Chapter 34
The commentator’s voice rumbles, but I don’t take my eyes from the others in the arena. “At a down-count of ten, we will release the cuffs and the fight will begin!” he roars. The air trembles with an explosion of noise, and the count starts, shouted by the spectators as well as the commentator.
“Ten! Nine …” The numbers pulse against me, hammer my eardrums, and then fade to gibberish in my ringing ears. Until they get to …
“ONE!”
And then the arena explodes with action.
Cuffs release. Everyone leaps but me. Before I can move, before I can put my hands up to protect my face, I am buried beneath three bodies. My head smacks the pool floor, though I don’t feel it, only hear the crunch of skull on cement, see stars in front of my open eyes. I cannot move.
Jonah throws Arris aside and then rips the female from me, rolling with her into the center of the pool, a thrashing ball of limbs and skin.
Arris scrambles to his feet and leaps onto me, his knees pinning my wrists to the ground, and stares into my eyes. He lifts his knife and grins, watching for my reaction instead of striking. I don’t wait for his knife to find my flesh. With a grunt, I thrust my knee between his legs, hard. His eyes grow wide, the knife trembles in his hand, and he topples, rolling off of me to stare goggle-eyed at the glass seal overhead. And now there’s no doubt. He’s male.
I jump to my feet and watch him. The advantage is mine. I could take the knife from his hand and eliminate him from the fight, but I don’t. The thought makes me sick. Instead, I creep past Jonah and the female Five to the other side of the pool and cower. Overhead, the crowd is staring, starved for action, insane with their desire for blood. The governor’s eyes never leave me.
“What did I tell you, folks? Looks like our female Ten isn’t as soft as she appears to be,” the commentator cries.
Across the pool, Arris drags himself to his feet and glares. Hunched over, gripping his stomach, he skirts around the two flailing beasts and cautiously approaches me. In spite of his youth, his eyes are old and filled with a hatred so deep, I can feel it.
“Why are you trying to kill me?” I call out to him. “Why do you hate me so badly?”
The noise of the crowd dulls to nothing. Confused by the sudden silence, I look up. The people crammed onto the stadium benches are staring down at me, mouths hanging open, eyebrows knit in confusion, shocked. The governor stands and walks to the edge of the pool, stopping beside a short man dressed all in white, with a round belly straining his shirt. The governor says something to the man.
“Cut the pit sound,” the man in white says, his booming voice annoyed. He is the commentator, the Shadow Man. And he’s just been given an order he doesn’t like. The governor nods and returns to his seat. “Folks, don’t worry yourselves over the Ten. The governor just assured me that she can’t talk. That was the Three speaking.”
From the corner of my eye I see Arris leap. I lift my hands to defend myself and am slammed into the pool floor again, skidding across the rough cement. The breath whooshes out of me. Heat stabs my forearm as Arris’s knife connects with it, slicing downward. His eyes, mere inches above mine, fill with glee.
I buck Arris off and roll onto him, grabbing his knife-hand wrist with both of my hands. But my injured hand won’t grip. And Arris is strong—his thin, wiry, vein-covered arm no match for me. Recognition niggles at my brain. I have seen this before, in myself and in my brother, symptoms of violence that are accompanied by an inhuman increase in strength.
Arris is on the verge of turning.
He shoves me off him like I’m a thin, limp blanket, perches on my chest with his bare feet, and leaning over, brings the knife to my throat. I clasp his wrist with both my hands and stop the knife a millimeter from my flesh.
“I hate you,” he gasps, his body taut with the effort of getting his knife to my throat. “It’s not fair that you’re not a beast! And the militia helped you. Bowen helped you. No one ever helped me!” I struggle against him, trembling from the strain of keeping his knife off my skin, and he laughs. “All I have to do is kill you and the governor will let me live inside the wall,” he says. “Finally, someone is helping me.”
Heat fills my blood, fire tightens my muscles, and I move the knife an inch away from my neck. Confusion fills Arris’s eyes. “You’re strong. Stronger than you should be,” he says. The confusion in his eyes turns to satisfaction. “But my knife is already at your throat.”
The knife presses harder and Arris’s eyes grow darker. I squeeze my eyes shut and focus every bit of strength I have into keeping his knife from my throat.
“Open your eyes and stare death in the face,” Arris growls.
I open my eyes and stare into his. Little by little, the knife moves toward my neck until it brushes my skin.
I grit my teeth and close my eyes, and an unexpected heaviness flattens my body into the ground. I can’t breathe, can’t move, am completely trapped beneath Arris’s slight body.
Did he just kill me? Is this how it feels to die?
I blink and stare into Arris’s shocked, bulging eyes. Blue bleeds into his full red lips, and tan hands are cinched around his pale, sinewy neck. Arris’s knife clatters to the pool floor beside my ear.
