The wind howls, and the snow falls in such abundance that I can barely see twenty feet ahead, which makes searching for shelter difficult. RX-13 takes to the ground and walks with open wings, occasionally hopping along to keep pace. She wants us to make it to her prize every bit as much as I do, and for that I’m thankful.
Each step I take sinks through a foot of snow, whereas before it was half as much. I can’t understand how it’s deepened so fast … but remembering the river rising from the rain in the jungle, maybe I can.
Even though my hands are wrapped in insulated gloves, I can still feel the cold eating away at my flesh like a brown recluse spider bite. My hood does little to block the frost clinging to my ears and lips and nose, and even our Pandoras moan with distress.
I move faster, urging the eagle to pick up her speed.
And then I see the flagstaff.
It stands out among the tall, spindly trees like a Persian cat among a pack of thieves. The pole is roughly ten feet in height, made of smooth, unpolished wood, and there’s something on it that shouldn’t be there — another flag.
The flag is attached at the very top, stiff and blue, tip pointing directly to the right. The eagle must have accidentally stumbled along a second flagstaff. But, no, RX-13 is flapping her wings and screeching with pride. Harper pats her Pandora on the head, and as the snow rushes down thicker and faster, I contemplate why there were two flags on this pole.
I wave Guy over and yell above the whistling wind. “Maybe it’s pointing to the next flag location.”
He shakes his head, not convinced.
I don’t know what else to do. So I spin in a circle and memorize the area. I spot a tree that doesn’t look like the rest. It’s covered in something that resembles black tar, and will serve as a landmark so that I can ensure we’re in the same place should we return. I motion for the others to survey their surroundings, too. Then I glance at the flag once more.
This is the only ecosystem in which all remaining Contenders could easily die within forty-eight hours. Every race leg has had its own challenges, but even in the desert, the night brought relief. Here, the night brings only colder temperatures and probably predatory animals. They wouldn’t bring us all this way to let us die like this. It’s not nearly climactic enough.
There were two flags on this pole. One to tell us we’re headed in the right direction, and a second …
The flags will be your most loyal friends during this leg of the race, pointing you toward safety and success.
And a second to lead us to safety. I have no idea if what I’m doing is right, but I have no time to second-guess my decision. Not when the snow is suffocating, and not when I’m confusing which direction we even came from.
I mimic the flag and point east, farther up the mountain. “We go that way.” Without waiting for a response, I tap Madox on his bull back and cock my chin forward. He strides forward with renewed vigor.
Within minutes after leaving the staff, I believe with all my heart that we’re going to die. My pulse doesn’t race. In fact, I can hardly sense the dull beat inside my chest. My body threatens to collapse at any minute, and my field of vision has been reduced to ten feet. The snow rises to my knees, and I wonder how much longer it’ll be until we’re drowning in the freezing powder.
It seems the mountain itself is made of snow. There are no trees, no ground, no animals that call this mountain home. It’s only snow and more snow and a promise of death. One day, our bodies will disintegrate, and we’ll become snow, too. Maybe that’s all this mountain is: one great, big pile of Contenders who never made it.
I shake the morbid thought from my mind and stride forward. Deciding I must do something, I call for M-4 to lead the way. He trots ahead immediately and blows rounds of fire toward the ground as we walk. The snow melts a marginal amount for the rest of us to trudge through. I align EV-0 directly behind the lion so that her girth cuts a path. Then come Madox and Monster, with their sturdy bodies, then the alligator, eagle, and iguana, and then us. We take hands under my instruction so we don’t lose anyone in our quest to find refuge.
“Stop,” Harper calls out. “Willow fell.”
Braun, who is directly behind me, releases my hand.
“No, don’t let go of each other,” I holler.
Immediately, I feel Braun’s baseball glove of a hand grab mine.
I can’t see far enough back to know what’s happened, but after a few seconds, I hear Harper’s voice ring out again. “Okay, keep going!”
