Trackers Read online

  Trackers

  J.W. McKenna

  Anthropology graduate student Amy Dellacroix is kidnapped by a group of wealthy men who like to hunt for sport. Their scandalous prey?

  Naked women.

  Publisher’s Note: Originally appeared in the anthology The Hunted.

  An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

  www.ellorascave.com

  Trackers

  ISBN 9781419925054

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Trackers Copyright © 2002 J.W. McKenna

  Cover art by Syneca

  Electronic book publication 2002

  The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  Trackers

  J.W. McKenna

  Chapter One

  Amy Dellacroix scanned the room, trying to determine the energy level of her students this quarter. Well, technically, they weren’t her students—she was the low-paid graduate assistant, teaching in place of Everett Birch, the well-respected anthropology professor at San Francisco State University. The esteemed professor wouldn’t be caught dead here, she mused. Being July, he was out on another dig.

  Amy saw several sleepy students in the back of the class. College students, as everyone knows, are nocturnal. Because it was just after 9 a.m., most of the students would prefer to remain in bed.

  Taking her class roll book, she casually strolled up the wide passage separating the two groups of seats to the top row. “Asher,” she said, getting a quick response from her left. She ran down the roll call, walking back down the passageway toward the lectern. From that point on, they were hers.

  Today’s lesson centered on the Piltdown Man Hoax, an incident that had been perpetrated by English anthropologists and exposed in the early 1950s. She explained how the promised glory of a new discovery can corrupt those without unbending integrity. Amy told them this rogue incident occurred when an unknown person or persons had placed a human skull with an ape’s jaw in a gravel pit near Hastings, England in an effort to make the “missing link” discovery credible.

  A student in the second row raised his hand. She fought hard not to roll her eyes. “Yes, Mr. Binder?” she asked dryly.

  “Isn’t it true that all of the findings of early man were faked in order to propagate the lie that we developed from apes?” he said challengingly. “To thwart the truth—that God created man in His image?”

  Amy sighed. “I teach anthropology, Mr. Binder, based on science. I make no judgments about evolution versus creationism, okay? They aren’t mutually exclusive,” she said emphatically. “I’d prefer that you concentrate on the course material as presented.”

  Fortunately for Amy, there were no further outbursts. It was as if he had said his piece and now was happy to have it on record—again—that he didn’t believe a word of her lectures. With an attitude like that, she expected him to fail the exams.

  Amy continued the lecture, trying to put scientific discoveries in perspective in a history that was dusty and irrelevant to them today. She knew that the only way they would learn was by rote memorization. Few would understand how all the pieces fit together. That would take at least one summer on a dig.

  She wished she could have gone with the professor this year. Amy had spent five weeks in Montana’s badlands last year and Birch convinced her that it was best she stayed behind to teach. “No one’s better qualified that you, Amy. Besides, think of how it will look on your resume,” he had said.

  Amy was no fool. She knew the real reason. The professor, in his late 40s, had an eye for the youngest students. Amy was last year’s model. Their brief but torrid affair burned out on the slopes of the badlands, hip deep in T. Rex bones. Amy wasn’t the wide-eyed student she used to be, so it didn’t really bother her to be replaced. Besides, the sex wasn’t all that great. She needed a younger man in her life, just as the age-defying Everett Birch needed a younger woman in his.

  After class, she graded papers for a little more than an hour, then headed out to meet her friend Christy for lunch at Magoo’s, a trendy bistro on San Francisco’s north side. In the parking garage, she absently noted that a white van was parked next to her car.

  She looked closer. There was a dent in the right rear quarter panel. Could it be the same vehicle that had been parked outside of her apartment house most of the week?

  Her breathing stilled. Was it just a coincidence that it was here now?

  Holding her lesson plan to her chest, Amy shakily reached into her purse for the pepper spray she always carried. She walked around the far side of her car, checking the cab of the van. It was empty.

  Sighing with relief, she dismissed her fears. She replaced the pepper spray with her keys and approached the driver’s side of her car, mumbling to herself that she couldn’t wait to get to Magoo’s.

  A sliding door opened behind her. She whirled, startled, a scream in her throat.

  A body pressed up against hers. A damp cloth was forced over her nose and mouth, cutting off her air, instinctively making her gasp. Her heart thumping like mad, she inhaled sharply, trying to unleash her scream. But the futile effort came too late.

  Amy breathed in cloying fumes as the world went dark…

  Chapter Two

  Amy awoke in a bed in an unfamiliar room. She tried to remember how she had gotten here, but her mind was fuzzy. One aspect of her condition was immediately clear, however—she was naked under the covers. She peered out, looking for her clothes. They were nowhere to be found.

  She fought panic. Okay, there’s a good explanation for this. Maybe I’m dreaming. Maybe I’m—

  She swallowed against the lump in her throat. She was fooling herself and she knew it.

