The Foragers Read online

  The Foragers

  By

  Katherine Nader

  Copyright 2017 Katherine Nader

  Published by Katherine Nader at Smashwords

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  To all Yuva Shakti and collectives of the world!

  “…I have given you the keys to the treasure, which others haven't got. But you must want to open the door. Do you want to go empty handed?” –H.H. Shri Mataji Nirmala Devi

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Connect with Katherine Nader

  Prologue

  Someday, in the future,

  I’ll find myself running from the light

  that shines in your empty heart,

  and sets your soul ablaze.

  The fireflies have flown off

  into the summer sky

  never to return. Hotaru no haka,

  The grave of the fireflies.

  Hotaru no Haka, 1988

  Rain pelts down on wooden debris, replenishing the soil of carbon-rich life forms on the forest floor. The wind filters through the trees, the damp leaves rustle among the branches, and the echoes and moans of the storm rumble inside hollowed trunks. Dogs bark in the distance. The sound of footsteps gets closer and closer. A hand rests on a moss-covered tree, its branches twisting down a slope near a black water lake. A blue light from a flip phone brightens a girl’s face. Her black hair tangles from a braid. Sweat and rain drench her face and her moon-circled eyes cry with paranoia. Her wet fingers fiddle for numbers on the keypad. The dial tone goes out of service.

  The girl dials again.

  STATIC.

  She cups her mouth to silence her whimpers, dials again and her fingers slip. The phone drops. The light goes out.

  She screams.

  Dogs bark and jump on the shadow against the tree.

  SPLASH.

  The girl floats into the water and sinks into the darkness of the lake.

  ***

  “Shut it off.” The Director, a man with two black hairs on his bald head, points to a young man sitting in front of a number of surveillance monitors. The young man pauses one screen, and the video stops right when the dogs began to bark at the water. The girl’s body is nowhere to be seen. The Director takes a look at his watch and sighs.

  “Let them in,” he says into his com.

  By the gate of a forest’s base, a Kuma Hunter, dressed in black and strapped with receivers, leans into his earpiece. “Yes, Director.”

  He gestures to the rest of the Kuma Hunters, armed with hunting gear, and they help him open the gate. Hundreds of people wait on the other side.

  “One by one, now,” the Kuma Hunter says, guiding people in. Some shove each other, some bid their families and friends goodbye and others rush in while the Kuma Hunter counts them. All security cameras are on them and piano music starts to play from the mounted speakers.

  “Welcome to the Shirakami-Sanchi forest,” a feminine voice says, “known as Japan’s White-God Mountain. The forest is over nine thousand years old, one of the first in the world to inhabit more than five hundred new and endangered species of flora and fauna…”

  People line up in front of a dome structure with a ‘security office’ sign on it. Many others join them.

  “Today marks the tenth anniversary of The Foragers Contest,” the audio continues in the background. “For a chance to win one million dollars, you will need your ID to check-in at the front desk and collect your registration badge and kit.”

  Staff members in uniform scan IDs and register people in as contestants. “Here’s a brochure and an instruction sheet,” one says to a contestant as she hands him a kit.

  He opens it to find one AA battery, a flare, a torch, and a screw.

  “What did you get?” a friend in line asks.

  “Nothing I need.” He laughs.

  “The contest runs annually for a period of one year,” the feminine voice transmits through the speakers. A girl with short brown hair appears on multiple TV screens behind the front desk. “As a winner of TFC, I’m honored to welcome you home, where you will become successful at anything you do, where you will be whoever you need to be, and become the world’s Ultimate Forager.” The girl smiles on screen and it draws round after round of applause.

  “That’s Sharon,” a contestant whispers to her friend. “I heard she joined at fifteen.” She points to a sign. “See? It’s fifteen plus only.”

  Other signs, labeled, ‘Impermissible Items’ show crossed out guns and chemicals.

  “Hundred,” the Kuma Hunter counts the last one in. He gestures for the other hunters to close the gate. The rest of the crowd rises in uproar, fighting for a way in. A man tries to climb over the fence.

  “If you try to break in,” the Kuma Hunter explains, resting an arm on his hunting rifle as a security camera turns towards the man, “you will be arrested for trespassing.”

  The man hauls himself over the fence and a number of Kuma Hunters tackle him down. They cuff his wrists behind his back.

  “You just lost your chance of ever making it out of here alive,” the Kuma Hunter whispers into the man’s ear. He turns to the crowd behind the fence. “Let this be a lesson to you all. No one and I mean no one at any time is permitted to even so much as lay a finger on the premises. Is that clear?”

  They drag the arrested man into the security office.

  “Better luck next time.” The Kuma Hunter winks at the crowd.

  “How are we doing, Director?” Mrs. Kimura, with short brown hair curled around her ears, enters from the only door of the surveillance room, blocking the sunlight behind her. Her ermine skin scarf dangles from her arms, its head resting in her palm. The Director gulps at the sight of the animal’s bloody eye sockets.

