****** The Hunt by P ******
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The Hunt


Part I

Elsie Brauer stopped and checked her face and her casual yet controlled honey-
blond hair in the mirror one more time before leaving home. On her way through
the laundry room to the garage, she put her soiled work clothes to soak in a
bucket of cold water until her mother finished her own chores and finally got
around to laundry. Elsie's tools were already cleaned and stowed in their case
in the trunk of her car.

Deep in thought and several hours behind schedule, Elsie Brauer opened the
garage door and set off for Red Lake Reservoir. It was almost noon already! The
job this morning had taken longer than she expected. Her jobs somehow seemed
always to take longer than she expected, especially when she something else to
do later in the day. Whenever her thoughts drifted in this general direction,
which was the case not too infrequently, Elsie indulged herself in a brief
flash of resentment. She knew that she and her mother owed their hard won
luxuries, like her car, for example, to their work. To be fair, there was also
so much for her mother to do with her day job in the City and her long commute.
This was only a family side-line. Perhaps, Elsie thought, she should simply
accept the choice that her mother had made for them and resign herself to the
fact that many of her friends had more free time than she. On the other hand,
few could match her wheels. With that, she turned the ignition and enjoyed the
feel of her Puma surging to life at her command.

She simply could not help herself. Her conscience forced her to join the small
number of protestors at Red Lake Reservoir. It was just wrong. Elsie simply had
to protest.

Someone had to protest.

She well knew that in the bad old days of the Patriarchy, untold human lives
and material resources were destroyed in endless wars. Slogans had varied over
time with some ingenuity, but time after time, male greed and male aggression
made common cause. Cities were levelled and the land itself was poisoned with
land mines, radiation, and chemicals.

Resources and wealth not destroyed outright in one war were single mindedly
devoted to preparation for the next war, certain to be fought over some soon-
forgotten silliness or other. Women and children, universally and methodically
denied the means and skills to protect themselves, were raped and slaughtered
in numbers beyond counting, almost casually. Despite the terrible suffering,
inflicted more and more on the so-called civilian population than army against
army, these wars changed very little except to advance the technology of
devastation and to increase the tolerance of successive generations for the
ever-increasing destructiveness of war.

In the brief times peace, the terror was hardly less for women and children as
males brutalized everyone within their reach. Males destroyed themselves and
each other through self-inflicted drug overdoses, neighborhood violence, and
automobile accidents and still had violence enough to inflict on others. Males
infected women and infants with the dread HIV virus. Although more and more
males were stockpiled in prisons or even executed with increasing alacrity, the
streets were never safe at night. The threat of biological weapons that could
destroy lives but preserve property added a new dimension to the terror.

Women finally had enough. They recognized the power of their own persons and
the strength of their sisterhood and pledged never again to cringe from male
size or strength or eagerness for violence. In the bloody Revolution and
Reconstruction, the male population fell drastically. The hands of the few
surviving males were kept far from the levers of power.

Very simply and very abruptly, the drastic decline in male population freed
enormous resources, and improved the lives of most people. Foreign wars stopped
and random violence almost ceased. A productive and hard working as men might
claim to be, in reality, they consumed substantially more than they produced.
Women made up the difference, producing far more than they consumed. Due to
women's unending sentimentality, the surviving males still commanded far more
than their share of the world's wealth, but there were very simply many, many
fewer of them.

All recognized that this simple limitation of the male population had almost
eliminated violent crime and finally ended war. However, within the span of a
generation, male births threatened a total recovery of the male population, not
even restrained by the usual excesses of male self-destructiveness. Some argued
that upbringing and education would suffice and preserve the "New World Order."
Others argued that male births best might be prevented by manipulation of
fertilization or through selective abortion of male fetuses or that a
percentage of male infants simply be destroyed at birth. People saw that such a
system would not ensure the quality of the survivors who in truth would father
the next generation. Pious utterances and high school debating societies aside,
no one really wanted to go back to the bad old days. Just as Tudor England
feared that the Roman Catholic Church might rise again and reclaim power and
wealth lost and redistributed to a new energetic elite, the new female elite
feared that males might somehow replenish their numbers and savagely reclaim
their lost prerogatives.

In universities and coffee houses, intellectuals, mostly female but even some
highly regarded, open-minded surviving males, argued that civilization itself
was simply the female response to male size and eagerness for violence. Even a
superficial review of history before the Revolution gave vivid and
unimpeachable testimony to males' lack of true human sensibilities.
Biologically, males were merely a reproductive accessory like placentas and not
fully and independently human. Males carried a deformed, stunted Y chromosome
and lacked the normal human complement of 46 full, complete chromosomes.

An annual Hunt was instituted to control male numbers. Starting in the Spring
following their 18th birthday, males were required to spend 30 months in
national service.' Just as untold generations of males had shipped off to war
with much bravado, now males shipped off to their "national service." Early
each fall, each male was released in a designated preserve for one day. Each
day's hunting began at 7 AM and continued until late afternoon. The precise
rules were tweaked from time to time to control the harvest.

Males had an opportunity to study their sectors before each hunt and were
hunted in the same sector all three years. The males trained the rest of the
year and provided low cost physical labor.

Before the Revolution, women had comprised ten percent of all hunters and
perhaps twenty percent in Western States. Now the ranks of hunters grew with
women who loved the out of doors and thrill of the chase but had been repelled
by the unpleasant details of the slaughter of graceful wild creatures. Males or
jacks as they came to be called evoked much less sympathy.

Increasingly, some hunted as a political act to show their commitment to the
new order.

Jack hunting served as a path to political power, just like military experience
served in the old order. Hunting permits were limited and rapidly became
difficult to obtain. In time, the Hunt became a shared experience or rite of
passage for the elite of the post Revolutionary society, an initiation that
separated the leaders from the followers. A few, though, had lingering doubts.


