There Are Only Four (The Competition Archives Book 1)
Page 11
“Luka,” I say through my tears and crawl back to him. I lay the food and water in his hands like a holy offering and watch as his eyes brighten. I know they have left this measly meal here to ensure we can complete the climax of the maze, that we have the energy to give the audience the spectacularly bloody ending they are waiting for, but I’m too happy to care about their evil motives. I grab the bottle and wrench off the top before handing it to Luka.
“Go slow,” I say as he tips it to his lips. With small sips, he drinks a quarter of the water before passing it to me. Its coolness soothes my throat as it cascades down my esophagus. One bottle is not enough to hydrate our shriveling bodies, but I savor it with thankful tears. I re-cap it after I drink my ration and peel the plastic from the sandwich. It is cheap and flavorless white bread housing odd smelling mystery meat, but I grab its softness as if it were Christmas dinner. I pry it apart as evenly as I can and hand Luka the larger half.
“Don’t eat too fast,” I warn as he lifts it to his eager mouth, and the suffering on his face makes my tears come again in a heartbreaking torrent. I lean forward and kiss his forehead as he takes his first bite. “Don’t want it to make you sick.” His head nods under my lips, and I feel the vibrations from his chewing. I pull back, my knees lingering against his so we do not have to part completely, and raise the sandwich to my mouth. My teeth sink into the food, and the fatty, unidentifiable meat hits my tongue. I ignore the flavor and the texture. They are not important. Only the calories are. The bread becomes nothing between my molars, and I swallow before capturing another mouthful. It is gross and unappetizing, and it is the best meal I have ever eaten.
We eat in slow silence for a while. I know we are wasting time, but if we inhale this last supper, we could get sick. Our shrunken stomachs could revolt against the sudden onslaught after such deprivation. Perhaps that is what they are hoping for, that the competitors will wolf down the food in their starvation and then vomit as they climb the rest of the way. It’ll leave us as weak as when we started our ascent of this tower, and I do not want to be weak. Luka cannot afford that.
As if he knows he is in my thoughts, Luka peers up at me and smiles. It is broad and wide; hints of his true beauty shining through, and I can’t help the grin that breaks out over my lips. He by no means looks healthy, but some color has returned to his face. Whoever brought this food here, bless you. Also curse you to hell for being a part of this game, but bless you for giving Luka a chance.
“That was gross,” Luka mumbles, and his words drag a small laugh out of me. “Can I have the water?” I hand him the bottle, and he finishes his last portion before handing it back. The coolness forces the foul and lingering taste down my throat, and hope weakly raises her dying head in my chest.
“Are you okay to keep going?” I ask.
“No,” Luka answers.
“Do you need to sit here longer and rest?”
“No.” His good hand reaches out to my face and brushes a loose lock of hair behind my ear. “Sitting here won’t change that. I need real help to be okay.”
“Did the food make you feel at least a little better?”
“Yeah, it did.” He looks vaguely like he is lying, but I don’t want to press him too much. Fear for his life is painted across his face, so I choose to let hope take hold of us with her weak grasp instead of arguing my doubt.
“Good.” I stand to my aching feet. I reach down and slowly help him to his. “Me too.”
“Do you think every team received only one sandwich, no matter how many of them are left?” Luka asks as I travel to the edge where we will enter the next section of the climb.
“I’m sure,” I say, turning back to see his forlorn face.
“So if there were four remaining, they only got a quarter of food and water instead of half like us?”
“Yes,” I take his hand as if I can absorb some of his sorrow. “But there are no teams that have all four contestants left. They will have ensured that.”
“I would still rather have eaten only a quarter.”
“Me too.” I pull him to the ledge. “A hundred times over.”
Chapter Sixteen
This climb is not as sheer as the first one we encountered when the maze went dark, and for this, I am thankful. Luka’s broken arm will prove difficult on this challenge, but with the generous protrusions marking the way, not impossible. The giant cement sections above are like monstrous building blocks, ones that I have no doubt shift. I wonder why they are making us repeat the same feat as before. Surely the viewers want something more exciting, but I have no choice but to climb up the blocks as if they had been strewn here in an unstable stack by a giant’s child.
I insist that Luka go first. With one good arm, he’ll need help up the larger sections. I can tell he doesn’t like the idea of potentially losing his balance and falling on me, but I am not to be argued with at the moment. I’ll push him up every inch of this tower, with my mother as my witness. Luka will not fall unless it is in my arms. Thankfully, he keeps his protests to his face and not his words and taking a steadying breath, begins the long and grueling ascent up these hateful cement cubes with only occasional boosts from me.
