Fire & Flood

by Victoria Scott

  “How will you find water now?” I ask, after I drink from my nearly empty canteen.

  Titus smiles. His teeth seem too big for his mouth, but they’re alarmingly straight and bright white and not altogether unpleasant to look at. “I guess we’ll have to find base camp quickly.” He reaches for my canteen, and I shove it in his hand. Behind us, the guys start untying the Pandoras. I hear an animal grunt, and I whip around. One of the guys — who has a severe case of acne — is kicking a stag in the legs.

  “Stop it,” I yell, but the guy continues his abuse. Turning to Titus, I say, “Stop him or I’ll kill you. I swear to God, I’ll kill you.”

  “Oh, I’m shaking.” Titus mimics being afraid as I imagine stabbing him in the pectoral. He looks at the guy hurting the Pandora and says, “All right, stop beating on that thing already. We have company. Manners, people.”

  When Acne Face cuts Madox lose, I run toward him and lift the fox into my arms. Madox presses against me and I whisper in his ear, “I won’t let them hurt you.”

  “How touching.” Titus pulls two canteen straps over his head. “Now let’s keep moving. We head toward those rocks. That’s where you guys were going, right?”

  I want to mislead him, but another part of me wants only to rejoin my Contenders. To be with Guy again. Knowing Titus will probably head north anyway, I decide to pretend I’m easily breakable and tell him the truth. “Yeah, we thought maybe base camp was beyond those formations.”

  “Splendid,” he says. “Let’s skedaddle.”

  The guys form a line behind their leader, but Titus insists I walk next to him. As if we are equals. As if we are friends. As if. I squeeze Madox so tight, he yelps and I have to let him down. Several times as we walk, I glance at Levi’s Pandora. The ram has cuts along his muzzle and one of his kneecaps seems to be breaking through the skin. Even worse than the sight of him is the groaning sound the animal makes as he walks. Tears burn my eyes when I realize the creature won’t make it much farther. It makes me hate Titus so much, it’s almost scary. He may not have laid a hand on any creature besides his own, but these guys listen to him, and he obviously allowed this to happen.

  As we continue through the worst hours of the day, I question why Titus is chancing traveling while the sun is up. Guy assumed most Contenders would move during the night, but Titus seems determined to get to base camp. Watching him unscrew his canteen and take a pull, I suddenly understand there’s a reason beyond winning the five-year cure: We’re running out of water.

  The stolen Pandoras surrounding us look beaten into submission, but I’m still curious as to why they don’t try and escape. It almost seems like once their Contenders were out of sight, they lost track of what their purpose was. Like they’ve turned into zombie animals or something. Watching Madox trudge through the sand, tongue hanging from his mouth as he pants, I pledge to never let that happen to him.

  “Enjoying the weather?” Titus asks. Even covered in sweat and filth, he’s not unattractive. His wrestler build, deep-set eyes, and wheat-colored hair make him my best friend Hannah’s exact type. But it doesn’t take X-ray vision to see that his insides brim with wickedness.

  “It’s great,” I say evenly. If I can play nice and make it to tonight, then perhaps I can escape while they sleep. Even if they take shifts like we do, I’ll have a better chance of fleeing when it’s one-on-one. “What exactly is your plan when we get to base camp?” I ask, trying to appear social. “You know my friends will make it there. And there’s no way they’ll let you hold on to me.”

  “I don’t need a plan. By the time we get to base camp, you’ll have realized you belong with us.”

  Fat chance.

  “We’ll see.”

  Titus flashes me another thousand-watt smile. He thinks I’m open to the idea. I can see it written all over his pompous face. The question that nags me is why he cares if I willingly join them. He already has me and my Pandora in his possession.

  I feel a hand squeeze my butt.

  “What the hell?” I yell, spinning around. The guys keep straight faces and stare forward. Titus stops, and the tin soldiers stop, too.

  “What happened?” Titus asks.

  I inspect the guys, searching for something that tells me who it was. Then I look at Titus. His face is pulled together in confusion, and he’s too far away for it to have been him. I want to spill, but I’m afraid it’ll A) cause a commotion I don’t need, and B) screw with Mission Escape in the Dead of Night. For now I’ve got to pretend I’m considering joining his ranks. And part of that is acting like this kind of stuff doesn’t bother me. So I feign passiveness.

