The Hunt

2

The airport heaved with activity and life, holiday goers moved in large droves with their overstuffed suitcases, while men and women in suits and tiny carry-on's weaved intermittently through the throngs of excited tourists.

Charlie had only flown a handful of times, from his own country to America had been a rough journey. The flight had been twelve hours of sheer boredom and uncomfortable seats, but he was younger back then and the hope of a new life still burned bright in his chest. Now, as he stood on the precipice of another new journey, his hope had long since fallen to quiet desperation.

He didn't hope for a new life, he needed it. Ricky had sent his guys out to look for him at all his old haunts. From the shelter, the soup kitchen and his old motel- there was nowhere Ricky didn't know about. All the dark corners he could retreat to for the small moments of peace he craved no longer belonged to him. This world and it's sharpest of hurt, never belonged to him.

He spent the night under a bridge thinking about Tom Martyn and his offer. He loved The Hunt, it was his escape throughout his teenage years. It meant not going home for weeks as he trained in orientation deep in the woods with his friends. He came to the conclusion that if some crazy middle aged man wants to pay for his ticket to another state then so be it, he didn't HAVE to play and he agreed for nothing in writing. This was his way to get out of the reach of Ricky and his thugs, his business was in New York and certainly not the deep south.

By morning his plan was solidified. He would take the man's offer up, travel to Louisiana and slip away to begin a new life in a hotter, wetter climate.

The cowboy stood by a concession stand with an intense look gracing his features. Charlie found him quick enough, he grunted his greeting and Martyn turned to him with a smile that would break glass with its brightness.

"Well look at you!" the man cried before offering to take the tiny backpack Charlie had swiped. He shook his head and pointed to their gate.

They boarded in relative silence, or as much silence as the excited man could muster. Charlie wanted to bail at least four times before finally buckling himself into the seat. This was it, there was no going back. Martyn seemed to sense his tension and busied himself with the plane catalogue, allowing Charlie time to stare out onto the asphalt runway.

New York steadily drifted to the horizon and beyond as the plane took to new heights. A weight lifted from his shoulders and his body relaxed somewhat. It was the first time in two years that he felt truly free from Ricky, he had made it out.

"You know I just realised I aint asked your name..."

"Charlie"

"Where about NYC you from?"

Charlie gave him a shrug before letting his head fall back. Martyn understood that was as far as he was getting and instead dominated most of the 4 hour flight with talk of The Hunt.

"So usually two teams enter the arena at the same time from different entrances, the leader will have been privy to the map already and gotta lead the team through as the trackers work out the way to the idol...now I know what you're thinkin, how? Well trackers look for the subtle clues of the people who had left behind the Golden Idol. Like animals, humans leave tracks and it's up to the eagle eyed to find them" he prattled on for hours about the game, and Charlie actually found himself enraptured.

The American version seemed far more brutal, its arena smaller and the expectation of violence higher. He supposed it was all a part of the entertainment factor, back in school he had never so much as been eliminated roughly by a brawn, yet here it seemed trackers did track the idol, but they also hunted the enemy team down. Elimination during The Hunt was expected whereas back home it was something that happened rarely.