The Blood Pawn

by Nicole Tillman

  He tilts his head toward the front of the room, gesturing for me to pay attention. I sigh, but lean back in my chair and do just that. Whatever March is briefing us on is apparently important, but I can't get my brain to relax enough to focus. I just want to go outside. I want to roll in the grass and feel the sun on my face. I've grown to hate these walls in the short amount of time I've been inside them, and I want just a little more freedom. Not too much, but enough so I don't feel like a caged animal anymore.

  “Dismissed.”

  I jerk to attention and realize that the secretary is leaving the room.

  “That's it? We can go?” I turn to Cain.

  He stands. “That's it.”

  “He feels the need to fill our heads with crap every morning,” Martina says behind me. “Really, I think he just enjoys the sound of his own voice. Just nod and look serious until he's finished. That's what we do.”

  “Yeah, until the day he says something that could potentially save your life,” Tara says, rubbing her temples with the pads of her fingers. “That'll be the day you wish you'd been paying attention instead of daydreaming about tacos.”

  My head falls back with a groan. “Ugh. Tacos.”

  “We had MREs for dinner last night. Can you blame me? I miss real food!”

  The boy at her left clears his throat and gives her a look. I don't miss it. I know that look. It's a warning.

  Belatedly, Martina's eyes bulge.

  “Oh my god. I'm so sorry, Maya. That was probably a pretty insensitive thing to say.”

  “You think?” Cain laughs.

  I wave them all away as I head for the door. “Relax. It's not a big deal. I miss tacos too.”

  In what's regarded as the training room, a man who could double as a Tom Hanks doppelganger counts us off into pairs. As he's moving down the line, I wonder what unlucky soul will be saddled with me. I already feel sorry for them.

  When he stops next to me and looks at his clipboard, he glances down and takes me in. He's probably curious about the freak he's being forced to train, but judging by the way his eyebrow perks up in surprise, I don't look like much.

  “Winters and Holebrook,” he says, pointing from me to someone at my back.

  I don't recognize the name, so I turn to face my partner.

  “Ugh,” I groan. “Seriously?”

  Cain grins as everyone else files off and leaves us in the center of the room. He points toward the nearest empty mat and rubs his hands together.

  “Let's see what you've got.”

  Every time I turn around, he's there. Like a parasite I can't get rid of. Like a tapeworm. But his annoying presence beats solitary confinement, so I guess I don't have much room to complain.

  My eyes scan the room and I watch as everyone else meets up with an adult. Each man or woman wears a blue wind suit and carries a clipboard just like every other person of importance in this building.

  “Who are they?”

  Cain glances up from where he's retying his boots. “The trainers.”

  That explains why they all look like roided-out WWE fighters.

  “Where's our trainer?” I ask. “Off trying not to draw the short straw?”

  Cain looks up, confused.

  “Oh, come on. You know they're all trying to avoid getting stuck with the freak and the sociopath.”

  He points to his chest. “Am I the freak or the sociopath? Because I'm good either way.”

  Before I have the chance to roll my eyes, a short, stocky woman with black hair and even blacker eyes steps between us.

  “You're the freak,” she says, pointing at me. She turns to Cain. “You're the sociopath. And I didn't draw the short straw. I volunteered. Now get on the mat.”

  Wow. Okay then.

  Following her instructions, I move to the mat as fast as my feet will carry me and stand at attention. She's small, but somehow even more intimidating than the bodybuilders across the way.

  “Winters and Holebrook,” she says, reading off her chart. “Which is which?”

  “Holebrook,” Cain answers before jerking his head my way. “Winters.”

  “Got it.” She lowers the pen and crosses both arms over her broad chest. “Okay, show me something worth seeing!”

  Cain turns to face me and gets into fighting stance, but I don't move a muscle. This woman weirds me out.

  “You volunteered?”

  She sighs. “Is there something about that word that's confusing you, Winters? Do I need to find you a dictionary?”

