by Craig Jones
“They’re on the walkways,” he cursed under his breath, and he let off a volley towards whoever it was creeping up on him. Green paint exploded all over their black uniform.
“And Sagittarius is out!” yelled Jordan to the crowd’s delight.
Jimmy jumped up and blasted a hail of fire towards the ceiling, hoping it would at least make the other members of Zodiak duck for a second. Not waiting to find out if it did, he vaulted over the first barrier and sprinted, jinking from side to side towards the next. Paint exploded all around his feet but nothing hit him directly. He slid, knees first, into the cover of the second blockade and took out several more targets, including ones that were now behind him. He glanced ahead. There was another defendable position just out of his reach.
“That’s where they think I’m going,” he said to himself, and for the second time let fly with shots upwards, towards where he thought Zodiak may be.
“Pisces and Libra are down!” Paul Jordan shrieked, his excitement getting the better of him.
Jimmy threw himself over the obstacle, but instead of running straight ahead he chose an angle off to his right. The area he would have run into became a work of modern art as a multitude of colors merged, and he sprinted, unscathed, to relative safety.
He paused, once again remembering Walsh’s words.
“Don’t blow this by rushing,” he exhaled, and took a few moments to pick off some more targets.
Advancing cautiously, desperately trying to block the crowd’s cheering from his mind, Jimmy relaxed and realized he was starting to enjoy himself. He kept an eye up high for the Zodiak snipers and double-checked from every safe position he took that he’d gotten each possible target. Only when he reached the final barrier did he look ahead to the finish line. It was no more than ten metres away, and above it the massive screen showed his time in huge red script:
TWO MINUTES, TWENTY-SEVEN SECONDS
Time to go!
Jimmy unleashed a final rapid blast of cover fire until his gun ran empty. He faked his final run two, three times. His gun was now useless so he tossed it aside and, with a yell, leapt the final barrier and ran as hard as he could for the line, swerving left and right all the way. Shots rained down on him and he felt something smash into his shoulder; blue paint splattered across the visor of his helmet.
He didn’t hesitate, but instead dived across the line, rolling over and over to absorb the impact.
“Jimmy Taurus completes the course in three minutes exactly,” Paul Jordan announced through the loudspeakers. “Ninety per cent of targets hit…and only shot once!”
The fans in the Dome erupted in a cacophony of screams and cheers. Jimmy’s name was being chanted around the vast arena as he pushed himself to his feet, pulling his safety helmet off. Jimmy absorbed the noise and let the helmet fall to the floor, his head spinning. He stood on the finish line and raised his fists to the crowd.
They sang his name long after he’d been taken back to his changing room.
27
Jimmy peeled off his shorts and t-shirt and dumped them on top of the body armor on his bed. He showered quickly and dressed again, wearing the green tracksuit with his name on the back as instructed by the event organizers. He spread himself across the floor and carried out a series of cool-down stretches as Brian had always taught him. The muted sound of the crowd above had a lulling, therapeutic effect on him, and he slowly fell asleep.
He woke to the sound of someone in the corridor outside shouting.
“All competitors to the main stage. All competitors to the main stage.”
Jimmy realized with a jolt that he must have slept right through just about everyone else’s attempt at ‘Bull’s Eye,’ and now it was time to find out who was going to go home. After all the preparation and anticipation, it was going to come down to this. Jimmy wondered if he’d been good enough. He thought about the crowd’s reaction and how positive it had been.
But they could have been like that for everyone, he thought blearily. How would I know? I was asleep.
He stepped out into the corridor and was ushered into line with the other would-be Zodiaks. Francois and Carl both had their heads bowed and didn’t make any effort to communicate with him, while Duane actually looked a little nervous as he smiled in Jimmy’s direction. Only Varsha seemed confident as they were marched back into the arena.
