenses against her sultry dark eyes. “Trust me, no one will kill you here. I’ve told everyone not to. They know they’ll suffer terrible consequences if they go after you.”
“What consequences?”
“My wrath and undying enmity, of course.”
It’s no small threat. She’s the most popular girl in our school. People are legitimately terrified of crossing her.
Still, my best friend shouldn’t have to threaten people just to keep me safe from them.
Amanda draws me into her arms. I lean my head on her shoulder miserably. “Your undying enmity won’t stop the kids in hunting guilds. They’ll just see one-thousand dollars when they look at me.”
There’s a smile in her voice. “I think you’re underestimating the power of my undying enmity.”
I stifle a laugh.
“And come on, Kat, most everyone here really did come to support you. Everyone’s so surprised this happened. It’s going to take them time to stop seeing you as Kathryn Grant, classmate, and start seeing you as an anathema. That’s basic psychology.”
I don’t miss the implication: eventually the shock would end. Eventually they
would
start seeing me as an anathema. And a legitimate target.
“Besides,” Amanda adds, “who hunts someone for only one-thousand dollars? You’d have to be totally, pathetically desperate for money.”
“I guess.”
It reassures me a bit to think about that. The fact is, most people in Cordoba Bay aren’t, in Amanda’s words, ‘totally, pathetically desperate’ for money. My parents aren’t poor by any means, but they’re a rarity in our town simply because they both need to work for a living. Most of my classmates arrived in Cordoba Bay along with the new mega mansions a decade ago. They come from families where their parents don’t work, or haven’t needed to work for years.
“And don’t worry about the local guild, either,” Amanda tells me. “Conrad carries weight with them. He’s a member.”
Conrad. That’s right. Conrad is part of the community hunting guild. I straighten and search out my boyfriend’s worried face in the crowd. I pick out his head of copper hair sun kissed with streaks of gold. He’s standing with his friends, watching me.
He’s assured me he only participates in the guilds for college admission purposes. It unsettles me anyway. Being a member of a hunting guild means theoretically
agreeing
to help kill anathemas.
Anathemas like me.
I shouldn’t feel sick at the thought. It’s really only the high profile, exclusive guilds like Death’s Disciples that live solely off the profits from killing anathemas. The vast majority of hunters are mere hobbyists.
After all, hunting guilds are everywhere. Schools have them. So do fraternities, country clubs, and businesses. It’s a normal social bonding experience, especially for men. People make friends through guilds, they network. Sometimes guilds serve as neighborhood watch groups by sweeping through anathema-dense areas and cleaning the streets. A lot of companies won’t interview people unless they’re registered members of one guild or another. People assume there’s something wrong with a healthy young man who won’t participate in America’s number one national sport.
That’s the whole point of losing citizenship, after all. If you break the law, you forfeit protection from the state. That’s why anathemas have nothing to lose. They’re…
No,
we’re
considered dangerous. We’re the villains of movies and TV shows and books. Keeping our numbers down protects law-abiding citizens. In theory. That’s why I can legitimately be killed by any person in this crowd who is a registered hunter. It’s why I’m at the mercy of any bounty hunter or sociopath who chooses to target me. It’s free market justice, American-style.
“I know I told you I was ready even if there was a guilty verdict,” I say quietly, reality sinking like a lead weight into my gut, “but I lied. I wasn’t ready. I didn’t actually think the judge would rule against me. I really didn’t.”
“None of us did.”
“My life is basically over now.”
“That’s so not true,” Amanda says. “Okay, so you’re going to miss out on some stuff. Parties with anyone we don’t know are definitely out. No more going to away games, either. And forget trips to the city… But school won’t change at all. It’s illegal to hunt within a school zone. My dad said so. He looked it up.”
“I know that.” School zones, religious institutions, hospitals. Hunting is illegal within those premises. Also, hunters can’t use projectile weapons. Not just because guns are illegal, but also because there’s too much risk of injuring citizens around the anathema. I’ll be safe at school because they can’t just stand outside of the building and fire arrows at me or something. Those are the only safe zones, though.
Amanda nudges me. “The point is, you have options. You’re not totally doomed. So cheer up, get out of the car, and greet all your friends and admirers. Do you think Alexander Metz had this many people when he lost his citizenship? I doubt it.”
A sigh escapes my lips. Suddenly the adrenaline is gone and I’m drained. My eyes move listlessly over the crowd surrounding the car. People are obviously wondering what we’re talking about in here for so long.
“All right.” I muster my courage and manage a smile. “I’ll get out now.”
Amanda steps out, then waits for me to follow. The briny ocean breeze sweeps over me as I find my feet, wind rustling my hair. The sun warms my chilled skin. I hold my breath, but no one rushes forward to kill me. People offer sympathetic smiles. Some call out words of encouragement. My smile grows genuine. The sky really is a glorious blue and the day truly can look so beautiful even if my life has changed forever.
“Thank you guys for coming,” I tell the crowd as a hush falls over them. “It means so much. I can’t even tell you. I know I’m…” I falter a moment, then force out the word, “an anathema now, but I’m still the same person you’ve always known, okay? And thanks. Seriously. Thanks for coming.”
Mom and Dad beam at me. Long fingers thread into mine. I look over to see my boyfriend, Conrad. He tugs on my arm and draws me close, his arms enveloping me. Amanda is still at my side in a public show of unity to remind the school I have people in my corner.
I rest my cheek against Conrad’s shoulder and whisper so only he and Amanda can hear, “Guys, I love you both. I seriously do.”
“We love you, too,” Amanda assures me, as Conrad presses his lips to my hair.