  Amy looked around. Besides the bed, the room held very little furniture: a chair, a small table, a lamp. Mounted on one wall was a flat-paneled TV screen, turned off. In one corner, she spotted a camp toilet. A porcelain washbasin sat on a shelf beside it, with a china pitcher. Nothing else.

  No wait—that wasn’t true. Above the TV screen, she spotted a camera, recording her every move. She bit her lip, her heartbeat kicking up. Oh, please, God, get me out of here!

  There was one door, but no windows. To reach the door, she’d have to get out of bed, exposing herself to the camera. “That’ll be the day,” she muttered to herself as she sat upright, pulling the sheet tight around her. She yanked it free of the bed and stood up, wrapping it around her like a toga. She strode to the door and tried the knob.

  It was locked, of course.

  “Damn it,” she said softly, looking up at the camera. She wanted to smash it. She went to the chair and tried to pick it up instead, surprised to find it was bolted to the floor. So was the table.
>
  “Hello, Amy,” a voice said, startling her. She jerked around, trying to find the source. It must be coming from a speaker hidden somewhere on the walls or ceiling, she thought, wide-eyed. “Do not be alarmed. No real harm will come to you,” the voice continued.

  No real harm? What the hell did that mean?

  “You’ve been invited to play a game with us. Regardless of the outcome, you will be returned to your hometown safely. Please allow me to explain the rules.” The voice was soothing, almost hypnotic. The man was well educated, she could tell.

  Her anger boiled up. She supposed she should have felt fright instead, but there it was. “Stop! I want to go home NOW! You’ve kidnapped me. That’s a federal offense. Twenty-five years to life. If you return me now I might not press charges. But I want my clothes back and I want to go home, do you understand?”

  The voice went on, ignoring her. “The rules are simple. You are to be the prey in a non-lethal hunt undertaken by six men who have paid me a certain amount of money to participate. I emphasize ‘non-lethal.’ The object is to capture you, not to harm you.

  “In the morning, you are to be released, out the front door of this hunting lodge. You will find that this lodge is in the middle of a large wooded area, approximately three miles in any direction from the borders. Somewhere out along that border are two ‘safety boxes’ that are similar in appearance to London phone booths—you know, those large bright red enclosures? They are easy to spot. You will be given a five-minute head start. If you reach one of the boxes and manage to get inside before you are captured, you win. If you fail to reach a box before the men capture you, you lose.”

  Amy stood there listening, her anger quickly turning into fear. Why did they want to hunt her? What would happen to her if she was captured? “No,” she said quietly to the walls. Her throat was dry, parched. “I won’t be chased down like an animal,” she breathed out.

  “That, of course, is your choice. But please let me continue. If you win, you will take home fifty thousand dollars in cash. If you lose, you will still go home five thousand dollars richer—after the men extract a small penalty.”

  She blinked. Was this some kind of sick joke? “What do you mean, ‘a small penalty’?”

  “The men will have won the right to have sexual relations with you—with condoms, of course. We don’t want any surprises. The first man who reaches you will be given first dibs, so to speak. The others will follow, if they wish.”

  She stood there, numb, as the voice continued.

  “They also will be awarded your pelt. In other words, they will be allowed to shave all the hair from between your legs. In the event you lose, the hunters like to leave here with a little reminder of their adventure after you’ve been returned home.”

  My god! These men are crazy!

  And that quickly, her fear again evolved into anger. “No way! I refuse to play your stupid, sick, illegal game. And I can assure you, you all will be charged with kidnapping, assault and battery, and, if necessary, rape. I hope you all end up in prison for the rest of your lives!”

  “I doubt you will be able to identify us. We will all be wearing masks. We’ve done this a number of times and no one has ever been able to find us, let alone charge us with anything. But please, there’s more. If you choose not to participate, you will forfeit all money. In that event, the men will be allowed to have sex with you and shave you. And, as an additional penalty, they will shave your head.”

  His words stunned her into silence. She could see how carefully they’d thought this out. Who wouldn’t run rather than have six men rape you, then come at you with razors? The very thought made her privates tighten up. Amy reached up and touched her hair protectively. They wouldn’t, would they?

  She fought her panic with cold, calculated anger. “How many times have you done this?”

  “That’s confidential. I can say that it’s proven to be very popular.”

  “You just find some poor girl, kidnap her and bring her here, just like that?”

  “Yes, that is correct.”

  She realized she didn’t have much choice if she was going to get away from here. Running was better than being trapped in this room any day of the week. Besides, she reminded herself, she just might be able to escape. Run for the fences and keep going, flag down a cop. She was a strong, athletic woman. She could do this.

  Then a thought struck her. “Where are my clothes—I need my clothes for this.”

