Salt & Stone

by Victoria Scott

  “You know he loves you, right, lion?” I say to Guy’s Pandora.

  Now that his Contender is here, safe, M-4 closes his eyes and sleeps.

  Guy’s arms are still wrapped around my body, his head heavy on my chest. I fall asleep this way, entangled in his embrace, entranced by this person I have no future with. It’s then, as I drift into oblivion, that I realize — the Brimstone Bleed breaks much more than our spirits.

  Strong arms carry me. My head lies limply against a chest made of stone. I am laid onto a bed, and my eyes attempt to open. But it’s too difficult. I’m three leaps past exhausted. A cool blanket grazes my exposed skin, and the sensation is luxurious beyond measure. At last, as the person who carried me moves away, I convince my lids to lift a fraction.

  Cotton stands in the doorway, silhouetted by darkness.

  He stares at me, his hands clenched, his jaw tight. Cotton looks as if he wants me dead. So why, then, did he carry me here?

  I can’t force myself to think on the question. I swam too far, I was stung too many times, and I worried over my friend’s dying and Guy’s returning for what felt like months. Madox leaps onto my bed and curls into a ball near my feet.

  My Pandora is here, and so I return to sleep.

  The next morning, I wake to find Guy curled on the floor. The room is small, but I count eleven other beds besides the one I occupy. A silky soft blanket bunches near my knees, the same one Cotton used to cover me last night. I kick it to my feet and sit up. Madox stirs, and a few beds down I catch sight of a white wolf pacing. The creature seems to be chasing boredom, so I call the animal over. It doesn’t come, but it does wag its tail with interest.

  I stifle a laugh when Madox pushes his head under my hand, trying to redirect my attention back to its rightful place.

  “You hungry?” I whisper to Madox. His ears perk.

  From the ground, I hear Guy pulling himself up. One moment he’s fast asleep, the next it’s as if he’s waited hours for me to rise. He rubs one knuckle into his right eye, making the scar over his brow stretch and whiten. “Can you walk with me?”

  I nod, and ask Madox to stay put as Guy and I leave the structure. The sun hasn’t been visible long, and the chill in the air is biting. I rub my hands over my arms as Guy leads me to the camp’s perimeter. We disappear into the island foliage, but not so far that we can’t easily spot the Contenders and Pandoras milling around the quieted fire.

  “Do you remember the chip we saw in Braun’s Pandora?” Guy asks when we’re safe from eavesdropping.

  “I do,” I respond. “What do you think it is?”

  He shakes his head, admitting he doesn’t know.

  I tell him about the blood bags beneath the rafts, but he doesn’t seem surprised. Finally, I say that I plan to include Braun and Olivia in what we know about the race, and that I’ve already told Harper.

  Guy sighs. “I told you that in confidence. You forget I have a plan.”

  “It’s our plan now.”

  “You can’t tell them about the race. I can’t believe you said anything to Harper without talking to me.”

  This is the part where I’d usually get upset, but this time I don’t. “We will tell them because it’s the right thing to do. And because I get a vote in this, too.”

  Guy looks at me for a long time before nodding his acceptance. “What happened to the girl who followed me in the jungle?” He smiles, but I can tell he’s hurt, too. “Will she ever listen to anything I have to say again? Does she not need me anymore?”

  I grin, because it seems at last he understands I’m thinking for myself and has accepted it. But I don’t want it to be so black-and-white between us. I care about Guy, and what I want more than anything is for us to exist in the gray, where both our opinions are heard and we treat each other as partners and equals. I open my mouth to explain this, but then decide showing him might be better. And more fun.

  My hands slide over his chest, and I raise my head to his. I take one step closer, and my breath comes faster. Guy’s eyes run over my face, and a mixture of desire and fear softens his features. I rise up onto my toes and lick my lips. Guy does the same.

  His hand finds my hip, and he pulls me closer.

  We are so close, nothing between us. Guy lowers his head, his lips almost touching mine —

  And then he steps back.

