While applauding Fright’s display, Sarge said, “This is what you’re up against. If one’s running at you, you need to act fast and with deadly accuracy. Don’t do what William did yesterday.”
The attention of the room back on him, Spike’s breathing sped up again. He’d chosen not to fight the thing. But he didn’t say that. What did it matter? He hadn’t acted when he should have. He dropped his focus to the floor. Even if he hadn’t panicked by the gates, he’d just panicked now. When faced with a diseased out in the open, he might panic again. He’d persuaded Matilda to stay in Edin on a promise that he’d be the next protector. He’d been lucky to get past day one.
When Sarge delivered his final words in his battle-worn growl, Spike’s stomach sank. “You panic, and either you or your teammates are dead.”
Spike saw the same sadistic grin on Ranger’s face.
Chapter 34
Although the curtain had been closed for a few minutes, Spike kept glancing at it, his chest still tight, his legs weak from the spent adrenaline. But at least the need to escape had left him, and at least it didn’t feel like his heart wanted to burst free from his chest. An anomaly, hopefully he’d react better the next time he saw one of the things.
Sarge had lined the rookies up against the opposite wall so they faced the now drawn red curtain. He drew a line on the floor at one end of the hall with chalk before moving to the other, his hobbled gait beating a slow metronome against the wooden floor. When he got there, he drew another line and groaned as he straightened his back.
None of the rookies spoke while Sarge walked to the middle of the room. He waited for a few seconds as if milking the tension. “These next few weeks are about training. I’ll get all of you fitter by the end of this month, and hopefully some of you will learn how to fight the diseased too.” He paused to look at Spike, the attention quickening Spike’s pulse.
Sarge held a whistle up. “This here is called the bleep test. I want you all to line up on that line.” He pointed to his right. “When I blow my whistle, you need to run to the other line. When I blow it again, you turn around and run back. The time between each whistle will gradually get shorter as you progress through the levels. The last runner left gets three points for their team, second to last gets two, and third to last gets one.”
While drawing a deep breath, his lungs still tight, Spike looked at his competitors. Some in the room—like Hugh—looked like they’d struggle to make it to the line once, but how many others had his level of fitness? Ranger would be in shape. Max looked like it too. But it didn’t matter. He’d run every day for the last six years. He was ready for this. Even if it felt like he couldn’t breathe at that moment, his conditioning would take over.
“Before you start,” Sarge said, raising a finger, “I need to explain what happens to those who drop out.” He grinned. “Press-ups. Those who drop out will have to do press-ups until the last runner has finished. So you’d best think long and hard about stopping. If you have more in the tank, use it. You need to learn how to run that extra mile. You need to learn that your head will give up long before your body does. Now line up over there and wait for my whistle.”
On their way over to the first line, Spike dropped his attention to the floor as he passed Ranger. The stocky cadet shoulder barged him, sending him a couple of steps to the right. It quickened his pulse again, forcing him to fight against his faster breaths.
“Wow, look at you. We’ve seen how you deal with the diseased, but you look like you’re even struggling to walk to the line.”
Team Bigfoot had gathered around Ranger as a wall of brown. As much as Spike wanted to reply, he kept it in. He’d prove what he could do when the test started.
Blowing two hard blasts on his whistle, Sarge’s gravelly voice filled the gymnasium. “Level three.”
Pushing off from the line, Spike turned around and jogged to the next one. He felt behind the pace already, his lungs still tight and his pulse pounding through his skull.
Next to him, Hugh sounded like an old locomotive. Puffing and panting, his flat feet slapped down with every step.
When Hugh missed the line on one of the whistles, Spike got behind him and shoved him in the back. “Come on, Hugh, you’re going to be doing press-ups for a long time if you stop now.”
His mouth stretched wide and his face contorting, Hugh clearly didn’t have a response in him.
Peep!
