She shakes her head immediately. “No. No way, that's impossible. The scientists in Spark City created the hybrids. That's why they all live there.”
“No. Kenmore is lying to you.”
“Why would he lie? He created us, but he would never create a monstrosity such as the Beast.”
“How did the Beast get here?”
“He tried to break into Terranus. Tried to kill us all but Kenmore had a team stop him. That's why he's caged, and that's why he can't be released. If he got loose, he would rampage and hurt people. Hurt us. Hurt you.”
“Lies.” I edge closer, locking my gaze on hers. “Peterson was an experiment of Kenmore's. Then he was a guard in Kenmore’s lab. He was my guard when Kenmore threw me into a cell after he abducted me.”
She studies me, her face frozen in confusion and doubt.
“Cassie.” I lean forward. “Peterson was kind to me. He helped me try to escape. Kenmore found out and…now, Peterson pays the price.”
She folds her arms against her chest, frowning. “I have to go.”
“Wait—”
But she's gone from the cell.
The people here—Kenmore's children—are brainwashed. Kenmore has been feeding them lies about the evils of surface life.
About how awful and dangerous hybrids are.
Kenmore uses fear to control his people.
Thirty-One
I pace the cell for hours. Restless, racking my brain for a plan.
After managing to eat a few bites of bread a guard brought, I feel stronger.
I wonder how Cassie is dealing with our conversation. Does she doubt Kenmore? I hope so. If she really considers me her friend, she has to question whether Kenmore may be lying.
A buzzing at the end of the corridor signals a security door being triggered. Rik and two other guards appear. “You have a visitor,” he says.
Kenmore steps into view. I approach the electric barrier and face him.
He scans me from head to toe with a cold, clinical stare. “How are you doing this morning?”
“Do you know how long I've waited to tell you what a piece of shit you are?”
“Back to that now?” he smirks.
“A steaming, hulking, worthless pile of feces.”
He sighs. “So disappointing.”
“No, I take it back,” I hiss, edging as close as I can to the electrified barrier. “You’re a pile of shit that was left out on a hot day, and all the flies have collected, and maggots pour out of it. That's you.”
He grimaces. “You paint quite the picture. Are you done?”
I try to swallow against the lump of hatred in my throat. “No, actually. I came here to kill you.”
“I know.” He glances at Rik and the other guards. “Leave us, please.”
“Sir?” Rik glares at me.
“Go,” he barks, losing his composure.
After Rik and the other guards buzz out, Kenmore removes his glasses and squeezes the skin between his eyes. “I know I've caused you pain.”
I scoff. “You don't know the half of it.”
“For what it's worth, I'm sorry you got caught up in this.” His face is somber.
Is he playing with me? Tying to soften me up only to push me off the ledge?
“Don't attack Space Squad,” I say. “If you meet with Reed, he would consider forming an agreement with you. He would listen to your proposal. The abilities that people have here, they could help with colonization efforts. If you just asked—”
“What would be the challenge in that?” His voice grows frosty. “I don't want to partner. I want everything. My spies there have told me exactly how to assume control.”
My heart sinks. Space Squad has already been breached. “You’re sick.” I sink down on my cot, head in my hands. For some reason, the smell of noodles hits me, and I wonder if my mind is playing tricks on me.
“I've already explained the beauty of my plan. We leave Earth and spark life elsewhere. A new and improved life—a new and improved race. You can be a part of that future.”
“Me? How would I fit in?”
His eyes gleam with something—fascination or curiosity—I can’t quite tell. “I can't change your ability. It's irreversible. I studied your sample. The nanorobotics inside you have morphed into something else.” He pauses, his left eye twitches. “Something I've never seen before.”
Good. If he can’t change me, he can't make me worse.
He continues, “But I also can't have you killing me or interfering with my plans either, so I really have no choice but to kill you.”
I open my mouth to speak but can't.
