Spectacle (Menagerie #2)(64)
Instead of individual seats, each tier held a long, cloth-draped table with chairs lined up on one side, facing the sunken front of the large room, where a grid of huge television screens was mounted high on the wall. The seats were filled almost to capacity with an audience that was ninety percent male.
In front of the screens, low enough that his head wouldn’t block anyone’s view, a man wearing all black sat in front of a bank of computer monitors and what looked like high-tech editing equipment.
Though the overhead screens were blank, the tech was already busy adjusting settings on the displays in front of him, most of which showed various shots of the woods, filmed in the flat green glow of night-vision cameras.
Pagano stepped up to my side from his position with the other handlers against the back wall, when he noticed my confusion. “Those are live,” he explained with a nod at the technician’s monitors. “When the hunt begins, he’ll throw those feeds up onto the big screens, so everyone can see.”
He stepped back, and I followed Simra down the unoccupied side of the topmost table while Zyanya took the second tier. They distributed glasses of red and white wine while I offered a selection of heavy hors d’oeuvres. The meatball sliders and pork-belly wontons were big favorites, and it took most of my self-control not to vomit all over the tray at the scent of the meat.
Since when did morning sickness stretch into the evening?
The men all ogled, and several reached out to touch Simra. Either they’d been warned not to touch me, or my lack of cryptid features failed to fascinate them, either of which was fine with me. All I cared about was not falling down the tiered floor or throwing up my balanced lunch all over the guests.
The women looked at us with interest, yet only one reached up to run her finger over Zyanya’s lower lip, boldly pulling it down to expose her canines. But when the lights dimmed and the television monitors at the front of the room lit up, Fischer waved us toward one wall, so we couldn’t block anyone’s view.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Savage Spectacle’s weekly hunt,” he called out from the front of the room. “At this time, all wagers should already have been placed. If you’ve misplaced your receipt, please see the lovely lady at the back of the room.”
I turned to find Olive Burnette, the other event coordinator, standing near the rear exit with her hands folded in front of her silver pencil skirt.
“Tonight’s hunters reserved their spots several months ago, as we advise, because the wait is generally pretty long, but a spot in early December has opened up unexpectedly. If you’re interested in claiming that spot, again, please see Ms. Burnette at the back of the room.”
Two of the men and one woman stood, and all three made quick but polite strides toward Burnette.
“In case anyone is new to the event, let me go over the rules. There will be two hunters per round, competing to track down one prey. The level of difficulty increases with each round, as does the strength of the weapons issued to our hunters. Round-one hunters will be using Tasers. Round-two hunters will each use a longbow. Round-three hunters will be given hunting rifles. All hunters must use the weapons issued here at the Savage Spectacle. No personal weapons are allowed. All hunters must also use the safety equipment provided here at the Savage Spectacle, including Kevlar helmets fitted with night-vision cameras, safety goggles and Kevlar vests. Hunters in rounds two and three must be certified with their respective weapons either through the courses taught here at the Spectacle or through a qualifying third-party instructor.
“Each hunter will enter the hunting ground from a separate location, equidistant from the prey’s starting point. For the safety of the general public, the hunting grounds are fully enclosed and impossible for the prey to escape, thanks to our proprietary containment collars. To keep the event both fair and challenging, only the first hunter to track down his prey is allowed to fire, and he’s allowed one shot only. In rounds two and three, if that shot proves fatal, the hunter receives the top honor given here at the Spectacle, and everyone who bet on him will go home happy, drunk and with a wallet full of cash. And as an added incentive, if both the round-two and round-three prey are killed in accordance with the rules of the game, Mr. Vandekamp will issue a full refund to both champions!”
A cheer went up all across the room, but it was clear from Fischer’s chuckle that such an event was rare.
“Okay, is everybody ready?”
The crowd cheered again. I clenched my teeth.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is our technical guru, Charles Wheeler.” Fischer gestured to the man seated in front of the bank of equipment. “Charles is in charge of the cameras, their feeds and the screens you see before you, and he’s promised to give you the best show he can. Are you ready, Charles?”
“Always,” Charles answered, to another round of cheers.
“And is our first pair of hunters ready?”
“Yes, they are. Up in round one, we have Henry Brewer and Jensen Miles. Mr. Brewer, please wave your hand in front of your helmet cam, so we can find you.”
A hand appeared in front of one of the screens. “I’m here. Locked and loaded.” He held his Taser up in front of the camera, and several of the audience members laughed.
At Charles’s instruction, Mr. Miles also waved for the camera. Then the event coordinator began counting backward from ten. The audience chanted along with the countdown. Their gleeful, sadistic anticipation made my stomach churn.