How to Become a Henchman, A Novel: The Henchman's Survival Guide

by J Bennett

  I hop three stones to cross the creek, pass the two old fallen trees, and trudge up and down a high hill. Eventually, the map leads me to a lake. As soon as I step onto the shore, my Band purrs, and my score ticks up by 30 points.

  Thank you very much. I almost feel like dipping into a short bow.

  Wide and still, the lake sparkles as the sun glints across its surface. This much water in a single place almost looks like a dream, and it certainly would be to anyone from California, Arizona, and New Mexico. Those people have been chugging purified sea water and filtered piss for decades.

  The lake is a good half kilo across, at least, and I can see the path clearly marked on the other side. The producers want us to go through, not around. Another interesting choice. The largest body of water in Biggie LC is a fountain dedicated to Storm Cloud, a vil turned hero who sacrificed herself helping Beacon stop the Zombie Master and his army of the undead. We don’t really need to know how to swim for this gig, but I suppose watching contestants struggle through the water will be a nice mid-ep draw.

  As I walk to the edge of the water, I catch sight of a figure lounging nearby on the muddy bank. Gold sticks his bare feet into the water. His wet shirt clings to his body, outlining a wiry frame. Clearly his glinting golden lipstick is waterproof.

  He smiles up at me. “Just catching some sun.”

  “Can’t swim?”

  “Slight miscalculation.”

  I hold up my hand to shade my eyes. “You could go around,” I offer.

  He shakes his head. “I’d lose 50 points.”

  Fifty. Ouch.

  I fig his scheme. “You think you can convince someone to tow you across.”

  “I know I can.” He gives me a handsome smile. “I’ve got a lot of good friends.”

  “Haven’t been so friendly yet, have they?” I know for a fact that at least two of the competitors who hung onto his every word during our bus ride started before me. Maybe they’re still wandering through the brambles with Pigtails, but something tells me at least of one them made it here and decided to leave their “good friend” standing in the mud.

  BGR – Betrayal Gets Ratings.

  I smirk at Gold, just a little. There’s got to be a cam somewhere filming the shore. I can’t show that I’m enjoying his suffering too much. I look back toward the water and focus on the obstacle before me.

  Shoes on or off? The lake swim doesn’t look so far, but I know it’s deceptive. Shoes off. I slip out of them, tie the laces together, and hang them around my neck.

  When I look over, Gold is standing, watching me with a bemused expression on his face.

  I can’t help myself. I ask him the question that’s been looping in my brain. “You told some people about the last question in the interview and not others. Why?”

  Gold steps into the water, watches it lap against his ankles. “I grew up in Edina, Missouri,” he says. “You’ve never heard of it. No one has. It’s a kid drop off. Just dust and cargos and kids beating on each other for something to do.”

  Buddha’s Pancreas! And I thought my childhood was low. “Least you got a sympathetic backstory to work with,” I manage. I wonder why his parents dumped him. Gogg addiction? Too down on Mellows to handle a crying baby? Maybe they just didn’t have the room. There’s hardly enough space for two adults in a cargo. Add a baby or two and it gets downright tight.

  “I never learned how to swim,” Gold says, “but I will.” He says the words casually enough, but there’s a hardness in his voice. If I had a thousand Loons, I’d bet them all that Gold will know how to swim in a week. I’d also bet all that crypto currency he isn’t speaking to me. He’s making a promise to the cam in the trees behind us, imploring the producers to overlook this small setback.

  “Well, shining luck,” I tell him. “I’m sure a good friend will come by eventually.”

  I step into the water. It’s shockingly cold as it inches past my feet, swallowing my ankles. I grit my teeth and wade farther in until the water covers my hips.

  “I told the last question to the people I knew wouldn’t get chosen,” Gold says just behind me. I turn, surprised to see that he’s followed me into the water. He speaks softly, low enough so that the cheap cams on the shore probably can’t pick up his words.

  “I want to be the likeable one, the comic relief,” he continues, “but you’re likeable, too. You seem smart. You’re a threat.”

