Captive (The Survival Race)

by K. M. Fawcett

  How could they seem so happy and carefree? They were captives on an alien planet.

  “That’s a bathing pool,” Duncan said when he caught up to her. His breaths were labored. “The Hyboreans built it. The water is recycled, filtered, and completely separate from our drinking water.”

  That explained how water seemingly coming from nowhere cascaded over a fifteen-foot tall rock pile into a pool with no stream or visible outlet for overflow.

  The woman stepped out of the pool naked and very pregnant. Addy’s stomach lurched, remembering her purpose on this planet. Another urge to run away twitched her leg muscles. But where could she go? Not back the way she came. Not ahead to the bathing pool. Not toward Duncan.

  She turned right, darted around trees, shoved branches out of her way, tried keeping an even pace. Who knew how long she’d have to run before getting out of this nightmare. She hurdled brush, smacking full force into a solid dead end before landing on her back, gasping for breath. Pain stung her hands, chest, cheeks, and back.

  What did she crash into, a tree trunk?

  When she finally got her wind back and was on her feet again, she reached into the brush. The vegetation appeared three-dimensional as it waved in the breeze, but her hand moved through it like a ghost.

  “A hologram,” she whispered in awe. It had camouflaged a long wall that continuing in both directions as far as she could see and climbed upward until it touched the clouds.

  She turned left and jogged alongside it for quite some time hoping to find a way around, but another holographic camouflaged wall crushed her hopes. She was stuck in a corner. What was this place? Chills crept down her back.

  Turning left again, she walked alongside the barricade until the woods converged with a large meadow where several bare-chested men fought with wooden swords.

  An enormous, blondish man knocked the sword from his opponent, cocked his weapon back, and let it fly full force. He shouted when he stopped inches from his enemy’s neck.

  Five others, who had been watching, applauded the winner. The loser retrieved his weapon and fell to the grass exhausted. Just beyond this group, two preteen boys shot arrows into a target hanging on the mysterious never-ending wall.

  Addy didn’t need to turn around when the twig cracked behind her. She knew it was Duncan. She recognized the panting. “What are they doing?”

  “I’ll explain if ye promise to stop running. I’m getting too old for this, aye?”

  “Aye,” she repeated. Poor Duncan had red blotches all over his face. This must have been more exercise than he’d done in a long time.

  He leaned against the hologram wall for support, “These men are practicing for the survival race.”

  “I’m afraid to ask.”

  “It’s a grueling competition that challenges strength, skill, knowledge, and survival instincts. It’s the Hyboreans’ favorite sport and the reason ye’re here.”

  “Me?” The word came out high-pitched. “I’m supposed to compete in this survival challenge?”

  “No, lass. With your athletic ability, ye’ll breed champions.”

  She was about to turn and run again when his hand grabbed her wrist, stopping her. “No matter where ye go, you canna leave. This wall reaches all the way round on four sides.”

  “You mean we’re trapped inside a giant square?”

  “Och, no. Ye got it all wrong, lass. It’s a rectangle.” He let go of her arm and with a proud smile that illuminated his eyes said, “Lassie, this is our Yard.”

  Yard, ha. Pen was more apropos.

  Chapter Six

  After returning him to the slums, the race master, Yafuk, unleashed Max and shoved him inside his cage. He’d almost forgotten how cramped it was in here. Less than half the size of HuBReC’s breeding box, it required him to sleep diagonally in order to stretch out.

  He’d plenty of space at HuBReC. Though he hadn’t slept much there. He’d been too busy seducing the woman...and failing miserably. What the hell was wrong with her? She’d wanted him. He’d seen it in her eyes. He’d felt her body respond to his.

  And God knows he’d wanted her, too. She was beautiful, and she smelled so damn good. Her feminine scent was a glorious reprieve from the farting and unwashed body odor coming from the gladiators living in this dank three-hundred-square-foot pigsty.

  The fourteen other men in the neighboring cages were their usual rowdy and unruly selves, awaiting a midday meal that might or might not come.

