by Devon Hughes
But after a couple of seconds of dangling in the eagle-dog’s sure grip, Marcus stopped worrying so much about dying and started freaking out about the fact that he was flying. Yeah, it was the most terrifying thing he’d ever experienced, but it was also thrilling and amazing. He could see everything from up here—the entire bowl of the stadium, the stands full of people going nuts, a holographic picture of the Unnaturals banner and the light post just beyond it, where Leesa and Antonio watched the games. And he could see the mutants fighting on the field.
They were all charging against the Invincible.
The Enforcer gripped the base of the scorpion tail in a powerful, tentacled fist. The Invincible might’ve found the strength to sting, if the bull wasn’t butting his head with crushing force. In front of him, the rabbit-panther was feinting left and right with amazing speed, keeping the champion distracted.
Then, suddenly, all of the mutant animals—including the one that held them in his clutches a hundred feet in the air—started convulsing. Their collars were shocking them! The Underdog lurched left and then right, and Marcus saw the lights blur and the walls whirl. Marcus thought they might smash into the ground, but then the eagle-dog’s flying leveled.
Glancing down, Marcus could see Pete waving and holding something—the Swift’s collar! He’d cut the shock electricity to the collars. Joni was down there with him, and she was quickly pulling off the other mutants’ collars.
Marcus reached up behind him, his fingers searching the fur around the eagle-dog’s head. He found the collar and unbuckled it, and the Underdog immediately barked his gratitude. Then he bent forward and licked the side of Marcus’s face in a slobbery, wet kiss.
“Finally free,” he heard Leesa’s voice say over the wind. He looked to where she was dangling beside him, and saw her holding a small collar in her fist as well. Tears leaked down her face, but Marcus was relieved to see that his friend was smiling. “I hope wherever Pookie is, he’s feeling this free.”
50
NOW THAT HE’D SAVED THE KIDS, CASTOR KNEW IT WAS time to join his friends.
He didn’t want to leave the children in the stands because without the matchmaker to maintain order, it was absolute chaos, with panicked people pushing and shoving, desperate to get away from the freed mutants. He knew Marcus and Leesa would be safe with Pete, though, so when he spotted the medic waving from the side of the arena far away from the showdown with Laringo, Castor swooped down low and unclenched his talons, dropping them lightly at his feet. Then he circled back around the Dome, zooming toward his pack.
“What’s going on?” Castor asked. Laringo had escaped the group attack when the shocks went off. Now, he was prowling in front of Castor’s friends, and the animals seemed oddly hypnotized.
“I can’t stop.” Laringo’s voice was soft as he addressed the survivors—almost a purr. “I told you, just like I told Pookie. But you wouldn’t listen.” He started to circle, and Castor could sense Jazlyn trembling beside him.
He didn’t blame her. For a mutant who was so strictly trained, the Invincible felt like the electric collar at your throat—you were never sure when it was going to go off or how devastating it would be. Castor realized that Laringo’s collar didn’t work any more than his did now.
“You’re as free as any of us,” Castor tried to reason one last time, keeping his eyes locked on Laringo’s. He gestured his head toward the door. “So you can stop if you want to.”
Castor heard the angry rush of air from Moss’s nostrils. It was clear the bull didn’t like the idea of Laringo leaving with them very much at all.
Neither did Laringo.
“Us?” The big white cat started to stalk back and forth in front of them, his scorpion’s stinger hanging idly at the air. “There is no us. There is only Master.”
Couldn’t he understand that there didn’t have to be a master, either?
“You’ve killed enough,” Moss said, grinding his square teeth as he listed their names. “Firan . . . Buzzle . . . Pookie . . .” Beside Castor, the bull began to weep.
His eyes dilated, the pale blue turned to black, and Laringo’s translucent tail started to curl forward over his back. “No,” Laringo insisted. He cocked his head, as if listening to someone whispering. “Master’s displeased,” he said, and any emotional connection the tiger had once had seemed to have completely vanished from his soul. “I’ve still got to kill all of you.”
As outnumbered as Laringo was, his detached words could still strike terror in the other animals’ hearts, and Castor’s teammates tensed, nervous about who that scorpion’s tail might lunge at next.
Enza didn’t give him half a chance. The injured grizzly lived up to her namesake and told Laringo in a truly fearless growl, “You’re not going to get the chance to kill anyone, you sorry excuse for a feline. Not ever again.”
But instead of lunging at her nemesis, Enza turned sharply to the right and slammed her broken, bruised, but still powerful body into the light post. All of the pole battering she’d done during training in the Pit must’ve paid off, because the hit was so hard the clang of cracking metal shuddered around the stadium.
