Wild Child

by Katie Cross

  Men with nefarious purposes and obvious physical brawn surrounded us, but their motivation remained unknown. They'd taken my pack and Devin's and put them . . . somewhere. Probably out of sight, in the woods, where I couldn't easily locate them if we stole away. Our radios and any hope of communication were out of reach. It was unlikely that we'd be able to use them for anything and we'd lose time looking. Daniel wouldn't expect us to return for several more days. I checked in with him every night via satellite text message. If I didn't for tonight, he probably wouldn't worry. Maybe after two nights he’d feel some concern, but that would be far too late.

  So, all told, quite bleak.

  The words Survival Club ran back through my mind. Was it an actual game? A competition? Did all of them participate? If so, Kimball and the other two idiots had no chance against the monsters they'd brought. Likely, the big guys were going to fight. Maybe with fists.

  But why fight?

  And why here?

  While most details remained murky, my position in this horror was abundantly clear. The inevitable victim of someone's disgusting lust at the end. Whatever game they played, the winner got me. And wasn't that just peachy? Because underneath all his layers of alcohol, that's all Jim had really wanted: my innocence. Ultimate power over me, the object of his wife's affair. Karma had somehow brought me back here.

  All of this in the middle of a forest where an alleged territorial grizzly roamed not too far away. If given the choice, I'd take the grizzly.

  But I wouldn't call our chances impossible yet. Their ropes weren't impressively tight. With some determination and pain and blood, I might be able to wiggle my hands out and spring my ankles free. Binds notwithstanding, I knew the forest. They clearly didn't. If I could just get in the trees, the wind would be my only competition as I hauled out of here. Even if I had to hustle at night.

  Except, Devin posed a problem. Perhaps I could sneak out of here alone easily enough, but I refused to leave him behind. I started wriggling at the binds, using my teeth to tug them loose. The idiots, distracted by whatever they were up to now, had tied my hands in front of me.

  Devin wouldn't like my plan. He definitely wouldn't agree with it. He'd tell me to run fast, far, and get to safety, then send help.

  Forget that.

  My days of leaving Devin when he needed me were far behind me, and so was my plan to keep him an acquaintance. No. There was too much between us. All that shared history bolstered me now and made me brave. Devin had always let me lean on him. Now, it was time for me to fight for Devin.

  The decision to stay with Devin no matter what gave me something firm to hold onto, and I clung to it with renewed tenacity. Courage, fueled by my determination, followed.

  My gaze darted around the cabin to map my options. Fallen boards, dirt, and a piece of a broken beer bottle littered the floor inside. Some charcoal along the dirt floor meant someone had lit a fire in here at some point.

  I wiggled to the left and managed to grab a broken piece of beer bottle in my right hand. Small enough that it fit in my palm, the edges poked the sensitive skin there, but it was still large enough to draw blood. If anything, it would give me the element of surprise. I'd need something more, but I tucked it into my palm and kept working at the rope. The rope was tight but it had just enough give that I had a chance.

  In between tearing at the rope with my teeth and the edge of the beer bottle, I turned my attention to the growing bonfire. The heat flared out so thick I could feel it through the slatted logs. I tilted my head to the side as I regarded the smaller men. They stood around now, shoulders slumped, voices quiet, talking not far from the fire. The three behemoths stayed away from each other. Each had surly glares and heavy brows.

  My plan populated one piece at a time. Get out of the bonds. Find Devin. Wake him up. Grab one of the sticks that wasn't completely engulfed with flames to fight them off and haul out of there. The moment we could disappear into the darkness, we'd have an instant tactical advantage.

  A weak plan at best. What if they attacked all at the same time? What if I couldn't grab a log? But at least it was something. I'd have to improvise as I went. Right now, I needed something to do, or else it seemed like we'd both endure torture before being murdered.

  "Forget practice," a rolling, deep voice said.

  My head jerked to look through the nearest gap in the wood. The behemoth with the burned face cracking his neck by canting his head to the side. "Let's get this over with and get the dust distributed."

