After about an hour of waiting in line, Alexandre finally passed into the small building and reached the intake station desk.
A middle-aged man with a computer tablet and a stack of paperwork in front of him looked emotionlessly into Alexandre's face. "Last name, first name, date of birth, city of birth." His words came quickly and tonelessly, without even sounding as though he were asking a question, as though he were speaking to a computer instead of to a human being.
Alexandre replied in an equally efficient tone. "Hauteville, Alexandre; May 19, 2011; Chicago, Illinois."
The clerk's fingers moved with lightning speed to input the data into his tablet, then demanded, "Identification, genome survey."
Alexandre handed over his New York ID card and a USB drive containing his government-mandated genome survey. The clerk inserted both of these into a small computer unit, which beeped after a moment, indicating that no emergency problems had been detected.
The clerk returned these items to Alexandre, then took one of the sheets from the stack of paperwork at his side. He wrote on the top and bottom portions for several moments, then tore it down the middle and pushed the bottom half toward Alexandre. "Everything is in order. You are candidate number 23,332. Here is your ticket. Next!"
The sharp way he called for the next prospective student was the only emotion he'd shown throughout the entire exchange.
Alexandre took his ticket and stepped through the doorway at the other end of the building. Now that he was outside again, he found a crowded shuttle boat waiting to shuttle him and all other approved candidates to another location.
As he got on board this boat, Alexandre felt an intense sense of anxiety and stress from those around him. It was quite understandable, since Hunter Academy famously only accepted a maximum of 4,000 candidates per year... and very often didn't even reach this limit.
Now that the initial phase of the journey was over and the candidates were all hungry and tired, it was likely that most of them were wondering if they'd actually qualify for whatever the next portion of their journey would be. After all... they would surely meet some method of elimination before long. And all those who didn't make the cut would just have to make the same long flight back to the mainland.
There was no more room to sit on the boat, but Alexandre pushed his way through the muttering crowd and got a place to stand by the railing on the top deck, where the air was the freshest.
As he moved through the crowd, he noticed more than he had before how mixed the demographics of these people really were. Not only were there many foreign refugees and people who looked homeless, but there were also many from high social standing.
The arrogant brat who had been complaining earlier was a perfect example. He wore a heavy jacket over what looked like an expensive jumpsuit underneath, as though he expected to have to jump from an airplane into enemy territory during their first day, and these clothes must have been very expensive.
Comically, he was also holding the most expensive smartphone on the market, the kind only the most successful doctors and lawyers could still afford in the current economy. It seemed that he was having trouble getting cell service out here, which Alexandre assumed was deliberate.
It had become fashionable among the American upper class to enroll their children in preparatory courses so that they stood the best chance of becoming Hunters. Some bourgeois families even focused all their efforts on it.
After all, it seemed to everyone that Hunters were going to become the foundation of the new upper class in a world that was struggling to pick itself up from the ruins of the Great Wave!
Even despite what Alexandre knew about the true secret of the Hunters and their relationship to Virus Z, it was still true that all of these advantages made the rich much more likely to succeed as Hunters compared to the poor. The social and economic inequalities of the United States grew even wider as the rich and the Hunters united into a social caste that stood above all others.
It was almost as though the supernatural power of the Hunters was a symbol of the true power which the wealthy held in every other regard... even if, for many, this power had failed in the ruinous Great Wave.
Another student moved through the crowd to lean on the railing close by Alexandre, staring out at the horizon where, much farther away than the eye could see, lay the Black Zone where the zombies still reigned supreme. "Still can't believe I made it this far," he muttered in a deep voice.
He was a young black man with a Brooklyn accent, wearing clean but torn street clothes. His muscular arms were bare, but covered in scars, as was his face. On his right shoulder was a tattoo that Alexandre recognized as the symbol of a small but infamous Brooklyn gang.
It really was true that people from all layers of society had made it this far. Yet, nobody could predict who would make it through the next phase of their journey.
Alexandre looked out at the same horizon as the Brooklyn gangster. He smiled. 'If only they knew what awaits them,' he thought.
***
From high in the sky, the islands of the archipelago had seemed very close together, perhaps even close enough that an excellent swimmer could cross them with some exertion. However, the reality was quite different.
It took them about another full hour to reach the second island!
By this time, even Alexandre's stomach was rumbling, despite training himself to go without food for long periods of time. He'd spent so long commuting by bus, plane, and boat that it was close to 1 PM by now. He hadn't eaten since he'd left his apartment almost seven hours beforehand!
Everyone breathed weary sighs of relief as they disembarked the boat and stepped foot on the beach of the island where the campus and town were located. Almost every candidate silently wished for the same thing: a good meal, a long walk on the beach, and then a nap in a soft bed.
At the far end of the beach, several vehicles were parked, including several small buses with banners that said "Welcome to Hunter Academy!" on the sides.
But before the prospective students could start their conversations again, which had been interrupted by disembarking, a man stepped out of one of these parked cars and approached them, wearing a starched uniform.
"Hello to all," he said when he arrived. "I'm DeathFlame, a third-year student. I'm in charge of informing you that the tests will start at three o'clock—two hours from now! You have two hours to eat and then join us in the north of the island, on the training ground where the tests will take place. Those who have already eaten, or who have a meal to take with them, can follow me directly to the training ground."
A wave of mocking laughter passed across the crowd of candidates at the mention of the Hunter's pseudonym, but this quickly gave way to excitement as people realized they would have a chance to eat and rest after all!
In a storm of delight and enthusiasm, the group split in two. Most people got onto the waiting buses. The bratty kid wearing the combat jumpsuit was one of the first to board a bus. "Thank God!" he sighed. "I was beginning to think we'd abandoned civilization completely."
Once the buses were loaded, they departed at once down the main road, toward the town which supported the academy and the military base across the water.
But a much smaller group remained where they were, silently staring at the man who had come to meet them.
DeathFlame smiled. "Congratulations. You've passed the first test. Now, please follow me."