It's simple," Jez said on the night of the last hunt of her life. "You run. We chase. If we catch you, you die. Well give you three minutes head start." The skinhead gang leader in front of her didn't move. He had a pasty face and shark eyes. He was standing tensely, trying to look tough, but Jez could see the little quiver in his leg muscles. Jez flashed him a smile. "Pick a weapon," she said. Her toe nudged the pile at her feet. There was a lot of stuff there- guns, knives, baseball bats, even a few spears. "Hey, take more than one. Take as many as you want. My treat." There was a stifled giggle from behind her and Jez made a sharp gesture to stop it. Then there was silence. The two gangs stood facing each other, six skinhead thugs on one side and Jez's gang on the other. Except that Jez's people weren't exactly normal gang members. The skinhead leader's eyes shifted to the pile. Then he made a sudden lunge and came up with something in his hand. A gun, of course. They always picked guns. This particular gun was the kind it was illegal to buy inCalifornia these days, a large caliber semiautomatic assault weapon. The skinhead whipped it up and held it pointed straight at Jez. Jez threw back her