  My thoughts stalled.

  Dust?

  "Eager beaver?" Kimball asked, but it was acerbic at best.

  The behemoth glared through slitted eyes. Kimball's false smile dropped. He cleared his throat and looked away. Not far from him, Steve growled in his throat, but the recipient wasn't clear. Kimball avoided him as well by canting to the side, giving Steve a shoulder.

  The other two smaller men separated, each standing near—but not too close to—one of the behemoths. With any luck, they'd forget I was here, and I could sneak away. Devin was within the ring of firelight, which meant I couldn't pull him to safety, slap him awake, and get us both out of here without being detected. My mind ran back through my plan uneasily, but I shoved the reservations aside when Kimball raised two hands.

  "Then let us begin! Gentleman, welcome to the second Survivor Club fight."

  He reached into his pack to extract a plastic bag filled with what appeared to be two stocky bricks of something pink. A powder, perhaps? Night had started to fall, making the flickering shadows from the bonfire erratic and sketchy. Everyone in the camp became a bit more fidgety when the bag appeared. Kimball gestured to it with his free hand.

  "Behold, a stash of pixie dust, given by your generous Creator. Creator shall, of course, remain nameless and faceless, as always. But know they are watching."

  Kimball motioned around with a sweep of his arm, and I had an inkling that whatever unfolded next would be broadcast somewhere with a video camera. Through a live feed, perhaps? No, it was unlikely they could get a video feed to work up here. Perhaps the Creator person watched from somewhere nearby with binoculars. Did that mean Kimball had direct contact with this Creator person? If they could speak and this person saw me escape, that would significantly slow my plan to rescue Devin.

  "There are two bricks of pixie dust available. One for you and one for your sponsor. You can distribute after the fight however you want," Kimball continued. "Keep in mind that this is the only opportunity for you to gain pixie dust for distribution. The next round of Survival Club will be announced to all sponsors before next quarter."

  Already nauseous, my stomach rolled even further as the pieces clicked together. Memories of news clips solidified everything else.

  Pixie dust was the street name of the unknown substance that had been circulating Pineville here and there for the last couple of years. The same drug that had driven three druggies to attack Serafina, a barista at the Frolicking Moose, and almost killed her brother from an overdose. A woman under the influence of pixie dust had once held Dagny at gunpoint.

  Kimball must be "sponsoring" Steve in a fight to access the drug. Maybe Steve would be a dealer. Though it was possible Kimball would deal, too. Kimball had apparently brought Steve this far, and Steve would fight for a massive load of the drug. Maybe the only way for him to get it. Then I’d wager they would both get a cut, turn around, and sell it for exorbitant prices. The lack of availability likely made it a gold mine.

  And, as for the Creator . . . they must have stayed behind the scenes and watched the mayhem unfold. Made it available only every now and then. Forced brutish men to fight for the right to sell it and drive up demand.

  No wonder pixie dust remained so hidden, yet wreaked such havoc.

  Hernandez, the local sheriff's deputy and Dagny's husband, had been working tirelessly to find the ring and the source for months. Whoever the Creator was, they had been distributing it in the bowels of the forest. Probably
moved from place to place, I suspected. Had they brought me with the plan to use me as an additional prize? Kimball mentioned I had come at Creator’s request. Did I know them? The thought nearly made me vomit, but I forced myself away from that line of thinking.

  No, I had to focus. Details could come later.

  But, the more I understood their game, the more my panic grew into a greater fever pitch. Pixie dust was known for turning any user into a freakishly strong brute. Any one of these men would kill us without even thinking about it.

  Kimball tossed three small bags to each behemoth as he continued, and I shook out my thoughts.

  "You know the rules. Each of you snorts, each of you fights. Free-for-all. There will be one break when the first fighter drops out, and then the final fight between the two remaining men. The man who remains standing at the end is given a brick. The sponsor of the winner gets the other half. Then, it’s game over until next time. The losing fighters and sponsors are not invited back."