  “Tella …”

  His sudden distance is a slap across the face. “You still don’t believe in me.”

  He grabs my arm. “That’s not it. I saw you out there in the ocean. I know what you’re capable of when you put your mind to it.”

  “Then what?” I hate the sound of my voice.

  He shakes his head.

  I don’t know when I started relying on Guy so severely, but it ended yesterday. There is still this, though — the desire to touch him, the desire to feel wanted in this cold, heartless race. “You never wanted me.”

  “That’s not true.” He reaches for me, but I step back.

  “I can’t do this hot-and-cold thing with you anymore. Tell me how you feel, or I’m walking away. Tell me how you feel, or you and I are only partners from here on out.”

  He opens his mouth, and my entire body tenses. But then he closes it. He closes it, and my heart slams shut. Finally, he’s stopped demanding I listen to him. He’s admitted he thinks I’m more capable than he originally thought. And now he can’t do this one little thing. He can’t tell me how he feels.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I say, a little more harshly than I intended. “I’m here for my brother. Not for you.”

  I spin on my heel and storm away, but before I can get too far, Guy overtakes me. His hands are suddenly everywhere: in my hair, clutching my back, stroking the planes of my lips. I fall into him, allowing his touch to overtake my senses. His lips graze my collarbone and work their way up, moving with fervor. My head falls back, allowing him full access to my throat. Each hurried, passionate kiss along my neck is like a flame licking my skin. He lifts me up, draws my body closer. My hands slide into his hair, and I grip those dark locks between my fingers.

  His mouth moves from my neck and hovers an inch from my lips.

  I remember myself and jerk backward. My feet touch the ground, and I pull away from his grasp. This time when he grabs hold of me, I push him backward. “You won’t do that again. Not until you can say what you feel aloud.”

  I turn and stride toward the huts, my pulse hammering inside my body.

  Two weeks ago, I told Braun and Olivia everything I knew about the race. We decided as a group to keep the information between us, for now. I figured Harper would want to tell Willow, too, but she never broached the issue. No one pushed for Cotton to know, either. And after the night he carried me to bed, I was more than a little conflicted about whether I should trust him.

  Mr. Larson’s name wasn’t even brought up. In fact, Mr. Larson has given us a wide berth ever since we arrived at base camp. I’ve tried numerous times to approach him, asking if he wants to eat with Harper and me, but he tells me he’s relieved to get away from the lot of us.

  I don’t believe a word he says. He wants companions as much as the next person, but he also knows the other Contenders in our group detest him. At least he hasn’t abandoned his Pandora, though each time I finish talking with Mr. Larson, the alligator attempts to follow me back to wherever I came from.

  Guy wasn’t pleased that I told Braun and Olivia what he confided in me, but of course I knew he wouldn’t be. Ever since that day on the ocean camp’s perimeter, Guy and I have shared information. If I make a decision about something important, I tell him. He grants me the same favor. I don’t tell him about the Cotton issue, or lack thereof. That’s my puzzle to mull over.

  Guy watches me as if I’m an exotic animal thriving in its natural habitat, perpetually out of reach. He is forever in my head, the feel of his lips lingering in my memory. But even now he is quiet.

  “Tell us what’s on your mind,” I say to him.r />
  The five of us huddle together behind one of the grass-and-mud structures, our backs pressed to the exterior wall, the wind threading through our bodies.

  Guy presses a thumb to the center of his chin. “They’re building something.”

  Braun shakes his head. “No, whatever it is they visit at night is preexisting. Maybe it’s houses that the island people live in. The people we’ve seen gliding through camp from time to time? Maybe that’s where they go.”

  “Those island people make a mean snack,” Olivia says, munching on a blackberry-and-currant corn cake drizzled with honey.

  I nuzzle AK-7’s side with my shoe-covered foot and try to think, wishing I could get a pair of legit shoes with, I don’t know, some cushion. A modicum of cute. Dare I dream for a bit of sparkle? The two men working the race have left base camp every night and disappeared into the island foliage. They return at sunrise empty-handed. Every once in a while, we hear the sound of chain saws and falling timber, and we know something big is happening. We once tried to follow them, but ran into a line of six island men, their hair in thick, dark dreads, scowls dipping their mouths.