  No one had acknowledged his return. Why would they, when he’d beaten them all on the training field or in the survival races. Yafuk’s gladiators were mediocre at best.

  If they weren’t all half-starved, they’d have the energy to train harder. His stomach rumbled in agreement. They’d better get fed today. He needed major calories for tomorrow’s Survival Race Championship.

  Yafuk appeared without their slop. A leashed gladiator followed on his heels. The door to Max’s cage sublimated, and the young gladiator stumbled through the gaseous vapor as if he'd been pushed inside. He couldn’t have been more than twenty.

  What the hell? He was this Yard’s alpha. Didn’t that entitle him to his own cage? There was barely enough room for one person in here—now he had to share it with this pup?

  In his relaxed ready-to-attack stance, he stared hard at the kid who was posturing like he was full of piss and vinegar. Max was in no mood to whip his scrawny ass, but a dominance hierarchy must be established.

  “Stand down, son.” That would be his only warning.

  The kid was assessing him, weighing the possibilities against the consequences. Noise from the other seven cages faded, which meant fourteen pairs of eyes were watching them.

  Come on, kid. Don’t make me have to pummel you.

  If this kid thought he’d be victorious against a veteran alpha gladiator, then he was dumber than he looked. But then again, Max had been just as stupid at that age. He’d been eager to fight the Hyboreans. And he’d lost every time he tried to stop the sons of bitches from stripping him of his family.

  And his life.

  And his humanity.

  His jaw clenched. His fists curled.

  The young gladiator’s eyes widened. He backed away and lowered his head, conceding Max’s dominant status. There would be no fight today. Too bad. Now that his blood was pumping, he was itching to hit someone.

  It was chilling how fast his inner beast emerged without warning.

  Just like in the breeding box, the one safe place he’d sworn to act human. But his restraint had been fleeting. His need to touch his broodmare’s soft curves and tasted her lips had been too great. He couldn’t control his urges.

  And because he couldn’t control his rage, the Hyboreans had shocked him, snatched him out and—

  No. He would not think about their abuse.

  A quick jump and grab of the rings hanging from the cage’s overhead frame, and he was pulling his body weight up. Chin-ups would help clear his thoughts.

  He had to forget the breeding box and his spirited broodmare. Forget her scent and her curves and her kiss. Forget her fire and vitality that made him forget—if only for a brief moment—that he was an animal.

  In the center of the kennel, Yafuk slapped food bowls on the floor equidistant from the four cages on his wall and the four cages opposite him.

  Eight bowls for sixteen ravenous warriors.

  The smell of fresh meat and seal blubber set his mouth salivating. This would be his last meal before the Championship. He had to get as much of that fat and protein as he could get his hands on.

  As the race master exited the room, the gladiators gripped their cage bars, yelling and cursing. Some were poised at the ready waiting for their doors to sublimate. Some were already beating on their cellmates. “Open our cages,” someone hollered.

  Yafuk wouldn’t, of course. Not until every warrior was primed for another battle for scraps.

  He let go of the rings and dropped to the floor.

&
nbsp; While the fire woman had warmed him briefly, it was now time to resume the bitter life of a beast.

  Chapter Seven

  Addy sat with her back against the camouflaged wall, elbows resting on drawn-up knees, and head in her hands. “I’ve got a zillion questions, Duncan. I don’t know where to start.”

  “Aye, I understand.” He plopped himself next to her and patiently waited.

  “First, how did you know my name?”

  Duncan coughed and cleared his throat. “Ye dinna remember me asking ye?”

  “No.”

  “Och, well that’s because ye were still drowsy after Ferly Mor brought ye in.”

  “Who?”

  “That’s the name of wee Hyborean. Me da named him. Fitting, no?” After seeing her confused expression he asked, “Ye mean ye’ve never heard the legend of Am Fear Liath Mòr?” He pronounced the Celtic words as “Am Fer Lee More.”

  She shook her head.

  “Am Fear Liath Mor, or the Great Gray Man, is the name of a creature which haunts the summit of Ben MacDhui. That’s a mountain in Scotland, Earth,” he explained. “Ye see, Am Fear Liath Mòr has been described as a large, fearsome-looking humanoid creature covered in fur.”