When they were behind on the second whistle, Spike’s breaths came in heavier waves too. Many of the other cadets were coping fine. He sped up and left his friend. “Sorry, dude, I can’t go out now.”
Catching up, Spike turned on the next shrill peep to see Hugh—hands on his knees—bent over in the middle of the gym. Bleach shook his head as he marched over to him, grabbed him by the top of his arm, and dragged him off to the side like he would a naughty child.
Although Spike didn’t watch Hugh, he heard him heave. A second later, the sound of vomit hit the gym’s wooden floor. A quick glance showed him Bleach taking the boy outside.
The sharp tang of sick joined the heady funk of sweat and dust in the hot room. It closed in on Spike, and although he tugged at his collar, it did nothing to help him breathe better. Screwing his face up against the reek, he tried breathing through his mouth.
By the end of level six, over half the rookies had already dropped out. Sarge moved into the middle of the room while those remaining ran on either side of him. He blew two hard peeps, the sound rattling through Spike’s skull. “Level seven.”
When Ranger pulled up, his hands on his hips, Spike nearly stopped too, his legs wobbling as he fought against his balance. Several of those supposed to be doing press-ups gasped as they watched on from the sidelines. What the hell? Admittedly, Ranger didn’t have the physique of a runner, but surely he could have gone farther than that? Maybe he wasn’t as strong as he pretended to be.
As Ranger walked over to the side—his mouth stretched wide and his face puce—his features contorted like he might vomit too. When he caught Spike looking his way, his already distorted face twisted harder and his dark eyes narrowed.
Although Sarge had made the threat, he didn’t enforce press-ups on the dropouts. From what Spike could see, Hugh hadn’t even returned to the gym.
At level fourteen, there were just three of them left. The dropouts were now sat at the side watching, cheering the candidates on. At least most of them were cheering. Ranger had a sour twist to his features, which he focused on Spike, and every time Spike passed him, he had another word of abuse.
“Drop.
“Give up.
“You’re going to get beaten by a girl.
“You’ll lose your nerve when you see a diseased anyway.”
With Matilda on one side and Max on the other, Spike lifted his chin and kept filling his tight lungs to the steady rhythm of his feet hitting the wooden floor. If he focused on the feeling in his body, he would have given up ages ago, but he kept his attention on the line and getting to that, his fitness doing the work for him. He didn’t care if Matilda beat him, but Max …
Matilda pulled up at level sixteen to a collective groan of disappointment. It seemed like the crowd’s favourite had just dropped out.
Spike tried to make eye contact with her on his way back down the hall, but she looked away. Stars swam in his vision from where he struggled to breathe and he heard Ranger say, “Well done, sweetheart,” as Matilda found her seat.
It broke Spike’s focus, and from the look on Ranger’s face, it had meant to.
“He looks like he’s struggling,” Ranger said, cackling a vicious laugh.
There might have been two hims in the race still, but everyone knew who Magma’s son referred to.
Two shrill peeps and Sarge called out, “Level seventeen.”
At a near sprint now, Spike’s lungs burned and his feet slammed down with every step. Although Max didn’t look to be faring much better. Red-faced, he glistened with sweat and gurned as he fought to br
eathe. Spike only had to run one extra length than him to win. Max would break before he did.
Peep.
Turn.
Peep.
Turn.
The strength nearly leaving him, Spike wobbled again.
Ranger got to his feet. “He’s gonna go.”
A look across at Max, Spike frowned hard and dug deep. He beat the whistle to the next line. As much as he wanted to win and as much as he wanted to beat Max, he now wanted to prove it to Ranger more than anyone. Magma’s son or not, he wouldn’t stand in the way of Spike becoming the next protector. He’d finish second at best. Like his old man. Whatever it took to overcome him and his fear of the diseased, Spike would do it.
Passing Max on his way back down the hall, Spike glanced at him again. Although he looked awful, Spike probably looked no better. But Max was done. He saw it in his eyes.