“But…several people know you’re here, including Cassie. So, I can't kill you outright. Here's what will happen. You go into the arena tonight as a prisoner fighting to win your freedom back. You fight Peterson and kill him with your touch. Then I'll let you live. I can even let your robot stay with you in your cell.”
“You want me to try to kill Peterson? Unbelievable.”
“Peterson was a means to an end—a way to foster fear and hatred of hybrids, but now he's an inconvenience. I need to get rid of him. You can destroy him. All you need to do is touch his skin for a few seconds.”
“No way in hell.” I edge away and cross my arms.
“If you don't, Ogre gets scrapped for parts, and well, you die. That's my offer.” He glares at me. “Take it or leave it.”
My head spins after Kenmore leaves. He wants me to kill Peterson just like he had planned that night in the desert all those years ago.
I couldn't then, and I can't now.
But if I don't, he'll kill me. He'll destroy Ogre.
In Spark City, Lucy and Gatz would never know what happened. They would inevitably get worried and come looking for us. And then Kenmore would get them. It will never stop.
Kenmore will never stop.
I have to figure out how to beat him.
If I go into that ring against Peterson, he could tear me apart. But he remembers me. He wouldn't hurt me, at least, I think.
If I accidentally touch his skin, he'll die. I don't want to hurt him.
Cassie appears in the corner of my cell, and I jump. “God, you scared me.”
“Sorry,” she says. “I… For you,” she says, offering a paper bag. “I know how much you loved these the other night.”
Noodles. My belly growls, and I accept it. “Thank you.”
In her other hand, she holds my jacket. “Found it.” She forces a smile, but her eyes are wide.
“Thanks. I’m supposed to fight Peterson tonight.”
“I know—I mean, I assumed you might since you’re a prisoner now.” Worry creases her forehead. “He'll tear you apart.”
“I don't have a choice. Kenmore is forcing me. He said he'll kill me and scrap Ogre if I don’t.”
“But.…”
“He was just here in my cell. He's not the man you think he is. He's cold-blooded and cruel.” I plop onto the cot, open the container, and use the chopsticks to grab a mouthful of noodles. They’ve grown cold.
She gazes at nothing as if lost in thought. “He must have a plan,” she mutters. “He’s not usually…this way.”
I chew, studying her, and then nearly spit out my food when I realize she was in the cell—invisible and listening—when I first smelled the noodles. How much of the real Kenmore did she hear?
“The Beast has a weak spot,” she says with a faraway look. “I saw him in a lot of pain once when he got hit on his lower back. If you find a way to strike him there, hard, I bet it would bring him to his knees.”
I shake my head. “Peterson won’t hurt me.”
“I’ve been to all the fights. I notice things. It might help you.” Her eyes glisten with tears.
“Don't worry, he remembers me. I don’t think he’ll hurt me.”
“Look for me in the seats. I’ll toss you the iron club.”
“The same one that Fierce Fury used when got killed?”
&n
bsp; “You need a weapon. Hit his back.”
Thirty-Two
“Fight, fight, fight.”
I stand poised at the pit’s gate, about to step into the arena. The announcer teases the audience. Priming them for what he deems the fight of the decade. He bills me as the strong, mysterious assassin from Spark City.
My legs are shaky. Get it together, I tell myself. In my nervousness, I crack my knuckles and fidget.
The announcer prattles on, drawing out every syllable, whipping the audience into a mad frenzy. He is rewarded with applause, hoots, and shrieks.
A guard points his gun at me. “Gloves off,” he grunts.
Hesitating, I shake my head, but he yells, “Now.”
Slowly, I peel off my familiar gloves and drop them on the dirt floor. The guard twists his mouth at the sight of my prosthetic fingers and tightens his grip on the rifle. “You go out there when he tells you.”
“No shit, Sherlock.” I salute him with my middle titanium finger.
“Are you ready?” the announcer roars. “Are you really, really ready?”
I’ll have to use my wits to avoid touching Peterson’s skin. Cramming my hands in my pockets, my fingernail connects with something solid in my jacket lining. The vial of serum from Reed.