  “Nothing,” I say, trying to hide the venom in my voice. “The guys were just messing around.” I don’t smile. I don’t laugh. Doing either might send a red flag. Titus may be nuts, but he’s not stupid. I just shrug like it isn’t a big deal and keep walking.

  Surprisingly, Titus doesn’t press. But I see the way he eyes his guys before I turn away.

  After we’ve hiked for another hour — Titus chatting away like we’re on a first date — Madox begins to whine. Titus holds a hand out and everyone stops. “What’s he doing?” he asks.

  I approach my Pandora, but it does nothing to calm his nerves. “I don’t know,” I answer honestly.

  “The wittle fox is all tuckered out,” Acne Face mocks from the back. The guys laugh, but the gesture sounds forced.

  Titus waves a hand forward and keeps walking. When I go to follow, Madox barks. Once. Twice. Three times. Every step I take, he becomes more and more upset, circling my ankles, rearing up and placing his front paws on my shins. I feel like I’m watching an old black-and-white Lassie show.

  What is it, girl?

  Titus stops us again. Nothing looks strange ahead, but Madox certainly doesn’t want me going any farther. Titus looks at Acne Face and says, “Go check things out.”

  The Trigger seems proud that Titus asked him out of the other five guys. He nods and jogs past us. He searches the ground, looking for whatever it is that’s caused my fox to panic. Then he turns and faces us. “I don’t see anything,” he calls back.

  Titus’s brow furrows. “Keep looking.”

  The guy spins around and takes a few more steps. Then he stumbles and falls.

  At first, it appears he’s just tripped over a rock or something. But as he flails, I start to realize it isn’t that at all. It almost looks like he’s … sinking. Titus waves an arm at the guys behind him, and they race past us to help Acne Face. The Pandoras stay behind, heads hanging. I take a step to follow the guys, but Titus grabs my arm.

  He tips his chin up and asks them, “Well, what is it?”

  A guy with enormous shoulders and long legs turns around. “Quicksand.”

  Titus keeps hold of my arm and creeps toward the quicksand. Madox goes crazy, barking and whining when he notices Titus dragging me behind him. I silently plead with my Pandora to cool it, and miraculously, he does. “Nick,” Titus calls. “You sinking?”

  “Yeah,” Acne Face — Nick — answers. “Get me out of here!”

  The guys make way as we get closer. Titus slinks to the very edge of the wet sand and stares down. “How did you not see this? It’s clearly darker here.”

  Nick shakes his head, eyes bulging with fear. “I — I don’t know. But I gotta get out.” His legs and hips are buried, so all I can see are his chest, arms, and head. The more he squirms, the farther down he sinks. My stomach tightens and I suddenly feel like it’s hard to breathe. Like it’s not Nick down in that sand, but me. This morning, he beat that Pandora like it was nothing, but I can’t watch another person die.

  “Help him,” I beg Titus. “Please.”

  He glances at me from the corner of his eye, his face pinched with disgust. It’s like he hates that I care.

  “We need all the hands we can get if we’re going to win.” I pull myself up like I’m strategizing. I can’t say I’m joining the Triggers — Titus wouldn’t believe it — but I can
let him read into my statement and form his own conclusion.

  A slow smile splits his mouth. He waves a hand toward the guy with long legs. “Get him out.”

  Long Legs reaches his long arm toward Nick. Clearly relieved, Nick takes hold of his hand and pulls. Long Legs wobbles and nearly falls in until another guy grabs the back of his shirt. “You’re going to have to help me,” Long Legs tells the guy behind him. The guy nods and reaches out an arm, too. But even together, the two guys can’t seem to free Nick from the sand. As time wears on, and Nick sinks deeper, a hysterical sensation washes over me.

  What if they can’t get him out?

  They have to get him out!

  “Let’s try the Pandoras,” I tell Titus, worried his patience is wearing thin. I’m afraid of drawing attention to Madox, of involving him in anything that could put him in harm’s way. But I know I can’t let this person die. Not like this. Not when he’s screaming in a way that makes my skin crawl.

