There Are Only Four (The Competition Archives Book 1)

by Nicole Scarano

  “Jude!” I scream, but his terror is too far-gone. It is consuming him, and he either cannot hear me or is choosing not to. For a split second I stall, torn between stopping Jude and keeping the rest of us from the dark premonition nagging my brain. My pause is only a moment, a fleeting breath, an inconsequential blip in eternity, and then I vault forward, shoving Luka and Serene back. But I know. I’m too late.

  Jude reaches the rust stain, and the rumbling within the maze halts with a loud click. What happens next is instant. A large slab of concrete the height of a hulking man and the width of two punches out from the wall with deadly speed. It explodes from nowhere with malicious purpose and collides with Jude’s side with a sickening crunch of the lean boy’s bones. Without mercy, it pushes his broken body on a collision course with the opposite barrier. The motion takes only seconds, but time slows down before my eyes as I watch the slab drive our teammate into the concrete. Only its momentum does not halt until both faces of the solid surfaces smash together in a carnage colored kiss.

  Serene screams as Jude’s body explodes. Blood and flesh ooze from behind the cracks, covering the old rusty discoloration with a fresh coat of macabre paint. Serene’s voice echoes off the cavernous walls. Even once she falls silent and the three of us stand suspended in shock, her wails reverberate off the dome overhead. My knees go weak. My brain refuses to compute what it just witnessed, despite the fact that I can’t tear my gaze from the thick liquid pulsing from the gaps.

  Gears whir to life, and the slab separates with a pop from the wall and retreats back behind a sliding door. I almost throw up at the sight. Luka does, vomiting bile onto the ground. Serene and I are both silent as our friend wretches. I don’t know about her, but I can’t make a sound. I don’t even feel real at the moment. It is as if I exist wholly separate from my body.

  For Jude’s body isn’t one anymore. The force of the mechanical punch flattened him into an oozing pulp. The assault smeared his brain along the concrete. His innards hang in dripping ribbons, and his bones have been reduced to tiny splinters jutting out of the barrier. Every pint of his blood has been splashed across the already permanent stain, adding another coat to brighten its dullness; a stain I somehow knew in my gut was a horrific warning sign. Yet I could not have predicted this atrocity. I will never again close my eyes to sleep and be free from this haunting image. Even in my dreams, I’ll replay the nightmare of witnessing Jude’s muscles peel off the wall to land on the floor with wet thuds. I’ll never un-see the way his body exploded like rotten fruit.

  We just stand there, how long… do not ask, and stare at what used to be a boy, a scared and innocent child. A kid whose parents are viewing this race. Mother, if you are watching, turn off your television.

  Chapter Eight

  I am numb. My heart no longer feels the life coursing through its vessels. I am a hollow shell, a sickened hull. My pulse thuds in silence. It does not beat at all.

  Serene looses a heart-wrenching wail. Her voice is agony. Her tone is despair. She drops to her knees, careless of her joints, and collapses forward to knead the concrete with her fingers in absent-minded panic. She is inconsolable in her grief and fear, which is of little consequence because I possess no comfort to give. My soul is dry and empty, a desert within my skeleton, and all I can do is stand here, watching viscera drip from the wall.

  Luka stumbles and collapses against the hateful maze. His back plasters to the same stretch of wall that Jude now occupies, but he seems stuck, as if he has to touch the last remaining connection between us and our teammate. I see his chest heaving out of the corner of my eye, and I am struck with how young he suddenly looks. He has been our leader, our protector, and his maturity has led us this far, but his youthful terror shines through his reddened eyes. He shouldn’t have to bear our weight on his shoulders. We shouldn’t even be here. Jude should not be dead.

  “We have to get out of here,” I whisper through a constricting throat. I stumble toward Serene’s prostrated form and grab her shoulder with weakened fingers. “We’ve got to move”

  But Serene doesn’t respond. It’s like she can’t, her mind locking her in a prison of horrors. She has been the mother to our group, the comforting caregiver, and losing Jude has tipped her over the edge. Serene always clung to him, and I wonder if they knew each other before; if their connection was something deeper, and she has lost more than a teammate.