  “Is that a compliment?” I ask between chattering teeth as I take another step forward.

  “A lot of folks just pretend to be good people,” Gold says, “but I think you actually are.”

  “What are you doing?” I ask him. I’m far enough out that I can push off the mucky bottom and start swimming. Gold is right next to me, arms raised, water up to his chest.

  “I’m doing you a favor,” Gold says. “I’m going to let you show the producers that you’re a good person.”

  “You think I’m going to help you? After you lied and sabotaged me?” I laugh at him and begin to swim away. I’m a little rusty, but the movement comes back from those long-ago swim classes. My dad insisted Alby and I learn to swim. That was when he had a job. When we had money. When our family felt like such an obvious, unbreakable thing.

  “I didn’t lie,” Gold says behind me. I can hear his teeth beginning to chatter. “I merely chose to withhold certain information.”

  “Go back, you shigit,” I call to him. He can still wade to shore from here. A buoy bobs in the water just ahead of me. They dot the lake at intervals, offering rest, rescue, and probably a big point penalty.

  “I’m going to get this gig, Wholesome,” Gold says behind me. That hardness is back in his voice. “So you might as well help me. We’ll need to…” he sputters, “work together on the show. I can get you lens time…” more sputtering. “You need serious help grabbing eyes.”

  I look back. Blight! He’s neck-deep in the water, arms flailing, trying to keep himself afloat.

  I turn around in the water to face him, paddling to keep myself in place. “And how the hell are you so sure you’re going to make the cut?” I ask. “They’re only taking three people.”

  Gold looks at me. “Easy. ‘Cause I’m smart, funny, and adorable. And ‘cause when I want something, I do whatever it takes to get it.” He pushes further into the water with his last step. His arms paddle furiously, but he’s all out of sync. His head goes under, and he sputters when his face bobs up.

  His head goes under again, and without thinking I swim furiously toward him.

  As soon as I get close enough, he latches on to me, his frozen fingers sliding over my eyes.

  “Careful!” I bark. He’s holding on so tight, I can barely breathe. “Loosen up.” I have to tell him this two more times before the words seem to land. With a few elbow jabs, I manage to position him on my back, his fingers digging into my shoulders.

  I can’t swim freestyle anymore, so I switch to breast stroke. His weight pushes me down into the water, making each stroke and kick more challenging. At least he’s one of the smaller male competitors.

  With Gold’s body pressed against mine, I can feel the deep tremors rushing through him, not all of them from the cold. His breath, shallow and panting, fills my ears, dashing any suspicion I had about the possibility of him faking.

  “That was so stupid!” I scream at him.

  Through his chattering teeth, he lets out a small laugh. “I knew you’d save me. And look, I just got you primo lens time.” Overhead, I hear the familiar hum of a cam drone approaching. The producers prob have a few positioned throughout the course, ready to zip over to grab the more interesting action.

  “The producers want real, authentic people who viewers can get behind,” Gold says, “but those types are hard to find, especially in this town.”

  The cam drone hovers above us, its lens drinking in the action.

  “Do you actually want me to thank you for saving your life?” I huff as I pull us through the water.

&
nbsp; “I just made you more likeable in the last two mins than anything you’ve done with all that blank staring the entire day.”

  “Blank staring? That’s my stoic look!”

  “Stoic is boring. I have much to teach you.” I can almost hear the arrogant grin in his voice.

  In response, I dump him into the water. Gold yelps, flailing until he realizes his feet can touch the bottom. We’ve made it to the other side. As soon as I pull myself fully out of the water, I collapse in the mud. My chest muscles ache, and my whole body shakes from the cold. Faintly, I feel my Band vibrate with a new cache of points.

  Standing next to me, water streaming down his body, Gold checks his Band and nods as his points come through.

  “Nice working with you, Wholesome. I think we make an excellent team.” He gives me a wink before bounding down the trail, his wet clothes slapping against his body. I’m sure I would offer up an amazing comeback if I weren’t still gasping for air.