Part II

Brad Norton dashed into the underbrush, nearly tripping over the discarded
plastic halter of a six-pack of soda cans. Twice before, he had survived the
day of terror and he was determined to survive once more - his third and final
Hunt. He wanted to get away from the pack as quickly as he could, not only to
separate himself from the damned hunters but also to lose his benighted
fellows. No more than one male in six, only the quickest and the most clever
had survived two Hunts. No more than one male in nine would survive three.

Brad was proud of the two rings that he had already earned. His family and
friends admired them also. Should he survive this third Hunt, he would be
entitled to most of the rights of Citizenship. He would be as famous as his
sister and her damned game-winning three-pointer. He would never be hunted
again unless he committed a crime or somehow volunteered for the temptingly
generous bounty. He had even heard of males who had applied to be Hunters.
Wouldn't that be a kick in the ass!

In an effort to be fair, males were given several opportunities to visit the
ground where they would be hunted. A 10-foot, barb wire topped metal fence
enclosed the Cady- Stanton sector at Red Lake Reservoir. Brad had patrolled his
sector meticulously, foot by foot and inch by inch with special attention to
the fence when he had been able to avoid surveillance during the training
sessions. On one such visit, Brad had found that the fence could indeed be
crossed. He found a place, hidden in the dense undergrowth, where the fence ran
parallel to a narrow asphalt access road. Rain run-off had eroded a shallow
gully that passed under the fence. He could just squeeze himself through and
dash to the trees on the other side of the road. There, he could wait out the
Hunt in relative safety. His ploy had worked twice already. It very well might
work again, but only for one and certainly not for any more than one. He was
quite satisfied to let the others make their own luck. He had made his. He
would survive and win his third ring and his freedom. He would be a hero at
Cady-Stanton College just like his damned sister in that damned basketball
game. Everyone knew that her cloddy foot was on the line.

The chicken jacks, as usual, were given to a boisterous silliness punctuated by
periodic fits of utter despair in the seemingly endless moments before the
first horn sounded for their first Hunts. Several scrawny 18 year olds implored
Brad's help. So many know- nothing 18 year olds were taken in their first hunt
that older males like he rarely bothered even to learn their names. Two of
three are taken on their first hunt. One, he thought he recognized from
somewhere though. Bob, that was his name and he was stuffing a last candy bar
into his mouth. Bob or Rob or Bob-bo, if it made any difference. Brad found no
particular need to add to his burdens. He mumbled a bland encouragement and let
them dashed off.

The 19 year olds - called buckoos - had survived one Hunt and each had
convinced himself somehow that he would survive the next. Buckoos exuded a
characteristic, unshakable, if incomprehensible confidence as they strutted,
boasted, bragged, and showed off their single earrings in a most entertaining
and even endearing manner. They pranced and postured with bravado, seeking to
impress the terrified chicken jacks, and elicit attention and trinkets from the
women who competed with one another to encourage them into more and more
outrageous displays. In reality, about only one half survived their second
hunt.

The 20 year olds - bull-jacks like Brad - prepared with a far grimmer
determination. Only the quickest and smartest had made it this far. Each had
survived two Hunts and knew that most of his erstwhile companions had already
been taken. Each knew that if he survived this third time, he would done and
free to go on with his life. Fully two thirds survived the third Hunt. The
paired rings on their right ears jangle when they ran, climbed, and crawled the
challenging obstacle courses. They mourned lost childhood companions but they
could finally touch the possibility of personal survival.

In the frantic moments after the males had been released into the area, all but
one had simply dashed away, trying to get as far away as they could from the
staging area. Brad feigned an ankle sprain and quickly dropped back from the
pack. Desperate for their own lives, no one paid any attention to him. He
waited until finally, he was quite alone. Then he ducked under the bushes. He
waited to be sure that no one else was watching. Then he crawled up to the
fence, found his gully, and wiggled under it. The fit was tight - tighter than
last year - and he had a fair bit of dirt and more than one scratch on his bare
skin to show for it. He dashed across the road, hid himself in the woods, and
then waited impatiently for the horn that closed the day's session.

Should he be discovered outside the designated area on Hunt day, he could be
killed by anyone without any requirement for license or permit. Captured alive
away from the preserve, he would find himself sold as a Pig. But with all of
the attention focused on the hunting area itself, Brad knew that he had made a
good bet. Survival was the golden prize at the end of his rainbow and now it
seemed almost within reach.


Part III

Lindsey glimpsed him first through the dense brush with her infrared
binoculars, a large hot shape showing red against a cold, black background.
From the start, she had known that he was larger than most. Quietly, she pushed
the glasses back into their case and signalled Anna, her partner, who searched
off a ways to the left with no such success.

Both wore matching camouflaged jump suits but otherwise looked quite different.
Anna was medium height and medium build with dark hair, brown eyes and ivory
skin. Lindsey was slight. Her hair was chestnut and her eyes were hazel. No one
with any sense hunted alone. A jack might always attack, using a lost arrow or
a broken tree branch as a weapon.

Males were truly unpredictable and dangerous.

Anna acknowledged Lindsey's signal silently with some disappointment, wishing
somehow that Lindsey was only joking in her inimitable way and better that she
herself would be the one to make the first sighting today. Well, last year she
had been the one.

She reviewed their well practiced plan in her mind.

Anna and Lindsey had hunted together often and worked well as a team, both in
the office as accountants and in the field. Both loved volleyball and skiing.
Both loved a challenge and both loved to win. Lindsey had made this sighting
and she had first chance for a shot.