  “A Sasquatch?”

  “Aye, in part. But it’s more than that. There is something verra queer about the top of Ben MacDhui. A malign presence there causes great fear in those who climb her. Many hikers are overcome with utter panic and flee down in terror. In their haste to escape the sinister feelings, some have even fallen to their death.”

  “I don’t get it. Is the legend a Bigfoot or a ghost?”

  “Neither.”

  “Duncan, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “I believe Am Fear Liath Mòr to be a Hyborean.”

  “Let me get this straight. You think aliens are roaming the Scottish Highlands scaring the mountain climbers?” She couldn’t help snickering.

  “Well I dinna think it’s just for fun, aye? They are looking for strong, capable warriors for their survival races.”

  Addy snapped her attention back to the men demonstrating their combat skills. Half of them didn’t wear shirts, all of them wore tight-fitting pants that hugged their muscles, and not one looked puny or out of shape. Each man was indeed a strong, capable warrior. How did they end up here? Were they hiking along one day and snatched by a Hyborean? By Duncan’s Ferly Mor?

  “A mountain is filled with many dangers. Not every soul brave enough to climb up is lucky enough to manage a safe return. Men can vanish.”

  Wasn’t that the truth. Wilderness search-and-rescues were difficult. Sometimes people went missing for weeks. Sometimes they, or their bodies, were recovered. Sometimes nothing was found.

  Perhaps those poor folks hadn’t become carrion for the scavengers like she had always believed. Perhaps they were abducted. Which fate was worse? She shivered. “You said your dad named the alien. Was your dad abducted in Scotland?”

  “Aye. Taken from Ben MacDhui.”

  “Why didn’t he run away when he felt the evil presence?”

  “It wasna evil that he sensed. Rather he heard the soft, soothing call of a Siren, and he followed her higher up the mountain. It was the Hyboreans, using their minds to lure him to their ship, you ken.”

  “Minds?” Feeling uneasy, she plucked a blade of grass and began tying it in knots. “You mean telepathy?”

  “Aye. Ye wouldna think it to look at all that fur, but Hyboreans are highly evolved humanoids. Their brains are verra advanced and have long ago learned how to communicate telepathically. They dinna have spoken language, and we believe they lost the ability to produce sound centuries before. They have no need for vocal cords, just as we have no need for an appendix.”

  “But I heard them purring.”

  “Did ye now. Or perhaps ye sensed them purring?”

  Now that she thought about it, she hadn’t heard them making any actual noise. She'd perceived it. The aliens had worked together but neither one spoke to the other. “Are you saying I’m telepathic?”

  “Aye and no. Because human and Hyborean brain waves and neural pathways are so different, we dinna have the ability to transmit our thoughts or feelings telepathically. Thus Hyboreans can no' read our minds at all. Nor can we read their direct thoughts. However, we have a primitive ability that allows us to sense or perceive their emotions and feelings, though none of us interprets them in the same way.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “We decipher the same idea—being soothed, for example—differently based on our own experiences. Ye had perceived purring whereas I might have perceived relaxing by a fire drinking a hot toddy.”

  She flicked the knotted grass. “If our brains are so different, how do we communicate?”

  “Hyboreans understand our tone of voice and body language same as we can understand the meaning of a cat’s purr or hiss. But alas, ye can jabber away as much as ye like. They dinna comprehend our language. Therefore, we can communicate, but canna converse. ‘Tis a shame, really.”

  “If they can’t talk to you, how do you know so much about them?”

  “Same as any foreigner learns about a country’s society when they dinna speak the language. Astute observation and shrewd interpretation. And a wee bit of trial and error through the generations.”

  People had lived on this planet for generations? Never before had she felt so small. An insignificant being in a grand cosmos. Yesterday, her life had purpose and meaning. She was a law enforcement officer in Klamath National Forest. She was an athlete. She was free. Now, she was trapped on an unknown planet somewhere in the universe forced to make babies for some alien survival race.