When he arrived at the other line before the whistle sounded, Spike turned to see Max had pulled up. He ran one more length because he could. Then he stopped, walked to the side of the hall, winked at the embittered Ranger, and fell to the floor. As he lay on his back, the taste of bile rose in his throat from the effort of the run. Sweat burned his eyes while his breaths ran away with him. But he’d done it.
If he worked hard enough, he could overcome anything. Including his fear.
Chapter 35
The rain came down so hard it stung the top of Spike’s head and his exposed arms. His team around him, he leaned close to them, all of them slightly stooped because of the onslaught. “At least it’ll be cooler in the gym. The heat this week’s damn near killed me.”
Although they were directly competing with one another, Max and Spike had managed to remain civil, and it was Max who replied, “It’s been too much, hasn’t it? What do you think we’re doing today?”
Olga this time: “Whatever it is, I hope it’s not as intense as the past few days have been. One more burpee and I might throw up my internal organs.”
As the conversation between them died, Spike looked at all the other teams gathered there while he stretched some of the aches and pains from his body. He’d pushed himself to his limit every single day and then every night in weapons training with Bleach, and while the first day of training didn’t go as planned, he’d grown as the week went on and given a good account of himself. If Sarge had paid attention, he would have seen a contender emerge. Although, the man never offered praise, so he found it hard to tell whether Sarge paid attention or not.
Team Minotaur stood outside the dining hall like all the other teams. They lined up how they sat at their tables inside. Team Dragon and Bigfoot were neighbours, so Ranger currently stood close to Matilda. From Spike’s perspective, Magma’s son looked to be spending most of his time trying to get Matilda’s attention in one way or another. After saying something else to her, the boy turned around with a smile and winked at Spike. Over the past few days, Ranger had picked up a number one fan, who laughed at his every act. The boy’s name was Lance Cull. A tall and broad lad, he had blond hair, teeth nearly as yellow as the diseased, and awful acne.
Not the first time Ranger and Lance had tried to goad him, but Spike’s pulse quickened at the affront like it had every other time he’d done it. His stomach tight, he clenched his jaw while staring back at the boy and his pet sycophant. Ranger and Lance’s behaviour would have been easier to take though were Matilda not ignoring him. Since they’d been separated into teams, she’d barely looked at him. Maybe his error at the beginning had taken away her confidence that he could get them a better life.
While twirling his dad’s skull ring, Spike looked at the hummingbird clip in Matilda’s hair.
Before Spike could think on it any further, Sarge’s voice called out as he stepped from the dining hall, his usual scowl deepened by the hard onslaught of rain. “Right.”
The cadets all faced the man.
“Follow me.”
The same process every morning, Sarge walked off in the direction of the gym and they all followed, team Dragon moving off first, all the way back to team Minotaur.
Even as he walked—the ground squelching beneath his feet—Spike saw Ranger talking to Matilda. At least Matilda never reacted, especially on walks like this. No one spoke unless Sarge spoke to them first. Despite the fire in her belly, Matilda needed to have a good reason to go against the rules. What he’d give to be on the roof of the textiles factory with her again.
Instead of stopping at the gym like they had on every other day, Sarge marched straight past it and headed in the direction of the training area. A large walled-off section, Spike had stared at it many times over the past week. He’d stared at both the wall and the fence leading to the hole. He’d learned that the apprentices competed in the training area when the trials started next month. It would be good to see the place so it felt familiar to him in six months’ time.
The gates leading through to the training area were much like the ones leading out of the city’s back wall—the gates Spike had seen Mr. P ejected from. They were no more than eight feet tall and six feet wide.
The heavy bolt cracked open when Sarge dragged it free. The hinges creaked as he pulled the gates wide and led them through.
As the last team in, Spike had to judge the place based on the reactions of those ahead of him. Every single cadet stared around them after they’d crossed the threshold, their eyes and mouths wide.