  “Serene, get up.” My voice is no longer a request but a demand. My arms shove their way into her armpits and yank. She sobs as I pull her up but doesn’t resist, her energy drained by her convulsing sorrow. I smooth her curly black hair in a gentle caress and plant a soft kiss to the back of her head before I step to Luka.

  “Stand up,” I whisper, grabbing his broad hands in mine. He does not fight my demanding force, and he peels himself off the concrete. “We have to go.” My palms cup his cheeks as my eyes study his. He is lost in the sea of emotion flooding his irises, his soul drowning behind his gaze. “We should move,” I repeat, planting a kiss on his forehead before pulling back. Luka follows slowly, his bravado stripped from him in a single blow, and suddenly I am our leader. I don’t know how, but I knew that was coming. Something in my gut had warned me of disaster, and more is bound to come. Hell is far from over.

  Bile rises in my throat as we approach the ever-expanding puddle of blood baring our escape route. The nausea and dread is so aggressive, I’m afraid I’ll pass out. The airy lightheadedness fogging my brain causes my sight to blur. If I don’t seize control of my senses, I will collapse right here and now amidst Jude’s unholy sacrifice, and my lungs start to hyperventilate at the thought. I just have to make it past his remains. I need to get the rest of my team away from this irreverent carnage.

  My fist scoops Serene’s hand into a tight hold, and I drag her to the ever-encroaching stain. We will have to step in his blood, and my thoughts scream their apologies to Jude. He doesn’t deserve to have his body desecrated so. He didn’t deserve any of this. He was a sweet and terrified child, and the debilitating fog clears slightly from my brain with my righteous anger.

  “Hold my hand, okay?” I give Serene’s hand a quick squeeze, praying that the wall will not move to crush us as we pass by. “We’ll go together.”

  She looks at me with watery eyes, but I see understanding in them. I haven’t lost her to her fear just yet. Simultaneously, we both suck in a deep breath and then plow forward. The blood sticks to our boots, and the bitterness in my throat reminds me of its presence. I heave a soft gag and then pull my teammate in close. I vault our bodies over the pool in one bound, and we land with the squelching of bloody soles on the opposite side.

  Luka does not bother to leap as he follows. He simply walks through the puddle, refusing to glance at the wall where Jude is smeared, and when he sidles up beside us, he looks at me with raw, unbridled panic.

  “We need to get out of here,” he says, and the terror in his eyes is even more frightening than this maze. I nod a response, unable to voice my emotions, and when it is clear Luka cannot take charge, I lead our exodus from the bloodshed. It’s as if he blames himself for not protecting Jude and can’t handle the responsibility of our lives. I know differently, though. We aren’t to blame. They are, and so help me god if I survive this race.

  From that moment on, we exist as panic. There is neither rhyme nor reason to our footsteps, no patterns or logic to our decisions. Just the overwhelming need to escape this hell.

  As we flee the defiled gravesite of our friend, Luka does not retake the lead. Normally so sure and confident, he runs only because I force him to. Serene is terrified to surpass me, as if I can protect her from the unseen, as if I will stop her from meeting Jude’s fate. There is some merit to her fear, though. The worm of uneasiness eats away at my gut with uncomfortable insistence. It warned me before. Perhaps it will rear its premonition head again.

  Every step we take is fueled by wary concern. Each corner we round, preceded by silent waiting.
It isn’t long before our care is rewarded, and the maze shudders with a convulsing spasm. The walls ahead punch out with graphic speed, slamming together in the middle of the path in a violent kiss. Dust and debris punctuate the air from the impact, and I feel the jarring force rattle my chest. This time, though, we are not victims to this brutal assault, only horrified observers. Our flesh is nowhere near the colliding concrete, and it’s almost as if the maze knows this. It realizes we are distrustful. It is showing us what it can do, what it will do. Unknown dangers fill each turn, and my soul recognizes this avoided attack will be the last of its kind. The next one we won’t see coming. They won’t let us.