  “No,” I say, shaking my head. “Just... aren't you scared I'm going to take a chunk out of him?” I eye the top of her head. She can't be taller than five foot. “Or you, for that matter?”

  Our miniature trainer smiles as she approaches me and I fight the urge to cringe away. I don't know whether she's going to sweep my legs out from under me or break my nose with her fist. Either is a possibility.

  She grabs hold of my arm and jerks it toward her mouth. When she presses my skin to her lips, I jump back with a squeak, surprised she'd do such a thing.

  “No, you big, ferocious beast,” she says, laughing. “Even though that's a mighty roar you've got there, I'm not exactly shaking in my Nikes.”

  Okay. She may be odd, she may be stupidly optimistic, but I like her.

  I like her a lot.

  The badge clipped to the collar of her jacket holds a serial number and a first and last name.

  “Swanson,” I say aloud.

  “Good, you can read,” she barks. “Now face your opponent, Winters!”

  My opponent?

  Oh... Cain. That's right.

  “Let's see what you've got, little monster.” Cain smiles freely. He's having way too much fun with this.

  I expect Swanson to give me some kind of instruction, or at the very least some pointers, but she just stands there waiting, tapping a foot. Cain tries to stifle the laughter bubbling up from his chest but fails when I drop my fists.

  “You're not going to show me what to do?” I ask. “I've never even been in a fistfight before.”

  “You'll learn as you go.” She shrugs, as if it's no big deal if I get pounded into the ground by a boy twice my size. “Come on, Winters. Take him down!”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “Are we wrestling? Boxing? I don't know what I'm doing here!”

  Cain's head falls back and he drops his hands. “Obviously.”

  “The goal is to not get scratched, spit on, or bitten,” Swanson says. “Jesus, Winters, I'd think you of all people would know how this works.”

  Ouch. Low blow.

  I feel sorry for Cain. Surely he'd do so much better being paired up with someone a little less... useless. Someone with balls. Someone with guts. Working guts.

  “Don't tell me you can't get a little scrappy,” Cain says. There's a challenging glint to his eyes, and I know he's trying to bait me.

  Still, I stare blankly. “Scrappy?”

  “Yeah, you know, shifty. Pulling no punches, tossing the rules aside in order to win a fight.”

  “I just said I'd never been in a fight before. What makes you think–”

  Cain's fist flies toward me and I let out a shrill, girlish scream.

  Somehow, I manage to duck to the side just in time to keep from getting bashed in the face. He retracts his arm and I stare at him incredulously.

  “You almost hit me!”

  He bobs up and down on the balls of his feet, stupid smirk in place, head bowed, fists level with his chin.

  “Yes, darlin'. That's kind of the point.”

  Cain moves to advance again, but Swanson steps onto the mat between us, facing me but totally ignoring Cain's presence.

  “Winters, are you as cowardly as you are dull?”

  My spine stiffens as I stare at her. I take it back. Maybe I don't like her.

  “Pardon?”

  “Dull,” she repeats, framing her mouth with both hands. “Are you as cowardly as you are dull?”

  “I
'm neither,” I snap.

  She huffs. “Yeah, because so far having the zombie on my team has been a real spectacle.”

  Anger, thick and hot, boils to life inside me, somewhere deep, somewhere hidden.

  I don't like that name.

  I turn to face her.

  “Well I'm sorry I'm not as entertaining as you'd like me to be,” I seethe. “But I didn't come here to be gawked at or bet on or led around like a show pony! Believe it or not, I'm still a person!”

  A hand grabs me by the shoulder in an effort to whirl me around, but I'm faster than this idiot; whoever it is trying to pull a sneak attack.

  I move with them as they pull, throwing them off balance, and in a split second I have the attacker by the throat, nails digging into his skin as I slam one foot into his thigh. I let gravity do the rest.

  He lands on his back, breath knocked out of him, my hand still clenched below his jaw.

  When Cain smiles up at me through the pain, I release him and take a step back. And then another, and another, until I'm off the mat.

  I hit him.

