The Headhunters Race (Headhunters #1) by Kimberly Afe Read Free Book Online Page A

waiting for.
    “Zita Papadakis!”
    I must have hesitated too long because McCoy elbows me. “See you outside.”
    I step toward the door, guns in my face from all angles. A guard motions me to turn around. I follow directions and let them cuff me. One of the guards knocks the water bottle out of my hand as I’m propelled forward. Once the door closes behind me, they add a blindfold. The guards, one holding onto each arm, walk me away from the prison and although my nerves are sparking like firecrackers, I’m glad to finally be outside the prison walls.
    The first thing I notice is the air, fresh and clean, not dank and smelling of sewer or of the dead. A warm breeze gently caresses my face. It feels nice against my skin, flowing over my body, through my stringy hair. I’m enjoying the outside so much, taking in the wind, the sound of leaves rustling in the trees and whirling on the ground, children playing somewhere in the distance, that I almost forget I’m still a prisoner.
    We halt suddenly. The guards position me in a particular spot. They remove the blindfold and the cuffs. I blink a few times and find that I’m in formation with the prisoners that were called out before me. There must be twenty of us here already. Men, women, teenagers, girls and boys, old people, and what looks like a kid no more than ten.
    In the front is a platform that rises above us with a podium. Chairs are placed on either side. Guards are stationed all around us. Behind me is the trail that leads to Bitter Mountain. Now the trail is roped off, to contain the townspeople who stand behind it.
    Another prisoner is brought up beside me. I turn to see who it is and just as quickly avert my eyes so I don’t draw attention to myself. It’s one of the killers, Squint, recognizable by the long scar that runs through the lid of his right eye and his white beard. He must be at least fifty.
    I try not to move or look his way, even though I can sense him scrutinizing every inch of me. A prisoner is placed on the other side of him. Thank goodness he has a new meal to devour. I look to see who it is, I can’t help myself, and see that it’s the Brit Devil that told me I wouldn’t last an hour. I wonder what he’s thinking now with Squint ramming his eyes down him.
    Every minute or so, I hear someone else being brought up behind our row. A couple of times I sneak a look at Bitter Mountain, the mountain we have to climb to reach Millers Creek. For a moment, I contemplate going around it, until I realize just how long this mountain range actually extends. It would take days to go around it. Going over is the only option.
    When all the prisoners have arrived, King steps up to the podium. He looks the same: dark auburn hair, a clean shave over his stony face, and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. His ever faithful right-hand man, Victor Lanning, whose head reminds me of a turtle, steps beside him. And following behind him, a one-armed man I’ve never seen before.
    King takes a long puff on his cigarette and then crushes it under his ugly pointy-toed red boot. “Welcome,” says King. “I’m pleased at the turn out. Much better than last year. It would have been nice, though, to have twenty more, but this ought to do.”
    The townspeople cheer. The roar is deafening. King’s gaze sweeps over us and I’m grateful some of the taller prisoners stand in the rows ahead of me. “Let’s get right to the rules, shall we?”
    Grunts, whoops, and hollers erupt from the prisoners. I join in just for the sake of looking like I belong.
    King smiles with approval. “There aren’t too many rules,” he says with a chuckle, like it’s so funny. “It comes down to this … bring me Gavin’s head, or Gavin himself within nine days and you win your freedom. Simple, right? Well, don’t be fooled. You see this man behind me?” he asks, waving a hand toward the one-armed man and pulling him forward. “This … is Mr. Sokolov, a brave man he is. He nearly