Dirk ran up to the bars and rattled them. “This is bullshit, you fucking cowards! Caging us like this!”
The three Death Riders climbed back into their vehicles, and as the motors roared to life, everyone but Astoria took off for the far sides of the arena. She alone stood her ground, watching as the vehicles resumed their frenzied maneuvers, crisscrossing paths, engines revving.
The woman’s truck raced dangerously close to Astoria, but she didn’t even flinch.
“What is she doing?” Dirk asked. “Run!” he shouted at her.
Greasy Mop bore down on one of the men, but he darted aside at the last minute, narrowly avoiding being crushed against one of the walls. He made a break for it, pumping his legs, his face a silent scream. Just as H124 thought he was going to outmaneuver Greasy Mop, the Death Rider aimed one of the nozzles at the man. Liquid shot out, spraying the ground behind him. He screamed, trying to push himself faster. Then another stream shot out, bathing his back. The man shrieked and fell, the liquid eating through his clothes. H124 watched in horror as his skin started to bubble and burn. As his flesh dissolved, the man picked himself up and kept running, but Breastplate moved to intercept him, the giant tires of her truck spraying up dirt behind her.
She and Greasy Mop cornered him against the wall, and she aimed two of her nozzles at him. He tried to dart away, but an arc of fire shot out of her truck, instantly setting his clothes and hair aflame.
H124 watched helplessly as he dropped into the dirt, screaming and rolling, trying to put out the flames. Breastplate cut the flamethrower, and the man managed to extinguish the fire. He got up again, moving weakly now, but rather than finish him off, they grinned and turned away.
They want to make his suffering last, H124 realized, horrified. Who were these people, and how had their culture evolved? Why were they so evil? What was the point of it all?
At the far end of the arena, the other man and woman raced to the edge of the wall. He cupped his hands so she could step onto them, and she leapt for the top of the retaining wall. But even with his help, she was still coming at least fifteen feet short. They tried again and again, even as Skull Face bore down on them with his truck. A spray of acid blasted out of one of his guns, but they leapt aside just in time, and headed in opposite directions. All the while Astoria stood her ground in the center of the arena, refusing to run. H124 could feel the hatred wafting off her. Greasy Mop wheeled his truck around, heading straight for the stubborn gladiator.
Just as his bumper was about to touch her, Astoria dove to the side, rolling out of the way. He passed her and made a sharp U-turn, shooting up clumps of dirt behind him. He opened up the flamethrower nozzle on his truck and sprayed the area with fire. Astoria rolled again, keeping out of reach.
The injured man across the arena struggled toward the cage. He reached it and shook the bars. H124 reached out and touched his hand. “Help me,” he begged. His skin bubbled and burned, a raw mess of blisters and burned flesh. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. He kept rattling the bars, moving along the length of the door.
“Someone help me,” he begged. “Please!”
Spotting him, Skull Face revved his engine and raced toward him. The wounded man sensed the danger and limped feebly away, but he was moving too slowly. Skull Face released another stream of acid, hitting the man full on his back and legs. The man screamed, tearing at what was left of his clothes, his skin simmering and bubbling. Skull Face still didn’t finish the job. He only jumped up and down in the driver’s seat, laughing in pure glee.
She’d seen the indifferent, mirthless expression of the Repurposers, seen the cold pleasure of the one in New Atlantic who had threatened to wipe her. But this was something different. She didn’t know which was worse.
Skull Face wheeled his truck around, momentarily blocking their view of Astoria. He picked up speed, kicking back dirt in huge clods behind his tires. He tore up the field, bearing down on her. Astoria darted to the side, so he overshot her, then spun around and turned on his flamethrower. The fire missed her by inches.
“Oh, god,” Dirk whispered next to H124, his hands clenched around the bars. She gripped his arm. He looked sick, trembling, a frightened animal.
Greasy Mop spun his vehicle around, and both Death Riders now homed in on Astoria. She stood motionless, feet planted firmly, watching them approach from either side. They careened toward her, both picking up speed, and for a second H124 thought they were going to hit one another, smashing Astoria between their grills. But at the last second, Greasy Mop weaved to the side, and Skull Face drove right over Astoria, who flung herself to the ground. After Skull Face roared over her, her body was gone.