Jonah lifts Arris from me and drags him to the far side of the pool, and I think I just might live for three more seconds. Until a warm, hard weight crushes me.
The female beast stares down at me, knees straddling my hips. I grab Arris’s knife from the floor and swing it at her chest, but she swats it out of my hand without taking her eyes from mine. Her hands grip my hands and slam them beside my ears, making my broken finger snap and flame with pain. She peels her lips from her teeth and stares at my neck.
“Look at this, folks! The female Five finally has her chance with the female Ten! She’s going for the throat!” the commentator shrieks. “And by the way the Five is taking control, I’d say she’s going to be victorious … but wait! Look at this, look at this!” He can barely contain his glee. “The male Ten! He’s coming in for a piece of the fun, too! Both of them against the female Ten!”
Jonah jumps onto the female, crushing us both beneath his weight. He grabs her shoulders and yanks her up. She doesn’t let go of me, grips my hands more tightly and pulls me to my feet. Jonah wraps his arms around her shoulders and flings her to the side. Her hands lose their grip on mine, claws raking my flesh. She flies through the air and strikes the side of the pool. And then I am living my worst nightmare—Jonah coming for me. He takes me by the waist and heaves me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
“What? This is new!” the commentator blares. “Maybe he’ll body slam her into the wall?” The crowd cheers. “Bash her brains out against the floor?” They cheer louder, and I cling to the threadbare shirt hanging on my brother’s back.
Jonah hobbles to the side of the pit and stops, setting me gently on the floor with my back to the pool wall. He steps in front of me, faces the female, and crouches. I am stunned. Shocked. At this simple act of protection, tears sting my eyes, and my throat aches with the desire to sob.
The crowd starts booing. The female Five doesn’t budge from her side of the pool—just stands panting and staring at Jonah.
“What in the world? This is a first! It looks as though the male Ten is actually protecting the female Ten! I don’t believe it! Maybe he’s saving her for last? For dessert?” the commentator barks.
The governor stands and walks over the top of the pool, his hard-soled shoes clicking on the glass seal, and stops beside the commentator. Unheard words pass between them, while Jonah remains crouched in front of me and the female beast stays on the far side of the pool. After a moment, the commentator grins and the governor sits back down.
“It’s no wonder he got himself appointed governor! This guy is wily!” the commentator says with a chuckle. “He’s suggested another first for the day! Listen to this, folks … shall we add a … handicap … to the male Ten?”
The crowd starts pounding their feet on the bleachers and chanting, “Yes! Yes! Yes!”
My cuffs fill with heat, but it is Jonah’s wrist cuffs that meld together. The female, as if sensing her sudden advantage, hisses and takes a step closer. Jonah crouches lower and waits. The female begins pacing back and forth, her blood-streaked body tense, eyes never leaving Jonah. It is like watching two caged lions.
A drawn-out minute passes, and then two, and the crowd begins to lose some of its enthusiasm. I look up and meet the governor’s nervous eyes. His mouth hardens, and he waves the commentator over. More words pass between them, and then the commentator moves to the very center of the pool, right above Jonah.
“Shall we add another handicap?” the commentator asks, lifting his hands into the air and spinning in a slow circle. The crowd cheers, chants again, yes yes yes. Jonah’s legs snap together and he falls to his side. His elbow crunches when it impacts the cement and he screams, curling into a fetal ball. Bone, pink with blood, protrudes from his elbow.
The female doesn’t wait. She’s soaring through the air, teeth bared, eyes locked on me. I stand to run and trip over Jonah, toppling to the floor, palms skidding on cement.
Something cinches around my ankle just below the cuff, and I can’t move. I’m dragged across the floor, back over Jonah’s writhing body, and lifted up off the ground. The pool floor falls beneath me, wind whips my clean hair against my face, and with a hearty crunch, my shoulder and head smack into the cement wall. Stars flash before my open eyes, and a numb tingling works its way into my fingers and toes, legs and arms, saturating my whole body as darkness hovers around my open eyes.
“Ha! Did you see that? Slammed into the side of the pool!” Delight fills the commentator’s voice. “And now, the male Ten has the Five’s ankle and he’s not letting go!”
Unable to move, I stare up at the glass seal, at the crowd of people staring down at me and cheering for my death. At the women—gasping, disgusted, but not looking away. At the men—drooling for violence and blood. And it hits me. They all want me to die. Me! Who cowers at the side of the pool instead of inflicting pain and death. Not the violent female beast who is obviously insane. Me. The piano prodigy, daughter of a retired war veteran, gentle me.
Because I have the oval with ten marks on my hand.