Anna's task was also a challenge and should the jack elude Lindsey, she would
have her own opportunity. Anna moved forward, but stayed far off to the left.
She proceeded deliberately and moved slightly away from the jack's hiding
place. Anna made just a bit of unnecessary noise. She was to divert his
attention but not frighten him away; to tilt the balance, encourage the jack to
crouch down in his hiding place and simply wait for her to wander off.

Lindsey dropped quietly from sight. Slowly and carefully, she closed in,
inexorably but indirectly, as if by accident and not by design. She tried to
conceal her intent at first, hoping that even had the jack seen her, he would
not realize that she was stalking him. He was too far away and still might
easily slip off into the woods, if alarmed too soon. She prayed that even had
the jack seen her, he would not know that she had seen him.

When a jack sees a hunter, he balances the risk that he has already been
spotted with the danger of leaving his hiding place and baldly exposing his
exact location or even blundering unknowingly into the sites of another unseen
hunter. More than one jack had crept from concealment only to fall to a second
hunter who had not even been aware that he had been hiding nearby. The
percentages, though, usually sided with sneaking away carefully before one had
been spotted, but only if one guessed that one was about to be spotted.

Sometimes, though, any movement at all might give away an otherwise safe hiding
place.

Panic often overwhelmed reason and a jack rarely had the opportunity to learn
from a mistake.

Meanwhile, Lindsey crept closer and closer undetected. Like an actress in a
silent movie, Anna played her role to the hilt. She looked broadly from side to
side, to all appearances continuing to scan the distance with a grand dramatic
movements.

Lindsey moved forward undetected, she hoped, and crept gradually to her right.
Then she moved forward again, slowly. She hid behind an gigantic hickory tree
and kept her head down -out of sight. She waited as long as she might, then
raised her head slightly and peered around the massive trunk. She saw the jack
again, just for an instant, crouching between two large bushes. He was still a
ways away - too far for an accurate shot.

He was magnificent! In the dappled sunlight that filtered through the leaves,
he looked huge, probably two meters tall and a hundred kilos in weight or more.
He weighed more than Lindsey and Anna weighed together. His large frame was
draped with sheets of thick muscles, their lines sharply defined beneath his
perspiration coated skin. He looked like a honest-to-goodness Blue Ribbon
Champion groomed with love and skill for the County Fair.

Suddenly, the jack looked up. A puzzled expression marred his perfect features.
He tensed as if to flee. Lindsey stopped and held her breath. She struggled to
quell her rising feelings of panic. Had he just seen Anna or perhaps he had
seen her? For a long moment, Lindsey feared that he had seen her. Should he
flee now, he was still too far away for a good shot and all that she would
bring home was a good story to share with her sister and her friends, should
they even take the time to listen to her.. Perhaps, she might just charge him
herself and try to close for a better shot. Surprise itself might paralyze him
for crucial seconds. Lindsey chose to wait and he waited too. He had only seen
Anna! Lindsey allowed herself to relax a bit when the jack crouched back down
between the bushes, apparently concluding that Anna's path would not bring her
close enough to threaten his reasonably good hiding place. He had only seen
Anna after all and he seemed somehow calmed by an obvious threat that he could
see.

The bull jack - called Tim by his friends - surveyed his surroundings as best
he could while trying to remain deep in cover. He marked the slow passage of
minutes that would bring him to the end of this day. Twice before he had
survived the Hunt, and his success was not random. He stayed focused and alert.
He searched his surroundings minutely and methodically. He listened carefully
and even sniffed the air. He saw nothing that moved except the leaves in the
wind and the clouds overhead. He heard nothing but the winds.

He smelled only himself, the pine trees, and the redolent odor of the rich
detritus of the forest floor. He could not detect the faintest aroma of the
strong floral scents that the bitches so loved. Lisa Humboldt had worn that
scent too, he recalled with a smile. He certainly would not call her a bitch.

It was his first year at the Camp when the block captain picked him to join a
gang for a work detail at the Humboldt farm. He had been glad to be chosen,
even at the beginning.

Everyone said that it was hard work and it was. But anything was better than
the tedious make-work and boredom of the Camp. At the end of the day, Ms.
Humboldt let the jacks swim in her pond and treated the ten of them to a real
home cooked meal.

On his third visit, Tim emerged from the pond dripping wet a few minutes before
the bell while the sun was still hanging on the horizon. He wanted to dry off a
bit before dinner and the van ride back to Camp Stanton. He walked up the beach
to retrieve his shift, but it wasn't hanging from the branch where he had left
it. Perhaps it had blown away, he had thought at the time, he remembered
ruefully. Not at all wanting to report his only item of clothing missing and
ride back to the Camp stark naked, he walked a short way into the woods - eyes
down, searching the ground carefully. He could imagine his gang teasing him
relentlessly on the hour ride back to Camp.

Suddenly, a heavy weight crashed onto his back. Arms surrounded his neck and
legs wrapped, around his middle. He tipped and almost fell. He regained his
balance after a struggle only to be regaled by female laughter. He twisted and
turned and could not dislodge the woman- Lisa- on his back. He tried rubbing
her off against a tree and she bit his ear and literally took off a piece. He
squealed as much in surprise as pain and heard yet more laughter. In
desperation, he threw himself to the ground and tried to crush her.

She hit the ground with a "whoompf" with him on top of her. He was shaken up
and lost his breath too. He smelled her perfume somehow - flowers - for the
first time. It was not an aroma common to the Camps and it had stayed with him
ever since.

In a second, Lisa's three friends were on him and held him down while she
squirmed out from under him. Her hair was matted with leaves and twigs, her
clothes were dirty and torn. Blood dribbled out the corner of her mouth. Tim
was worried that she might be angry, but she was grinning broadly -ear to ear -
and her eyes shone with amusement.