H124’s eyes swept the field, but she didn’t see her.
Breastplate zeroed in on the man and woman, jetting out an arc of acid that splashed against the wall. Some of it bounced onto the woman, and the man tried to wipe it off with his ragged shirt as she screamed.
Then H124 spotted Astoria, crawling up the rear bumper of Skull Face’s truck. She’d grabbed the underside as he passed over her. Pulling herself up the back of the vehicle, she gripped the roof rack, using the hoses strung along the acid and flamethrower tanks to steady herself. Skull Face spun the truck, heading for the man and woman, oblivious to his new passenger. He turned with such force that for a second Astoria’s legs went flying, but she held fast. Then she was crawling forward again, toward the cab.
As Skull Face let loose a stream of flame at the helpless pair, Astoria reached the front of the vehicle. She gripped the top and swung her legs in through the open window, connecting with Skull Face’s head. The truck veered wildly out of control, slowing, and for a moment H124 couldn’t see Astoria. Then the passenger door opened, and Skull Face came tumbling out, lying still in the dirt.
Astoria backed up the truck, bumping over him, then drove forward and back again, grinding his body into a bloody mess on the field. When she was done she wheeled the vehicle around and raced toward Greasy Mop, who had just unleashed another wave of flame at the man and woman. The man’s shirt caught fire, but he rolled in the dirt, managing to put it out. His friend grabbed his arms, yanked him to his feet, and together they ran.
Astoria pulled up on Greasy Mop’s tail and let out a huge blast of fire. He tried to swerve away, but all he did was expose his open driver’s window to the flame. He screamed, leaping from the truck’s cab. He tried to roll on the ground, but she laid a continuous stream of fire on him. He became a running ball of flame, shrieking in agony. Then he fell over, and moved no more.
Breastplate swung her truck to face her target. Astoria accelerated, issuing another fire jet. Breastplate balked, trying to veer away at the last instant, and Astoria rammed her truck. The clash of colliding metal rang out over the field. Astoria aimed the acid nozzle at Breastplate’s window. The woman cried out as Astoria released a voluminous stream, splashing over the truck and into the cab. Breastplate shrieked, trying to back away, but the acid ate through the windshield. H124 clenched her teeth as Breastplate readied her flamethrower. Astoria threw her truck into reverse, tearing away from the wreckage, bumpers grinding as they separated. But the flamethrower streaked along the side of Astoria’s vehicle, followed by a blast of acid. It started eating through the passenger window.
Inside her truck, Breastplate cried out, ripping off her acid-covered clothes. She was too distracted to notice Astoria leaping from her driver’s seat and running to Breastplate’s door. She wrenched it open, grabbing Breastplate and dragging her from the truck. The woman landed in the dirt with an oomph. Astoria stomped down on the woman’s throat with all her weight, and Breastplate went limp.
The hole in the wall opened, and two Death Riders emerged with machine guns. Spotting them, Astoria ran back to her truck. She opened up the flamethrowers on the pair, and they shrank back out of range. Her truck lurched forward as she bore down on them, but then a third Death Rid
er appeared, heaving a gun with a long barrel. He shot something at her through the window, and the truck slowed to a stop. Astoria slumped forward on the wheel.
Dirk gripped the bars. “No!”
The two Death Riders with machine guns jogged to the truck and pulled her out. They dragged her limp body over to the cage. Everyone backed up as the bars swung upward. H124 saw a strange dart sticking out of Astoria’s arm. As they threw her inside, H124 realized Byron was standing next to her. “They tranqed her.”
The Death Riders threw her down in a heap, then grabbed the man and woman off the field and threw them back inside along with the gravely burned and acid-scalded man. He didn’t look like he’d live for much longer. The dead were dragged away and stacked unceremoniously on the pile by the hole.
H124 bent down next to Astoria, joined by the others. Her arm throbbed. How long would this go on? Until they were all dead? “How long does this ‘festival’ last?” she asked the feeble woman.