  Chapter 11

  My fav brand of painkillers is CloudTouch™. Always keep 'em on you. It's a rough world for a henchman.

  Tickles the Elf, The Henchman’s Survival Guide

  As I hop from one wobbling platform to the next above a pit of bright yellow goop, I decide that the show’s producer has a bad sense of humor. There must be a team of producers hunched in that command tent near the start of the course, but in my head, I fuse them into one person. I picture him as an older man with hair implants and a beer gut pushing from beneath his shirt. I imagine his dark, beady eyes watching me on a screen as I leap for the last platform, just barely grab it, and desperately scramble up.

  His heavy fish lips probably pull into a creepy smile later on as I stare at a line of colored buckets filled with sand. I lug each bucket across a wide field and carefully drop it into a row of dug-out divots. When I finally shove the last bucket — a vibrant purple — into the final divot, my arms are trembling. I wait for my points. Nada.

  In my mind, the producer’s fishy smile grows wider as I ponder the buckets. It doesn’t help that Tiger Claw lounges in the shade of a tree nearby, a hover cart next to him.

  “Hint?” I call to him.

  He smiles at me. “I’m just here to bring the buckets back.”

  It takes me a while, but I finally download the answer, rearranging the buckets into the order of the rainbow: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet.

  My Band vibrates with points.

  There are other middle school science challenges mixed in with more physical obstacles, like monkey bars and slippery rock walls. At one stop, I assemble the provided materials into a crank in order to pull a huge boulder out of the way of the path. Go me. Another obstacle presents a collection of beakers and a closed drawbridge over a pit of green slime. I fig that I’m supposed to use the chemicals to somehow dissolve the latch on the drawbridge, or maybe create some sort of reaction to do… uh, something.

  Ten mins later, my shoes squish and leave a green slime trail behind me as I continue on. My legs are heavy with fatigue, my hands scraped, my mind filled with curses for this fat, toady producer. The trail climbs up a steep hill. I don’t even bother trying to jog. My green-tinged tank top slaps against my skin, and I wheeze as I plow forward.

  Stoic, I tell myself without conviction. It’s all I can do not to crawl up this hill on my hands and knees, much less try to look forceful about it. The trail ends unceremoniously at a craggy rock wall, a line of harnesses neatly laid out before it. My fingers bleed by the time I manage, just barely, to climb to the top without falling. As a new cache of points downloads on my Band, I scramble out of the harness and follow the trail around a bend. And then, finally, the last obstacle looms in front of me.

  Buddha’s butt cheek.

  Over a dozen ladders perch against a tall, rocky bluff. At the top of the bluff, a massive FINISH banner ripples in the wind, and I can see a large, shady tent beckoning just beyond. I bet there’s water in that tent, and snacks. Images of bear claw donuts dance around in my imagination. I think I might be drooling.

  I shake my head to dislodge those delicious thoughts and focus on the task at hand. I’ve still got a henchman trial underway, after all.

  I stagger closer to the bluff and study the final obstacle. A dozen industrial ladders are bolted to the bluff’s stone face. A few already contain contestants. I see Sequoia for the first time, climbing up toward the top of his ladder. No green stains on his clothes. Mermaid is in the lead, but she pauses on a step and stares at her Band. Gold is just a few rungs up. On another ladder, chin spike guy curses loudly and smacks his fist on the ladder. I’m glad to see that he also sports a nice green hue on what was once a sleek, fitted red jumpsuit.

  Two cam drones buzz around the contestants, recording their frustration. None are climbing quickly, so there’s something about the ladder that I don’t yet understand. I take a deep breath and allow myself a swig from my nearly empty canteen before stepping onto the first rung of an empty ladder. I notice that every fifth rung of the ladder is red. I climb cautiously, and when my feet touch the first red rung, my Band blinks. A question rises from the screen.

  What is the most common element?

  I bring my Band close to my face and say quietly, “Hydrogen.”

  My score increases by ten points. I wait another second, but when nothing else happens I continue up. When my feet hit the next red step, a new question appears.

  What is the periodic symbol for silver?