The fear in her voice drives me onward, and I bring my knees up high as I walk like Guy taught me to do in the jungle. Except this time, it isn’t to avoid being heard so much as it is to avoid being swallowed by the snow.
M-4 releases a ball of fire, and even though fatigue makes it much smaller than his previous ones, it’s enough to spot what’s ahead. A dark, solid shadow looms above our heads like an alien ship touching down. But it isn’t a ship.
It’s a house.
Okay, it’s a tiny, one-story cabin that looks like it was built by the League of Unextraordinary Senior Citizens. There are no windows and no peaks, just a mud-and-lumber hut with a tin roof and single door. Still, it’s shelter.
We rush toward it as if there’s a sharpshooter aiming for our hungry, bony asses. I push open the door, and the Pandoras become a living bulldozer. Guy jerks me out of the way before I’m pulverized by the Pandora stampede, and then we follow them inside.
“Real nice,” Olivia says to her elephant, which more or less destroyed the doorframe. “Way to leave us in the cold. I see how it is.”
I’d laugh, but I’m afraid my lips are frozen together.
The inside has no furniture to speak of, only wooden floors and stale air. Cotton walks into the cabin’s interior, leaves down a short hallway to a single bedroom in the back, returns. “How will we get warm?”
“It’s not like we were warm in the cave,” Harper says.
Willow clings to Harper, who I think carried her after she fell. “Warmer than this. How cold does it have to be to get frostbite?”
Olivia stares at the two girls with obvious jealousy before turning her face away. “They don’t want us to be warm. I’m not even sure they want us to live.”
“They do want us to live,” I say suddenly. “At least, someone out there does.”
I have their attention.
“What do you mean?” Guy asks.
I hesitate. He hasn’t wanted to share his insights into the race, his plans. But as he works with Braun to push the door back into place and Willow pulls Harper to the floor beside her, I decide we’re in this together. At this point, I’m not sure who wouldn’t suspect that the people running this race are doing much more than simply providing a Cure.
So I tell everyone what Guy told me — Cotton and Willow, too, this time — and I also add something fresh to the mix. I tell them our plan to infiltrate headquarters and destroy the race forever. To his credit, Guy never interrupts or even looks at me with disapproval, and the Contenders seem eager when I discuss what we’ll do at the close of the Brimstone Bleed. When I’m done telling the full story, I end with my newest discovery.
After I explain my theory, everyone gazes at their wristbands.
“What does green mean?” Harper asks, alarm coloring her voice.
“Screw that.” Braun stands up. “Why did they change my color from green to blue? Did they think I was doing better or worse?”
“You lost your Pandora,” Cotton offers.
Braun runs his hands over his head. “So … worse. I’m now in the worst category.”
“Hey, watch it!” Olivia points to her own blue wristband.
“You don’t know blue is the worst,” Harper says. “Maybe orange is the bottom.”
Olivia laughs. “So that means they’re betting on people like Guy and Cotton losing? Yeah, freaking right.”
“Mine is orange, too,” Willow declares, her tone defensive.
Guy stares a
t my red wristband. It isn’t long before the others follow his gaze.
Cotton states the obvious. “Yours is the only one that’s red, Tella.”
“What color was Mr. Larson’s?” Willow interrupts.
No one answers her, but I understand what she’s implying.
“Wasn’t it orange, too?” Braun asks. We avoid looking at him, though I can still see his face fall when he remembers. “No, it was blue, huh?”
“I don’t know why you’re acting so offended.” Olivia pushes her face into her elephant’s side. When she speaks again, her words are muffled. “I was blue from the very beginning.”
It’s quiet for a long time before Cotton suddenly asks, “Is that why they let Harper come back? So they didn’t lose a Contender they had bets on?”
No one speaks for the next few minutes. I’m not sure we have an answer.
Or perhaps we do, but it’s too awful to think about.
Through the cracks around the door, we can tell that the sun has fallen. Either that or the snow is deep enough that it’s blocked out the light. It’s a horrible thought, and I find my throat constricting, thinking about being trapped underground. The only way we can see anything at all is courtesy of Rose, who glows like a lightning bug on a hot summer night.