She met H124’s gaze with dead eyes. “Until we’re all dead.”
They needed a plan. The only time they were out of the cage was on the battlefield, so that’s when they had to make their move. But they were never out there all at once. She moved to the steel door, checking again for weaknesses, but found none. Then she moved to the cage bars, studying its mechanics.
As the vehicles were removed from the field, the crowd grew restless. Chanting filled the arena, as did the cacophony of hundreds of people stomping their boots. The whole place shook. H124 returned to her friends. Astoria was still out cold, but Byron was starting to feel better.
“We need to overpower the guards the next time they come to the cage,” H124 whispered to her friends.
“What are you thinking?”
H124’s thoughts were interrupted as the crowd grew louder. Something was stirring them up, and a thousand gleeful voices filled the air, as if the main event had just arrived.
Three new Death Riders emerged from the hole, stomping over to the holding cage. One held a long staff.
“Let’s subdue them now,” H124 whispered.
The bars lifted, and H124 rushed forward. Byron landed a solid punch to one of the Death Rider’s guts, and H124 kneed him in the face as he bent over. The second Death Rider grabbed her, painfully wrenching her arm, and she cried out. Dirk rushed forward and body slammed him to the ground. As all three friends emerged onto the field, Dirk grabbed the staff, shoving it under the cage bars to keep it from lowering again. H124 heard the gears groaning as the gate controller tried to shut it. She glanced around for a way out of the arena, searching for a lower place in the wall, another door, anything. “We have to make it to the hole!” she shouted, pointing to the spot where the Death Riders had emerged.
But just as she said it, ten more poured out of the darkness there, each wielding a flash burster. As they closed in, sweeps of blue lightning shot out all around them. She felt one hit her just as she tried to dart away. She went down hard in the dirt, jittering. Her teeth clacked shut, and she bit her tongue.
Then rough hands dragged her away. Her body convulsed as she heard the bars slam shut again.
When she stopped shaking, she looked up to see that she was on the outside of the cage, lying next to Dirk.
“H!” Byron shouted. She propped herself up on her good elbow, trying to clear her head. Byron knelt on the other side of the bars, inside the cage.
Next to her stood a three-sided glass cage with interior handles. It was open in the back, about six feet tall and almost three wide. A silver ring was mounted in the top. It looked like she could stand inside the cage, using the handles to resituate it, a movable body shield of sorts.
She shook her head, and rose to her feet. She approached a groaning Dirk. Another moveable shield stood beside him. She helped him up, and scanned the arena. What were the shields for? They were alone on the field. The Death Riders had retreated back into the hole. Then the metal door rolled to the side, and she saw something stirring in the darkness beyond.
“Oh, no,” Dirk said, staring into the shadows. Something crawled into view on all fours, a mottled grey-and-black thing with a tapered skull and long, muscular forelimbs that ended in curved claws. Green, beady eyes blinked in the sunlight. It hissed through its jagged teeth, and looked around with narrowed eyes. She’d never seen one before in the light, but already she knew what it was. A night stalker.
She marveled as it crawled out, its hind feet flexible and articulate, practically a second set of hands. It slunk forward in long, lanky strides, keeping low to the ground, rear legs bent back, eyes continuously sweeping the terrain.
“No one’s lived through this,” the feeble woman whispered through the bars.
H124 rocked back on her heels, as more movement in the hole caught her eye. Another night stalker emerged, hissing at the bright light as it moved alongside its companion. Then a third leapt into sight, padding out of the hole much more quickly, racing toward the far end of the arena only to find the wall there. It ran along the perimeter, clawing and leaping, looking for a way out. Its speed and nimbleness staggered her every time it leapt up at the wall, muscles rippling. Though the wall was more than twenty-five feet high, it almost made it to the top a few times, its claws falling just shy of the upper edge.
H124 darted inside her shield and lifted it up, moving it clumsily with one arm. The thing weighed a ton. She barely managed to half-lift, half-drag it over to the wall. She braced her back there, and pulled the shield in tight. The panicked night stalker raced right by, still leaping and testing the walls.