“Do it,” Laringo challenged.
Now it was Samken’s turn. The Enforcer thundered forward and smashed his broad, hard head into the pole.
This time, the post swayed dangerously, but then it came to a stop.
“I’m protected, you see? Invincible.”
The words sounded desperate and Castor was bewildered, remembering how Laringo had begged him to end his life.
“No one’s invincible,” Moss said. “Not even you.” The zebra-bull gave the post a swift hind kick, and finally, the blow was just enough to wrench the light pole from its foundation.
“No!” a woman’s voice thundered through the loudspeaker as the light post began to tip. “My champion!”
Castor and his friends were scrambling out of the way, but Laringo wasn’t even looking at the falling pole. The scorpion-tiger stared up at the box seats, and Castor recognized the woman he’d seen at every match—the woman with hair the color of blood, standing out like a lion’s mane around her head.
It was her voice that was calling to Laringo. And now it was Laringo who was hypnotized.
“Master,” the scorpion-tiger purred serenely, and then Castor shut his eyes against the awful crunch of metal as the light pole fell.
Castor felt vibrations from the impact traveling up through his feet, but when he opened his eyes, he saw it had just missed him.
Laringo hadn’t been so lucky. The post lay right where he’d been standing, and all that was left of the big cat was the tip of his spiked tail, peeking out from underneath the metal. Castor swore he saw a twitch, but he wasn’t going to stick around to find out.
Fans were screaming and stampeding toward the exit, and Horace was now at the Hurt Door with two dark-haired, scowling teen boys. For a second, Castor was too overwhelmed to move.
Had he lost his chance?
But then he noticed the massive crater of a hole in the floor where the post had snapped off its foundation.
An exit.
He locked eyes with Enza. “The next time you see an open door . . . ,” he said, and his friend nodded warily.
“In there,” Castor instructed his teammates. “Quick!”
The darkness made Samken nervous. “But we have no idea what’s down there,” he protested, his front tiptoes teetering on the edge as he peered down into the darkness. “It could lead anywhere.”
“I guess we’ll find out together, Sammy,” Jazlyn said. “No time like the present.” She bounded forward and pushed the big gray rump, and together they tumbled into the abyss.
“Get them!” the red-haired woman snarled over the speakers.
“Get, get, get!” Perry echoed, circling around again and buzzing near their heads like an annoying fly. “Alert, alert, alert!”
Castor saw Whistlers like Slim and blue-coated Bruce making their way through
the tide of people. On the other side, he knew Horace and his two muscled boys would reach them soon. It was time to go.
“Your turn,” Castor told Enza, but the grizzly’s clunky cast got stuck on the way down. “Hurry,” Castor barked.
Finally, she managed to squeeze through, and Castor turned to wave Moss after her. But the veteran wasn’t behind him. He saw him across the stadium, letting the kids climb onto his back.
“What are you doing?” Castor yipped as the bull galloped by. “You have to come with us!”
But Moss was adamant. “For so long I did nothing.” He said with a shake of his horns. “Now I need to do this. I need to protect them. For Pookie.”
Castor couldn’t argue with honor. He reached up his snout to lick the children’s hands, but there wasn’t much time for good-byes—in the next instant, an army of handlers and blue-coated Whistlers arrived.
“GO!” Moss told Castor as he reared up on his hind legs to protect the kids on his back. Then he looked at the enemies around him, lowered his head, and before a single person could reach for a gold whistle, he charged.
Now that’s brave, Castor thought. As the panicked Whistlers scattered and the stands emptied out, he nodded a thanks to his valiant friend. Then Castor, the Unnatural bird-dog, turned, barked, and jumped toward his freedom.
EPILOGUE
Your paws pound the cracked pavement. With each breath, you pull short sips of recycled air into your lungs. Your shoulder muscles keep rhythm as your legs shoot out in front of you. Again. Again. Faster. Don’t stop.
Around you, others echo your progress. Paws, claws, hooves.
No footsteps, though: no men. Not yet.
There is no alpha in this pack. You each take a turn to follow and to lead. You draft behind your friend when you are tired. You stop to help one another up when you fall. And when all seems lost, you work together to find the path again. In this pack, all are equal, all are family. All are free.
Together, you run through an unfamiliar new city. Up above, you know the mirrored blocks the men made are rising high into the clouds, but down here, ceiling replaces sky, and light panels replace sun. Otherwise, this underground city is not much different from where you began. You still recognize the sound of a bone machine, and the smell of a rotten river, but you are not afraid. You can read people’s signs and pack lines alike. You know how to find food and where to find shelter in alleyways. You know how to stay alive.