The crowd was more subdued this time as, one by one, the competitors were stood under the heat of a bright spotlight. Jimmy searched the crowd for his family and finally spotted Shane, leaping up and down and waving, right in the front row. Brian and Claire sat on either side of him. Both were trying —and failing—to reel in his overenthusiasm.
Jimmy looked along the line of competitors and realized that, while each of them were basically wearing the same green tracksuit, each was subtly different, just like the individual uniforms of Zodiak themselves. Jimmy’s jacket zipped right up the middle, Duane’s was a sweatshirt instead of a jacket. Varsha’s had a hood and no zipper, Carl’s was sleeveless, and Francois wore his with a high funnel collar. They were all unique, and yet the same.
That was the moment Paul Jordan stepped forward. His fake suntan glistened under lights of the Dome.
“Good evening, everybody,” he hollered. “And welcome to Results Night Live!”
Now the crowd lost their nervous inhibitions and erupted with noise.
“Tonight, five become four…” The arena fell silent. “In no particular order, the first three contestants through to the next round of ‘Becoming Zodiak’ are…”
Jordan paused, playing the crowd for every sound he could drag out of them, and the house lights dimmed, leaving just the five youngsters illuminated.
From the darkness, Jordan spoke.
“The first contestant through to the next round is…Duane Bullock!”
Duane raised a single index finger into the air as his fans began to shout his name. Paul Jordan ran up to him, shook him by the hand and then pointed for him to leave the stage. Duane, however, was not so eager to leave, and he began to milk the applause, high-fiving his fellow contestants until Jordan had to try to guide him off stage. Jimmy noticed that Duane was once again limping.
“The second contestant through to the next round is…Varsha Steer!”
Varsha was much more dignified in her celebrations, and after a wave to her mother, she ran from the arena and disappeared backstage.
“The third contestant through to the next round is…Carl Horn.”
Carl looked genuinely shocked, and when he came over to shake hands with Jimmy, he actually apologized. After he left the arena, the hush that fell over the place was more suitable for a morgue.
“That leaves us with Francois Bove and Jimmy Taurus,” Paul Jordan announced. “One of you is leaving ‘Becoming Zodiak’ tonight…and one of you won the first event, ‘Bull’s Eye,’ by scoring almost double your nearest rival’s points.”
Jimmy’s breath caught in his chest. He sought out Brian in the stands, who met his stare with a confident nod.
“And the person leaving ‘Becoming Zodiak’ tonight is…” Jordan paused for the longest time. The crowd did not move nor murmur. “Francois Bove!”
Jimmy was struck dumb, but upon hearing his name being chanted again, he lifted his two fists up just as he’d done when completing the challenge, even though he could hardly feel his arms. Members of Zodiak were streaming into the arena to wish Francois well, and as Jimmy tried to find a quiet way backstage, he walked straight into Leo.
“Well done, Jimmy,” she said, and kissed him on the cheek.
Wolf whistles echoed out around the Dome as the kiss was replayed on the massive monitors, and Jimmy turned to face his family, knowing that Shane would have loved that.
But Shane was not mocking him. Claire, Brian and his brother simply stood clapping, their faces full of pride. Jimmy pointed to indicate that he’d catch up with them in his room, and then he scampered out of the arena.
On the way, he passed William Walsh.
“I’m so proud of you,” Walsh said as he clapped Jimmy on the shoulder. “Now start believing in yourself, kid, just like I do.”
And Jimmy actually thought that now, yes, he could.
28
“Ouch.” Shane grimaced as they watched the WWW News highlights show of the first day of ‘Becoming Zodiak.’ Shane was on his fourth replay of Francois Bove getting hit by twenty, thirty paintballs right as the countdown to ‘Bull’s Eye’ hit zero. The young Frenchman finally jogged across to the first barrier but had clearly lost his nerve, and he hardly fired a shot before getting engulfed in another wave of fire.
“Oh man,” Jimmy said sadly. “Poor guy just froze. He was out of the competition before it even started.”