  Once the moving sections retreat to their state of rest, we pass their ill-intended trap unharmed, but the moment we are beyond their reach, something bounces off my bare shoulder. My voice belts out of me in surprise before I even realize I’m yelling, and I whirl around with alarm seeping from my every pore. Both Luka and Serene stare at me as if I’ve suddenly lost my sanity, and neither of them seem to notice anything out of the ordinary. Is my overexerted mind playing cruel tricks?

  “Did something hit…” my question trails off as I watch a giant drop splatter against Luka’s forehead and drip down his nose. His eyes go wide with surprise, and then as if the same impulsive brain controls us both, our palms shoot out in anticipation.

  “It’s water!” Luka practically cries the words as a second fat droplet plummets to its death against his hand. One hits my chest, and another on Serene’s disheveled hair, and in a matter of seconds the artificial heavens open up and unleash.

  The soaking torrent cleanses my body, and I can’t help but laugh with sheer joy. My throat is parched like sun-baked sand. My skin is slick with blood and sweat, and I angle my mouth to the sky, letting the water splash my tongue.

  I don’t know how long we stand like that, inhaling the clear liquid in greedy gulps. My stomach starts to cramp, but I can’t bring myself to care. I’m so tired, dehydrated beyond measure. My body screams in pain, but they have given us something to drink. My throat no longer hurts, and the cool caress of this man-induced rain eases the burn on my overexerted muscles.

  Time stands still as we bask in the artificial storm. Serene is laughing as she swallows mouthfuls. Relief, even as small as water among the death, has made her giddy, and while there will never be enough good in this world to truly heal her trauma, I am thankful this simple comfort has pushed the darkness into the corners of her mind for the moment.

  After I drink as much as my shrunken belly can hold, I tilt my palm to the heavens. The offering of water pools in my hand, and I use it to scrub the blood from my arm. Dirt and crimson break free from the bondage of my flesh, allowing me my first real look at the injury. I am fortunate. The skin is raw and pulpy, like meat shoved through a grinder, but it is only superficial. It’ll scab and heal in time, leaving no memory of its offense as the rain even now erases the more vibrant evidence.

  My thoughts drift to Jude’s abandoned body, and my full belly curdles within me. He is nothing but blood and splintered bones, and this downpour will wash him away as if he never existed, just like the blood on my arm. How long before the pooling fat and flesh drain away and leave only that horrid stain, for the rain must flow somewhere? It is not rising at our feet but instead escaping into unseen crevices in the maze, leaving only darkened concrete in its wake.

  I wish I was water and not flesh. I want to disappear into the cracks and never see these pallid walls again.

  The rain continues longer than any of us expected, and as we trudge through the wall of water collapsing on our heads, our skin begins to turn blue. I can barely see more than a few feet ahead of me, and my brain repeats an unspoken plea to the maze to not unleash another trap as if it’s my life’s mantra. I am frozen, an iceberg in the sea, and my relief at the rain’s arrival has soured into hatred.

  We shrugged back into our jackets a while ago, zipping them up to our throats, but they are not waterproof. The fabric is as soaked as we are, and they weigh us down like rocks in a pack. We cannot see our breath through the downpour, but the chill devouring my muscles, aiming for my bones, tells me each lungful of expelled air is a cloud of fog.

  “I can’t feel my fingers,” Serene says, voice almost lost in the artificial storm.

  “Take my hand.” My palm extends, and she snatches it with a clutch of icy death. I curl my cold fist around hers, and together we squeeze until the pain reminds us our fingers are not dead yet. “Grab her other hand,” I order Luka, and he readily obeys. He goes one step further, though. His opposite arm stretches across his chest and takes her fingers, and then using his closest limb, he folds her into his side. His mass shelters her, and as his forearm settles onto her shoulders, he beckons for me to move closer. I tuck myself against her body and wrap my arms about her waist. Luka grabs my collar and pulls me flush against Serene until I am practically on top of her, his grip on my jacket iron, and slowly we walk as a huddled group.

  “Try to think of something else,” I say, my ribs shaking from Serene’s convulsions. “Tell me something.”