  We shouldn’t chance a scuffle, I’d said. We have less than a week until we leave. Let’s lie low.

  “I think it has to do with our Pandoras,” Harper ventures. “They haven’t taken their eyes off them since we arrived.”

  All five of us — Guy, Braun, Harper, Olivia, and I — regard our Pandoras, our protectors. We silently contemplate what she’s suggested. We’re still tossing theories around after dinner, when a sharp whistle sounds throughout the camp.

  We scramble to our feet, knowing this is it. We’ve spent days resting and recovering from our injuries. We’ve discussed the race to death. But mostly, we’ve watched and waited for the next obstacle. Before we became Contenders, we lived for the future. Now we live in the moment, knowing there won’t be a tomorrow if we don’t conquer today.

  By the time we leave our partially hidden hangout, Contenders and Pandoras are already lined up around the fire pit. The two men stand side by side, and as I suspected, one has a whistle hanging from a green rope around his neck. I have a sudden, intense desire to scream, Put me in, Coach!

  The man without the whistle holds up a white device. “You’ll be receiving a message in a few moments. I want to stress that there will be no questions or carrying on once she’s done talking.”

  My forehead beads with sweat despite the weather. We’ve heard several messages before that could easily be classified as disturbing. If they think we’ll react badly to this one, then whatever’s coming won’t be good.

  FDR-1 wraps her tail over my calf, and a yard away Madox lies on his back, kicking his legs up at Cotton’s bull. The bull is not amused. Olivia takes my hand, and my body aches in response to her touch. We’ve spent many nights weeping for Jaxon, but every time I comfort Olivia, I can’t help thinking what it’d be like if he were still here.

  Harper is back on the ground, Willow curled in her lap. The rat shimmies under Willow’s hair and hides, and RX-13 steps back with obvious repulsion. I tighten my arm around Olivia’s shoulders before digging the device from my pocket and slipping it into my ear.

  Once we all have our devices in place, we wait. It’s a full century before the woman begins speaking, an eternity of silence.

  Clicking.

  Static.

  “I’m pleased to see so many of you at the ocean base camp. As a courtesy, we extended the break between ocean and the final leg of the race to two weeks instead of the typical one.”

  The woman pauses, and a Contender coughs loudly.

  “Sixty-four Contenders entered the ocean portion of the Brimstone Bleed, and today, we have forty-one eligible to continue on to the last leg of the race.”

  Forty-eight Contenders should be able to move on, but she said forty-one. My stomach lurches when I realize that means seven Contenders died at sea, or at the very least, have yet to appear at base camp.

  “In four days, you’ll progress to the final part of the Brimstone Bleed. We have something very special we’ll be supplying the first five people to reach the final base camp. And of course, one lucky person will ultimately hold the Cure to save their loved one’s life.”

  Guy and I exchange a look. It was he who told me exactly what the first five Contenders would receive. But hearing her imply what he’s divulged leads me to trust his information even more.

  The woman from the device hesitates for a long time. So long, Olivia tugs on my hand in question. When she begins to speak again, my heart hammers in my chest.

  “We’ve decided to do something special to give Contenders an advantage over one another, an opportunity for you to prove your dedication to your loved one. After this message ends, you will communicate to any Pandoras assisting you in this race that they have a choice. If they elect to participate in a specific challenge, you will be granted a twenty-four-hour head start in the last ecosystem over other Contenders. If they decline, however, you must remain behind during the first day of the final leg.”

  My pulse pounds, and my eyes fall on Madox, my sweet black fox. What would they have him do? My stomach lurches as I imagine the possibilities.

  “If your Pandora chooses to participate, tomorrow morning they will be matched against another creature in what we call the Pandora Wars.

  “They will fight to the death.”