And, with your collar off, you are more alive than you’ve ever been. You don’t know what risks lie ahead or what troubles you may face. You don’t know the secrets of the green forest, but you don’t care. For now, what you know is freedom.
Your tail wags behind you. Your tongue flops against your smiling jaws, trailing spit in the wind. You inhale the rank stench of garbage in the street, and delight in the scratchy film of pollution at the back of your throat. You love all of it, because it cannot be contained or put in a cage.
You pause to lift up your voice in song, to call to your brothers, wherever they are, and tell them your story. Once, you thought you’d come home to them, but now you know you can never go back. You know something else is out there, a place without the hard street lines or the men’s hard rules, a place with a lot more green.
Together, you and your team push forward, a blur of feathers and horns, hopes and fears. You keep searching for the route that will lead you to the other side of the river, to the wild forest that you remember from dreams, sprawling and untamed.
Only this time, it won’t be a dream. Around the next corner, or the next, you know you’ll see it, plain as the fur on your faces.
It’s there.
It’s real.
It’s waiting for you.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
FOR STARTERS, THANK YOU, EVERYONE AT KATHERINE Tegen Books, for all of your hard work carrying this project from pitch to finished book. I especially want to thank my talented editors, Claudia Gabel, from whose brain Castor flew, winged and wonderful, and Melissa Miller, who made him soar. I owe you both so much for your sustained faith, which amazes me still. Your grace and good humor saved this book, and likely my writing career with it. And Alex Arnold, who I’m sure worked some Pookie-esque behind-the-scenes magic, know that I appreciate it! I couldn’t ask for a better publishing team.
To “Ms. Soup,” without whom I never would’ve started writing in the first place, and Andrea Spooner, without whom I never would’ve come back to it, I owe a whole lot.
To James Patterson, a living legend: thanks for giving a newbie like me a shot. You taught me so much about storytelling and work ethic, and I’ll be forever grateful. Still working on cutting out some of those poetic flourishes, but hey, it’s a process!
Siobhan, Kate, and Connie, thank you for your endless encouragement and advocacy. You’re the women I aspire to be.
Thanks to my parents and sisters for the steady stream of love, particularly in the form of messages on “group channel” that make me laugh until my stomach aches.
Many thanks to my bluetick pup, the Hellhound, Bertie. With bounding excitement, aggressive affection, a cocked head or a whipping tail, raised hackles or yogic stretches, and various yips, barks, snarls, and howls, you helped me bring Castor and his pack to life. You’ve also been a champion snuggler during all those hours I’ve spent at the computer, trying to get this story just right. How about I forgive the shredded window screens and gutted couch, and we’ll call it even?
And finally, most of all, to my husband, Adlai: thank you for putting up with this writing life. For making me another coffee and cooking me another meal during all those late nights and early mornings. For taking the dog out or going to the event alone when I was on a roll and needed to write just one more paragraph. For the bottles of cheap bubbly to mark each milestone, no matter how small. For every expression of support and declaration of love. Without you, I’d never make it to the last page.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo by Eric Acquaye
DEVON HUGHES is the author of the Unnaturals series. She has always been inspired by the frontiers of nature and science and enjoys imagining how our ever-changing relationship with animals will look in the future. Like some of her characters, Devon lives in a city next to a river, with a view of distant trees that always seem to beckon her to another adventure. Though Devon did grow up with a beloved pet named Pookie, she is actually terrified of spiders.
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CREDITS
Cover art © 2015 by Owen Richardson
Series logo © 2015 by Nate Piekos
Cover design by Tom Forget
COPYRIGHT
Katherine Tegen Books is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
UNNATURALS: THE BATTLE BEGINS. Text copyright © 2015 by HarperCollins Publishers. Cover and interior artwork © 2014 by Owen Richardson. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
www.harpercollinschildrens.com
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Hughes, Devon.
The battle begins / Devon Hughes. —First edition.
pages cm
Summary: “When Castor the street dog is captured, he learns there is a nefarious underground fighting ring in Lion’s Head where animals are injected with DNA-changing serums, transformed into dangerous hybrids, and forced to battle one another to survive”—Provided by publisher.
ISBN 978-0-06-225754-3 (hardcover)
EPub
Edition © September 2015 ISBN 9780062257567
[1. Dogs—Fiction. 2. Genetic engineering—Fiction. 3. Dogfighting—Fiction. 4. Science fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.1.H82Bat 2015 2014041257
[Fic]—dc23 CIP
AC
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15 16 17 18 19 CG/RRDH 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
FIRST EDITION
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