  “Like what?” she asks through chattering teeth.

  “Anything you want.”

  Her forehead crinkles with concentration, and after a few minutes of silence, I think she has chosen to ignore my feeble attempt at distraction. I contemplate asking again, but before I can open my mouth, she starts humming. It’s a soft tune, like a summer’s breeze drifting through a flowerbed, and her voice gains confidence with every note. I do not recognize the melody, but it is full of peace and hope. It promises good fortune and beauty, and I am surprised how lovely Serene’s voice sounds, even if it only escapes her trembling lips in a hum. She continues for a long time; the refrain ending and repeating as she sings in an endless loop. The song settles like a blanket on my soul, and I almost feel a mother’s hands tucking unseen covers about me with soothing grace.

  “I don’t know the words,” Serene finally says as her music drifts away on the falling water droplets. “Maybe there are none. I’m not sure.”

  “Where did you learn that?” I ask.

  “In my dreams, I think. Just before I awake, I hear a voice sing that melody. The sun is on my skin, and I am warm and safe. Then I wake up, and there is no window shining light onto me; I no longer am safe. There is no face to accompany the voice, and I never remember the lyrics she sings. It’s only a dream, but a good one, and the tune? That always stays with me.”

  “I don’t dream,” Luka chimes in. “But I like the sound of yours.”

  “I wish I didn’t,” Serene says. “Makes getting up harder.”

  Her words are a poison, and they kill any peace her song offered us. Waking alone in our cells was nerve-wracking, but waking up inside this labyrinth is worse than anything our nightmares could conjure. Part of me craves the tranquility her dream afforded her slumber, but I do not envy her wakings. Better to dream nothing than to hope you will wake to the sun only to find this monstrosity. A shiver runs down my spine, and the cold rushes back to the forefront of my mind, replacing the haunting notes of her melody. I wish Serene would hum again, but it feels selfish to ask it of her. So my lips remain clenched, and my question silent as I huddle closer to the group.

  Our collective body heat had helped at first, but no matter how close we cluster, it’s not enough to combat the frigid water bathing our skin. I was so joyful when the dome opened up and wept for us, but now I hate it. I wish they had let us dehydrate and die. My frozen brain cannot be rational in the wet hellscape as we drift through the blindness. We have to escape this maze.

  Chapter Nine

  The frigid onslaught lasts a lifetime, and then like a flipped switch, it comes to an abrupt halt. The domed heavens suddenly deny the water access to the maze, and the remaining droplets fall like a curtain unhooked from its rod. I watch the last sheet of artificial rain plummet to the soaked concrete in disbelief. Can it truly be over? Is this momentary relief a sadisti
c trick? They gave us what we wanted in its cruelest form, and offering a break from the numbing chill would be a sick punishment. Dashed hope will cripple our already brittle minds.

  But the stillness holds, and we can see clearly for the first time in what seems like hours. I glance down at my hands. The skin is a bluish tint, and when my eyes shift to my teammates, I notice their lips have lost all their color. Serene’s teeth are chattering so violently, I hear them crunching in the new silence.

  “Can we rest?” Serene asks.

  “Moving will warm us up,” I say when Luka doesn’t answer her. “Let’s try to dry off first, okay?”

  I look to my beautiful blond boy. I don’t know when I started thinking of him as mine, but he is. Somehow, he is.

  Luka is not looking at me, though, but is instead studying something with an expression of contemplation and disbelief. I follow his line of sight, and surprise ripples through my chest.

  Just ahead, the right-hand wall has crumbled as if blown apart by an explosion. The chaos looks fresh, and I wonder if another team running the course next to ours met with a gruesome end in the blinding rain. I am surprised we did not hear the collapse, but perhaps that is why the precipitation lasted so thunderously long. They didn’t want us seeing the traps laid so carefully for us. They didn’t want us to hear when they slaughtered the other teams.

  “We should go over,” Luka says, eyes slightly manic as he meets my gaze. “We have to get out of here. I’m not staying on this path. It’s what they want, and I’m not dying here.”