She knelt beside him while her friends held him. She brought her face in front
of his. Tim tried to turn his head away but she pulled him toward her and
pushed her bloody lips against his. She pushed a piece of his ear into his
mouth, then pursued it with her tongue.

Tim tried to resist, but was distracted by a hand roughly kneading his
genitals.

"Lisa, look at this!" called a voice that Tim later learned belonged to Lisa's
friend Amanda.

Lisa looked up. Tim tried to take advantage by spitting out the piece of his
ear, but Lisa had replaced her mouth with her hand. In the end, Tim had
swallowed the piece of his own ear.

Mandie had spit on her hand and worked him to an erection. She continued and
continued enthusiastically. Tim simply surrendered to the sensation and stopped
struggling. Lisa looked up and smiled. "Let me finish him!" she insisted. Lisa
swung herself around and sat on his belly. She spit on her hand and started to
work his sex. She was skilled and persistent. Mandie took a second turn. Tim
had little left for Jen and by the time that Caitlin took her turn, nothing at
all.

Tim missed dinner that night, but didn't regret it in the slightest. He had
made a number of trips back to the Humboldt farm after that night and twice
Lisa had gotten permission for him to stay over night. He especially remembered
one night when the Humboldts' had gotten a call that a jack had escaped the
Camp and might be heading toward their area.

Lisa called Mandie, Jen, and Cait and took him to the barn with King, her dog
in close pursuit. Lisa tossed him a towel and told him to rub his male parts.
In what seemed no more than minutes, Mandie, Jen, and Cait were there also. Jen
and Cait had their dogs and all had their rifles. This was not sport. Lisa put
the dogs on the scent from the towel. She and Mandie headed out with King in
the direction of Camp while Cait and Jen took their dogs at opposite right
angles.

He waited what seemed like a long time. He heard a dog bark, then the yelping
of several dogs sounding. He heard a shot, quiet, and then another shot. The
final shot was followed by a loud whistle and then by silence.

He thought about it often.

Lindsey crept closer, steadily again, and yet closer. She moved silently
through the thick growth. Her excitement mounted as the distance between them
diminished. Her mouth went suddenly dry. Her palm was wet on the jack skin grip
of her bow. Irrationally, she feared the jack would somehow hear her heart
pounding in her chest and flee. This was the thrill of the hunt.

She fought to maintain her focus as images of what might happen or might not
happen crowded into her consciousness. She saw herself triumphant, as pleased
with herself as Emily Norton had been in that damned basketball game, standing
beside the massive carcass with her arm draped around a thick thigh
possessively as she accepted the adulation of her friends and congratulations
from people she didn't even know. Then in her mind's eye, she saw the jack
looking up at her quizzically after her arrow totally missed, trying to decide
whether to flee or to attack. Then she saw the jack wounded, but somehow
dashing off oblivious to his injury and pain, while she struggled to follow
after him and complete what she had begun. The jack, though, had his eyes on
Anna as she noisily made her way through the dense cover.

Finally, only several trees and a clump of bushes separated Lindsey from her
prey. She was so close that she swore that could smell him, a musty, male,
natural odor that she found strangely arousing. She smiled at her silliness and
quickly regained her focus. He might have smelled her too sweating under her
jump suit, on that calm, windless day, if she hadn't remembered to use that
unperfumed deodorant soap and skip her usual cologne. She had even rinsed her
clothes twice to remove any residue that might give her away. He was
magnificent and he was there for her to take. He must indeed weigh a hundred
kilos without a gram of excess fat. She nocked an arrow and took a deep breath.


Part IV

Trung Nhi and Trung Truc sat in their blind and waited. Nhi wore jeans with an
old Mickey Mouse top and Truc wore short-shorts with her Cancun T-shirt. The
blind was a hole sunk four feet in the ground with a false roof giving the
impression of a thick bush.

Nhi sat on a plastic cloth on the damp ground and ate a Snicker's bar while
Truc kept watch, an arrow at the ready. Each had several arrows stuck in the
ground before her, all readily accessible. Ten meters from the blind was a torn
backpack, looking discarded, but in reality carefully positioned as bait.
Around the backpack several dozen assorted candy bars lay scattered. The
sisters sat and waited. The red backpack was visible at quite a distance
against the forest floor and several other candy bars were left on a wider
perimeter. It seemed rather stupid, but it had worked before and would likely
work again.

They sat quietly and waited patiently for quite a long time, taking turns on
watch.

Nhi was on watch and she thought she saw something move in the distance.
Silently, she alerted Truc. Truc grabbed an arrow and looked. Nhi pointed out
several jacks skulking through the woods a hundred fifty meters away or so.
They had found a candy bar that the sisters had left as bait and seemed excited
and confused.

One of them unwrapped it, a tall, thin black youth, and gave a piece to
another, a blond haired youth of medium build. The others were apparently
searching for more. Young males had tremendous appetites and a unshakable
belief in their own invulnerability.

Suddenly, they stopped searching. One of them, a brown haired pronger, bigger
than the rest, apparently had seen the brightly colored red backpack and was
pointing it out to the others. Nhi counted five in all.

One slight, dark haired jack, smallest of the lot but more adventurous or more
foolish than the others, cautiously came over to investigate. He picked up the
backpack and saw the candy bars inside. Something spooked him. Nhi and Truc
held their breaths. He dropped the backpack suddenly as if it were too hot to
hold. He jumped back up a couple of steps and looked around suspiciously, ready
to flee at the slightest provocation. The candy bars spilled out and lay
invitingly n the ground. Also on the ground, lay an old, tattered, magazine,
yellow with age. The woman held their breaths and waited. Nothing happened.

