Authors: Lillian Bowman
I was friends with Amanda back when she had buckteeth and mom jeans, but other people know Amanda 2.0, the post-eighth grade version. She’s a beautiful, intimidating queen bee. And as the school quarterback, Conrad carries almost as much weight as Amanda does. They’re both at my side, even now. Maybe I’m an anathema, but I’m still
in.
I won’t be like Alexander Metz, an outcast prowling the halls alone. Losing citizenship hasn’t taken everything from me. This entire crowd now knows it.
Beyond Conrad’s muscular bicep, a face stands out in the crowd. Conrad’s mom.
Mayor Alton.
I wasn’t sure whether she’d come.
Yes, Conrad’s mother has always liked me, but she’s also the tough-on-crime mayor of Cordoba Bay. She made her name cleaning up this town. Now I’m an anathema, not the nice girl who’s dated her son for three years. I’m the sort of rifraff this town is supposed to keep out.
I raise my hand for a tentative wave. Today there is no smile on her face. She somehow manages to stand apart from the crowd like a lighthouse jutting from a cliff. Her mouth is set in a flat scarlet line. I’m sure she is looking at me, but she turns away rather than acknowledge me.
My hand drops.
I was expecting this. Dreading it. Conrad’s parental approval has now been removed from our relationship. A sigh escapes my lips, but I have to get over it.
There are worse things.
After all, what can Conrad’s mom really do to me?
Later that night when I walk into the den, my father tries to angle the computer screen away from me. I catch a glimpse of the image anyway. My bowl of cereal almost slips from my hand.
“What is that, Dad?”
I rush forward to see it up close. There’s an image of my tanned face pinched in concentration. My blonde hair is flying out behind me in a loose ponytail, my brows pressed down into a frown over my green eyes. My skirt is rippling about my thighs as I flee down the courthouse stairs, my parents running next to me.
Goosebumps prick up over my skin. Someone has uploaded an image of me to the Tumblr account of an online hunting database. The photo must have been snapped yesterday when I was leaving the courthouse. I didn’t even see a photographer nearby. Below the picture, 1,282 hunters have reblogged my image. Some have left comments about the newest registered anathema in Cordoba Bay, California.
Easy kill. Not worth the drive unless you’re going for a vacay around there.
I’d nail her. In every sense of the word.
More fresh meat for my grinder!
Fear bolts through me. I seize the mouse and click out of the window. “Don’t go on these sites. They’re sick and twisted. They don’t deserve the traffic.”
Dad folds his arms. “Your Mom and I are going to subscribe to all the major hunting databases. It would be worth the cost.”
“What, so I can read online about people plotting to kill me? It’s not as fun as it sounds, Dad!”
“The way we see it, we’ll be gathering intel on the enemy. We’ll know long beforehand if anyone’s planning to come after you.”
“
And
you’ll give them money they can use to kill me.”
“They’re not going to target you anytime soon. I’m confident about that.” Dad nods. “I checked all the hunting databases. You’re bounty’s still just one-thousand dollars and in the comments, no one has much to say about you. You’re as safe as an anathema can be, and your Mom and I are going to keep you that way.”
My heart pounds. People don’t have to target me personally to come after me. Most phones have facial recognition apps. All someone has to do is aim their camera at a crowd, and their phone will buzz and identify any nearby anathemas.
I could walk down the street and some hunter I’ve never met, never seen, will realize on sight that I’m not a citizen. Then it’s up to them whether they want an easy thousand dollars. People won’t bother hopping on planes and flying across the country to go after me for my paltry bounty, but I’m far from safe.
My father’s words get me thinking, though, so that night I get on my computer and look at the free online hunting databases. My mind keeps turning to Alexander Metz, the only other anathema in our school. Half the school has already joined the ‘Alexander Metz Death Watch’ group on Facebook to eagerly speculate over the date of Alexander’s future demise. I’m not a member. It always struck me as tasteless. Now it seems downright malevolent.
Being an anathema is dangerous. Being an anathema with enemies is fatal. Luckily I don’t seem to have any. On every website, I still only have the default one-thousand dollar bounty. No one has parted with money to see me dead faster.
The databases have information from my driver’s license, though: I’m listed with my height, my weight (eight pounds too light), and my estimated hazard index to anyone who’s thinking of hunting me.