  “It’s a new collection.” She smiles. “Take a closer look.” She raises her hand to the Director and turns the face of the animal to the side. “When a mamushi wraps itself around an animal, it reaches for its throat and squeezes tightly until…”

  A drop of sweat trickles down the Director’s bald head as he watches the woman squeeze the animal’s head in her palm.

  “POP!”

  The Director jumps back, taking out a handkerchief to wipe his sweaty forehead. His hand quivers as he fails to recollect himself.

  “Oh, come on, Director, it’s not like it’s the first time you’ve seen what we do—”

  A man with a black hat walks in through the small door. A thin white line of light brightens the room and dims when he closes the door behind him.

  “Ah, Hideki-san, you just missed out on a lovely story I was tel—”

  “Where are we on the contestants?” Hideki-san walks past the woman with her ermine skin and bends over the young man to take a look at the changing screens in front of him. The young man pushes keys o
n the headboard, switching from one camera angle to the next until he lands on one angled down towards the line of contestants. A long-haired Kuma Hunter examines a contestant’s fishing rod. The contestant, a teenage boy, looks off to the side as though he knows the camera is focused on him. He takes out a picture instead and shows it to the hunter. The hunter shrugs and returns the rod to the boy.

  “Only twelve contestants left to check in, Sir,” the young man answers.

  “H-Hideki-san.” The Director places a hand on his shoulder. Mr. Hideki, with a look of disapproval, straightens his back and brushes him off.

  “My daughter?” he asks.

  “Y-you’re…oh, yes! Your daughter.” The Director folds the handkerchief and places it in his left pocket. “Your daughter was one of the first to check in. Aya Hideki is doing just fine.”

  “Where’s Mrs. Mori?”

  “Aha, what I would do to see that woman’s face.” Mrs. Kimura crosses her arms.

  “You behave yourself, Kimura-san,” Hideki warns. “None of this would have happened if you had sought my advice.”

  “It’s not the Kan’s fault the fire in Italy got out of control.”

  “We lost many of our men, and if we had been more careful we wouldn’t have to recruit so many contestants this year.”

  “That is if they survive.” Mrs. Kimura giggles.

  A tapping sound outside the room echoes over the steps that lead to the door. The knob shakes into place and turns. A woman bandaged around the eyes walks into the room, a walking cane tapping in front of her feet. She closes the door behind her.

  “Oh no, Mrs. Mori, what in the world could have happened to you? How could you have survived such a terrible accident?” Mrs. Kimura covers a smile on her face.

  “We both know that the fire was no accident,” she says. “Not even your own husband’s death makes up for the loss of our allies. We lost a major shareholder that night, Kimura-san. The Italian family that we have known for hundreds of years no longer exists, all because of one tiny mistake.”

  “You mean the plan where we add a little fire and give the Italians a scare, so that they can come back running to you for help?” Mrs. Kimura rubs her fingers against her thumb, hinting at money.

  Mrs. Mori unsheathes a dagger from her cane and slices the animal’s head from the ermine skin in Mrs. Kimura’s palm. “Don’t mock me, Kimura-san.” She wipes the blood off the blade with her finger. She sniffs it, scrubs it off with her thumb and says, “Hmm, so fresh. A recent kill, I believe. Next time, it’ll be your head—”

  “Oi, oi,” the Director interrupts. He rests a hand on the blind woman’s arm. “Mori-san, Kimura-san, the Italian family got what they deserve, so let’s not talk about the past and focus on the contest that is about to start.” The Director claps his hands. “While we let the contestants think there’s a money prize for the winners, Hideki-san promised you get to choose whichever contestants to recruit for your clan. Isn’t that exciting?”

  The Director exchanges glances between the two. No one moves. Hideki-san finally slips his hand around Mrs. Kimura’s arm and backs her away. Mrs. Kimura relaxes her shoulders, snickers, and hangs onto him.

  “Sometimes I wonder whose side you’re on, Hideki-san.” Mrs. Mori withdraws the blade and sheaths it into her cane.

  Hideki-san’s lips stretch to the side, but he doesn’t smile.

  “Nikki-chan!” the Director yells.

  “Hai!” A head bangs against the table of monitors. Nikki crawls from underneath and rubs her head. The young man at the screen wheels out of her way. Nikki finishes plugging two cables together. “All done.” She rises, carrying a black red-headed woodpecker in her hand, upright and unmoving. She stares at everyone in front of the Director. “Oh, I made this one. It’s my new invention…and yes, I will go announce that we’re starting.” She smiles.

  Nikki leaves the room, stepping out of the RV and into the security office’s back parking lot. She sits on the steps of the RV, placing the bird on its feet, and pushes her finger in between the tail feathers to pull a string. The bird’s eyelids flip open. A camera lens inside the bird’s pupil zooms in and out. Once focused, the bird preps its wings, flies and lands on the roof of the security office.

  Nikki gives it a thumbs-up. Her other hand cups the side of her face.

  The Director sees Nikki on one of the screens.

