by Katie French
She looks at me and then away.
“Okay.” I tuck my gun in the back of my pants and hope to God it stays there. “Let’s go.”
I give Ethan a boost up onto the tank and the flat expanse of metal that covers its large, chain-covered wheels. His shoes clunk loud enough to make me cringe and I glance back at the dark roads anglin’ off behind us even though I just checked ‘em. “Keep a look out,” I say to Ethan. Then I lace my fingers together and offer Betsy a boost.
She takes a lot more hoistin’ before she hauls herself up onto the chest high platform. Her rear end hovers right in front of my face, givin’ a flash of her kitty cat panties before she swings her last leg over. These are my road companions? Dear God, what’ve I got myself into?
When she’s standin’ beside Ethan on the tank’s gigantic wheel well, I pull myself up and climb to my feet, but my head begins to spin and throb at the same time. This has all been too much—the exertion, the shootin’, the dead bodies—and I feel like I’m gonna collapse. I place a hand on the large gun turret at my waist and breathe.
“You okay, Clay?” Ethan asks.
“Yes, you okay, Clay?” a voice says.
That voice. The hairs on my neck shoot up. I lift my head.
Standin’ on the other side of the gun turret, less than three feet away, is a red-haired woman. The minute I see her face—tight like she’s just tasted a lemon—my heart seizes. I don’t…know her, but I do. I can’t explain it, but it’s like I’m an animal spottin’ a predator.
And when she aims a gun at my chest, I know my instinct’s right.
“Whoa,” I say, holding up my free hand. My other hand holds the semi-automatic handgun down at my side. She has the drop on me, and I’m really not sure how fast I can draw to be honest. “Don’t shoot.”
She keeps the gun trained on my chest, but her angry glare moves to Betsy and Ethan. “You two are idiots. What did you do to him?”
Betsy shrugs, lookin’ like a spanked toddler, but Ethan sticks his chest out. “We fixed him, so you can’t mess with his head any more. Now just…let us go!” He stomps his foot and sends a metal clang down the tank.
The woman chuckles. “You thought you were just going to waltz into the desert, did you?” She smirks. “Brilliant plan, Betsy.”
Ethan sticks his chest out. “It was my plan.”
She narrows her eyes at Ethan. “You were always worthless. I should’ve seen that from the beginning.” She turns the gun on the boy.
I yank my gun up fast and aim for her chest. “Leave the boy alone.”
She snorts and eyes me. “You can barely stand, let alone shoot. Besides, you wouldn’t kill your own mother.”
At these words, my brain seems to shrink inside my skull. Images of her swirl back, along with her name—Nessa standin’ over my bed with a scalpel, Nessa in an apron, Nessa tuggin’ her hair back into its clip.
She watches my face and smiles dangerously. “That’s right. You remember. I’m your mother and I love you. These two are trying to trick you into leaving and dying in the desert. But you want to stay here with me.”
I press my hand to my head as if I can trap all the thoughts that bound ‘round inside. A thick, pulsin’ pain has started at the back of my neck, and I’m seconds from losin’ my lunch. I stare between Ethan and Nessa.
“Clay, she’s lying,” Ethan says, his face pale. “I don’t wanna trick you. I wanna take you back to Riley. Remember Riley?”
Riley. The name rings like a bell, deep in my head, but I can’t catch it and pin it down. Ri-ley
“I don’t…remember.” I look between Ethan and Nessa.
“You don’t have to remember, Clay.” Nessa holds a hand out. “Come back home with me and I’ll fix that headache of yours just like I fixed your hand.”
I look down at the pink scar on my palm and flex it.
“It’s a lie!” Betsy shouts. “She broke you. She broke your brain.”
I look between Betsy, Ethan, and Nessa, my thoughts swellin’ into a churned-up tide of confusion. A sweat has broken out on my brow and trickles down my back. My temperature flashes hot and cold like a fever. My stomach roils and even my legs betray me. Leanin’ more heavily on the tank for support, I try to keep the gun level, but it slips down. “I don’t know what to believe.”
Ethan’s chest has begun to heave and his fists are hard little balls. He lets out a growl and runs down the platform at Nessa. “You liar!”
She turns, aimin’ her gun at the boy.
