Adrenaline Rush

by Cindy M. Hogan

  Our guides colored our hair a bright yellow to match our jumpsuits. I thought our hair color was important to whoever ran this place. Why was he changing it now? Apparently, even the little information Division 57 had had was irrelevant.

  The room was so quiet; I could hear everyone’s breathing.

  All of our jewelry was removed, and our faces were made up like a clown’s. They even put a yellow foamy nose on each of us as well as a big yellow clown wig. If we hadn’t been different heights and weights, we would have looked identical. I was starting to freak out. What if Division didn’t save us before something terrible happened? I tried to calm myself with the reminder that it was Jeremy looking after me, and he’d never let me down.

  The guys in white moved us and our guides to some big metal doors at the back of the room. I could hear muffled voices coming from behind them, but they weren’t loud enough for me to hear what was being said.

  The guide in front pushed the doors open, and she marched through, Anna alongside her. One by one, we marched in with our escorts and stood in a line in the center of a large room or a field or something. Bright lights were trained on us, and it was impossible to figure out where we were. The silence in the room ended when a booming voice said, “Welcome to the Circus of Feats.”

  The room erupted in loud claps and shouting.

  I tried to look past the lights to see who was clapping and shouting, but it made my eyes water. Looking down the row of us, I could see both Payden’s and Maddie’s hands were trembling. Lunden and Duncan had theirs clasped tightly in front of them. Frankie and Houston, however, made fists at their sides. With all the clown makeup, it was hard to tell what they were feeling, but I knew most were scared, a few angry.

  “You all know how I love a good clown,” the voice said. “Today we have eight new clowns for our selection.”

  Starting with Anna and ending with Frankie, the commentator introduced each of us by name. As the introductions took place, the lights moved to spotlight whomever he talked about, and I was able to see more of the room and who clapped and shouted.

  A couple hundred people dressed in bright, rainbow colors as well as black and white, encircled us, sitting in stands just like at a real circus. I couldn’t see the commentator. The lights seemed to be coming from one central point that may have been concealing him.

  “Those who complete the Circus of Feats today,” the speaker said, his voice echoing all around us, “will eat dinner with me in my private dining hall and will be selected. Those who don’t will suffer a less than ideal fate. Beware.” A lion roared. It sounded completely real and close. Would those who didn’t finish be thrown to the lions? I shuddered.

  “The first feat?” The voice continued. “Water picking.”

  A girl dressed up like a circus performer, complete with a top hat with a long ribbon tail, high heels, tights, and a black sequined body suit, pulled a covering away from a huge, glass tank of water. Inside were two sets of large chains and manacles with big locks that hung from the top piece of glass. The lights dimmed, and all around us, curved TV screens popped to life, all depicting clowns trying to free themselves from the locks in the tank. Some were successful and others struggled and then went lifeless, eyes staring out at us.

  I knew that Anna was the resident lock-picker and had been teaching the rest of the Avengers the skill, but could they all do it? I wished I had five minutes to teach them. But who was I kidding? Even if I could teach them the rudimentaries, being put upside down in water would make a beginner freak out and forget everything. What if they didn’t know how to hold their breath and not inhale water? Could I even do it? I wondered how many of us wouldn’t make it past this feat.

  Next to me, Frankie whined, a sad, high-pitched whine. I shifted my body next to hers, trying to give her comfort. The rest of the group had looks of complete terror on their faces. I pressed my arm hard into my side, twice. Where was Division? I pushed on my tracker, over and over. This was complete madness, and Division had to get us out of here. The pressure stung my arm. For good measure, I repeated the process several times.

  “Yes,” he continued, his deep, playful voice grating on my nerves. “All good clowns must have a handle on the ability to pick locks. It is a fundamental. Of course fundamentals can be boring, so I added water. Water can be very exciting, and it is one of the four elements. We all love a thrill, don’t we? I’m sure you’ll all find that this gets your blood rushing.”