  Titus glances over his shoulder at the Pandoras and back at Nick, who’s now immersed up to the bottom of his chest. Nick cocks his head like he knows what’s coming. “No,” Titus says. “He let your little friend with the bird kill his Pandora. Why should I risk the rest to save him?”

  Even half buried, Nick looks furious. And when I think of Madox behind me, I know why. Losing my Pandora would crush me. I rip my arm away from Titus and lean over to help Nick. Maybe he’s the way he is because of Titus. Maybe there’s still good I can dig out of him. But whether there is or isn’t, I’m going to help him.

  Before I can offer Nick my hand, the large guy — the one who sleeps curled in a ball — stops me.

  “Let me,” he says. I look in his soft brown eyes and some of my fear dissipates. He’s built like an SUV, and his head is shaved to the scalp. When I glance at the hand covering my arm, I find it’s as wide as a toaster, and that his nails are manicured to perfection, like maybe this Godzilla hit a salon before entering the race.

  Stepping back, I allow him to edge closer. He reaches his salami of an arm toward Nick, and Nick grabs hold.

  “On three,” Godzilla says.

  Nick nods.

  “One …”

  “You ask me, he deserves being stuck in that sand,” someone pipes in.

  “Two …”

  “Touching Titus’s girl that way.”

  “Three.”

  Godzilla starts to pull at the exact moment that Titus barrels forward. I move to stop him, but it’s like standing in front of a cannon. Titus shoves me to the ground and slams into the guy who has great nails. The big guy hardly moves, but it’s enough to cause him to lose his grip of Nick’s hand. Titus jabs his boot out and places it on top of Nick’s scalp. Without a word, he pushes the guy’s head downward.

  Nick’s chest plunges under the sloshing sand, then his arms. His shoulders. Nick shouts, and I scurry along the ground toward Titus’s legs, trying to tackle him. To push him into the quicksand. Something. But the big guy grabs me and tugs me to his chest.

  “Stop it,” he says quietly. “Stop making a scene.” Then he wraps his enormous hand around my face so that I can’t see.

  I don’t have to see, though. Because I can hear. I can hear the way Nick begs. The way he explains his allegiance and that he never meant to touch me. But his pleas must not douse Titus’s anger. Because the next thing I hear is the gurgling sound Nick makes when his leader pushes him the rest of the way under.

  And then I hear nothing.

  The guy covering my eyes pulls his hand away. Titus stands near the edge of the quicksand, staring at the ground like he can’t believe what he just did. He glances up at the six of us and tries to offer an explanation. “He touched Tella,” he says, focusing his attention on me. “He grabbed you or something.”

  He’s waiting for me to agree. But I don’t. I can’t even see him through the tears.

  “He would have hurt you.” He points a limp finger at me. “Probably would’ve forced himself on you. You saw how he treated the Pandoras.”

  Titus nods to himself and takes a deep breath, his chest expanding. He tilts his head up and gazes at the sky. Then he peers off to his right. “Would you look at that,” he says, flicking his wrist at something in the distance and grinning wide. “A flag!”

  After we leave the quicksand, I lose touch with reality. Thoughts of Levi and Dink and Nick swirl in my head like a demonic merry-go-round. Titus leads us to the flag so he can remove it and tie it around his bicep. It’s everything I can do to keep walking. To will my body forward.

  Godzilla walks behind me. Every few minutes, he touches my lower back. I’m not sure why because I’m not thinking clearly. I just know it’s the only thing that reminds me of where I am, and that this is real. And that Titus actually killed one of his own.

  Madox keeps close by. He glances up at me, and his ears perk when he thinks I’m going to acknowledge him. But I never do. I can’t even feel the ever-present ache in my muscles anymore. It’s like my entire body has gone numb.

  When the night falls and Titus finally stops, all I can think of is one person — Guy. Where he is now. What he’s doing.

  If he’s coming for me.

  He’s here to save his cousin. So I’m not sure where that leaves us, especially now. Still, I have to believe that what I felt between us is not just circumstantial. That even though he’s here for family, he wouldn’t leave me out here with Titus.

  I have to believe.