  The urge to vomit nearly overcame me yet again, but I forced it back with a deep breath. No, I reminded myself. Don't think about it. Do something.

  My gaze fell on a bright yellow bottle of lighter fluid discarded not far from the fire, toward the edge of the ring of light.

  And suddenly, my plan became a lot more feasible.

  Desperate now, I used my fingers to work the piece of glass farther out of my hand. It slashed my palm, and warm, sticky blood touched my skin. I ignored it and turned my focus to working on the ropes. If I didn't, Devin would die.

  And he'd never know how I really felt.

  14

  Devin

  My head throbbed.

  It pulsed in a slow plod, like a heart trudging along slowly. Unfamiliar voices swam in and out of my mind. In the time that passed between consciousness and comprehension, I didn't move a muscle more than breathing required. I wasn't entirely sure, in all those eternal seconds, whether I had lived or died.

  For a terrible twenty breaths, the sands of Afghanistan seemed to surround me. I knew I'd never left. That choking dust and the smell of burning rubber mixed with scorched skin filled my nose. Screams still rent the air, even in my mind. My shoulder throbbed in time with my head, a tandem pain. My ears rang in my head, and somewhere in the blur of it all, I knew I was probably a dead man.

  And Ellie still didn't know how I felt.

  That thought anchored me out of the moors of my mind and put me back into reality with a firm shove. Just like she had in Afghanistan.

  Ellie. Ellie, Ellie, Ellie.

  No, I wasn't in Afghanistan. I hadn't dreamed of returning home to her wary gaze. To the feeling of her so near me last night that our breaths mingled.

  Consciousness returned slowly. My brain sorted through the voices to remember a cabin. The forest. Ellie flitted through the memories like a fairy until everything cemented itself again. My heart took off at a gallop. Ellie had been alone with Kimball and Steve and . . . someone else all that time.

  They could have—

  The unmistakable sound of fist hitting muscle broke the air. With it, the guttural shouts of animated men.

  My eyes flew open.

  A bright bonfire illuminated the dusky mountain canyon. At least an hour must have passed because night had already fallen. Beyond it lay mostly shadows, but the pulsing pain in my head likely accounted for some of my inability to see. Or to make sense of what I did see.

  Three massive men grappled in a stone circle like wild things. Heavy fists flew with dull thuds, flashing in the firelight. None of them moved quickly, but every punch seemed deadly. One slam of a fist into a pair of ribs resulted in an audible crack, then a howl of pain. A slap to the face echoed through the night, eliciting shouts of delight from two other faces I didn't recognize. Kimball stood with two men that didn't fight. That meant six men in addition to me.

  Or were there others?

  My head didn't move as I swept the space with my gaze, attempting to find Ellie. No sign of her. A good or bad thing? Hard to tell. Had she run away? Broken free to go for help? She damn well better, but even with a head injury that made my thoughts like liquid, I knew it was an impossible hope. That stubborn wild child would never leave me here. That meant she likely waited in the cabin, or in the shadows. Bound, probably.

  Whatever they did here clearly had nefarious intent, and I didn't need to linger around and figure it out. Right now, I had to find Ellie and get out of here. My sole objective was to keep her intact and safe.

  If my body would stand.

  With the three smaller men focused on the fight, and the three other beasts beating the hell out of each other, I carefully shifted to the left. My eyes went to half-mast, as if I were still asleep and I kept my body contorted in the same position. Carefully, I tried to shift my whole torso all at once. The awkward bend of my knees gave me some leverage to move, but not much.

  No one seemed to notice at first, but it only took a few inches to know this wouldn't work. It would take forever to get out of sight, and by then some of those idiots would be dead. Their attention would turn back to us. My head throbbed just thinking about it, and my stomach curled in on itself, ready to vomit at my first opportunity, but I forced it back.

  I let Ellie down once and I would not do that again.

  One deep breath in.

  Out.

  I rolled.