Screams echo across the arena. “Yes, fight.”
I had forgotten about the serum. Could it somehow protect Peterson from my touch like Reed is protected?
The announcer shrieks from the loudspeakers, “I can’t hear you…”
With my heart in my throat, I find the end of the vial and use my thumbnail to pry open the safety cap.
Stomping from the stands above rattles every nerve inside me.
I gulp away fear and jam the needle between my thumb and forefinger. I cry out, but the crowd masks the sound.
“That’s more like it,” rails the emcee.
After I wait ten seconds, I pull my hand from my pocket, wipe away a tear, and lick a trickle of blood from my hand. Reed had said it would take some time to work. Long enough to avoid skin contact with Peterson, I hope.
“Ladies and gentlemen, introducing the woman who battles fearsome hybrids every day in the mean streets of her city, Spark City’s Angel of Death!”
The gate rolls up, and I step onto the fighting floor as harsh floodlights assault my eyes. Squinting, I scan the pit for Peterson but see no sign of him yet.
The crowd roars with approval. All they care about is the match, expecting The Beast to destroy yet another victim.
I trek to the center of the arena, and settle there, waiting. Every second that ticks by tightens the muscles in my legs, arms, and backs until they ache with stress.
After the applause dies down, the announcer introduces Peterson. “The Beast you all fear. Straight out of hell, he haunts your dreams. One day, he’ll come for you…Unless the Spark City Angel can destroy him first.”
The gate opposite mine opens, revealing Peterson. He spies me and snarls. Growling, he storms onto the arena floor, and I flinch.
Come on Peterson, remember me?
He surges forward but I stay rooted where I am. Then I glimpse his eyes. The deep yellow I saw only yesterday is tinged with red. Bloodshot. Not only that, his eyes are glazed. Drool seeps from both corners of his mouth. He stares through me. No glimmer of recognition.
“Peterson,” I shout. “It's Ida. Remember me?”
But he runs at me, lunging in a high arching leap. I roll to my right side and land on my knees then crouch to make myself a smaller target.
He recovers and races toward me, head butting me in the shoulder, sending me sprawling several feet. I land on my back, gasping for air, stunned. I scramble up and spot Peterson a few feet away, stomping and growling at the crowd. Then he turns and eyes me. Ready to attack again.
I sprint toward my gate.
The chorus of people are chanting. One or any of them could help me. But they don't. Why would they? Kenmore has trained them to enjoy the sport of killing.
I cross the arena toward the seats where I sat with Cassie and Joe. She’s there in the same spot. Pearson's hot breath steams the heels of my feet. My eyes meet hers, and she springs up and races toward the barricade. In her grip, she holds the iron club. I slam against the partition and grasp it, then spin my body, swinging the club in a wild arc.
The iron connects with Peterson’s jaw and he yelps and staggers backward. It gives me just enough time to sprint toward the pit’s center, but this time I look back.
He pursues me again.
Hit his lower back, Cassie had said. But how can I when he's constantly attacking me from the front?
He advances, teeth bared. The audience screams advice, telling me to run. Others shout, Club, club, club.
“Peterson!” I shout again. Is he drugged? Why won’t he recognize me? But there's no change. He looks at me through cold, uncaring eyes.
Arching his back, he prepares to charge.
I step into a defensive stance, gripping the iron club in both hands as he nears. Adrenaline surges through me as I lash out, swinging the club wide and hard like a baseball bat.
The bat catches him in his side and he unleashes a howl. This drives the crowd crazy. The din is so loud, it's earsplitting.
He springs forward, leaping higher than I expected.
I jam the club up, but the weight of him crashes down on me. The iron is useless against his hulking mass.
I fall hard against my shoulder and the weapon rolls out of my grip. Pain pierces my spine, and I wail. Reflexively, I kick, thrashing, and end up connecting between Peterson's legs. He groans and rolls away.