Harper rubs her gloved hands over her arms. “We’re going to freeze to death. We need a fire.”
“There’s nothing to burn,” Cotton replies.
Harper narrows her gaze. “Was I talking to you?”
Cotton grins and inspects his hands.
“What’s so funny?”
He shakes his head, a smile still dangling from his lips.
“He’s right,” Guy interjects. “There’s nothing to burn, and we can’t go outside. Not in this weather. We should have kept the paper in the backpacks.”
We turn this over in our minds until I have a thought. “Remember in the desert, when we asked our Pandoras for help? We might never have realized that Olivia’s elephant could pull water from the ground if Olivia hadn’t made it known that she needed help surviving.”
“Shouldn’t they know to help?” Cotton asks. “I mean, sometimes they help without us asking.”
“They’re animals,” Braun offers. “Maybe they only know to help when it’s obvious something is very wrong, like when Caroline fell into the river and Dink dove in to save her.”
Olivia shivers. “Please don’t mention Dink.”
“Who’s Dink?” Willow asks.
Olivia glares at the younger girl.
“Everyone, ask your Pandora for help,” I say. “Tell them you’re too cold and that you’re afraid you’ll die without their help.”
All the Contenders do exactly as I instructed, myself included. In response to my plea, Monster moves closer and collapses next to my body. He then immediately returns to sleep. Madox mimics Monster’s bear form and lies on the other side of my body. Most of the other Pandoras do the same thing, squeezing next to their Contenders to provide body heat. Guy’s lion breathes fire a few times, but everyone agrees it’s too dangerous. We’re not sure the cabin could catch fire in this weather, but if it did, we’d die.
I glance around. We’re huddled together as tightly as we can, but it’s not enough. I spot the alligator lying a few feet away from the circle. He’s hardly moving, and I know that even with his thick reptilian skin he must be freezing.
“Oz, get closer to the group.” My teeth chatter so hard, I can barely speak.
“Leave him over there,” Willow says, as if she’s bored. “He holds up the group when we walk, and he has no abilities. We don’t need him.”
The disappointment in her voice is bottomless. I wonder how many times she’s whispered for him to unveil his abilities over the last thirty-six hours and been frustrated when he didn’t respond.
I climb to my feet, and I swear I hear my bones crackle the same way ice would in a warm glass of water. “Just because a Pandora doesn’t display abilities doesn’t mean they’re dispensable. Do you understand me, Willow?”
She rolls her eyes.
“Answer me.”
Willow bites down and diverts her gaze.
Harper stares at the girl with an unreadable look on her face. “Answer her.”
“Fine, I understand!”
I stride toward the alligator and sit on the floor next to him. The Pandora doesn’t move. “Why don’t you come lie in the circle with us?” I tell him. The alligator bends at the side and turns his front half away. As the memory of Mr. Larson dying presents itself, grief unfolds inside my body, battling the cold to deliver the most pain. “Do you miss your Contender?”
I can’t fathom how misplaced I’d feel if Madox or Monster died. Even though Mr. Larson wasn’t exactly a nurturing Contender, it must be dreadful for the alligator to lose his reason for existing inside this race.
Running my hand over the red spray-painted stripe along V-5’s back, I say, “I think I’ll lie with you for a while.”
“Tella, you need to get back over here,” Harper says.
Guy shifts near the circle of Contenders and Pandoras. “She’s right. Come back.”
I ignore their appeals and lie down next to V-5, wrapping my arm around his midsection and laying my head atop his back. I throw my right leg over his body and cuddle closer and realize, under no uncertain terms, that I’m spooning an alligator.
The reptile’s body is bitterly cold and is leaching what little warmth I have left. But I won’t leave him. I go to ask Cotton and Guy if maybe we can drag the Pandora toward our group, but when I turn my head, I spot Madox and Monster plodding toward me. They lie down, one on my side and one on the alligator’s opposite side. Seconds later, Rose sashays over, her lengthy tail sliding across the wooden floor.