“Hazard Index: Level 1: An easy kill. No weapons believed necessary.”
Most chillingly of all, they have my home address on there. A cold draft sweeps over me. I look at the front door, half-expecting it to burst open.
But no. Of course not. That would be breaking and entering. Hunters can’t do that. I’m safe at home. This is the house of two citizens.
I can never live alone, though. Anathemas have no official property rights.
To distract myself from my anxiety, I search for Alexander Metz on the hunting database. There’s a large picture of him, his intense blue eyes gazing out from beneath slanted eyebrows. His hair is black, the panes of his face chiseled, his mouth a hard line.
I never paid him much attention at school. He’s one of those people you avert your eyes from. It seems safer that way. Even if I hadn’t known he was not a citizen, he would have intimidated me. It’s something about the way he looks at people, his face expressionless, eyes cold. He exudes an air of menace.
My gaze dropped to his statistics.
Height:
6’3
Weight:
190
Hazard Index:
Level 9:
History of violence. Advised for professional-level hunters only. Do not approach unless heavily armed.
Bounty:
$52,053
Alexander must have enemies, because that’s a high bounty. How many people have contributed cash to the public fund to see him killed?
Maybe it had something to do with that HI-9 classification. “
Advised for professional-level hunters only
.” Perhaps a few too many amateur hunters attacked him and regretted it.
His blue eyes seem to bore into me from the glowing screen.
A thought comes to me:
He’s probably killed people.
It happens. Hunters don’t always win when they attack. Sometimes the anathemas do. After all, the law no longer protects us, so we no longer have any obligation to obey it. It’s not like we can lose citizenship twice. Most of us obey it, anyway, because petty crimes make enemies. Enemies put money towards our bounties.
Most stores have signs warning non-citizens:
We contribute to the bounties of shoplifters.
And every citizen has life insurance with a Vendetta Clause in it—an automatic payout towards the bounty of any anathema who causes their death or dismemberment.
Membership in a hunting guild or participation in hunting activities at time of death invalidates any Vendetta Clause. Hunters don’t have the protection of assured vengeance; they give it up willingly for the rewards of cash and glory that come with killing anathemas. That’s why anathemas can kill hunters without skyrocketing their bounties.
I find myself staring at Alexander Metz. I don’t know which of us has it better. He has the high bounty and the deadly reputation. I have a low bounty and all the menace of a newborn baby deer. Hunters will fear him, but the most dangerous of them – the professionals – will be intrigued by the price on his head and seek him out. No one will fear me and I won’t be worth the money of flying across the country to kill, but I’m an easy target for amateur hunters looking for a quick buck. Like that hillbilly with his machete.
“See you later, girlie!”
What had he meant by that? Was he going to come back for me? Was he just trying to scare me?
I don’t know. I have no way to guess.
This is a brand new world and I don’t understand the rules anymore.
I return to school the next day. The best survival plan for an anathema is overseas college. A pile of brochures from places like King’s College in London and the University of Edinburgh sit on my desk at home. My family’s comfortably middle class, but we can’t afford an exit visa on our own.
My best hope lies in qualifying for an Asylum Scholarship. It’s part of a European initiative aimed at anathemas convicted of juvenile offenses in the USA. The scholarship will cover the cost of an exit visa
and
tuition for the school abroad. I’ve always been a solid ‘B’ student. Now I have to raise that to an ‘A’.
Mom and Dad both commute to Los Angeles for work. They can’t afford to quit their jobs to play bodyguard. Luckily, Conrad has come through. He arrives to pick me up, as promised. He surveys the area around my house carefully, then hustles me out. We run to his car together, where two of his friends are already seated. I get the seat in the center of the car. The three boys are my protection.
“It’s like you’re a celebrity,” jokes Russell Corgin, one of the football team’s wide receivers, and the son of the richest parents in town. Russell is Amanda’s off-and-on boyfriend. He’s also in the same hunting guild as Conrad.
At every red light, I have to duck down rather than give people in nearby cars a chance to ping me on their facial recognition systems. Maybe I’m just being paranoid but the internet forums all advised this. I’m not taking any risks. Unfortunately, ducking puts my head right in the proximity of Russell’s lap, and he informs me I can stay there. I glare at him. Conrad reaches back to swat his arm.