  No. I didn't just hit him.

  I took him down!

  A man twice my size and a more seasoned fighter.

  Me...

  Something moves in my peripheral vision and I turn to find every other fighter, every trainer, every human being in the room staring at me.

  Is this why they're all scared?

  Did I go too far?

  No, I couldn't. I just did what they asked of me.

  Even if I wasn't in complete control of myself, I did what they wanted me to do... right?

  Before black tears can fill my eyes, applause breaks the silence. It's just one pair of hands, and I curiously look around for the source, only to find Cain sitting up, arms braced on his knees, smiling like a freaking lunatic and clapping like a demented seal.

  “That's what I'm talking about, Winters!” he yells.

  It's official. He's certifiable.

  “Now get back here and show me what else you've got!”

  Cain winks, and I've never been more thankful for my inability to blush.

  After only two rounds of punching and missing each other on the mat, our trainers dismiss us to go to lunch and we head toward the cafeteria.

  I squeeze through the crowd, trying to get to the front. I'm feigning hunger, but in reality, I just need to be away from Cain and that stupid triumphant grin of his. Actually, if everyone could just disappear or get out of my way, that would be great.

  For once, I want to be alone. I wouldn't go as far as to say I miss my little glass house, but so many people cramped inside such a small building is starting to give me anxiety, and anxiety isn't a feeling a dead girl should even have to worry about.

  I push through the cafeteria doors and I'm instantly met with the smell of food. I can't identify the smell, it's too muted and a little unsettling, but even so, I step up in line behind a couple of nurses and a guard and wait to be handed a tray.

  The people behind me chat and gossip as they gather their utensils, but I keep my eyes on the people serving the food, watching how they smile at every person in line. When it's my turn, I step forward and wonder if they'll return the smile I'm offering them.

  Nope.

  No smile for Maya.

  And apparently, no food for Maya either.

  The portly lunch lady reaches behind her, grabs a covered tray, and my shoulders drop in disappointment when I realize what must be hidden under the lid.

  “Really?”

  She nods for me to take it.

  “Can't I have that?” I point to the- what is that? Gruel? Sure. Gruel.

  She shakes her head no, so I grab my tray and stomp off to sit at the first empty table I can find. If I'm going to be forced to eat this, I want to do it in peace, preferably without an audience to witness the carnage up close.

  But as luck would have it, before I can summon the courage to lift the lid and hear all the gagging and sputtering of those around me, a body slumps down onto the bench next to me.

  Cain doesn't say a word. He just starts adding salt and pepper to the slop on his plate. As if this is totally the norm for us, he goes about eating in silence, and I find that I can't bring myself to open the container, even though I know he's seen me at my absolute worst. Actually, maybe that's why I don't want to open it. I'm scared he'll remember. I'm scared of what he'll say.

  He stops shoveling food into his face long enough to realize I haven't moved a muscle since he sat down.

  “Aren't you gonna eat?” he asks. “They only give us twenty minutes before we have to–”

  “Why are you here?” I cut in.

  A tiny piece of me snaps, and I need just the tiniest bit of control. Just a sliver. I want to feel grounded, solid, firm. Like an oak tree; not an acorn being carried off by a mangy squirrel. So I need him to come clean.

  He looks around at everyone eating. “Same reason as you, I suppose.”

  “No,” I snap. “I mean HERE. At this table. With me.”

  He shrugs, and it's the most annoying thing any man in my life has ever done. It tells me he's flippant. Indifferent. To me. And that angers me more than the idea of eating a slab of uncooked meat in front of a room full of strangers.

  “I guess I find you interesting.”

  Wrong thing to say, dude.

  Wrong thing to say.

  “Oh! Like the bearded lady or Siamese twins?” I smile, and I realize I must look crazed, but at this point, I just can't bring myself to care. “Am I just a sideshow attraction to you?”

  Cain grins. “Maybe.”

  Everything's a joke to him. Even my death.

  My right arm comes in front of my body and before he can even try to block me, I land a punch directly to the scar on his jaw. His head whips to the side.

