I don’t reply. I don’t even look at him. Tucking the blade back into my boot, I slump to the floor, fold myself up into a tight ball, and hold back my sobs.
***
The cells are quiet. The only light shines from beyond the stairs; a single strip light that blinks sporadically.
Bo sleeps curled in the foetal position, and Cooper lies flat on his back with one arm under his head as a pillow and the other across his chest. They both snore lightly. I envy them. I daren’t close my eyes and leave myself vulnerable again. My attackers haven’t returned, but that doesn’t mean they won’t.
Someone turns over in the other cell, their boots banging the metal bars. I jump, sliding my hand into my own boot. Feeling the blade in my hand is of little comfort.
“Have you been to sleep?”
I jump again at Cooper’s voice. He hasn’t moved, but his head is tilted in my direction.
“I’m safer awake,” I whisper.
“How about I stay awake for a bit?” He pushes himself up to sitting.
Is Cooper being kind to me?
“I won’t be able to sleep regardless, but I could use the company.”
“I ain’t much company.”
“Oh, I don’t know, you can be a half decent human being when you want to be,” I say. “About before, I know you couldn’t have done anything. I was just shaken up.”
A fight breaks out in one of the other cells; the dull thud of head on concrete echoes around me, followed by a gargling sound. I know what that sound means, and I close my eyes against my own vivid imagination. When I open them again, Cooper is watching me.
About five Taggers swarm toward the far cell.
“They can’t wait to start killing each other,” laughs one Tagger.
“You laugh, but we’re going to need to find more for the fights if this keeps up. Did you know the other fight houses are full to bursting? That’s even after they’ve delivered the kids. You think they’d send a couple our way,” adds another, whilst dragging the lifeless body of a middle aged man passed our cell.
His skull is caved in, and his eyes that are wide and dull, have a strange red film over them. A single, bloody tear escapes and trickles down his cheek.
Cooper steps up to the bars beside me. “It doesn’t take much to turn people into murderers, eh?”
“We should know.”
“Don’t get all deep on me,” he says, scrunching his nose. At least he isn’t scowling.
I rest my forehead against the bars and cry. I don’t care anymore. What does crying matter in the scheme of things? An arm wraps around me, and I turn my face into Cooper’s hot shoulder.
“I’m going to count to ten, and you’re going to stop crying and get your head back in the game.” He counts, and I wipe my face in my sleeve, taking a few deep, gulping breaths. Cooper moves away, his display of affection clearly done.
“I want to be more like you. I want to not care.”
“Nah, you don’t. You’re good as you are.”
“How do you do it, though? How do you desensitise yourself?”
“I distance myself. Fabian was the last genuine mate I had. He knew my history. I know I can be an asshole, you think I don’t, but I do. You remind me enough.”
“Yeah, you have your moments, but I can’t figure you out. There is something that keeps you helping me- at the beach, at the detention centre.”
“Six years ago, my sister, Leah, died of a heroin overdose. I’ve always felt responsible. There, now you know the story of what screwed up Cooper.”
I try to mask my shock at Cooper finally opening up to someone and that someone being me. “How old was she?”
He shifts uncomfortably. “Nineteen.”
Bingo. I get it now.
“Why do you feel responsible?”
“Because she was my twin and I should have done more. Our old man was a drunk and used to beat on us regular. As we got older, I shouldered the worst of it. Living with that waste of oxygen, and then me going to prison for three months took its toll on her, and when I got out she was already using. I left her with him and she never did fully forgive me for that.” He hangs his head in shame.
“When I got out, I took her away. I started making money, got a flat, but she was proper messed up and hanging out with dealers and crack heads. One night, I found her unconscious on the bathroom floor with a needle hanging out of her arm. I took her supply, she went crazy, and we had a huge bust up. The next morning, I went to wake her before I went to work and she was dead. She had hidden a stash from me in a glasses case.”
“I’m so sorry, Cooper.”