I ask myself, as I stare up into those faces, Do I want to live? If I survive the pit, will I be forced to live in this world I see above me? From where I lie, it appears to be a world worth dying to avoid. And so I don’t care if I live or die.
Then a pair of brown boots steps onto the glass and stops directly above me. Someone dressed in militia brown falls to his knees, palms on the glass seal, looking down. His fist thumps the glass, and his mouth starts moving with a silent onslaught of angry words. And all of a sudden I remember something. I do want to live. Because if I am with the person kneeling on the glass above, I am home.
Bowen leans his forehead on the glass and looks right into my eyes. He opens his mouth and yells again. I cannot hear him, but I can see what he says, each movement of his lips forming meaning.
Fight! Don’t give up! No matter what!
Hands grip his arms and jerk him to his feet. He starts fighting, kicking, flailing as two men dressed in black drag him off the glass and aim weapons at his chest.
“Uh, folks, it seems we have a problem,” the commentator cries. He is standing at the side of the pool, hand rubbing his round belly, eyeing Bowen nervously. “The militia just opened the south gate and are on their way here. They’re insisting we stop the fight, so if you just remain in your seats …” The crowd groans.
The governor is on his feet and at the commentator’s side in a flash, whispering into his ear.
“Wait, folks, wait! The governor has given his special approval to continue the fight!” the commentator says, voice uneasy. Bowen, despite the guns pointed at his chest, starts fighting again. It is time for me to do the same.
Taking a deep breath, I roll onto my side, ready to stand, ready to be done with the pits. The female, her ankle still held fast by Jonah, growls at me. On unsteady legs I walk up to her, bend my arm, and swing my elbow into her face. She falls to the side and in the same movement, rams her foot into Jonah’s stomach, sending him flying to the other side of the pool. I jump onto her, ready to continue the fight, but she’s fast—her hands whip up to my neck faster than my eyes can follow, and rough and hot, they clamp down. My body is flipped over and the beast is atop me, the pool grinding into my back.
Above me, Bowen becomes frantic, tearing away from the black-clad guards. He climbs onto the pool seal again, screaming words I don’t hear. Pulling a handgun from his belt, he fires at the glass, but the seal holds fast.
I look away from him and stare at the female beast’s face. Her chipped teeth are bared, a slight smile on her foam-flecked mouth. I claw at her hands, kick at her legs, but her hold tightens, as if my attempt to fight back lends her strength. My lungs start to burn, want to collapse, beg me to inhale. And I can’t.
I look up at Bowen again, desperate, wondering if all the time we spent trying to stay alive, all the running and the hiding … was it all for nothing if it ends with my death? He quit the militia for nothing. He got shot for nothing. He fell in love with me for nothing.
His eyes meet mine and he takes something from his belt—a black grenade. He pulls the pin, sets it on top of the glass, and walks calmly to the side of the crowded arena.
“Folks! Folks! Look at this! Look at the male Ten!” the commentator shrieks, oblivious to the grenade. I turn my eyes to the side and meet Jonah’s. His face is swollen and bleeding, his body smeared with blood, but he’s standing on his cuffed feet. “By brute strength he’s pulled his wrist cuffs apart, in spite of his shattered elbow! That’s over five hundred pounds of force! Just think of the pain and agony he must be feeling—a pain he’s willing to endure to satisfy his desire to kill!”
The commentator’s right. Jonah’s shoulder muscles bulge and tremble with strain, a glossy sheen of sweat coats his skin, mingling with blood, and his arms aren’t melded together anymore. Six inches of space separate the cuffs.
Oh, my poor brother. There is nothing left of him.
My vision is turning black, everything fading from view, except Jonah, focused at the exact center of my sight. He takes a leap toward me and the female beast, and his forearms come down on either side of the female’s neck. Jonah’s cuffs, zinging with energy, wrench back together and snap around her neck just as my vision dims.
Her fingers go limp, falling from my neck and trailing over my shoulder. I gasp a breath of air, and the world reappears, accompanied by pain. Jonah, his cuffs still locked on the female’s neck, drags her away from me. In one swift move he throws her aside, reducing her to a limp pile of death.
As if seeing everything in slow motion, I blink and look back up at the glass, at the commentator pointing at the grenade and running from the pool, the crowd pushing and shoving and trampling each other to get away, at the grenade that is about to explode. I curl onto my side and cover my head, waiting for impact. A weight settles on me—Jonah—covering my aching body with his, cradling my head in his hand, his panting breath hot on my skin.
The air seems to solidify and compress, molding my skin against my bones, forcing its way into my ears and pushing the breath from my lungs. My skull squeezes my brain, and my eyeballs want to pop with the pressure. Jonah’s body mashes mine into the floor and then goes limp as the pressure in the air fades to nothing.
I open my eyes. It is raining diamonds.