by Archer Swift
Chapter 6
The combined groan from the others was lost in the hysterical outburst of Shawz’s laughter, again confirming my suspicion. Cartyr’s crazy cackle completed the comic sideshow.
It looked like Gellica tried to protest, but no words escaped her lips. Judd shook his head; he also couldn’t find his words. This time he didn’t look my way.
The fear and confusion written over the faces of those around me meant it was pretty obvious what I needed to do. Even though I knew the consequences I would no doubt face. My first penalty points, or as we referred to them: dark points. At least, four. When you’ve incurred ten dark points, you’re banished from the clans, sentenced to the Forbidden Region. Forever.
I looked at every person around the circle, doing my best to reassure them. “Fine,” I said, without even acknowledging Ruzzell. “The most important thing is that we actually make it to the Gathering tomorrow. We need to rest tonight and stick together. Tomorrow, I’m happy with the story he wants you to tell. I’ll defend myself—”
“Bravo!” Ruzzell chuckled caustically, and when Satoru Yun and Brucie Choong joined Shawz and Cartyr in the sarcastic applause, his little band of followers was becoming more distinguishable.
While Ruzzell used the platform to continue mouthing off his veiled threats, I knew I’d done enough to put everyone else at ease. We just needed to survive another night, get to the Gathering of the Clans alive and see what a new day had in store for us.
One day at a time.
We spent our afternoons on various activities: washing or mending clothes, doing projects assigned to our clan by the Mzees, practicing archery and other survival skills, and engaging in a regular, no-holds-barred game of football. Or soccer as Ruzzell called it. Victor had taught us to weave a ball out of dried-out river reeds.
A troubled-looking Judd volunteered to keep watch—we always had one person keep an eye out for danger—which meant it was an even five-on-five contest. The Untouchables—Nadalie, Shawz, Jordin, Dixan and I—versus the All-Stars—poor Gellica was teamed up with rogue Ruzzell, neurotic Brucie, crackpot Cartyr and tetchy Satoru. The girls could hold their own, and even though the Untouchables were a little on the light side, Dixan was the best footballer by some distance, and Shawz was a fantastic goalkeeper. I wasn’t a bad player myself, and even with my battered face, I was determined to help keep our winning streak going.
After a game that more resembled a battle zone than a friendly kick-around—the earlier tensions fuelling the game with more than a few x-rated tackles and bone-jarring body checks—the score was tied at four goals each. We all agreed: last goal wins it.
After Shawz easily collected a rather tame goal-bound shot from Ruzzell, the oversized doofus shoulder-charged our goalie. Shawz went sprawling, but still held on to the ball. Frustrated, Ruzzell kicked at him hard, splitting his lip. When Shawz spilled the ball, blood streaming from his mouth—and we’d all frozen in shock—Ruzzell gleefully kicked the loose ball between the goal posts and went ballistic. “Goal! We win it! All-Stars 5, Losers 4!”
He ran around doing a victory lap, hollering like an alpha-male Wolf in mating season. Brucie and Satoru joined in the exaggerated celebration; Cartyr climbed the nearest tree and started howling at a moonless sky. I couldn’t stop the grin creeping onto my face. The dude has mud for brains. Cartyr had no left earlobe—bitten off five moons ago by a Hog, when he tried to skin it alive. Yes, alive. Why? Because Ruzzell dared him to. (And because the poor guy had a lazy left eye that went AWOL whenever he was nervous or self-conscious, Cartyr was a veritable sore sight on the eyes.)
Gellica shook her head and with Nadalie, scooted off.
I walked over to Shawz, who remained on the floor with his head down. Blood dribbled into the dirt as his bottom lip quavered. Seeing his wet-shiny eyes, I offered him my hand.
He refused. “Y-y-you’re making me look weak.”
“I’m making you look weak? Come on, let me help you up.”
“Don’t you get it?” He spat out a mouthful of blood and rubbed his pockmarked face. “I don’t need your help.”
“Shawz buddy, we’re a clan, a family. We all need each other.”
“A family?” His voice squeaked, the emotion playing havoc with his recently broken resonance. Clearing his throat, he tried to deepen his tone. “Do you really think we’re a family?”
“Suppose you’re right,” I said annoyed. “We were once a family. Are you going to take my hand, or not?”
He looked at me, and for an instant his face softened and I thought he might just accept my offer. Ruzzell drew near and the moment was gone.
“Get up, loser.” Ruzzell feigned kicking Shawz again. “Are you sulking?”
Shawz leapt to his feet, tonguing his broken lip. “No way, dude! You kidding?”
Irritated, I turned and walked away as I heard Ruzzell start to give him a patronising pep talk about toughening up.