“Okay there, Kat?” Conrad asks.
I sit up when the car is lurching forward down the street again. “You guys are going to get so sick of doing this every day.”
Russell’s eyebrows jump in surprise. Conrad’s other friend in the passenger’s seat, Derek, shoots him a quick I-didn’t-sign-up-for-every-day look. It obviously hasn’t occurred to any of them that I was going to need this protection for the rest of my time at school, even though that should be obvious. It must’ve seemed a novelty to them, a laughing matter, getting Conrad’s girlfriend to school alive. They hadn’t thought through the fact that I’d need protection getting to and from school for the rest of the year.
School itself is safe. The hunting of anathemas is forbidden at any public educational institution. Hunters can’t claim any bounty for anathemas killed in school zones and they can even lose citizenship over it themselves. When we wind into the parking lot, the tension drains from me. Conrad and Derek pop open their doors. As I unbuckle, Russell smiles sleazily at me. “I enjoyed sharing this time with you, Kitten.”
“Don’t call me Kitten.” I move towards the door, but he clasps my bare arm, an unsettling heat in his eyes.
“If Conrad’s not around, I’ll give you a ride anytime you need it.”
Something about his words, his look, sends goosebumps prickling up my spine. Nothing about me has changed but my citizenship status. I’m still his best friend’s girlfriend. He was perfectly indifferent to me yesterday.
Conrad slides the door open next to me, flooding the SUV with bright sunlight. He waves us out. I pull away from Russell and slip out. Conrad’s arms encircle me with their comforting, warm weight.
“Ready to run the gauntlet?” he asks me.
“Ready,” I affirm.
Then we start down the palm-tree lined path towards the entrance to the lobby. Crowds of students come to a standstill as we pass, their eyes on me.
I don’t imagine the momentary hush that drops over them. Gazes rest heavily on me, low whispers hiss in my ear. Heat steals into my cheeks. I think of Alexander Metz when he first came to Cordoba Bay High.
It was midway through freshman year, a few months before Conrad and I got together. Amanda and I were hanging out on the front steps with the rest of dance squad, and then Alexander walked down the path towards us. It was impossible not to notice him. Even back then before he filled out with hard, lean muscle, he moved with a latent grace. There was something controlled and leashed in his movements, a natural athleticism that drew my gaze. The sunlight glinted over the blue-black of his lightly tousled hair, the slope of his shoulders.
He was beautiful to me.
I leaned over to whisper to Amanda, “Who is
that
?”
He’d caught her eye, too. She was already consulting her cell phone. “Don’t even go there. He’s not a citizen.”
Her voice throbbed with excitement at the scandal of an anathema in
our
school. I was shocked. Frightened, even. I instantly looked away from Alexander Metz, my stomach bunching into knots. Everyone knew how dangerous anathemas were. I didn’t breathe until he’d passed us, until he strode into the lobby.
Now my classmates clear a path before me. They’re leery of standing too close. It’s like I have a disease they’re afraid to catch.
“Oh come on,” I exclaim to Conrad, frustrated. “I haven’t suddenly morphed into an ax murderer!”
His warm hand rubs the back of my neck. “Give it time.”
But his eyes are moving around uneasily, too. He shares my subtle stigma by just standing here with me. Conrad has always been popular. He’s the school’s golden boy. Public censure is new to him. In the last year, I’ve morphed from a hot blonde dancer into a school newspaper geek. He was okay with that. Now I’m asking for him to tolerate a much more significant change.
It’s an act of courage for him to stay here by my side. He needs to know I understand that.
My fingers braid with his. Our eyes meet significantly, and for a moment it feels the way it did when we first got together. It’s like the world around us fades and we’re alone in the universe.
Then a voice breaks in.
“Kat!”
Amanda plows into me, her arms clasping me. I hug her back, and she pulls away, her eyes sparkling. “How was the trip to school? Did anyone come after you?”
This is giving her some vicarious excitement. A note of irritation flashes through me, but I bite it back.
“Not with a car full of guys. I was kind of a coward and ducked at every stop light, though.” It’s on the tip of my tongue to mention Russell’s bizarre behavior, but I’m not sure if I imagined that or not.
Plus I’m not sure how Amanda would take it if I told her. She has blinders when it comes to Russell. Better to hold my tongue and hope I imagined it.