We scale the initial quarter with no incidents besides labored breathing, but then I see them. They are mere ants at the moment, nothing but dots attempting to gain on us, but three boys have entered this vertical landscape, bent on winning the prize. Telling Luka we were the first had been a lie of encouragement, a feeble attempt to rally morale, but I hadn’t considered that we were truly in the lead. Yet watching this new team vanquish the obstacles below, it hits me we might actually be the head of the pack. Unless there are teams on the opposite side of the tower, Luka and I are the frontrunners. This open obstacle suddenly makes sense. This is the first time we have seen other players, the only part where our paths converge. The first time the stress of losing is tangible in the flesh. They want us to rush over these blocks. Our panic at seeing others overtake us will make us sloppy. It’ll only take one hastily misplaced handhold to start the final death count, and my stomach clenches in dread knowing this climb will force me to watch children fall instead of only hearing their screams.
“Don’t worry about them,” Luka says as if my thoughts projected themselves into his brain. “Just climb and be careful. We are still in the lead.”
We are, but for how long? Luka is moving slowly, and those boys seem to be scaling these blocks faster than us. How have three of them made it this far relatively unscathed? I hate to think of the reason. Was their fourth teammate sacrificed to the maze’s insatiable appetite for their salvation, or were they truly that lucky?
“Come on.” Luka looks down from his position. “It’s just you and me like it was a few minutes ago, okay?”
“And they had less to eat than us,” I say, pulling up beside him, “having to split the sandwich three ways.”
“You’re right,” he wheezes as he pulls himself up. “We are clearly in way better shape to win this.” His tone is exaggerated and tinged with bitterness, but I laugh despite our situation, the stress and terror causing infinitesimal cracks in my mind at his sarcastic words.
A rumbling pushes out from the tower to consume my laughter in its ravenous hunger. It’s as if the maze heard my voice, the laugh that Luka coaxed out of me amidst this torture, and its displeasure ripples through the structure. Hinges and gears beneath our palms begin to groan and vibrate, and blasts of dusty air burst from the crevices in preparation.
With urgent panic, I heave myself over the ledge and press myself against Luka’s back. My arms cage him in a prison of my flesh, and my torso shoves him against the stone, trapping him between the wall and my body. This entire formation is about to change in an attempt to obliterate us, and we stand no chance at victory if we allow it to separate us. Luka snakes his arm behind him and wraps his good hand around the small of my back, welding us together as the ridge we hover on shifts sideways. The concrete beneath our feet slide
s along a circular trajectory across the tower’s cylindrical face, its surface grinding the underbelly of the network of blocks diagonally above it; blocks on a collision course with our skulls.
Luka and I bend our legs in harmony, and just as we are about to be knocked from our perch, we leap to the next foothold. Thankfully, the gap is small, and we clear it in a single jump. We won’t be so lucky with the rest. With the maze writhing beneath us like a snake trying to rid itself of dead skin, Luka will need more than just my strength to conquer this adversity. He will need both of his arms. Mother, if you are watching, get on your knees and pray for our safety. And pray fervently, Mother. I cannot watch him fall.
This thin ledge supporting us is stationary for the moment, and I seize the opportunity to map the altering terrain. If we head straight up like the team of three below is attempting to do, we’ll encounter larger sections. Sections I can scale, but Luka will lose to. Desperately, I search this convulsing mass, and realize, with a plummeting heart, that if we travel diagonally, the shifting squares seem more manageable. That direction, though, will increase our time in this dangerous environment and bring us closer to the other teams. I’m not sure that’s the wisest option.
“If we go on an angle, it should be easier.” Luka’s words mimic my thoughts. “It means we are on this section for longer, but we’ll climb faster. Those guys will burn through any energy that sandwich gave them with that incline.”
My eyes fall to the group gaining on us. Another team has ventured onto this infernal construction since I last looked down. There are three of them as well, two boys and a girl. I remember her from the transport, her deep, crimson hair a beacon among the bland, and for a moment I wonder why she is climbing with it plastered to her face. Don’t those wayward strands obscure her vision? Then the realization punches my gut in a wave of nausea. It’s not hair, but blood dripping down her skin.
“Let’s move!” I turn to an altering slab and scramble up on my hands and knees. The second I am secure on the drifting cube, I spin and shoot my hand out. Luka needs no urging and grabs it just as this new section passes beyond the reach of the stationary ledge. He grunts as the motion pulls at his back, but his boots thrust him from the concrete with ease. This might work. If we can travel fast but smoothly, this slightly easier path could deliver us to the end before the rest.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see more teams trickle onto the climb, their dwindled numbers mimicking ours, but I ignore them and force my concentration to every inch of gained height we conquer. We pick our route carefully; Luka pushing me up each moving block with his good arm, me pulling him up before the shuffling segments separate us. We trust each other explicitly, leaping and pausing in sync with no need to announce our plans. Our muscles grow tired, but this longer yet easier path works in our favor. The others have slowed in their vertical progress, and those that have adopted our method, searching for the simpler paths, are too far below to catch up.
And then a scream rips through the air, followed by raging voices and booming obscenities. One scream turns to two, and suddenly the entire maze below us is alive with panic.
“Stop!” a girl’s voice cries in a shrill tone. “Stop! What are you doing?”
Instinctively, my fingers grip Luka in alarm, and my eyes turn down. I am not prepared for the sight.