  Anna’s guide brought her over to the tank. She glanced at us with wide eyes several times. Her guide handed her something. For a moment, I wondered if it was a key. Then I scoffed at the idea. Perhaps bobby pins or something like it? I looked at the screens still playing the scenes from other clowns either succeeding or failing to open the locks, hoping to figure out what those who succeeded were doing.

  The guide had Anna climb stairs to a little deck area. She lay down, and the girl secured her ankles to the top piece of glass from the tank. She didn’t resist. Who would after what we saw happen to Frankie and Duncan? My own collar chaffed at my neck, a physical reminder not to get out of line.

  A crane-like machine hooked Anna by the ankles and lifted her high in the air. The machine lurched awkwardly, swinging her around until she was just above the tank, her clown wig already brushing the water.

  The audience went silent.

  Then the crane dropped her into the tank, the water splashing upward as her body plunged downward. Immediately, I saw her go to work, pulling her body up and grabbing the lock with one hand. Watching her, I realized it would take strong core muscles to pull the body up, too. This task was looking harder and harder to complete.

  A huge clock hung near the tank and counted the time. It had been fifteen seconds. She needed to have that first lock undone already, but she didn’t. Panic rose in me, as my eyes darted between the clock and my friend. Twenty seconds. Anna’s hands worked feverishly in the water, and she freed one leg. It dropped down.

  Could she hold her breath long enough to do the second one?

  She struggled in the water, then with a sudden jerk, her other leg fell and she pushed her head out of the water, gasping for breath. I looked at the clock, forty-five seconds. That was a long time to be struggling upside down under water. Miraculously, when she stood up on the platform the wig and makeup remained, just as they were before she got dunked. The wig may have even stood taller now. They took her behind the platform, probably to let her change.

  I watched Houston make his way up to the tank. He looked petrified. I didn’t blame him. Then, Anna yelled out, “Sweet spot left.” We heard a scuffle behind the platform and a stifled yell. Anna probably just saved all of us. Not needing the time to search for the sweet spot would make this task doable by even a novice picker—if the water didn’t get to him first. It sounded like she’d been punished, however.

  They tied Houston’s legs and lifted him up. Just as he hit the water, he raised up, grabbing his legs to steady himself. In twenty seconds the first cuff was off. He must be a novice, I realized, or he would have done it quicker. The next one only took him fifteen. I took heart. Maybe we would all make it through this. Anna emerged from behind the platform, black duct tape over her mouth with big white “X’s” across it. At least she had dry clothes on.

  When it was my turn, I walked up the steps, taking deep calming breaths. I lay down. My shoulder blades dug into the hard, uncomfortable platform. I said a prayer in my heart over and over, Please let me live to help these people. Please. The hook swung above me and as it lowered, I breathed deeply, willing extra air to fill me. My guide handed me two bobby pins. I only needed one. The bright lights made it hard for me to keep my eyes open, so I kept them closed, breathing deeper still.

  Fear gripped me as I plunged into the water, holding my legs as Houston had, clutching the bobby pin for dear life. It saved me vital seconds. I went left as I picked and the lock popped free. The other was also a lefty, and I made quick work of getting it op
en. A gush of relief filled me when my head popped out of the water. I took a quick, deep breath and was fine. The clock read fifteen seconds.

  I followed my guide down the steps once I was out. She took me behind the platform and looked over my face and wig, making sure they were all in order. She had me change out of the wet coveralls and shift. Then I pulled on new ones, nice and dry. After a few small touch-ups to my hair and makeup, she brought me back to stand in line with the others on the far right of the circus arena.

  I pushed on my tracking device several times. Where was Jeremy? How long would it take before they got here? I hoped no one would die before then. I kicked at the dirt, it was real and pretty solid. Only a slight puff of air swirled about us after I kicked at it. Were we in an enclosed space? Outside? A makeshift shelter? I looked up and noticed the striped fabric above us and the huge pole in the middle of the tent, and it hit me—we were in a real circus tent set up just for this event. The man who’d kidnapped us must truly be mad.