Following his team through the now open gates, Spike’s jaw fell too. An arena larger than the one they had the main event in, he looked at the banked rows of seats that formed a large circle around a central pit. It was less permanent than the main event arena, however, because it had been constructed from wood to make it more mobile. Like every structure on this side of the gates, it had to be ready to move when they’d finished extending the wall. The main space in the middle, a ring with a diameter of at least fifty feet, stretched much wider than the arena’s too. Whatever they did in the trials, they had enough room to make it spectacular.
Several activity stations had been set up in the ring, but before Spike could spend too much time looking at them, Tank—team Dragon’s leader—walked across in front of the cadets. A wide man with shock-white skin and black tattoos on his face, he scowled at the rookies, the rain bouncing off him as if he were impervious to it.
A glance at the other cadets showed Spike the same confusion he felt. Why Tank? Sarge took the lead on everything.
“This is the end of your first week. It’s been a long week and you’ve all worked very hard. Today, you’ll be competing against one another for team points. The winning team get a lie-in tomorrow.”
Just the thought of it made Spike’s body ache more than it had a few moments previously. He hated getting up at the crack of dawn.
“The team leaders will take turns setting challenges for you. Mine was supposed to be a gentler introduction, but because of the rain, I’m not sure it will be.”
Eight tree stumps, each one about four feet tall, were lined up. The space between them grew larger as they went along. “You need to jump from one of these to the next. You fail to make the jump and you’re out.” The first gap looked easy enough at about five feet. The final one must have been eight if not more.
A rope hung down from a platform about twenty feet up. “Next, you need to climb the rope. I was going to make you do it using just the strength in your arms, but the fact that it’s wet is challenge enough.”
When Tank walked over to several axes embedded in lumps of wood, Spike didn’t know what to think.
“A big part of being outside the walls for those who want to be the next apprentice is chopping wood. You need to be able to do it well. You have four swings to chop this wood into four pieces of roughly equal size. And then finally …” He walked to the last obstacle. A ring of latticed wood, it had ropes and pulleys attached to it. It looked like an eight-foot-wide dream catcher like the ones he’d seen in the textiles district. “This is a simple case of hanging
on. You hold these wooden bars. The last one to fall is the winner. Again, I’m sure the rain will make it infinitely harder. Right, my team first. Dragon”—he pointed at the logs—“get over there.”
Ginger Slink went first, slipping slightly as he climbed onto the wet tree stump. Each one had a diameter of about two feet. As much of a fool as Spike had made of himself, at least in this trial he didn’t have to be the example of failure for everyone to follow.
“You ready?” Tank said.
Ginger looked at him but didn’t reply.
“Go!”
Spike’s heart leapt to watch Ginger make the first jump, his feet slipping when he landed on the second log. All the cadets let out sighs and gasps of relief when the boy didn’t fall.
Using a two-footed approach, Ginger moved to the edge of the next log, bent his knees, swung his arms, and leapt again. He made it.
Three, four, and five—the same tactic with each one—Ginger crossed the increasingly wider gaps. When he jumped to the sixth stump, he landed with one foot, his other one falling back, but he grabbed on with his hands, crouching down and hugging the stump to remain on it.
The two-footed tactic no good now, Ginger stepped back on the sixth log before running to make the jump. But when he pushed off, his launching foot slipped out behind him, stealing his momentum. He landed face first and nowhere near his intended target.
Tank walked over to the boy—who lay face down in the mud—and offered him his hand. Other than his pride, Ginger didn’t appear to have hurt anything. “At least the wet ground has given you a soft landing,” Tank said. He then pointed the boy away from him. “You’re out.”
Matilda next, Spike’s heart beat in his throat to watch her climb up onto the first log. No one spoke as she drew a breath and focused on what lay ahead. If anyone could do it, she could. After chasing her through the city on their last night, he’d seen what she had in her. If she couldn’t do it, he had no chance.
Protectors - Book one of Beyond These Walls: A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Thriller Page 16