To her left, Dirk tucked into his shield and carried it over to the wall, following her lead. But she knew that if the night stalkers wanted to, they could pry their claws in along the edges, and tear the shields loose.
The creatures stalked around the field, studying Dirk and H124. He lifted his shield and slid along the wall until he came up flush with her.
Slowly the night stalkers approached them, their movements sinuous. She noticed that their ribs stood out prominently, their thin black, mottled skin stretching over the bones. They’d been starved.
The nearest pair leapt with sudden ferocity, slamming into the glass. The impact hurt her eardrums. Claws scrabbled against the cage surface, then searched for the seam where the shield met the wall.
The creatures ripped at the shield. One got its claws in under the edge while the other tried to dig under the bottom edge. H124’s fingers found a button along the underside of one of the handles. She pressed it. A metal skirt extended from the base of the shield, punching into the ground. It struck the digging night stalker in the head. The creature jerked away, shaking its skull.
But the stall wouldn’t last long. The shields were meant to delay the carnage, not prevent it.
As the night stalker began to pry the shield away from the wall, H124 noticed a button on the other handle. She pressed it, hearing a solid click as the shield suddenly moved backward, adhering to the wall. The night stalker howled as its fingers got pinched, and pulled free, growling. The metal wall cold at her back, she pressed the button again, and the shield released. Then she hit it again, and it stuck fast to the wall. The rim of the shield was filled with powerful electromagnets.
She looked over to Dirk, noting that he’d found the same buttons.
“What do we do now?” he shouted through the glass. She could barely hear him. The night stalkers paced before them. The panicked one gave up its perimeter check and joined its pack. It lunged forward, scrabbling at the edge of her shield, but the cage remained locked fast to the wall. Just when it seemed they were at an impasse, the arena door rolled to the side again, revealing the hole.
H124 braced herself, expecting to see more night stalkers burst out. But instead she saw a gleam in the shadows. The spiked leg of a machine stepped out, flashing in the sun; then another leg, and another. She counted six legs
in total as it strode into view like some giant insect. Unlike the vehicles, this one was not driven by a Death Rider. It had no cab or cockpit. Two shorter appendages were mounted at the fore, each sporting a vicious pincer. It motored forward, gears humming, easily twenty feet tall, its robotic eyes fixed on them.
“I don’t think the night stalkers can tear us free,” Dirk shouted. “But I’ll bet that thing can.”
The big insect trundled toward them, its every leg piercing the ground as it went. The night stalkers scuttled toward it, leaping up eagerly, winding about its feet. They didn’t try to attack it; they merely cavorted around its legs, jaws open, teeth bared. They knew it had fed them before.
The monstrous insect homed in on H124. One of its pincers lowered onto her cage, gripping the silver ring. She felt the magnetic hold weaken. The protective cage flew out of her hands, landing in the dirt ten feet away.
The night stalkers let out an eerie, keening wail as they sped toward her. She leapt to the side, grabbing the cage with her good arm and rolling it over on top of herself. But it was open at her feet, and she screamed as a pair of jaws closed down on her boot and started to drag her out.
She craned her neck, trying to catch a glimpse, kicking her foot at the beast. She connected with its face, but it quickly clamped back down on her boot.
Dirk pulled away from the wall, and ran toward them with a battle cry. Diving through the air inside his cage, he landed hard on the night stalker who had her foot. It snarled and took off.
Now they both lay under their shields. The night stalkers would soon pounce again. H124 and Dirk struggled to their feet and ran back to the wall. They reengaged the electromagnets, and dug into the ground.
This time the machine closed in on Dirk, gears whirring. The pincer came down, locking onto his cage and wrenching it away from the wall.
It landed a few feet away, sending a plume of dirt billowing upward. Dirk dove for it as all three night stalkers came after him. He managed to right it and get inside, but his back was exposed. As they started to circle him he pivoted, keeping his back safe, but H124 knew he didn’t have much time.
Shattered Lands Page 17