He picked up a bar, unwrapped it and took a bite. Then he saw the magazine
Suddenly, Truc felt a terrible need to sneeze but somehow controlled herself.
Her contortions, though, almost made Nhi laugh but she controlled herself too,
though only with difficulty. Nhi's contortions, in turn, almost made Truc laugh
or choke in turn and reveal their hiding place. Still, nothing happened.

The jack suspected nothing. He grinned and waved to his fellows. Three of the
four came over to share in the unexpected treat. One fellow, less enamored of
chocolate or more wise, disappeared back into the woods. Tentatively, at first,
and then with more confidence, they came unknowingly toward the blind. All four
gathered around the backpack, the slight dark haired one, the blonde, the tall
black, and large brown haired one.

They collected the various brands of candy bars, talked quietly, ate, and
traded one kind for another. They did watch the distance with some diligence
but seemed absolutely oblivious to any more immediate danger.

The blonde one picked up the old magazine. Its cover was gone and its pages
were stained and torn, but unmistakably it was a ancient, battered copy of
Playboy. Inside were the expected airbrushed photos of naked young women, now
long dead, frozen there forever in inviting poises. The brown haired male
grabbed the magazine from the blonde and the black male grabbed it from him.
The four were oblivious to everything around them.

Truc nodded to her sister and each pointed out her targets. Nhi nodded her
understanding and they timed their ambush. As one, they leaped up and loosed
their first arrows.

Truc's first arrow took the medium size, blond haired jack through the meaty
part of his thigh. Her foot had slipped less than a centimeter on the damp
ground. Thick red blood coursed down his pale leg. He honked, howled, and
hobbled away in pain. The noises were almost comical, but Truc cursed angrily,
not aware of the humor of the situation at the time. She grabbed a second arrow
without hesitation and methodically sought her second target. She knew that she
had time enough to come back to her first, lamed as he was.

Nhi's first arrow, on the other hand, took her first jack cleanly through the
heart. The brown haired youth was the largest of the four, probably 80 kilos.
He froze and collapsed, blood bubbling out of his mouth. Nhi had known her shot
was true as it left her bow and had already grabbed her second arrow and took
aim at a second target as the first arrow struck.

Truc's second shot was better but she still needed a third to bring down her
second jack, the slim dark haired youth who had first examined the back pack.
Her first shot pierced his flank and spun him around sharply. Her second arrow
drove over the bridge of his nose between his eyes and into his brain. He died
instantly.

Nhi's next arrow brought down the blonde whom Truc had wounded earlier instead
of her own designated second target. The wounded male's howling and hobbling
gait had distracted her from her second target, the tall, gangly black youth
who literally ran for his life.

Truc watched helplessly for an instant as the black fled unscathed. She shook
off her paralysis and leaped out of the blind. She raced to the top of a small
rise. The jack ran desperately too and with his long, distance-devouring
strides quickly neared the limits of her range. She would have but a single
shot. She set her feet carefully and centered herself.

She knocked the arrow and drew the string back past her ear. She took a deep
breath, took aim, and loosed the arrow. The arrow leaped from her bow. In her
mind, she was the arrow. She rose and fell in a flat trajectory. Screaming in
triumph, she pierced his neck. He fell, screaming in pain until he died,
drowning in his own blood.

The Hunt controlled male numbers but left a problem with disposal of the
remains. In this state of 7 million people, the annual harvest ran about 70,000
jacks. Seventy thousand carcasses rotting in the woods seemed wasteful and
would have been a continuing feast for the vermin that spread disease.
Retrieving the bodies would be distasteful and expensive enough. Returning the
bodies to their individual families for funerals would have been
extraordinarily complicated and poorly received. Once collected centrally, mass
disposal of the bodies en mass by burial or cremation of the bodies would have
still presented a substantial logistical problem even with Hunting dates
staggered in different counties. Even mass incineration was had costs and posed
a substantial environmental burden.

However, creative women, being civilized beings, predictably sought the unusual
and exclusive as outward symbols of their sophistication, wealth, and high
social standing.

Some argued the essence of human civilization itself was women's response to
male strength and eagerness for violence. Women had held their own through
millennia of oppression and now technology had turned the tide. A victory had
been won and might be celebrated.

Trophies were taken from the very start, but much was wasted at first. However,
jacks like rabbits, raccoons, or coyotes, might be skinned. The creativity and
imagination of the fashion industry, restrained by the harsh restrictions of
the years of the Revolution and Reconstruction, rose to the challenge of a new,
but natural material and its possibilities.

Women with adequate means treasured their expensive goods of genuine jack
leather, its scarcity added to its dearness which added paradoxically to its
popularity and vice versa.

Women of more modest means dreamed of the day when they might indulge
themselves similarly and no longer need settle for synthetic imitations.

Some women even proved vulnerable to the outre urge to shock their more
quotidian friends with their culinary daring. It began crudely enough in the
hunting camps as a private ritual among those most deeply committed to the new
order and never discussed with outsiders. Now, elegantly dressed gourmets at
the most exclusive restaurants in our great cities, such as Frer Jacques and
Les Gurillres, and in great cities across the world, an avant garde elite
impress their more conventional friends and discuss the proper selection of
wine to accompany an appetizer or entree featuring jacques. A red Bordeaux is
still preferred by those who know when a well-manicured hand gracefully impales
a lean sliver of fillet of jacques on the prongs of a finely made sterling
silver fork and neatly maneuvers it between brilliantly colored lips, past
gleaming white teeth, and into the moist embrace of a delicate tongue. At home,
any cabernet will do at festive times with a beautifully presented saddle or
haunch of jacques. On more routine evenings a zinfandel goes well with jacques
stew. On college campuses, apple ale is more in order after the rally, when a
trussed jack is boiled until tender, seared quickly on a spit over an aromatic
mesquite fire, and then drenched in whatever barbecue sauce comes to hand just
before serving. At home, soda goes well with sliced homme and cheese on rye,
jacqueburgers, and sausages.