A new team has entered the playing field. I don’t recognize the two boys, they must not have been on our transport, but they are huge for their age, rivaling Luka’s stature. They have made quick work of the climb, and from their position, it seems they have traveled on an angle from the opposite side of the tower. Yet it is neither their size nor their speed that causes my breath to catch in my throat. It is the sight of the larger teen bringing his foot down hard on the head of the leader of the group of three boys. I watch in horror as his boot connects with his competitor’s forehead. I swear I hear the thud reverberate off the dome, and the assaulted kid falters. The crimson haired girl below screams like a wailing spirit, and the victim’s teammates scramble to his aid. They are too late. They cannot help him as the cruel competitor smashes his heel down for a second time. The poor helpless boy loses his grip. The shoe’s sole cracks his face, and for a breathless moment, his arms flail for purchase. Then he plunges backward. He does not stop until he splatters on the maze’s floor.
The terror of the teams clinging to this moving monstrosity explodes, yet my voice catches in my throat, unable to break past my lips. As if he can sense my silence, that vicious teen turns his gaze to meet mine as he pulls his foot back under him and smiles. His grin is wicked and full of promise. A dark omen. A beautiful threat.
“Go!” Luka shoves me with harsh force. “Climb!” he orders, and I scramble to the next shifting block. Any sense of careful mapping evaporates from our consciousness, replaced by blind self-preservation. Luka uses whatever he can to shove me up faster. His shoulders, fingers, head, and in turn, I don’t even bother to drag him up after me by his hand. I seize anything he offers and pull, his sweaty and bloody skin slick against my clawing fingers.
The screaming starts again, and I know those two boys are moving toward their next living obstacle. Unable to help myself, my head turns down to see whom they have set their brutal sights on this time.
“Eyes up!” Luka’s voice is harsh, almost mean as if to snap my mind out of its paralyzed horror. He shoves me, and I stumble forward, my chest smacking a rotating section closing in on us.
“Climb!” Luka commands. I’ve heard fear come from his mouth, but never like this. This is primal. This is pure terror. “Don’t look down, just keep moving.” He nudges me again, and I obey. My mind tries without success to block out the sounds of screaming. I concentrate on putting one foot in front of another, one hand above the next, telling myself I cannot help. I can’t save those poor children below who only want their freedom. I can’t stop those boys who have let the madness of the maze consume them.
A sharp scream punctuates the air, followed by a torrent of anguished sobs. Every muscle within my skin flinches in response to the savagery gaining on us. This can’t be happening. How can they sit there and allow children to kill each other? How is this entertainment? Tears blind my eyes, and the section under my hands chooses that exact moment to shift. In my haze and haste, my fingers miss their hold, and my body slips. A cry explodes from my mouth, my belly clenching with sickness as it fights gravity.
Wham! Luka’s chest slams into my falling back, halting my descent. My breast slaps painfully into the concrete as he catches me and thrusts me forward, and my chin bounces off the rough edge before me. All the air in my lungs forces past my lips as Luka pins me between the wall and his body. The force is crushing, constricting my breath until I am empty, but he does not release me from his living prison until the block stops its pilgrimage across the face of this tower.
“Go.” I can tell by his grunt that saving me caused him great pain, and I realize his broken arm is pinned between us. The pressure he drove into me to halt my fall is crushing his battered bones, and I almost feel the fire of agony burning through his flesh into my back.
“Luka…” I whisper.
“Just climb.” He cuts me off and nudges me forward. I extract myself from the confines of his body and cast a quick glance below. Those two hulking boys are gaining on us, that team of three they attacked is now a team of one. More groups have joined the fray, each of them missing members, but they all hold back from these deranged new competitors. Arriving at the finish line last is safer than being bludgeoned off this tower, and these dangerous teens seem to have turned their blood-fueled intentions away from the recoiling children and toward Luka and I. They scale over the moving parts like inhuman creatures, and the thought that this could be a part of the game makers’ plan flashes through my mind. Did they save these boys for the end? Did they fuel both their bloodlust and their hunger so that when they arrived here, they would be strong and crazed enough to take out the weak and the broken?
I soar through the air and land lightly on the opposite ledge. Luka connects seconds after me, but this block chooses this exact moment to shift. He falters, the soles of his feet barely welded to their stand, and without thinking, I leap for him. I snatch his makeshift sling before he falls backward and yank. He collapses against me with a moan of pain, and the force of his tumbling form flings me to my back. He lands hard on my chest, and his groan becomes an earth-shattering roar as his injured arm collides with the softness of my stomach.
“I’m sorry!” I push him until he is kneeling before me. How much suffering can this boy endure before his body gives out, and he passes out? I fear he is reaching his breaking point.
“Luka, stay with me.” His face is pale, and he stares at my moving mouth with a blank expression.
“I’m here,” he says lethargically.
“We are almost there,” I say, flinging my sight to our synthetic sky. The dome is closer than it’s ever been, and so is the end of this writhing mass of concrete.