  “Jeez!” He grabs the table to keep from falling to the ground and a few people take notice.

  I don't care. Let them punish me. Let them throw me out. It's not like they can kill me...

  When Cain recovers, he swivels in his seat so he's facing me head on. I'm more than a little surprised to find him smiling.

  “Right there,” he says, poking a finger into my shoulder. “That's what they want to see in the training room.”

  “You're such a jackass.”

  He chuckles and picks up his spoon. “That's one of the nicer things anyone's ever called me.”

  “What are they calling you?”

  Tara and Martina sit down at the table, followed by two boys. They don't seem to care that they're sitting with the undead, so I pay them no mind.

  “Maya here was just telling me how charming and attractive I am,” Cain fibs.

  “Psht, yeah right.” Martina looks between us and smirks.

  I counter that with a look of my own, telling her I don't know what she's thinking but she's way off base.

  As the others begin gabbing about their day and what they accomplished in training, Cain takes the opportunity to lean in close and whisper in my ear, even when I try to pull away.

  “Eat. Seriously. No one here cares.”

  The muscles in my throat constrict, and I force myself to swallow around the nerves.

  “I care.”

  I still have a little dignity left. Or at least I'd like to think I do.

  Without warning, Cain reaches in front of me and snatches the lid off my tray. I want to fight, to grab it back and cover it up, but I can't make more of a spectacle of myself than I already have.

  He hands me a fork, and I take it with a scowl.

  “I hate you so much right now,” I whisper.

  Even as he tips his water bottle up to his mouth, he can't hide the wide smile.

  Peeking through my lashes, I glance around to make sure no one else is looking. Sure enough, they're all engrossed in their own meals, completely oblivious to what I'm about to ingest.

  There's no knife on my plate, so I can't cut the steak. I guess if I wanted to I could ri
p it into smaller pieces with my hands, but that would take far too long. In the end, I decide to suck it up and eat it the very same way I did the last one.

  Hunkered over my plate to catch the blood flow, I rip off chunks with my teeth. Just like eating a burger, I hold it with both hands and savor each bite as it rolls around on my tongue.

  “Dang, that looks good.”

  My eyes zero in on whoever made the comment. It's the kid with the sandy blond hair sitting next to Martina.

  “Excuse me?”

  He immediately backtracks when he realizes I heard him.

  “Not like that. I mean, it does look good. But I mean, like, if you were looking at it in the store about to buy it. I like my steaks a little less rare. My family's big on grilling, so, we like looking at meat.” His face colors with a blush. “Wow. I did not mean that to sound as perverted as it did. I just meant that we like a good hunk of–”

  Martina slaps a hand over his mouth.

  “Brian! Quit while you're ahead.”

  “I don't think he was ever ahead,” Tara laughs. “He started out in the hole and just kept digging sideways.”

  “Don't pay him any mind, Maya,” the other boy says. He looks at Brian fondly. “He doesn't know when to shut up.”

  After forcing down a mouthful of gruel, Martina lifts her spoon to point around the table.

  “Oh! Introductions. Sorry. Maya? This is Brian Ashford from Boise and Sully Hackett from Topeka. Boys, this is Maya Winters.”

  Brian giggles nervously. “Like she needs an introduction.”

  This is way more attention than I want. The urge to leave and find somewhere to eat in peace is strong, but Cain clamps a hand down on my knee, sensing my urge to flee. If I wanted to, I could easily move, but suddenly... I don't want to.

  Chewing my steak, I notice that Martina and Brian are leaning into each other awfully close. Before I can think better of it, I blurt out the first thing on my mind.

  “Are you two together?”

  Even though Brian blushes, the girls throw their heads back like a couple of hyenas and laugh until tears fill their eyes.

  I don't understand. Before they can regain their composure, I lean in close to Cain.

  “Did I say something funny?”

  He too is trying to stifle a laugh, but I can't imagine why. What did I say that was so hilarious?