“Bad for him, good for you,” Shane said, rewinding the recording again. “Oh, bro, I’m never going to get sick of watching that.”
This time, they watched Francois’ efforts right through to the end, and Jimmy shook his head as Shane pointed at the screen, laughing while Francois stood at the finish line, dripping paint from every part of this body. The kid looked despondent, heartbroken, but at the same time he looked relieved. Like he was glad his plight was over.
“Doesn’t that remind you of anyone?” Jimmy asked and Shane shook his head. “How about you, the last time we went paintballing?”
“Yeah, but that wasn’t on international television.”
“Fair enough… So where have Brian and Claire gone?”
“Some fancy restaurant. Mister Walsh arranged it for them. Thought they might enjoy it, seeing as you were having a night off from training. Gone for a little ‘romance time,’ just the kind of thing you’d like to do with Leo!”
Jimmy groaned. “Will you quit it already? And even if I did like her, she’s three years older than me.”
“Three years? You sure? She said she was nearly thirteen when she joined Zodiak, and it’s been five years, so that makes her seventeen… So she’s only two years older.”
“Can we concentrate on the highlights show, please?”
Shane just smirked at him.
Duane’s footage was next. His approach to the obstacle course was an unsubtle one, and he had the fastest time over the course, but he was hit several times and was not wholly accurate with the gun.
In the commentary, Martin Bull, the former Taurus, was full of praise for Duane.
“This kid is fast, he’s tough. Heck, he reminds me of me!”
“Got to say, he’s powerful,” Shane said. “Kind of like the old Taurus.”
“You don’t say,” Jimmy muttered. “Just rewind that, will you?”
They watched it through again. Duane sprinted like he was heading for the end zone in an American football match, and leapt and dived with agility that his physique implied was not supposed to be there.
“Where’s that limp?” Jimmy asked.
“Uh?”
“After the fitness tests, and then when we walked out for the results, he was limping.”
Shane squinted at the footage. “Maybe it just hurts after exercise.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
Varsha Steer was next up, and both Jimmy and Shane were blown away by her flexibility and dexterity. She was slower than Jimmy and Duane, but her methodical approach from barrier to barrier made her next to impossible to hit.
“She’s like a ninja ballerina,” Shane said. “Man, those flick-flacks are ridiculous.”
She bounced, cartwheeled, and leapt through the air, shots ricocheting to her left and right but none making contact with her body. The only thing that hurt her was her lack of accuracy with the gun, and she crossed the line unscathed.
“How does the scoring work?” Shane asked without taking his eyes off the screen.
“You have the time it took to run the course, and then they take off time for every target we hit, and they add on time for each time one of Zodiak got us. Double time off for hitting one of Zodiak too.”
Carl Horn was the last to go, and he failed to impress either Jimmy or Shane. They both agreed that if Francois had simply gone for it, then it would have been Carl and not Bove on their way home.
“It looks like Duane is going to be your closest rival, bro,” Shane said.
“I don’t know. If he’s got an injury, how long will he hold up? I think I’d be stupid to underestimate Varsha.”
“But you’re feeling confident, right?”
“A little,” Jimmy said modestly. He shrugged. “But I got lucky today with the choice of weapon. The next challenge is probably going to be much harder.”
29
Out of a drawing of the four competitor’s names, Jimmy was drawn last; he would be the final contender in the second event, ‘Bull Run.’ He had trained well with Brian and Leo, focussing on his speed and balance—Brian had thought the title of the event may suggest some sort of assault course. Leo had not confirmed his guess, but she hadn’t denied it either.
In the bowels of the Dome, Jimmy sat alone and listened to the crowd, to their cheers, to their gasps and screams as the other three—Duane, Varsha and Carl—took their turns on whatever it was that waited for him up there. Jimmy felt confident. He felt strong. And he knew that after the reaction of the fans to him during and after ‘Bull’s Eye,’ he would get a rapturous reception from the tens of thousands of people who had come to watch.