  “That was aaaamazing,” the kidnapper said. “Unfor-tunately, we couldn’t really assess the quality of the last seven clowns due to Miss Anna’s outburst. But, as they say, the show must go on. Every self-respecting risk taker must know how to handle fire, the second element we will conquer today. We don’t want to be getting burned, now do we? Should we see if they can handle the heat?”

  The crowd roared.

  From flaps in the tent top, six fire rings sailed down, stopping at different heights. Six girls dressed as circus hands pushed small trampolines of various heights out on the floor, and three others brought out puffy pads, blown up big to give a soft landing to someone sailing through the highest rings.

  I looked at the ring nearest the ground and noticed that only a small core in the center was fire free, and then I looked at the highest ring, the trampoline next to it and the landing pad. That must have been twenty feet off the ground. How was it possible? I reached up and touched the massive clown wig and realized even it wasn’t small enough to fit through the eye of the fire. This was suicide. The videos that played all around us showed one clown after the other catching on fire. Not many made it without either dying or sustaining serious burns.

  This time, they started with me. I wished it had been Payden. I’m sure he would have made this look easy. With all the cool tumbling he could do, I bet he’d be amazing at this. I could have tried to copy him. I was led to the shortest ring. It looked like I could just hop through it, but I took my time to think it over. My best chance of making it without catching on fire would be to jump through, head first, arms outstretched and then summersault my way out of it, but could it be done at this low height? Could I tuck and roll without burning? I would be the guinea pig. Try as I might, I couldn’t come up with a better solution.

  A countdown started, “Ten, nine, eight, seven.” I didn’t want to imagine what they would do to me if I didn’t jump by the time the countdown got to one. I had to land far enough away from the ring that my feet, when they came through, wouldn’t catch on the ring. In order to do that, I had to aim for the area just below the top of the fiery circle. I figured my hair would catch on fire, but I could always stamp that out rolling on the ground or if worse came to worse, I could use my hands to pat it out.

  Just as the countdown reached one, I sprang. I made it through but as my hands hit the floor, my feet clipped the top of the ring. Fearing the worst, I rolled around on the ground to put out any fire that may have caught. I patted at my hair, but it hadn’t lit. I had felt the ultra hot heat as I sailed through. I should have lit on fire—my feet hit the ring. I could feel the burn on the tops of my feet

  My guide led me to the next highest hoop, and I didn’t waste time thinking it through. I would use the same technique. It had worked once, and I’d try it again. I didn’t shoot quite as high, but almost. The countdown hadn’t even started. I felt the burn, hot on my hands, neck, and feet as I flew through the hoop. I rolled again, just to be sure I wasn’t on fire. The third and the fourth rings were difficult, but in a way, easier than the first two because they were higher off the ground, and it was easier to tuck and roll after going through them. The final two were a different story. I would have to bounce just right and go through the ring at the correct angle and then flip my feet up as I descended. I’d then have to flip in the air or I’d break my neck on the landing, puffy landing pad or not.

  I was not so lucky. I didn’t bounce just right, and I didn’t go through the ring at just the right angle. My head hit the top of the ring, and I heard and felt the wig catch on fire. Pure momentum sent me the rest of the way through, my feet grabbing the bottom of the ring, stopping my upward flight and plunging me down. I tucked, hoping I wasn’t dead. I landed on my head and upper back and my legs crashed over my head.

  Amazingly, I wasn’t hurt, at least not by the fall. Once I bounced back up, I felt heat on my head. With my arms, I swatted at the fire that was melting my wig, trying to avoid burning my unprotected hands. I rolled on the pad, too, hoping to put out any other fires that may have started. I didn’t feel any more heat on my head and figured I’d extinguished the fire. That was close. My heart pounded hard against my ribs. I still had to do one more ring.

  I prayed as I bounced, trying to get a feel for the bounciness of this trampoline. I should have done the same thing on the last one, maybe then I’d still have my clown hair and not have burn welts on my feet. The pain seared through me as I jumped, but I persisted, pushing hard, then soft, feeling for the best bounce to take me to the right height.