  The ground bumped into my shoulders, elbows, and hips as I rocketed away from the fight and spun into the shadows not too far away. Bushes cracked beneath me, louder than fireworks. My shoulder blade hit a log and jarred the old injury, but I kept going. I forced my body into the shadows where bushes and brambles awaited. The shouts continued to ring out despite my escape.

  Dizzy from the movement and my aching head, I let my body stop. Three seconds passed while I tried to gain my equilibrium back before I shoved to my hands and knees, then up to my feet.

  The world shifted beneath me the moment I straightened, and I sagged back down. By willpower alone, I managed to stay in a crouch instead of dropping like dead weight. Darkness crept over my vision, layered with white stars. A breath away from unconsciousness, I leaned on my fingertips and blinked rapidly. When I forcefully ground my knee into the slate rocks below, the pain woke me back up.

  Ellie, I thought. Get. To. Ellie.

  Flashes of bonfire gave way to a sandy landscape. I blinked as the rock walls of the canyon shifted, transitioned to a desert at night. A familiar, Afghani desert.

  No, I thought desperately. I can't go back there.

  The hallucination carried more feeling than vision, but I recalled stars spattered high overhead. An overturned Humvee with fire crackling out of the engine. A body lay out the side of the broken Humvee, coated with dust. Blood dripped down limp fingertips. The ringing in my ears became a dull whine and occupied my thoughts for too long. Shouts came from the distance, interspersed with the ack ack ack of hostile rifles.

  Not there, I mentally screamed. I'm not there. I'm in Pineville again.

  But my brain didn't understand, and it slipped back in time. My mind didn't work here in the desert. In Afghanistan. Somewhere in the back of my head, I felt pain, but wasn't sure where it belonged. My ribs? Shoulders? What happened to my guys? Where was I? Where did the blood on my hands come from? My left arm wouldn't respond to my command.

  Ellie, I thought desperately. She was the only reality that made sense, even here. The only thing that mattered while I stood on the precipice of death in such a hellish world.

  Ellie.

  Ellie.

  Ellie.

  Her face swam before my eyes, concerned. Frightened, even. My mind registered fear in her gaze. Why was she afraid? Why did she look at me like she'd never see me again? I fell back to the desert floor, unable to hold myself up anymore. Gritty dirt pressed into my cheek as I hit the ground with a dull thud and passed out.

  With a hard shake of my head, I broke the hallucination and returned to the present. I'm not th
ere, I told myself firmly. I'm here.

  The mountains returned. The smell of burnt hair receded, giving way to smoke instead. Blinking hard, I slowly straightened. My thoughts fluttered away like feathers in a breeze.

  "Break time!" a male voice called and broke apart my hallucination. "Joe is just about dead. Get these two some water. Collins, take your loser and get out of here. No pixie dust for you."

  A dark silhouette appeared between me and the bonfire, but I didn't dare move. My body still wouldn't move, like it was locked back in Afghanistan, my left shoulder pinned under a piece of the shattered Humvee. The person approached. My upper lip curled. The fingers of my right hand tucked into my palm. The flash of a familiar, white-toothed smile set the hair on the back of my neck up on edge.

  "Well, well," Kimball drawled. "The conquering hero awakes."

  He grabbed my shoulder and shoved me toward the fire. Too weak to fight back, I stumbled that way. The blood threatened to drain from my head again as I tried to keep my feet underneath me. The pounding headache became a vice around my skull. I leaned to the side and vomited.

  "Time to make you useful," Kimball muttered, then shouted, "Collins! Hold up. Let's give your boy Joe a chance to redeem himself."

  The pressure of a hand squeezing the back of my neck drew me out of the hazy tunnel that threatened to take me back. Back to Afghanistan. Back to that night, the worst of all the most horrible days of my life. Back to where rage had been my only ally.

  My only ticket home.

  Rage had been my friend in Afghanistan. The source of grit that fueled my survival. It brought me back to life and threatened to consume me every day that I reclaimed that life. With a forced, deep breath, I glared at the other men in the circle. Maybe that burning rage would save me again.