“Yeah, me too.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Cooper pees into the bucket. He stands with his back to me and his legs spread. The man pees like an elephant. He shakes and tucks himself in. I’m desperate to go, and although Boss said we could use the toilet stall, I won’t purposely put myself in a confined space with a Tagger.
“Look away because I need to go,” I say to him.
He turns sideways, picking at a scab on his knuckles. Bo lies on the floor with her cardigan over her face.
I pull down my trousers and pants to squat over the bucket. I can perch on it comfortably, although my pee tinkles off the plastic.
“They said you can use the toilet,” he says, keeping his eyes on his hands.
“Do you think I’m stupid? I’m not having one of those guys escort me into a small space and wait for me to save them the job of taking my knickers down.”
“But you’re happy to take them down for me?”
I sit back down. “Happy is a strong word,” I say.
Footsteps draw our attention to the stairs. Bo shoots to her feet, standing firmly with a look of aggression on her face. Goatee and Sweaty, or Armpits as he is now known, come down with the two Taggers who moved the dead guy last night. Instinctively, I bring my knees up to my chest and slide my hand into my boot.
“Don’t draw attention to it,” Cooper whispers from across the cage, shaking his head seriously. He stands and positions himself between me and the bars, making himself look as big as possible.
Armpits has two black eyes and a nose that looks like he is trying to sniff his ear. He stops outside the cage and sneers at me before turning to Cooper. “Ugly, you’re fighting tonight,” he says to Cooper.
Cooper scoffs. “Ugly? That’s rich coming from you.”
Armpits ignores him. “And you’re up after,” he says to me.
“Who am I fighting?”
The Tagger from last night looks to the blood smear on the floor. “It was supposed to be the guy who got himself killed last night, so now it’s the guy who killed that guy. I bet he’s regretting it now, eh?”
They walk away laughing. A cold sweat graces my skin, and I’m suddenly very protective of Cooper. I stand shoulder to shoulder with him and take his hand. There isn’t anything between us in that way, but he has importance to me now.
He squeezes my hand in reply. “I can’t help you win your fight, but in case I don’t come back tonight, I’m going to teach you how to protect yourself from those guys,” he says.
He lunges at me. I spring away, clattering into the bars.
“So, that’s your lead foot,” he says, tapping my left leg with his boot. “Your back foot is your power foot. Stay on the ball of that back foot. Now, get your hands up.” I tilt my head in confusion. “Let me do this for you and it’ll take my mind off of things.”
I do as I’m told, clenching my fists and holding them up to my face.
“If you throw a punch like that you’ll break your thumbs. Get them on the outside and curl them under.”
I readjust my fists just as he says. Bo takes a seat at the edge of the cell, making the most of the entertainment. She seems sad that she isn’t fighting tonight, or it could be the possibility of being left behind with no one if Cooper and I die.
Grabbing my right wrist, he positions it at my cheek level, and then moves
my left fist forward slightly. “Keep your elbows down and in, and lower your chin. This is the stance you want to be in to deliver most power in a swing. Don’t square your body to me; it leaves your gut open.” He squeezes my left fist. “This is your jab hand and your right hand is your power hand. If you’re hitting with one, you need to defend with the other. Come on, jab at me,” he says, tapping at his chest.
I throw my left hand against his chest, but he just laughs.
“That was shit,” Bo says, chuckling. “Tilt your wrist down slightly, so you impact with the flat of your first two fingers. You’ll notice the difference.”
I try again, this time feeling more power as my fist hits into him, but Cooper swats me around the face with the flat of his hand. I stagger away, holding my face.
“Oh, did I hurt you?” he asks, sarcastically. “That was better, but you dropped your right hand. Do it again, but this time remember to keep your hand up.”
I shake the ache out of my head, and get back into position again. I jab at him again, keeping my right hand in position. And again he hits me; this time in the stomach. I know he’s not using his full strength, but it’s enough to knock the wind out of me.