  Titus sends his bear to gather food for dinner, and the guys work on building a fire. Turns out Godzilla used to be a Boy Scout and knows how to do such things. It takes him about eighty-seven tries, but he finally gets a small spark to ignite between his blade, a dark rock, and a handful of mossy foliage.

  “Fire!” Titus roars, laughing from deep in his gut.

  I have no idea what’s so funny, and I have no idea why these idiots follow him so blindly.

  “You know, Tella,” Titus says. “I was never a big fan of fire before Brimstone. I was terrified of it, actually. So wild and unpredictable. But I tell you what, I’ve learned to respect it. Now, water? That’s something I’ve loved all my life. My old man said I was born with fins. Said even when I was a kid, I took to the sea like a shark. Hammerhead, that’s what he called me. ’Cause hammerhead is a type of shark, and he said I wasn’t keen on listening.” He knocks on his head with a closed fist. “Hardheaded, I guess.”

  I try to pretend I’m listening. That I care. But it’s hard to keep up a facade when all I want to do is wrap my hands around his throat.

  Titus unscrews his canteen and drinks for several seconds. The guys around him take the cue to drink as well. My throat burns thinking about water, but I refuse to ask for my own bottle back.

  “Here,” he says, handing me his canteen. “Have a drink. We can save yours for tomorrow.”

  I snatch it away like a wild animal and drink until it’s gone. Titus doesn’t stop me.

  “See, everyone loves water best. You just have to be reminded why.” A smile plays on his lips, and my insides churn. “Let’s hit the hay, shall we?”

  It takes everything I have to nod.

  Titus moves closer and sits next to me. The guys stay on the other side of the crackling fire, far away from us. I steal a glance at Godzilla — who I’ve learned is named Braun — and the overgrown pink pig at his side. I’d assumed the Pandora was one they stole from another Contender, but I was mistaken. Because Braun keeps an eye on that pig like I do Madox. It’s a funny sight, seeing a guy as large as Braun worried about a pig. Though it feels unnatural, I smile with one side of my mouth — and Braun smiles back.

  “What are you smiling about?” Titus asks. I turn my head, and my smile drowns. He’s watching me the way Guy does. With questions lingering on his lips. But unlike Guy, he isn’t afraid to ask them. “Do you like the fire?”

  I nod and run my hands over Madox, who’s curled in my lap. Now that he’s near me, I feel better. Though most of that
security is canceled out with Titus so close. Looking at my small fox, I wonder why he hasn’t done anything to get me away from Titus. I reason it’s probably because the guy doesn’t intend to harm me, that he only wants me to join them.

  “Why do you want me to join your group?” I ask suddenly.

  Titus tilts his head back, like he’s surprised I asked. “It’s hardly a group after today,” he says, laughing. “We’re down to seven, counting you.”

  My face must show my revulsion, because he coughs into his hand and says, “Bad joke.”

  I’m surprised that Titus is aware that what he did was wrong. It’s like he’s two different people: one who’s rational and intelligent, and another who reacts on raw emotion without thinking.

  Looking at him now, I wonder if he knows about the Brimstone Bleed the way Guy does. I consider asking him. But, no, I decide. I don’t think he does, and I won’t risk revealing what I do know, which is really just bits and pieces of a story I don’t understand.

  I breathe in and the smoke rolling off the fire fills my nose. For a moment, it brings me home to my parents’ house.

  “You remember that night after our Pandoras got into a skirmish?”

  I’d hardly call it a skirmish, but I decide to play along and nod.

  “You didn’t like the way my Pandora ate or something.” He smiles at me like we’ve been married for ten years and he’s recalling our first kiss. “You really went off about it. You got in my face and just went crazy. And as I was watching you get so upset about everything, I said to myself, There’s a girl that’s got fire. With that Pandora of hers, she just might win this thing.” Titus licks his thumb and rubs a blotch of dried quicksand off his boot.

  “When I saw your fox fight and change like he does, I thought he might be the best Pandora out there. But I figured you wouldn’t be strong enough to survive the race even with a creature like that. Then I saw you that night, though, rage and fear in your eyes and this little feather in your hair.” He pauses and touches my feather. I try not to cringe. “I knew I had to partner with you. That I had to —” Titus glances at my lips and I realize he’s too close. Way too close. “That I had to be with you.”