  Deflated, she slouched against the hologram wall and looked up at the perfect sky—soft blue with wisps of white clouds—wishing she had wings to fly home. Home to her log cabin in the woods. Home to Zira, curled up on her lap as she watched late-night TV. Home to her determined, father whose life mission included craming her freezer full of berries from his hyper-prolific patches. She couldn’t pull out an ice tray without causing an avalanche of berry Baggies.

  Every year since she could remember they’d have a marathon jam-making session. Who would help Dad can his blackberry jam now?

  Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. She forced them back, refusing to cry. Crying admitted defeat. And her fight wasn’t over.

  “Come.” Duncan stood and held out his hand to her. “Let’s walk. There is so much more to show ye.”

  Knowledge is power. Addy took his hand, determined to learn everything she could in order to figure out how to escape. She dusted off the back of her jean shorts. “I have no memory of coming here. Do you know how I was abducted?”

  Before Duncan could answer, an enormous warrior whacked him on the back. “Hey, Gramps, bring me two more bottles of whis—” He stopped midword to size her up and down. “Hello, pet.”

  Towering over Duncan, he must have been six foot six, but as he stood there in his militant stance scrutinizing her, he grew another foot. Sweat dripped off his long, dirty-blond hair and rolled down his Conan the Barbarian chest. He wore tight black pants—the kind a football player wore, only without the padding—tucked into tall boots that hugged his calves. A belt hanging low around his waist held his wooden sword and scabbard.

  She recognized him as the winner of the swordfight.

  Though he didn’t look much older than she, perhaps twenty-five, she couldn’t mistake his commanding presence. Everything from the way he carried himself to his entitled gaze radiated authority and power.

  Time paused while he appraised her as though he were sole judge of a wet T-shirt contest. Shuddering from discomfort, she folded her arms across her chest.

  “Regan,” Duncan began, “may I present Addy.”

  Not wanting to appear as intimidated as she felt, she extended her hand to the warrior.

  Regan reached behind her head, fisted a clump of hair, and jerked her to him for a
kiss. She gasped, and his tongue snaked inside her mouth before he yanked her away again. The taste of his sweat and salt lingered on her tongue. If she weren’t in shock from his brusque assault, she would’ve spit. “Did Gramps, here, explain the breeding box?”

  His leering gaze boiled her blood. Would it be considered police brutality if she punched his smug face? “He didn’t need to. I’ve already been there.”

  Regan’s eyes lit with surprise before they narrowed. “Who was your stud?”

  “Och, now it doesna matter, does it, lad?” Duncan stepped between them in a protective manner.

  “The hell it doesn’t. I’m the alpha in this Yard.”

  “Mmph. Well, perhaps yer master doesna see it the same way as ye do.”

  The angles in Regan’s face sharpened with contempt.

  “But if it makes ye feel better, it wasna anyone from our Yard. Come, lass.” Duncan took her trembling hand to lead her away, but the gladiator caught his shoulder and turned him around. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword as he stared Duncan down. Her heart pounded. She had no doubt Regan would get his answer by force if necessary.

  “Don’t toy with me, Gramps. That body”—he pointed at her but kept his eyes locked on Duncan—”was meant for breeding gladiators. Who was her stud?”

  Duncan tapped his lips in a slow and deliberate show of contemplation, further annoying the warrior. “I do seem to recall a name.”

  “Well?”

  “I believe it was...Max.” Duncan smiled as if he laid down a royal flush.

  Regan howled with laughter.

  Why he thought her being in the breeding box with Max was so funny, she had no idea. Funny wasn’t close to the word she’d use to describe it. She lowered her gaze, suddenly interested in the grass.

  Regan’s meaty hand covered her shoulder. His condescending eyes patronized her. “My poor pet. Having to endure that old man. Lucky for you, he couldn’t last long, eh? Don’t worry. I’ll show you what a real man can do.” He slapped her butt.

  Heat surged angry through her veins. “He’s more man than you.” Max had jumped off her after she called him an animal. This cocky bastard would never do that.