“What did I say about not squaring up to me?” he snaps.
I don’t reply. I just nod, and position myself for the third time.
“If you’re squaring up you’re not using your hips properly, and if you’re not using your hips properly you won’t get maximum power in your swing and I can crack you in the guts. Okay, let’s try a basic one- two, a jab- cross.”
“So, I jab with this hand, and then cross with this one?” I ask.
He smiles and nods. “If you remember your stance and to keep your chin down you’ll throw a true punch. Try again. Not so hard with the jab, but let me feel the cross. One- two, remember- nice and quick.”
This time I nail it. Cooper rubs his chest where my cross caught him with a satisfying thud.
“Nice one. You’re enjoying this, ain’t you?”
I shrug. “It’s nice to not feel useless.”
“Can I have a go? I’d really really enjoy it,” Bo says. Cooper flips her the bird.
“It is fun now, but you need to remember everything I’ve taught you when the time comes. You panic and panicking won’t help you. Don’t let fear affect your skill. I know a head blow seems like the most effective, but heads are made of bone and bone is hard. You’ll end up hurting yourself more than them. You’d do better to swing for the chest and ribs, and if you aim at the throat they’ll instinctively lower their heads and leave their chins exposed. If you get knocked down make sure to aim for the groin or the inner thighs. First, take them by surprise, and then, and only then, use your blade.”
“He’s right,” Bo adds.
I’m impressed by him. “Where did you learn this?” I ask.
“I used to box as a kid,” he says, shoving my hands back into position. “I had to protect myself.”
“From your Dad?” I adopt the correct stance.
“Yeah, from the old man. Now, I’m a cage fighter. There’s good money in it, and what can I say? I enjoy hitting stuff.”
I smile and he staggers backward, gripping at his chest.
“Bloody hell, your face didn’t crack. Are you ready to go again?”
I flex my fists and take a deep, composing breath.
***
I drop to the floor exhausted and sip greedily at my half bottle of water. Bo quickly grew bored of our sparring and took to the corner to sleep. Cooper kept pushing me, adamant that I’d be a pro by the time we’d finish. He has winded me three times and belted me around the head more times than I can remember. My cheeks burn from his handprints, but I feel more positive than before.
Sweat pours from me. I remove my ripped sweater, so I’m left in the sweat stained t-shirt I borrowed from him at headquarters. He eyes the scar on my arm.
“In my line of work with the E.N.C you’d have thought I’d have taken at least one bullet, but no, I’ve never been shot.”
I scoff at him. “Lucky you.”
“A bullet scar would do wonders for my rep,” he says with a little more sincerity than I’d like. “I got stabbed though. Right here,” he says, pointing to the stretch of skin between his neck and shoulder. A small, white scar lines his back. “The guy went bat shit. How was I supposed to know she was married?” He nudges me with an elbow.
I laugh out loud this time, and he joins in.
“Look at us two. You could be mistaken in thinking we’re friends,” he says, still laughing.
“I am your friend, Coop.”
Armpits makes his way down the stairs with a black bag. My stomach lurches into my throat, but I won’t panic. Cooper reckons I can at least catch them off guard enough to use my blade on them. If Armpits is solo, I know I can.
He reaches inside the bag and tosses soft apples into the cell. Cooper catches his and Bo’s, but mine hits me in the side of my head. Armpits laughs at me, giving me a twisted look before heading to the other cells.
I take a bite of the over- ripe apple. The inside is grainy and holds little juice. “I’m going to kill him first,” I say to Cooper.
He takes a huge bite. “Not if I get there first. Just remember what I taught you if that slimy bastard comes for you tonight. I wish I could see his face when you kick his ass,” he says through a mouthful of apple.
“Stop talking like you’re not coming back. Promise me something, promise me that right before your fight you’ll tell yourself that you’re not ready die.’
Cooper launches his core out of the cage. “I’m not ready to die,” he says, quietly.