Many who cannot even imagine themselves slaughtering and dressing a lamb,
steer, hog, chicken, or even a fish, purchase neat and tidy packages of
cellophane-wrapped butcher meat without a pause, much less a twinge of
revulsion. Similarly, many who found the messy details of the Hunt distasteful,
still shared in its fruits with enthusiasm and looked forward to their annual
packages of jacques, already butchered into commercial cuts, neatly trimmed,
and wrapped in white butcher paper . Overnight, the problem changed from too
many males to too few male carcasses to satisfy a vigorously growing demand.

Truc and Nhi retrieved their arrows and recovered their ancient magazine. Nhi
wiped a fresh smear of blood from its pages, leaving yet more yellow residue.
They laid out their four jacks one beside the other - one for each permit.
Their naked forms were a parody of the vulnerable women in the long banned
magazine. All were ringless chicks, just 18 years old in their first hunt, but
the women, business-like as always, had little interest in rings or even
trophies. On the left, was the medium sized blonde. One arrow had punctured his
thigh and the other his lower chest. He was still alive. Nhi squatted at his
head and pulled up his chin. His arms flailed weakly without effect while she
deftly avoided his impotent struggles and cut his throat in her business-like
way. He weighed about 70 kg and would yield about 40 kg dressed and butchered.
Next to him was her clean kill. He was heaviest of the four though the black
was taller. His chest was likely full of blood already and Nhi found no reason
to bleed him further. His face still showed his surprise at his sudden demise.
At 80 kg, he would yield almost 50 kg. The third was the slim dark haired
youth.

Nhi saw chocolate smeared on the sides of his mouth. She smiled because she
liked chocolate too. She found a place on his face where the chocolate wasn't
mixed with spittle, blood, or brain fluid. She rubbed some onto her finger. It
tasted like chocolate. She cut his throat because he was not likely to bleed
out sufficiently from his lethal head wound. She hoped that his flank wound had
not pierced his bowels. He weighed only about 50 kg and would yield only 25 kg.
Contamination would only decrease that meager total.

Truc dragged the 60 kg black out of the brush. Quite a few hours of work
remained but their quota had been filled.

Nhi took Truc's picture, smiling and holding up a pair of jacks by their hair
in each hand.

Truc returned the favor. Their occidental features looked coarse and
unappealing to the Southeast Asians, although the sisters knew their bodies
would yield a fair quantity of meat. It was a welcome change from the pen
reared Pigs who were available all year long.

Although the pen-reared Pigs were generally larger and offered better yield per
kilo live weight, some found them bland, likely because of their overly
processed scientific feeds.


Part V

Suddenly, a whirring sound yanked Tim back into the present. Inexplicably
oblivious to danger, he just stood up. Something just wasn't right. He turned
to see Lindsey Jade standing not more than 5 meters distant. All in a brief
instant, he saw a petite, hazel-eyed young woman in camouflage greens, a few
years older than his twenty years. She stood no taller than the middle of his
chest. Her thick, chestnut hair was pulled back neatly into a pony tail that
trailed pertly out of the back of her drab khaki baseball cap, and was tied
with a khaki ribbon. She carried a bow but she held it in a strangely
unthreatening position, down with one hand and no arrow was even apparent. She
was smiling ear to ear and something was very frightening about her triumphant
glee.

He felt exposed. He was aroused from his reminiscences. He looked down briefly
and saw his penis standing in full salute. He looked up with yet more
confusion. She still had not moved! The woman followed his eyes and actually
winked. He thought to flee, but a sudden burning in his chest diverted his
attention. He looked down again and was surprised to see the feathers of an
arrow protruding from his left chest. He half-turned and saw its bitter point
nosing out of his back. A thin trickle of blood ran down his tanned flank. The
pain became fierce and he savored the metallic taste of his own blood welling
up from his throat. He tried to run, but the strength had already fled from his
once strong legs. Suddenly, even standing was too difficult, let alone running,
and he crashed to the ground, his vision fading.

Lindsey stood over him, her arms raised in triumph. She tried to flip him over
on his back with her foot and failed because of his size. Finally, she squatted
beside him and wedged her arms under him. Anna ran over to help. "Great shot,
she exclaimed." I wonder what distracted him?"


Together, they lifted and flipped his heavy carcass over onto his back with
some difficulty. He was magnificent in truth. Lindsey squatting beside him,
felt his neck for a pulse. She could detect nothing more than a thready, fading
beat. She did not cut his throat. She would take his head with a generous cape
of skin to facilitate mounting. She just could not help herself. She threw off
her cap, then she held his nostrils closed with one hand and grabbed his
unresisting chin with the other. He gasped weakly for air. She turned his head
towards her and covered his mouth with her own fiercely, seeking to capture his
last breath. He struggled feebly for a short time, then grew still. Lindsey
released him and stood, blood smeared on her face and staining her clothes. She
grabbed Anna and embraced her in joy.

Anna enjoyed the moment's display of spontaneous affection but quickly pushed
Lindsey away. She then brushed off the leaves and grass that had stuck to the
jack's front and allowed Lindsey a moment to admire her kill.

"A clean kill, Lindsey! Good shooting,"Anna said with real emotion. She noticed
that his ear was scarred.

Lindsey replaced her dull, khaki baseball cap with one bright scarlet in color
with the pink plastic caricature of a naked jack spread supine over its crown.
A silly propeller projected from the jack's oversized phallus. If you squeezed
on his scrotum, the propeller spun around.

"It's not Brad Norton, darn!" Lindsey smiled, "I'd like to be the one who
brings him in!"