  I know this one, thanks to Bob’s quizzing. “Ag,” I say, and earn more points and another five steps.

  Name all of the noble gases.

  I stare at the question and acutely miss my snarky Totem and his shimmery butterfly wings. Bob would be able to pull this answer up for me in an instant.

  “Helium, argon, neon,” I begin, and then falter. Are there six or seven? I had a quiz on this just two weeks ago in chem. If this Band had a video chat function, I’d call up Ollie. His mind might be a strange landscape, but it’s also rich in knowledge. Hell, I’d even take Adan’s help right now, though I’m sure I’d have to endure his gloating grin before he gave me the answer.

  Asking for Shine’s help during my henchman tryout. What an ironic thought.

  “Krypton,” I add with a strike of inspiration, and then I’m out. My Band glows an angry red, and I watch ten points peel away from my score. A minute appears on the screen and begins counting down.

  A penalty clock? I glance up and see that I’m right. Two of the other competitors wait on their ladders. I can see the little red timers floating above their wrists.

  At least this forced break gives me time to watch the race at the top of the ladders unfold. Mermaid is on her last step. Sequoia is only a few segments below her. She must have gotten to the ladder before him, because he’s climbing fast, barely pausing on each red rung as he chews through the questions.

  Wow. He must have some smart soft matter in his skull.

  Mermaid, her face pinched in anger, hangs silent on her ladder. Even from down here, I can see the red glow of her Band as it counts down her penalty minute. Sequoia reaches her position. They hang on their separate ladders side by side. Sequoia’s brow furrows as his Band lights up with the final question.

  As he opens his mouth to answer, Mermaid’s time is up. Her feet almost slip on the rungs as she scrambles up and launches herself across the finish line. When she makes it, she lets out a primal howl and then gives a wide smile to the camera.

  As much as I despise her, I’m impressed. I was the ninth competitor to enter the course; she started at some point behind me and finished first. Sequoia makes it to the top of the bluff and lopes across the finish line, smiling sheepishly as the cam drones buzz in for a close up. That won’t make for a good triumphant moment in the ep, but it’s still a damn good showing. He’ll almost certainly get the next call back.

  As for me, I refocus on my Band as my penalty clock runs down.

  Slowly, I make my way
up the ladder. I bless Professor Hersherwitz’s beautiful blue unicorn face for all those stupid quizzes he makes us take in class with our Bands disabled. The questions get harder as I close in on the top, but I’m able to answer more than I miss.

  Chin Spike makes it to the finish next and lets out a whoop. Gold is the fourth finisher. I manage to climb past a muscular guy in green-crusted boots who seems to get penalized on every question. I recognize him as the second competitor to start.

  I miss the last two questions, one about kinetic molecular theory and the other about the Higgs boson, but as soon as the last penalty clock runs down, I scramble onto the top of the bluff and rush over the finish line. What I really want to do is collapse in a heap and maybe cry a little; instead, I stand tall, pump my fist, and give a knowing nod to the camera.

  My stoic moment is somewhat undercut by Sequoia’s crushing hug. Over his big shoulder, I notice Mermaid eyeing me like she’s seeing me for the first time. When Sequoia releases me, I check to make sure the cams are zooming around the competitors still on the ladders, and then gratefully slide to the ground.

  I was ninth to start and fifth to finish. Not bad, but is it good enough?

  Now, we wait.

  Sequoia helps me drag myself inside the finisher’s tent. It’s a bare bones affair with a few cheaply printed tables offering towels and refreshments. Sadly, I see no bear claw donuts, but even a vanilla flavored nutra-pack would taste like heaven right about now.

  With Sequoia’s help, I soon find myself propped against a wall with a bottle of electrolyte-infused water, an energy bar, and a towel next to me. It feels so good to get out of the sun and put cals into my body. ITI — I’ll Take It.

  “Thanks,” I mumble to Sequoia through the last bite of the energy bar. I lay the wrapper aside and chug down the water. I save a little to pour on the towel and begin scrubbing the muck off my arms.