I nod. “Okay, now tell yourself that you don’t deserve to die.”
He scratches at his beard and shakes his head.
“You don’t deserve to die, Cooper.”
***
Plaster falls from the ceiling as feet thunder above us. The rumble of hundreds of mouths chattering, laughing, and generally having too good of a time, seeps through to us in cells. It’s sick considering they have come to witness a murder.
All I can do is pace from one side of the cell to the other, chewing my nails down to the quick. Bo watches me from my spot on the floor.
“Stop eyeballing me and talk to me, distract me,” I say, wringing my hands together.
“Sit down for a start,” she says, tapping the floor beside her.
“What do you know about the fights?” Cooper asks her.
I’m not one hundred percent sure that I want to know what I’m about to endure, but maybe we can use the information to our advantage. It’s better to know than to imagine I suppose.
“From what my guys found out, they parade us around the cage like total dicks before they fight us; creating atmosphere or some crap.”
“They fight us in a cage?” I ask.
“That’s what they call it. Have you ever watched that game show, The Cube? Well, it’s like a massive cube. Some reinforced, bullet proof, plastic stuff. Even fire doesn’t leave a smudge.”
Bile rises in my throat and I swallow back the vile taste. “Okay, I think I got it- bunch of assholes- I’m in a cube- I’m going to die.”
“You’re not going to die,” Cooper spits through his teeth. He gets to his feet and picks up the pacing where I left off.
Light floods into the cells from the top of the stairwell. A rowdy noise accompanies it, and my skin goose pimples. I stand at the bars, gripping the cool metal until my knuckles turn white. Armpits and Goatee descend, dressed in the same black suits and ties. Both wear headsets and carry what appear to be grabbing sticks- the kind old people use to pick up items from the floor. They grin as they saunter passed.
I’m barely breathing. I turn into Cooper and hug him. He stands rigid, second guessing whether to push me away or not. I don’t care. I bury my face into his grimy vest and cling on for dear life.
“Remember what I said. When you get into that cage, tell yourself that you’re no
t ready to die and mean it,” I say.
Cooper lets go of my arms and stands elbow to elbow with me at the bars. “You’re going to survive, Teds, and when you do, make sure you kill those bastards. Remember everything I have taught you.” He’s changing the subject; I know he’s thinking about Leah.
“Coop, you need to stop blaming yourself for Leah’s death. She was sick, and I know that when someone is in that situation the only person who can help them is them. You did what you could. You were a good brother.”
He snorts, avoiding my eye contact. “How’d you work that one out?”
“If I had a big brother I would have wanted him to be just like you.”
Words fail him. For the first time since I met him I see Cooper tear up. He lifts me off my feet, returning my hug from before.
Armpits walks toward our cell, dragging two men behind him. The things I thought were grabbers are actually some kind of leads. They are clipped to the collars on their necks, and the men choke against the force on their throats. I wasn’t expecting such weedy, broken shells of men. One of them smashed someone’s head in with his bare hands, but I couldn’t tell you who. Neither looks physically or emotionally capable.
Goatee steps into the cell with his gun poised and two leads of his own.
“You didn’t say I was fighting the woman,” one of the men says. “I can’t fight a woman.”
Goatee holds his gun in my face as he unlocks the cell. “This one can hold her own. She’s a Telekin like you,” he says, attaching the lead to my collar.
I share a tentative look with Cooper, possibly the last we will share, and Goatee clicks his lead into place. He yanks on the rods, causing Cooper to stumble. I grab his elbow before he hits the floor, and in one swift blow, I’m smacked in the face with the gun.
Armpits sniggers as I fall back against the bars, my cheek splitting from the impact. Cooper lunges for Goatee, but a gun is wedged under his chin.
“Watch yourself, Pyrokin,” Goatee sneers. “You’ll still have to fight the Energy Aura… even without knee caps.”
EVO Shift: EVO Nation Series: Book Two Page 13