  “All good.” Nikki hears him in her earpiece.

  She heads to the platform in the center of the field in front of the security office. She nods to the Kuma Hunters, lining up with their backs against the fence, and picks up the megaphone off the ground. One hundred contestants look up from their scattered spots. Kits and instructions lay in their hands. Nikki examines the face of each and every contestant, as she spins around in a circle. She eyes Aya Hideki, who hides her nose in a white scarf and stands behind one of her personal bodyguards. Many new faces, among previous contestants’, ponder at Nikki, one of them being a middle-aged American. Nikki marvels if he understands Japanese. The digital clock displays sixty hours at the roof of the security office.

  “Contestants!” Nikki announces as some of the contestants cheer. “You’ve made it to the initial round. Congratulations. To successfully complete this round, you’re going to need one registration badge: yours, your predator’s and/or your prey’s. You may use your kits at any time to assist you. Any further questions can be answered here.” Nikki raises a sample instructions sheet. “You can either work together or alone for a chance to win one million dollars. You have sixty hours to complete the initial round,” Nikki cheers into the megaphone, as the contestants steady their foothold.

  “Good luck everyone!”

  The countdown starts and the contestants scatter. Some sprint into the forest and others chase after each other as they all clear out of the base. Only one steers clear from the field: a young boy with a fishing rod leaning over the branch of a beech tree. He brings his binoculars up to see a blind woman leaving the RV. Two others follow her out and they each get into their personal cars. The boy puts down his binoculars and stares at a picture of a man. He flips it over to reveal three others: two women and a man smiling and working together in a lab. The boy feels Nikki’s eyes on him. He exchanges one look with her and disappears.

  Chapter One

  Fisher

  Rain pelted down on wooden debris, replenishing the soil of carbon-rich life forms on the forest floor. The wind filtered through the trees, the damp leaves rustled among the branches, and the echoes and moans rumbling inside hollowed trunks came to a stop. I poked my head out of a tree, admiring the view of the forest below me. I spotted a pagoda miles away, its red roof pointing through the canopy, and turning around I saw a white snag tree struck by lightning years ago—or so the legends said. As the weight of the rain lifted, clouds cleared from the peaks of the mountains.

  If only Mom could see this.

  I tightened the strap of my fishing rod around my bag and slid down the branches. The snap of a twig cranked my head around and I felt a prick against my neck. All sensation left my body and I plummeted into the leaves, landing onto the highest, spongiest, and shortest branch.

  SNAP!

  Everything turned to black.

  ***

  I slashed the rice plants with my sickle, my boots sinking ankle-deep into the water. The sun scorched my back as I arched down to gather the grains into my basket. The mid-summer weather had been rough on us this year. We barely had enough food on the table, and mother had stopped eating to make sure there was enough for me.

  “Shouta!” A voice jerked my head around. I saw a woman with a straw hat and a basket in arm, waving her hand at me.

  “Tanaka-san?” I brought a hand to my forehead and shielded my eyes from the sun.

  “Isoide! It’s your mother!”

  The sickle slipped from my hands, and I tossed the basket to the ground. I ran across the rice field, through a yard and into a wooden hut. “Mother!” I yelled.
Taking off my boots, and sliding the door open, I heard her cough inside. I hopped into the kitchen, grabbing a jar of water off the counter and hurried into Mom’s room. She lay frail in bed, her blue veins visible under her skin. A profound sadness grew every time I saw her, fatigue engraved on her worn face. I could no longer see that desire, that fire in her eyes. All that remained was a hollowness reflected in her, with no room for her true self anymore. “Don’t get up,” I told her as she shuffled under her covers. Blood stained the tissues in her hand. That was always the scariest thing, knowing that the virus could take her from me any minute.

  “You’re not ready yet, my son,” she said in a weak voice.

  “Not ready for what? For what?”

  I woke up.

  I squinted from the blinding sun, my eyelids heavy and my mouth dry and sticky with thick saliva. A branch hung crookedly from the tree above.

  What happened?

  I brushed away the wet leaves that grimed my skin, and raising my head up. Brown weasels that had been licking at my red hand scurried into the hole of a fallen tree. I gazed at my hand, not feeling any pain or finding any cuts.

  Was this my blood?

  I rubbed my sore neck to find an empty dart, a yellow drop of goo oozing out of it. I glanced at my watch, cracked in its center, and panicked. I was out for a whole day? I struggled to free myself from the yew bushes that caught me, my green army trousers still tangled and stained from the squished red yew berries. I instinctively reached for my left breast pocket and a pang of horror hit me.

  My badge!

  My eyes landed on a journal, clothes, fishing rod and a kit having been dumped out of my bag and onto the wood chips. “No,” I croaked, losing my balance and tumbling to my knees. The ground whirled around me. It felt like an inflated balloon mounted pressure under my cranium. I closed my eyes and braced myself for what was to come next. My body shook as though it plunged once more through the air, two meters above the ground. Birds fluttered away when I cried.