Only then Anna set them both to work. She rolled his fat cock, still warm to
the touch, in her fist and looped a length of string around its end. She tied
it tightly so that he would not pee on himself or worse on her. She allowed
herself a moment to knead his large balls inside their scrotal sac and to lick
the tip of his sex. Looping strong ropes around his ankles, the two women
dragged the heavy body to a clear patch of ground, the blood dribbling out the
mouth left a thin red line against the green and brown forest floor.

They were a team. Anna climbed a likely tree with agility and hung the block
and tackle from a stout branch about the right height and tied it securely.
Lindsey positioned the spreader bar between the jack's legs and looped a rope
around his right ankle while Anna climbed back down. With help from the pulley,
Anna and Lindsey lifted the heavy carcass so that it hung suspended with the
head hanging just clear of the ground and only the heavily muscled forearms
touching. Lindsey, still; grinning wildly stood beside him for a picture. Her
head was no higher than his groin. She draped her arm around his heavy buttock
and fiddled with his cock like it was a puppet. She talked in her funny voice
and made Anna laugh.

"You've got to hold still, if you want a good picture." Anna said with mock
frustration.

Anna steadied the carcass so that it wouldn't move. The legs splayed apart, so
that Lindsey could slip her hand between his muscular buttocks and use her thin
bladed fillet knife to cut a circle around his bung. Lindsey pushed her hand
through the bloody mess and pulled his rectum up a decimeter so that she might
tie off his bowels securely. While Lindsey prepared to gut him, Anna reached
behind the carcass to secure the arrow.

Holding the blades carefully so that she would not cut herself, she unscrewed
the arrow head and then withdrew the shaft without further damage.

Lindsey stepped back and stretched. Anna released the carcass and it rotated
freely several turns.. Lindsey rinsed her hands and her thin bladed filleting
knife with water from her canteen, sheathed it carefully, and planned her next
step. She unsheathed her short bladed knife and Anna handed her the sharpening
iron. Several strokes restored its keenness.

Lindsey stood beside her prize again. Pulling up on his dark pubic hairs, she
tented the skin over his pubis and slipped in her blade, opening the skin over
his belly down to his sternum. A second, deeper cut opened his abdomen between
the rectus muscles. Anna took the offered knife and handed Lindsey the heavy
bladed Janie knife with its serrated edge. Meanwhile, Anna extended the
incision through the skin above the sternum and through to neck while Lindsey
sawed through the ribs on either side of the sternum with her heavy Janie
knife. The breastbone came free and she warned Anna to stand clear as blood
gushed out of his chest. Lindsey tossed the sternum away for some wild creature
to gnaw. With her free hand, she rolled his heavy balls in their sac then cut
off the sac and its contents cleanly.

Anna reached far up into his neck and identified his windpipe and esophagus.
She looped a tie around each then tied them off securely. She reached up again
and made a cut above her ties and then carefully peeled his lungs and heart
from his chest cavity. That left his esophagus floating in a chest still filled
with blood. His heart went into a plastic storage bag. Anna's dog liked heart.

Lindsey traded the heavy knife for her short bladed knife once more. She
carefully loosened up the bowels and stomach with no leakage of their contents.
She cut around the diaphragm, freed the esophagus back of the chest and then
pulled it up and freed the liver and pancreas from their attachments. She
smiled when she felt his thick, heavy tenderloins. The liver, pancreas, thymus,
and spleen went into plastic bags and she discarded the remainder. Then she cut
a circle around the penis, then slipped it down through the pubic aitch and
into the pelvis. She removed the penis, bladders, ureters, and kidneys intact.
The penis, bladder, and kidneys were reserved together with the scrotum and its
contents in a plastic freezer bag. The intestines were saved for sausage
casings.

Little or nothing went to waste, it was a matter of pride.

Anna dug a shallow hole to discard the waste. Lindsey squatted and grabbed the
jack's head by his hair in two bloody hands, then she stood and lifted, bending
the carcass back on its spine to help drain the blood that had pooled in the
hog-dressed carcass. The two women then washed their hands and their tools and
rested, quite pleased with their efficient work. Each took a long, cold drink
and then returned to their task. Anna lowered the carcass to the ground and
Lindsey pinned her red permit to his already damaged left ear. She cut a stout
stick to the proper length then jammed it in his chest cavity to keep his rib
cage open so that he might cool more quickly. Even gutted, he was too heavy to
carry even slung on a pole, so they looped a rope around each foot and simply
dragged him to camp.


Part VI

The first horn sounded. Brad Norton heard it and elation swept him away. He
congratulated himself on his cleverness, several times at least and looked for
someone with whom to share his triumph. That would come in time. Two years
before he had found the break in the fence and slipped through unseen to hide
in safety in the thick brush across the road from the Cady-Stanton sector. No
one had seen him the first year and no one had seen him the second year. Now he
need only dash back across the road unseen, slip under the fence, and claim his
freedom. A stream of cars moved up the road away from the preserve. Many of
them carried the carcasses of field dressed jacks. Not one car headed into the
Preserve at this time of day. Unmoved, Brad waited for a break in the traffic
leaving the area. He had seen too many dead jacks to be much moved. He was
alive and that was what was important. The traffic let up and he practically
danced across winding lane when he saw a break. Magnificent old oaks formed a
canopy over the road, giving everything beneath a dark greenish cast, despite
the still bright sunlight.

Beneath the thick canopy of trees, the road was so dark that Elsie flipped on
her headlights even though dusk was several hours away. She was even later than
she had guessed, having stopped to help a driver with a flat tire. She was just
about the only one driving into the preserve. Many cars were already leaving
the area and their headlights rose and fell with the narrow road. She certainly
did not see Brad either as she sped away lost in thought neatly negotiating the
tricky curves despite her speed. Brad no more saw or heard her than she him and
his dreams ended suddenly on the lonely way.