His training had been interrupted only for a couple of one-on-one interviews hosted by Paul Jordan. Jimmy found almost everything about the man to be false. His skin was too tanned, almost orange. His teeth were too perfect; Jimmy would have loved to have reached over and given them a little tug to check whether they were dentures or not. The suit was too crisp, making even William Walsh’s wardrobe look overly casual. But when the interviews had started, nothing but professionalism oozed from Jordan.
“So what motivates you, Jimmy?” he’d asked.
“To be the best I can be, to work as hard as I can.”
“And to win?”
Words that Walsh had planted into his mind flowed from his lips. “If I am good enough, I’ll win. We’re all here on merit. We all have a chance to become the new Taurus, and whoever wins will have earned their place.”
William Walsh may have put the words in his head, but they had flourished there and Jimmy had taken them on board as his mantra.
If I am good enough, I’ll win.
Wearing knee-length green shorts and a tight green t-shirt with ‘Taurus’ written across the back, he stood and began some final stretches. He’d counted three massive cheers from the arena so far, and equated those to the arrival of each competitor. Whoever was taking part in ‘Bull Run’ third was already up there, and the chants and shouts had yet to peak, so Jimmy knew he had at least a few minutes for a bit of extra fine-tuning.
A quick tap-tap on the door stopped him, and William Walsh stepped into his room, looking a little flustered.
“I’m sorry to barge in, Jimmy, but I don’t have much time,” he panted, his hair and tie askew. “We’ve had thousands of people turn up without tickets and it’s pandemonium outside, but I wanted to see you before you went on.”
Jimmy and glanced over Walsh’s flustered frame. “Wow, are you okay? Do you want some water?”
“I’m fine, my boy, fine,” Walsh said as he regained his composure. “Listen to me: tonight, you must think like Zodiak. You must think like Zodiak and listen very carefully to the instructions. Am I clear?”
“I—I think so,” Jimmy stammered.
“Then good luck,” Walsh said, and then he was gone.
Jimmy was called out less than a minute later and taken to the metal doors, where he was met by the same man in overalls.
“No red circle today, Jimmy,” he said pleasantly. “You’ll see the gate, walk up to it, wave at the crowd if you like, and then listen to Paul Jordan’s instructions. Go for it, kid.”
Jimmy relaxed. Walsh’s interruption, for all its good intenti
ons, had thrown him off a little bit, but the kind words from the man in overalls put him at ease.
“Please welcome,” boomed Paul Jordan’s voice from behind the thick door, “Jimmy Taurus!”
The doors slid apart and Jimmy jogged into the arena. The crowd was louder, brighter and brasher than during ‘Bull’s Eye,’ but Jimmy was better prepared for it this second time around. He noticed that people now held up banners with his name painted across them, and some people even held huge pictures of his smiling face. Jimmy saw the gate, a big white archway with ‘Start’ displayed upon it in big red letters. He looked forward and noticed that Brian had been right: an awkwardly complex assault course awaited him. He moved to the starting position and, remembering what the man in overalls had said to him, raised both fists into the air in what was becoming a sort of signature move of his.
The roof almost came off the Dome.
Drenched in the overwhelming noise, Jimmy looked down the course and attempted to track the path he would have to take. It began with a sprint to a cargo net that reached almost a third of the way up the Dome, and from that there was a narrow walkway that changed direction every few metres until it reached a fireman’s pole, which he guessed he would have to slide down. Once back on the arena floor, there were several hurdles to contend with, some that needed to be jumped over and others that could be slid under. Then an inclined treadmill, at least twenty metres long, would take Jimmy up to another level, where he would cross a water hazard on monkey bars before making a final ascent up a straight rope.
Once at the top of the rope, a zip wire would bring Jimmy back towards the finish line, or rather the finish archway, that stood just to his left, a couple of metres away—the start and finish runways were separated by shallow water.