  The countdown was already at five, and I still wasn’t completely satisfied I would be safe, but I’d run out of time. Besides, I wanted to take every second I could to give Division more time to arrive. Every time I bounced, I hit my arms into the tracker, making sure Jeremy knew how urgent this was. I kept the prayer in my heart and pushed off the trampoline at what I hoped was the right angle. The melted cap seemed to heat up as I soared through, but I didn’t hit the ring. I cried out as fire licked the burns on my ankles and feet, but I’d made it.

  I flew forward out of the ring, letting myself flatten out a bit before tucking and flipping slowly in the air before hitting the pad flat on my back. When I bounced back up, I rolled around, but was sure I hadn’t lit that time. It was as perfect a jump as I could muster.

  My guide led me back to the side of the tent to watch the others.

  Lunden was next, and fear gripped me. I kept praying and praying that everyone would make it. Where was Jeremy? I watched, terrified, as Lunden barely made it through each hoop. Then, on the second to last ring, his jump went askew and his body crashed into the side of the ring. His whole body lit up like a light bulb. I couldn’t stand to watch; I had to look away. I almost fainted from the smell. I grabbed Frankie’s hand, and we supported each other. What would they do with him? Was he alive? Several people came out and carried him away after swatting out the flames. Would he be fed to the lions? My whole body stiffened and I thought I would wretch, but somehow held it back thinking about Jeremy—I knew he’d come for me, for us. He’d get us out of here. I had to be strong and make it through, and do what I could to help the others.

  The Avengers were down one man. I had to support Frankie, whose knees gave out as soon as Lunden caught fire. Her body shook as she attempted to hold back the tears coursing down her cheeks. My chest heaved, and I concentrated hard not to give in to my panic. Frankie’s whole body was convulsing now. I couldn’t look at her, or I’d lose it even more. My training had not prepared me for this.

  Were we here for nothing more than the madman’s sick pleasure? Did the audience love this, too? Where was Jeremy?

  The rest of the crew made it through all the hoops, but no one came out unscathed. The amount and severity of the burns were the only differentiating factors. Everyone slumped a bit in line, so I tried to stand up straight to give my friends courage, and to show these crazy people they would not get the better of me. If it was my time to die, I wou
ld do it with my head held high. Once I straightened, it seemed Frankie, next to me, did too. Fire lit inside me now. I would make it through this. I would see this man punished.

  “Oh, shoot, there’s only seven of you left,” the com-mentator said. “We lost one. Never fear. We will continue without him to bigger and better things. Let’s tackle height, should we? A great clown is willing to go to unknown heights to be the best clown he can be. Let’s see how these clowns do with conquering the element of air as they walk.”

  Someone dropped a ladder rope from the ceiling, and another person ran over and fastened it to the floor. I followed the rungs with my eyes up to a small platform that looked just big enough for two people to stand on, if they stood very close together. There was a rope strung a good fifteen yards across the middle of the tent. It must have been thirty feet up. Another small platform hung at the opposite end and a wooden walkway jutted out from it, leading to a real ladder near that side of the tent.

  A bunch of people in black rolled in huge sections of tall fencing that curved inward at the top, and others moved the landing pads underneath the rope. What were they creating with the fencing? They hooked the fence sections together and then clicked the rollers on the bottoms of the fencing sections up, out of the way, making the fence stationary. They attached it to the floor with some fasteners. Bars lowered from the ceiling covering the area above the fence but leaving a section open near the tight rope so that a person could stand and fall without hitting the fencing.

  I heard a roar above me and looked up to the screens. A tiger chased a clown to the fence. As the clown climbed, the tiger ripped at his legs and then followed. The clown’s jumpsuit was ripped to shreds, and judging by the amount of blood dripping below the shreds, so were his legs. His screams pierced the air, and my whole body quaked as the tiger climbed up after him and pulled him to the ground. Some of the clowns did make it across the rope and even others made it through openings high up in the fence that were big enough for a human to climb through, but not a big tiger. Still, I wasn’t comforted.