"Oh, my Goddess!" Elsie exclaimed when the solid thump recalled her from her
reverie.

She didn't know whether to keep going and hope for the best or to stop and go
back and see what she had done. She finally decided to stop but at the speed
that she had been travelling, she had gone a quarter of a mile or so beyond the
collision. She backed up carefully, fearful of making things yet worse, and
cautiously stopped a fair distance from where the collision must have occurred.
She stopped and pulled forward and to the side onto the shoulder. She said a
little prayer, took several deep breaths to calm herself, and got out of the
car. Looking quickly, she saw nothing in the road. Then she inspected the car
and to her relief found nothing more than a new dent and scrape.

Slowly, she walked back along the shoulder, scanning both the road and
underbrush. She thought that the impact had occurred on the right front of the
car and she searched the underbrush on her left. She found him, lying sprawled
in the trees, his neck bent at an odd angle. "It's only a jack!" she sighed in
relief. "A big one at that," she concluded with growing interest.


Part VII

Elsie Brauer parked her car and crossed the staging area. She averted her eyes
but could not avoid seeing two women standing over a mortally wounded jack,
arguing who should be the one to finish him. Neither wanted to cope with his
flailing arms and legs, weakened though he was. The jack cried real tears in
pain and fear while the women argued on and on. The teacher in school said that
research showed that jacks didn't feel pain like real people but Elsie wasn't
so sure. Some hunters danced around in skins torn from carcasses so freshly
dead that they were still twitching, leaving the bare carcasses exposed to dirt
and flies in the field and mold and dehydration in the cooler. Some jacks
simply stank from leaked intestinal contents or lay fouled with fecal material.
Other pathetic jacks were lashed over warm car hoods so that hunters might show
off their kills on their drive home.

The engines' heat would just as likely ruin the meat. The DNR required no
training for a license beyond a certificate of proficiency in archery.

Elsie surveyed the scene with distaste. She kept her eyes straight ahead and
waved to the others who marched determinedly to protest the Hunt with signs and
slogans. She walked right by them and approached a warden.

Back at camp, Lindsey's bull weighed in gutted at eighty kilos. He must have
weight well more than one-ten hundred kilos alive. Lindsey and Anna needed help
to get him lashed over the roof of Anna's car. The back of his head rested on
the windshield and his wrists and ankles were tied securely to rack that served
alternatively to carry a canoe or bicycle in summer and skis in winter. Draping
him over the hood would expose him to the heat of the car's engine and likely
ruin the meat.

Failure to cool a carcass promptly could spoil the meat. Some argued that on
warm days, carcasses were best skinned and butchered immediately so that the
meat might be cooled quickly and make more efficient use of refrigerator space.
However, commercial abattoirs had found that butchering was best delayed for at
least 24-36 hours until rigor mortis had set in and passed, allowing the meat
to stretch on the bone and the flesh to firm up and become easier to handle.
Cleanliness and temperature control were critical.

The Trung sisters' four carcasses hung in the Frer Jacques truck. The game
warden had trouble getting over her surprise that the women had proper permits
for all four kills.

Dressed, they weighed in at 59, 49, 43, and 35 kg.

"Elsie took a bull! Elsie, of all people, took a bull!" Lindsey exclaimed
breathlessly.

"Equal-Rights Elsie took a bull. Who can believe it!"

Anna looked down into cramped trunk of Elsie's small sports car. The jack lay
curled on his side in a fetal position, lying on a yellow garbage bag. The
muscles of his broad back were massive and well cut and fully balanced by his
equally impressive ass and thighs.

Not mark was apparent and one might have thought him soundly sleeping on first
glance.

However, on more careful examination, one noted his pallor and the odd angle on
which his head lay. A thin redline of blood trickled down his left buttock. If
one followed the trickle to its source, one noted a blush of red oozing from
between his buttocks. He had been bled and dressed. A small circle had been cut
around his anus so that his bowels might be removed intact in one piece without
contamination. Elsie saw the blood too and stuffed a paper towel between his
buttocks. She was always stickler for neatness.

"Obviously, he had snuck out of the Cady-Stanton sector and it was a legal
kill. Look at the unit on him," Lindsey said, lifting the clear food storage
bag containing his genitals.

"He's Emily Norton's older brother." Anna said checking his ear tattoo against
her list, "Believe it or not! That bitch who beat us in the basketball game
last Spring."


Valerie Ceru from Frer Jacques walked over and smiled at Elsie. I'll take him
off your hands, not a bruise. He's a beauty!" Elsie looked up, grinning wryly.
Methodically, she finished cleaning her filleting knife and carefully placed it
back in her kit. "Landed on his head - believe it or not. Looks like my work
never gets finished, Ms. Cru! Usually, we close down our operations during the
season and I get some time off. Sure glad that I had my kit in the car. Can you
believe it, Frer Jacques's kitchen serving road kill. There's a joke there
somewhere, but I'm too shaken to think of it. I'm sure glad my car wasn't much
damaged."


"You gutted him yourself?" Anna asked, truly puzzled. "You're Equal Rights
Elsie, aren't you? You're supposed to be against the Hunt.

Elsie shook her head. She picked up her sign. "I'm against the Hunt, certainly.
I'm against cruelty and waste but I surely don't want the motherless jacks back
in charge. You know that my mom and I stick Pigs for a side line. We're good at
what we do. Hunting is well, just cruel!"

The signs screamed, "KEEP SLAUGHTER BACK IN SLAUGHTER HOUSES! MAKE OUR FORESTS
SAFE 52 WEEKS A YEAR!" The jacks hanging in Frer Jacques refrigerated truck
stared blankly and said nothing.

* * *

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Pr_squared@hotmail.com

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