My arm comes up on its own again and that steely calm settles over me. My head clears until it’s a cool, clean slate. When I slip my finger along the metal trigger, it’s as if the gun is just a piece of my arm. Pullin’ the trigger feels as easy as an exhale.
Twin cracks echo. Two people fall off the tank. Nessa and Ethan.
“Ethan!” I jump off and run to where he’s tumbled over the side. A sob has formed in my throat as I reach his little body, tumbled in a heap at the base of the tank. One slender arm is thrown over his face. I peel it back with tremblin’ fingers.
His face is still, his small body now made smaller next to the machine at his side. I touch his chest, his arms, looking for holes. My sob breaks into hiccuppin’ cries as tears trace down my face. Dear God, don’t let him be dead.
When he stirs, I gasp. I take him in my arms and press him to my chest. The relief that floods over me and into me is enormous, giant like this tank. No, bigger. Like wakin’ up from a nightmare into the bright light of day
“Are you hurt?” I ask. I look his little body over, but see no bullet wounds.
“I think I’m okay. I think I just fell off the tank.” He looks up into my face and offers a smile. “Do you remember now?”
I smile down at him, tears streamin’ down my face. “I guess I remember what matters.”
Chapter 22
Riley
I land on my hands and knees in the dirt. Pain radiates up both wrists, but then I hear frenzied yapping and shouting, both above me and beside me. My head snaps over and there’s Nada on her butt, leaning back on her hands, terrified. A wall of fur plows into me.
Coyote! my brain screams as I push away the stinking mess of fur and fangs that tackles me. Yellow teeth snap above my face. I push up at its neck and lean away. Its breath is rancid. Its paws claw at the dirt by my face.
The coyote’s spittle dampens my cheek and yellow eyes narrow in on mine. Its teeth scrape close. My arms are getting weaker.
“Riley!” Nada screams. Her voice is piercing, so unnaturally high and full of terror, I almost don’t recognize it. I glance over and see she’s got a metal object in her hand. Grunting, her face twisted with pain and determination, she rears back and slams a spear shaft into the coyote’s head.
The thunk and the loud yelp from the coyote are startling. The animal’s weight is gone, and the snapping teeth, too. The coyote skirts off, shaking its injured head.
I look up at Nada, grateful. She’s holding a broken spear shaft and pointing to the center of the pit. “Mister!”
My eyes follow her hand. The ring of swords glints dully in the setting sun, making the rusty hilts orange and red. Mister runs toward the center at a fast clip for how big he is. A coyote bounds toward him, but he swings one huge arm and sends the mangy dog flying. Then he guns it for the swords.
The other weapons scattered around the pit look useless. If he gets a sword before we do, we’re all dead.
I stagger to my feet and run through the dust toward Mister. I’m faster than he is, but he has a head start. He gets to the cluster of weapons before me and falls to his knees in front of the newest-looking sword. I skid to a stop. He’ll yank it out and cut my head off.
But he doesn’t. He doesn’t turn around brandishing a sword. Instead, a curse flies from his mouth. I run over to see what’s happened.
Chains are knotted around each sword hilt. Each chain is slung through metal loops that are embedded in a huge bolder at the cen
ter. At the top of each chain rests a padlock with four sliding number wheels. It’s clear what we need to do—figure out the padlock code and you get a sword. If we don’t, well… I glance around the pit. Garrit has a coyote latched onto each arm and they’re tugging back and forth as he screams. Nada has the broken spear shaft and is waving it at the coyote who’s targeted her. How long can she possibly last? I force myself to concentrate at the lock.
Mister curses again, intent on being the first with a sword. I try a few numbers at random, but when I tug the little lock down, nothing happens. Where have I seen number combinations? I can’t think of any. Am I supposed to know today’s date? It’s April, but I don’t even know what day it is. I slide the numbers randomly and pull. Nothing. I try again. My fingers tremble. Mister curses again, drops the lock, and begins tugging the blade up as if he could break the chain. Fool. It’s steel. Behind me, I hear growling.
