Emma Munro
Ella tracked the untagged male to Costco. Like everyone else, he pushed a shopping cart, referred to a list and then selected goods. He wore the perfect outfit to blend in — minimal makeup, silk top, long flowing cardigan, soft flared culottes, and espadrilles. She wanted to grab him and holler, but that would expose his recklessness. Males had been torn apart for less, despite how few there were.
On her left, down past the freeze-dried mozzarella, he reached for a large bag of jerky. Ella palmed her tranquillizer gun and dialled a sedative dose. To camouflage the shot, Ella simultaneously coughed, dropped a box of snack bars and fired. The dart skimmed his bicep. Not surprisingly he spun away, darting back and forth between women bulk-buying for their households. His nimble footwork delighted Ella until she lost sight of him in small appliances. She dashed along the central aisle, checking left and right.
The male’s topknot flashed behind a tent display and disappeared.
“There you are,” she muttered. Wheeling about, Ella lumbered down the camping supplies aisle. No sign of him.
After several minutes, she turned a corner into the food court. Luck was on her side today. The male sat at a corner table stuffing purchases into his backpack. He looked around him constantly. Skinny but not malnourished, a rarity for the untagged. He’d need training; what male didn’t. But a woman had paid for those clothes and taught him manners, illegally of course.
“All right,” Ella whispered to herself, “this time make sure it’s a good shot.” She raised the dart gun. The dart glinted in the bright light, clattered to the floor. The male yelped and swung his backpack. Exposed to all, he fled toward the checkouts.
Women shouted to each other across the low tables and food counters. Shoot, shoot! He’s bolting. Get him.
Ella rushed, heart soaring at the thrill of the chase. A gang of women matched her pace, stamping, shouting promises. Hey sweet thing. Come home with us. We’ll do right by you.
She’d be kind to him, she’d take care of him and protect him. She had to get to him before any of these women remembered how close they were to rows and rows of weapons.
“Please,” the male cried from somewhere in the crowd.
“He is mine,” Ella bellowed. “I saw him first.” She crashed toward his voice, shoving women and shopping carts out of her way.
He’s breaking.
The male burst into a clear space not twenty feet away. He leapt across a closed checkout, spectacular in full sprint, backlit by the waning sun.
Ella darted him. He flung his arms out wide. Then he twisted and sunk to his knees. Ella hurried over, reached around his shoulders and supported him against her chest. The second dart had struck him dead in the heart.
“Are you okay?” Ella gently clipped his earlobe, tagging him. The tag winked red, then blue: registered. Legal.
He blinked.
“You’re mine now.”
EMMA MUNRO lives in the Blue Mountains of Australia with one wife and two cats. Her stories have appeared in Hashtag Queer LGBTQ+ Creative Anthology Vol. 1, Hello Horror, Pure Slush, Cosmos and other places. She was born in the year of the Tiger and collects books beyond her ability to read. She’s an avid couch-dreamer, gardener, and bush-walker, and is a sucker for life’s simple pleasures: food, coffee, friends, and reading. She reads for Flash Fiction Online. You can find her at www.emmamunro.com.au.