  “Oh, no. That’s part of the game. You are to run naked. However, we will give you a pair of tennis shoes to protect your feet. We want to give you a fair chance after all. Not much fun otherwise.”

  Chapter Three

  Amy couldn’t catch her breath for a moment. Naked! Just like that movie she saw on TV one day when she was at home sick. What was it? “Naked Man” or “Naked Runner”? A man was stripped by natives and given a head start before a group of African natives came after him, intent on killing him. Somehow, he had managed to survive. Of course, it was just a movie.

  Amy thought of herself as in pretty good shape. She had played volleyball all four years of college. She ran regularly. Her body could be called lean and muscular. Her breasts were not so big as to get in her way. So could probably outrun some rich yahoos, she figured.

  “I also need to inform you of the capture devices the men will employ.”

  Capture devices? “I thought you said I wasn’t to be harmed!”

  “These are non-lethal weapons. Two of the men will have tranquilizer rifles, with a range of about fifty to sixty yards. They will be given just two darts each. The dart contains a mild, quick-acting sedative that is not intended to knock you out, but it will slow you down so that you can be captured. It should wear off within a half-hour or so. The prey often find that it makes the experience of their capture that much more bearable.”

  She just bet it did. Amy felt a ripple of fear go through her as she imagined being drugged, then held down, unable to defend herself as the men assaulted her.

  “Two of the men will carry bolo guns,” the voice continued. “These look like shotguns. They fire three rubber balls connected by strong cords. They have a range of about thirty to forty yards. The object is to fire at the legs, causing the balls to wrap around them and trip the prey. These men also will have two cartridges each.”

  She stood there unmoving, not knowing what to do or say.

  “Finally, two men will carry net guns. They are like oversized, short-barreled shotguns. They fire a netting material that harmlessly wraps you up for capture. It’s a short-range device, good for about twenty-five yards. For that reason, the men are given only one cartridge. The weapons are handed out in a blind draw, so no one can claim the advantage.”

  She stood there, wrapped up in her sheet, imagining it was a netting, fired from a gun, enclosing her, trapping her. She didn’t want to be here, she didn’t want to run naked through the woods for the twisted sexual gratification of a bunch of horny rich men. She was more scared than she had ever been in her life. But she wanted to go home and it seemed the only way out was through.

  The fifty thousand dollars would help her out quite a bit right now, she knew. She hadn’t been able to find a job in her field since she graduated and was resigned to waiting tables and teaching an odd class or two until something came along. With the money…

  Oh Christ, who cared about the money? She just wanted out of here. She was scared, but determined. She desperately wanted to win this sick hunt. Then she’d see the men arrested, if she could.

  “It is now 7:15 p.m. Dinner will be brought to your room shortly. You will be awakened at 7 a.m. for breakfast. The contest will begin promptly at eight.”

  “Wait,” she said, hoping he hadn’t already cut her off. “How do I know you’ll keep your word. About the money or anything else? How do I know you aren’t just saying all this to get women to cooperate?”

  “Ah, a skeptic. Not surprising, considering. To ensure we play fair, we rec
ord our hunts. You may observe.”

  With that, the TV on the wall flickered to life. There were shots of masked men running through the brush, carrying strange weapons. She quickly identified the tranquilizer rifles. She saw one man with an almost comical weapon and surmised it was the net gun because of the oversized barrel.

  His voice carried over the noises on the tape. “Each hunter has a small video camera mounted on his shoulder. The images are radioed to the lodge, where they are captured on videotape. The pictures you are seeing were culled from several hunts.”

  On screen, a naked blonde woman bolted from the bushes screaming and ran across the screen. A man aimed something at her and fired. She heard a strange fluttering noise and saw the girl stumble and fall, legs pinned together. That must’ve been the bolo gun, Amy thought. The men closed in quickly on their prey.

  Another scene, another girl—a brunette. She seemed far away, running hard through a meadow, heading for the safety of the trees. A man in the foreground aimed and fired. The girl jerked but kept running. After a few minutes, she slowed and the men began to catch up to her. She tried to climb a tree, but her limbs became uncoordinated. Finally she fell, screaming, into the arms of her captors.

  Another blonde woman was seen running toward a hidden man, his camera viewing through wind-swept leaves. Amy could see she had large breasts that were flapping as she pumped her arms and legs, terror written on her face. Amy watched two other men closing in behind her, both wearing strange masks. The woman was startled when the man jumped up from his hiding place and fired his gun at her. She screamed as a net closed around her, dropping her to the ground.

  There was another scene of a girl being held down as the men wielded safety razors, squirting shaving cream, shaving her pelt, laughing and joking with each other. The woman struggled at first, then lay still, clearly afraid of being cut. The camera caught several close-ups that made Amy cringe and involuntarily squeeze her legs together.