The Headhunters Race (Headhunters #1) Read Online Free PDF Page B

the lack of food and starving and becoming a cannibal. I wake with a start. The cupboard in the kitchen is creaking and slamming again. A cool breeze pours through the opening in the wall. I’ll die before I ever turn to cannibalism.
    I think back to the stories my mother told me and Gavin about the cannibals. How the town used the church bells to send up an alarm. The cannibals knew our citizens were well fed. Water Junction used to be an old mining town back in the late 1800s before it became a cattle and farming community. It’s why we fared better than most during and after the Kill Plague. We knew how to feed ourselves.
    The Kill Plague wiped out much of the world’s population. Fifty percent died in the fall, another thirty-five percent were killed the following spring, after the flu virus mutated.
    Industry came to a halt. People didn’t know how to work the machines. Food was scarce. My mother said people relied heavily on automation in the old days and didn’t know how to grow their own vegetables. They didn’t know how to farm. It wasn’t a skill you could just decide to do one day. Farming was specialized. It took specific techniques and knowledge and most of all time to get it right.
    Some pockets of people that remained took over towns and tried to rebuild their lives, grow food, and form some type of civilized society. It took years though, and many of the survivors in other towns and cities starved to death. Other survivors turned to cannibalism. The taste for human flesh never receded, even after people relearned how to farm and cultivate the lands. Besides, once you were a cannibal, you could never come back. If you did, you were hung. No town would accept you. No one wanted to always be looking over their shoulder.
    That was twelve years ago. I remember the cannibals attacking our town a couple of times a year. I heard they stopped after I went to prison. The prisoners that came in after me said they were attacking Millers Creek. I guess that makes sense because the desert cannibals are a lot closer to them than they are to us.
    I take a sip of water and adjust my position, but then realize I’m tired of sitting in darkness so I head back to the stinky garden. It’s not long after I make myself comfortable when I hear the pitter patter of paws. This sound is different from what I’m used to. Not a bird or a rat, or even a lizard. Something I don’t hear often. A rabbit. I slide out my knife and listen. The distinct shuffle of a hare moving about is originating from behind the tree. I lean forward quiet as I can, but I can’t see it. I wait a few seconds and continue to listen.
    My patience pays off. The bunny hops out, hesitates, and then takes another hop before sniffing at the ground. I’m positioning my throwing hand when two more follow the first. My heart soars even though I know I can’t catch them all. But the impossibility of the situation doesn’t prevent me from thinking of a way. If I can get my hands on all three, we could feast tonight and there’d still be plenty for Zita and maybe a leg or two for me to take on the race.
    The first thought that enters my head is wishing I had some sort of net. Or that I’d learned how to set up a snare. Verla hadn’t known either.
    I glance around, hoping I’ll see something that gives me a solution to this dilemma. The only things I see are broken pieces of tile and cement from the floor, which gives me an idea. I can throw my knife at one and hurl a piece of rubble at another. Two isn’t better than three, but it’s better than one.
    I run through a couple of scenarios in my mind. Pitch the rocks first and then the shank. Release the shank first and then the rocks. Or toss one of each, a rock and the shank together at once. No matter how I look at it though, I could end up with nothing. I’m not coordinated enough to throw two different types of objects at once. Two knives is a piece of cake. A rock and a knife will not happen. Besides,