I turn to find two coyotes with their hackles up, stepping toward me. With their lips curled back and their fangs out, they look ferocious. I need the sword. I growl back at the coyotes, hoping to keep them at bay. With one hand I slide the numbers and pull. Nothing. There has to have been a clue for these numbers, but with panic blaring in my brain I can’t think. A coyote edges closer. Spittle sprays from his curled upper lip as it growls. I kick dirt at it, and the beast takes a step back. Soon, though, it’ll lunge.
Suddenly, the numbers click in my brain. Merek’s birthday, April fourth. Doc gave me the code in the Jeep. I slide numbers as fast as my fingers can find them.
Mister looks at me and the lock in his hand. Even though I try to hide it, he sees my first number and his eyes light up. He starts sliding his numbers with thick fingers. Frantically, I do the same.
The first four clicks into place. Then the second. Garrit is somewhere screaming, making it hard to think. Then, from my periphery, I see brown fur. The coyote takes a step toward me. I kick at him, but he takes another step. He’s gonna lunge.
A screaming mass flies in from my right. Nada, swinging the spear shaft, arches the wooden end down and smashes it into the coyote’s midsection. It yelps and creeps back, but his partner turns angrily on Nada.
Help Nada or finish the lock? I can’t fight a coyote with my bare hands, and I need this sword to protect her. I whip around and slide the last two numbers into place. The lock falls loose and the chain coils on the ground. I yank the sword out of the dust and hold it up. Rusted and chipped, but still sharp, I wheel the sword toward Nada and the coyote just as Mister slips his sword free.
The coyote lunges at Nada. She swings the spear, but misses and the coyote takes her down. She screams as they scramble in the dirt. Fur and dust flies. I run in and lift the sword.
Nada’s dirty face is twisted in anguish as she punches the coyote over and over. It’s latched onto her arm, teeth sunk into flesh, ripping tender skin into bloody ribbons. I pull the sword back and stab.
The rusty tip sinks into the coyote’s hind end, stopping with an awful crunch. The animal yelps, drops Nada’s arm, and whirls toward me. But the tip of my sword is still stuck in fur. The coyote tries to circle around, trying to get away, and I circle with him, still clutching my sword.
Footsteps thud in my direction. I whip around. Mister runs at me, a hulking, sweat-drenched mess that only serves to make him look meaner. He raises the sword high and brings it down in a singing arch.
I flinch and throw my arm up.
The coyote’s head falls away in a spray of blood. The gore of its neck is awful—bone and blood. I watch it roll into the dust. Just like Annabell.
But this is not Annabell. I shake my head and stare up at Mister. “Thanks?” I say, looking into his face for answers.
He narrows his eyes and raises his sword.
It’s so unexpected I can’t move. I see the arch of the blade, but don’t understand. Instinct makes my body fall sideways. The blade slips through the air beside me and smashes into the dust with amazing force. I land in the dirt, elbow howling with pain, but I need to move. Mister pulls his sword up again.
I yank my blade free and use it to block his next blow. Steel rings against steel. The force of his strike jars my arms and forces me to my knees. I’m staring, stunned and shaken, as he lifts his blade again. Blood and steel catch the light of the setting sun. I lift my arm to block my face, but nothing will save me. I’m dead.
Mister’s blade falls.
Nada swings her staff and deflects Mister’s blow. His sword crashes into the dirt. “Get up!” she screams.
I stagger up, though my legs aren’t my own. I shake the dizziness and confusion from my head. The crowd screams above us. On the other side of the pit, the four remaining coyotes are clustered around Garrit. Mister yanks his blade from the dirt, turns on Nada, and gives her a blood-speckled sneer.
“Over here!” I swing my blade. He blocks. My sword vibrates back in my hands as it meets his, but I tighten my muscles, raise the blade, and strike again. Our swords smash together, and my blade bites into his shoulder, leaving a gash.
“Let’s go, Mister!” I shout, beating my fist against my chest. “You’ve wanted to cut me for a while now.”
He charges like a bull. I dance away. He stomps through the dirt, over the dead coyote’s body, and lunges for me. I swipe his blade away and run again. As I slip around him to the other side, I spot the coyotes huddled together, licking their wounds. Garrit has hurt them enough that they back off, but he’s so badly injured he’s lying at the edge of the pit. Above us, the crowd is still going wild as Mister rounds on me and swings again. Again I dodge easily.