I smile to myself and thank God once again for these magnificent beasts. Then I tell the alligator, my voice a whisper, “Don’t be afraid. I won’t leave you.”
“This is ridiculous.” Olivia gets to her feet and marches toward our smaller huddle. She drops down beside Monster, and her Pandora follows after her, elephant back brushing the ceiling. I’m not sure who gets up next, but before I know it, we’re all piled together, mere feet from where we once were. Except now we’re sandwiched around one green alligator.
Ten minutes pass without anyone speaking a word. Finally, Willow says, “I never thought I could be so cold.”
“I never knew cold could hurt this much,” Braun adds.
I’m not sure what causes me to become so morose, but I sigh heavily and mutter, “I don’t think I can live through this. Not unless I get warm.”
V-5 shifts beneath me, and everyone groans at having to reposition themselves. I cling tighter to the alligator, and as I do, a strange sensation creeps across my skin. It feels like needles are being jabbed into every inch of my body. Or maybe it feels like a thousand yellow jackets stinging me at once. Take your pick. Either way, it’s murderous. But then, suddenly, it’s candy-apple sunshine. It’s grape-flavored rain and clouds made of laughter, and I think … I think I feel warm!
Is this what happens before you croak? You get the warm fuzzies, and then you see the light at the end of the tunnel? If it is, I may not fight too hard on my way out.
I open one eyeball and slip off a glove.
“Put that back on,” Guy says, ever protective, ever watchful.
Stalker.
I lay my hand against V-5 and feel him pressing back against my palm. In the last few minutes, the creature has nuzzled firmly against my body, and now I’m absolutely sure of the reason why.
The alligator is giving off heat.
“I’ll admit it’s warmer when we’re all together like this,” Cotton says. “But it’s awkward as hell.”
“No, it’s not us.” I grin until my cheeks twitch. “Oz is producing heat.”
Harper scoffs, “Yeah, so are the rest of us.”
Guy yanks off his glove and stretches over Olivia to touch the alligator’s skin. He smiles,
and fireworks burst in my chest. “He feels like a furnace.”
Four more hands shoot across the space to see for themselves, and after they discover the same thing I have, the Contenders pat the alligator on the back and call him ol’ buddy and ol’ pal and rejoice that we’re going to make it through the cold. Except for Willow, who pouts that she wasn’t the one who made the discovery.
As my Contender friends celebrate our newfound luck, I lower my mouth to the alligator and whisper softly, “You saved me, Oz. Thank you.”
The alligator sucks in a deep breath, his entire body filling with pride.
I lay my head on his and drape my arm over his wide neck. And as we fall asleep together, human and reptile, I find I’m brilliantly, wonderfully happy.
When I wake, no one is keeping watch. I bolt upright, my body as hot as the desert sand. My eyes search the cabin and land on nothing in particular. Until I see him. He’s sitting a short distance away, legs pulled up, thick forearms resting upon his knees. I can barely see him, save for the soft glow the iguana emits.
His fingers are clasped, and his head is heavy against his chest. When I get to my feet, his head pops up.
“I fell asleep,” he whispers in apology.
I wave my hand. “We never assigned watch.”
“It goes without saying.”
I shake my head. “No, it doesn’t. Why were you watching over us?”
“I wasn’t.” He stands, as if expecting something.
I swallow and stare at him in the dark, my entire body itching to feel his touch. When I see the anticipation in his stance, the way he looks at me as if I’m both infuriating and appealing — it makes me feel powerful. But when he takes a step in my direction, that power plummets to some place untouchable. Now I’m a seventeen-year-old girl again, standing in the shadows with someone who feels like he’s lived three lives to my one.
“Come with me,” he orders.
There’s no room for refusal, and I don’t want there to be. He takes my hand to help me step over sleeping bodies, both human and Pandora. When I stumble, he leans over and sweeps himself beneath my knees and arms. I’m brought into his arms with the same ease I may use to curl a rabbit to my chest. But I’m not such an innocent, silent creature.
Salt & Stone Page 19