  That next morning, I wake to find Madox standing in the doorway of our small hut. He faces outward toward the sea, though I know he can’t see it from here. Last night, I told him what the woman from the device said, and then I silently pleaded for him to decline. Because AK-7 belongs to me more than anyone else, he and Madox must both agree to fight or I’ll be required to lose a day in the race. I guess this is the downside of collecting Pandoras, even if I already did make a plan for Rose.

  After I informed them of their challenge, the iguana fidgeted throughout the evening and night, and Madox gazed toward the ocean, deep in thought. The grizzly bear listened to what I had to say and then flumped onto the floor and slept like the dead.

  A whistle blows, and I imagine shoving that same whistle down the skinny, pinheaded man’s throat. Madox perks at the sudden noise, and he strides from sight like he’s been waiting for that sound for days instead of hours.

  Madox, wait. I scramble to my feet. When I get outside, I find that Pandoras are already lining up before the two men working the race. Both men wear light jackets over green collared shirts, and their jackets have serpents embroidered on the left breast. The skinny man is yelling something when Braun appears at my side.

  “What’s he yelling about?” he asks.

  You could find these two dudes, the Brimstone Bleed guys, in any suburban town with their 2.5 children and their maybe, maybe not pregnant wife. They don’t look particularly intimidating, and they probably haven’t seen the inside of a weight room since that one summer they were going to show everyone before their sophomore year of high school. But they work for the race, and so we believe unequivocally that they could withhold the Cure. And that, my friends, is all it takes to behave. Just the bittersweet promise of recovery for someone you care about.

  “I think they’re getting ready to take them somewhere,” I answer.

  Braun glances between me and Madox. “Thank you,” he says. “I’m still not sure what I’m doing is right.”

  I look at Rose, who is already in line. Last night I gave her to Braun and said the decision was his. It felt a little like handing over a newborn to a starving, desperate hyena. Braun leaves in silence as if he’s ashamed and can’t stand to face me any longer than necessary.

  Madox stands a few yards from the line, watching the other Pandoras intently.

  I scoop him into my arms, and he struggles against me fiercely. I drop him, surprised by his distant demeanor. Madox trots a couple of paces and stops again.

  Please don’t do this, I beg.

  Madox’s stance remains firm, his f
ox eyes trained on his competition.

  Heavy plodding comes from behind me, and I turn to find AK-7. He stops at my side and noses the top of my head. I throw my arms around his massive neck and bury my head into his fur chilled from the cold. “Stay with me. That’s an order.”

  The bear lowers his head farther and sniffs my dressed shoulder.

  “Don’t worry about that. You saved my life.”

  AK-7 pulls away suddenly and heads toward the line.

  My throat burns. “Monster, no.”

  The grizzly bear sidles toward the end of the line. I lace my fingers over my head and try to breathe. The woman said it was our Pandora’s choice, but surely there’s something I can do to stop them. If I can get Madox to stay behind, then there will be no reason for the bear to fight, either.

  Madox, listen. If you die, I won’t make it in the last leg.

  I don’t care about that right now. I care about him. My fox’s ear curves in my direction like a satellite.

  I can’t tell you what the plan involves yet, but you have to trust me. If we’re to win this thing, if I’m to save my brother’s life, then you have to follow my order. Don’t fight. Choose to help me. Choose to stay behind.

  One of the two men calls out for any remaining Pandoras to get in line. A handful of Contenders and their Pandoras who have chosen not to enter are behind me, along with several Contenders who no longer have Pandoras. Guy’s lion, Willow’s rat, Harper’s eagle, Cotton’s bull, and Olivia’s elephant have all made the decision to fight. Mr. Larson and his alligator are among the ones who linger in the back.

  KD-8, please.

  Madox strides forward without a backward glance. My legs shake beneath me, and Guy appears. His arm sweeps around my waist. I lean on him for a moment before finding my strength and pushing away.

  “I don’t need coddling.” I march toward my fellow Contenders. It isn’t Guy I’m angry with, but anger dilutes my fear, so I willingly succumb.