He’ll tire before I do, I tell myself as I begin to pant. He has to.
And he does. His steps get slower; his swings lose power. I’m tired too, but have enough energy to keep ahead of him. I smile as I dance past his last blow. Now the crowd is beginning to boo. Some of the guards shout for Mister to finish me. It hurts, but then I hear the benders cheering me on. They want me to win. I have to win.
Mister doubles over, hands on his knees and pants, waiting for whatever announcement will be given. I’m thankful for the reprieve, too. I jog over to Nada and wait. Mister looks exhausted. Will he give up? Garrit is curled into the side of the pit, cradling his bloody arms and eying the ragged coyotes who have formed a battered clump beside one of the cages. All the energy has drained out of the pit. Maybe they’ll call off the game and let us out. I look up at Merek’s frown and realize that’s unlikely.
“Just hold on,” I say to Nada, flicking a glance at her. She looks awful—one hand wrapped around her chest, her other arm bloody and shredded from the coyote. I offer her a pat on the back. “We’ll get through this.”
Is it a lie? I don’t know.
I’m cut off by the announcer’s booming voice. “Contestants, Lord Merek has decried that this contest must finish tonight. The sun is setting and his lordship is tired.” At this, several benders laugh. I’d laugh, too, if I weren’t so terrified. His lordship is tired? Then what am I?
The announcer continues, trying to talk over the angry benders’ murmurs. “If there are still four of you standing in the next five minutes, all will be disqualified. All will lose their chance to escape a life of slavery. Stop protecting each other and fight!” He shouts this like he’s angry at us. And maybe he is. Lord Merek stands beside him, looking very unamused. Merek locks eyes with Mister and runs his thumb along the line of his throat. It’s a simple message. Kill or be killed.
The giant bender looks at me from across the pit.
“Stay behind me,” I say to Nada as I brace myself. My sword is up. How can I stop him? It doesn’t matter. I have to try.
He comes at me, a wall of muscle. I tense my arms, hold my blade out ready to block, but something is wrong. His body is shifting to the right, not coming straight at me. What is he doin—
I whirl and realize too late.
“Nada!” I scream, turning and reaching, my blade out, but it’s slicing through empt
y air. Mister’s blade slashes in a flash of steel that’s almost invisible in the dimming light, but I hear it. I hear the whoosh as it cuts through air and then the sickening squelch as it hits flesh. There’s a gasp and a gurgle.
Nada falls to her knees as blood pours down her neck and chest. A wide, red gash has opened below her chin, gushing blood like a fountain. Her hands go there, like a dam that will never staunch the flow, and they too are lost to the blood. She tilts over into the dust.
“No!” a voice screams from above. Doc.
I run to her, forgetting Mister who’s stalking toward the other side of the pit anyway. Where is he going? It doesn’t matter. I press my hands over hers as if together we can keep the blood in, but the life is already fading from her eyes. Round irises flick my way for a second. One look to say thanks, or sorry, or help, and then they are still. Above me, Doc screams. And others, too.
I kneel there, holding her blood-slicked hands, not knowing what to do. She’s dead. I couldn’t save her. Hot, angry tears burn down my cheeks. Mister. He did this. I wipe trembling hands on my shirt and reach for my sword.
“Mister!” I scream. I stalk to the other side of the pit, the anger making everything else small. Something’s happening on the lip of the pit, screaming and a gunshot, but I’ve zeroed in on Mister. He’s leaning over his gnawed-on partner, Garrit. What’s he doing?
When he pulls up the bloody blade, I see. He’s stabbed his own partner, killing an injured man on his back like you would a wounded animal, crushed on the side of the road. But this wasn’t for mercy. This was for glory.
Why didn’t he finish me when he had the chance? I guess he figured he’d kill the weakest first, giving himself time to catch his breath. It will be his last mistake.
Screaming, I run at him, swinging my blade. He whirls, but my steel slices across his back, opening up a wide gash. He tilts away, shock on his face. Before he can recover, I attack again. Blades clash and steel sings. I fight with my teeth bared like a wild thing, screaming and grunting. He’s big, but I’m furious. Mister backs away, dribbling a trail of blood.