I wince at my throbbing shoulder and manage to sit up. The club is about two feet away. I crawl to it.
But Peterson snarls behind me. My titanium fingers connect with iron. Grasping the club, I swing it wildly as I turn.
I hit his neck, and he shrieks. Scrambling to my feet, I kick him in the stomach while he reels from my first blow. But it's not enough to take him down.
He's stunned and winded from the impact to his gut. This may be my only chance to overpower him. I race behind him and take a running leap, ramming the stick against the small of his back, low across his spine.
The club makes a loud thunk that echoes across the arena walls. Spit flies from Peterson’s mouth onto the people seated in the first row. They recoil and shout their disgust.
I strike him in the back of the head and he wavers a moment before falling face first into the dirt.
The crowd leaps to their feet, roaring. I glimpse a man and woman, their mouths hanging open. Next to them, a young man pumps his fist, “Finish him. Bash his brains in.”
Panting, I step over to Peterson's slumped body. His chest stirs, but he’s unconscious.
A patch of bare skin on his neck is exposed. One touch and I could kill him. End this horrific life. But after the serum, I have no idea what to expect.
I cast down the iron club and trek to my gate. The crowd howls their disapproval. What was celebration is now replaced with grumbles and booing. A man shouts, “Where are you going? Finish him.”
The announcer picks up the microphone. “Angel of Death, it appears you are victorious. Rules are rules. You must finish off your opponent. Don't leave us hanging.”
I ignore him and bang on the door of the gate. “Let me out,” I yell but nothing happens.
On the elevated platform safe above the pit, Kenmore whispers to the announcer. After a moment where the emcee appears flustered, he says, “Ladies and gentlemen, a change of plans. Please exit the arena at once. It's been a lovely evening, and well…the entertainment has just been phenomenal, right?”
The audience vents their dismay.
“We’re, uh…preparing for a new kind of event,” says the announcer. “For this reason, you need to leave now. Thank you for your kind participation.”
I wonder what Kenmore is up to.
I bang on the gate again.
The panel slides up, and
I slip into darkness away from the glaring lights and angry crowd.
Thirty-Three
I step into inky shadows. Someone grabs me from behind and locks my arms, gripping me tightly. I struggle, and Rik whispers, “Don't move.”
I slam my heel down on his foot and he shoves me away then aims his rifle at my chest.
As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I see Kenmore pacing behind him. He glowers at me. “Why didn't you touch him? You heard the crowd. Now I have to do damage control.” He speaks into his biocuff. “Get everyone out. Message when it's clear.”
After a few minutes, he gets the all-clear signal. The gate door opens, and Rik orders me to march back onto the pit floor at gunpoint. Kenmore leads the way into the now-darkened arena until we stand next to Peterson. A lone spotlight shines on him, still passed out.
From the stands, two guards advance, holding rifles. Cassie climbs over the partition wall and approaches, hands crammed in her pockets, head low.
Kenmore looms over Peterson, kicking him. “Turn him over,” he barks at the two guards.
The guards manage to push the heavy creature onto his back and I notice, with relief, that his chest heaves. “Touch him,” Kenmore orders me, veins bulging from his neck. “Kill him, now.”
I dig my heels into the dirt, fold my arms, and glare at him.
Rik steps forward, pointing the gun at my head. “Do as he says.”
I can't explain why, but I laugh. A dry, aching cackle devoid of joy. “Fine,” I say. “Shoot me.”
Rik's eyes shift to Kenmore, then to me. Then Rik suddenly turns the gun on Cassie.
She flinches and her mouth drops. “What are you doing?”
My throat tightens. “Don't hurt her,” I say. “Please.”
Cassie's head swivels from Rik to Kenmore, then to me. Her mouth quivers and finally collapses into a frown before she disappears.
Rik flinches then turns in a circle, scanning for her.
Kenmore’s voice is strained when he says, “Cassie, come back. I’m sorry. We didn’t mean to frighten you.”
The Rogue Spark series Box Set Page 59
