chapter 6
Life does not put things in front of you that you are unable to handle.
– Unknown
I’m awoken in the night to a needle in my arm. I get the same rush of being forced into consciousness – a shot of adrenaline – just like after the mindscan. I gasp for breath and sit up in the bed, trying to see who’s there. It’s O’Donovan and one of the night nurses. She unshackles me, and he hauls me to my feet.
I hurry behind him, though I have no idea what’s going on. My arms ache from all the recent shots. Shades of purple and green decorate the crooks of my elbows.
After winding through the hallways, he leads me outside to the open area where I ran with Will yesterday. When my eyes adjust to the moonlight, I see a group of guards-in-training standing in the field. I recognize a few faces from the bunker, including Sam’s. Kane’s there, too. And though I scan the crowd for Will, I don’t see him.
The field has been set up with a series of obstacles, and people mill around nervously, as if waiting for something to begin. There’s a thirty-foot rope wall to scale at the start, then log hurdles, deep mud bogs in the center of the field and a trench where flames leap up into the air. My eyes can’t make out the whole course in the darkness, but I do take note of a space squared off with ropes at the end and wonder what it’s for.
“You’ve done well in your tests this week I’m told.” O’Donovan watches my expression as I take in my surroundings. “So I thought it was time to try you at something a little more … advanced.” He smirks around the word advanced. He means brutal. “You’ll join our soldiers at the starting line and complete the obstacle course.”
My first impulse is to not cooperate. If I resist, they can’t use me as a pawn in their games. I know I have something they want and – though I don’t know what it is – I have the sense to guard it.
Kane steps from the shadows, and that’s all the motivation I need. I involuntarily move toward the starting line, just wanting to be away from him. He smiles a sick, sardonic smile, proud of the fear he’s instilled in me.
I line up with the others and spot Sam near the back. “What are you doing here?” She looks worried, like I have no chance of surviving this course.
I shrug. “Any tips?”
She digs one toe into the dirt behind her, ready to spring forward when we hear the gun blast. Looking straight ahead, she says, “Pace yourself. Don’t get swept up by the crowd. And in the ring – keep your hands up – protect your face.”
The gun fires, and the group springs forward, breaking into a sprint. They’re scrambling over logs, splashing through the mud, shoving each other aside to get ahead. I realize we’re being timed and there’s some unknown incentive to do well. I jog after them, trying to remember Sam’s words. I don’t want to push myself too hard at the beginning, it’s a long race with lots of obstacles, and I’ll need my strength to make it through. I get to the first mud pit, and without thinking, I clamber through it.
The mud engulfs my feet, and I sink up to my ankles, making each step difficult as I pull myself free from the suction the mud creates. It gets deeper and deeper as I wade across. I sink up to my thighs, my chest. It’s cold and thick, but strangely refreshing and helps to wake me up to what I’m actually doing. I quickly learn it’s best to go as fast as you can through the mud so you don’t have the chance to sink. I abandon my strategy of going slow to pace myself. I pick my feet up and jog faster through the mud before it has the chance to pull me under.
I reach the rope wall and without hesitating, I step into the first hold and begin pulling myself up. My arms quiver, and I look from the ground and then up to the top, trying to judge if I’ll have the strength to actually do this. I worry that I’ll fall to the ground and venture a glance down, but then squeeze my eyes shut. No. I push aside the thought and keep moving. After a few more feet of climbing, I’m nearly at the top. I cross one leg over, then the other, while I balance precariously at the beam on the top. I begin to climb down the other side and drop to my feet when I’m close to the ground.
People push past me, and I follow, stumbling with one wet, heavy foot in front of the other. The faces around me are black with mud. There are guys – big guys – who sprint past me into another mud bog. This time, we have to get low and crawl on our bellies under crisscrossing ropes. I drop to my knees in the mud, get low and crawl on my elbows under the ropes. The girl ahead of me kicks her feet, splashing mud into my eyes. I blink away the muck and keep crawling. Sticks and gravel cut into my arms as I pull myself through the mud, but I keep moving.
The shot of adrenaline they’ve given me is starting to wear off, and I’m almost out of energy, but I know the course is nowhere near done. And I don’t even want to think about what’s waiting for me at the end. Surely, they won’t make me fight anyone.
Most of the crowd quickly makes their way ahead of me, which is fine with me. For the next hour, I crawl through dirt, swim through mud puddles, run up and down hills, hurdle logs, and climb ropes and makeshift walls until my fingers are sore and bleeding, my legs are trembling, and I’m covered from head to toe in mud. I even taste it in my mouth.
All of the others are much faster than me, and I soon find myself so far back behind the pack that I’m confused about which obstacle comes next and which direction I’m supposed to go. I see a girl up ahead of me and keep my sights locked on her. Where she turns, I turn; where she jumps, I jump. I think of nothing else and propel myself after her. If I can just keep following her, I hope I’ll reach the end soon.
Somehow, I reach the end of the course. We are the last two to finish. The girl stops at the ring, ducks under the rope to get inside and waits, looking at me. The others are gathered around the ring, drenched in mud and bloody, to watch the fights that happen at the end of the race. They’re grinning like this is the highlight of the night. O’Donovan, Kane and Will are all at the front of the ring, judging the fights, I presume.
“Eve – get in there,” Will says, motioning me toward the ring.
I swallow and wipe the mud from my face with the inside of my shirt. It does nothing to clear my eyes. I part the ropes as I saw the girl do and stand to face her. I size her up. She’s several inches taller than me and much bulkier. Plus, it’s clear she’s done this before. She cracks her knuckles and smiles at me.
“Wait,” O’Donovan says. “Bryce, switch with her,” he calls to a guy standing on the sidelines. I breathe a sigh of relief and head to the ropes to get out of the ring. O’Donovan laughs. “No – you stay put, Sterling.”
The girl scrambles out of the ring, and a guy twice my size maneuvers his body nimbly between the ropes. He flexes his large hands open and closed. There’s blood on his knuckles. It’s clear he’s already been in one fight tonight. He takes a step closer to me, and his eyes harden.
I look to O’Donovan. He can’t mean for me to fight this guy. He only smiles back at me. Then I look to Will. He looks angry, probably at having his first match up for me overruled.
I try to remember what I know about protecting myself, but my mind goes blank. I bring my hands up to block my face, like Sam told me. The guy, Bryce, is light on his feet and shuffles toward me, quickly closing the distance between us. He reaches out and knocks my hands from my face, then lands a blow on my left temple. Light flashes in front of my eyes, and I blink it away, stumbling, but not falling.
I’m quick to bring my hands back up to cover my face again, but he takes a shot at my side this time, hitting me in the ribs. It knocks the wind from my lungs, and I hear it leave my body in a whoosh between my lips. I grab onto the ropes at the side of the ring for support, gulping down air. Will meets my eyes once and turns to leave. I watch him retreat into the night.
I push myself back from the ropes and turn to face Bryce again. Before I’ve caught my breath, he takes another shot at my face, punching me directly in the nose and mouth. I instantly taste blood and see the ground shift beneath my feet. Blood flows freely from my nose and runs, warm and salty down my chin and coats the back of my throat. Tears sting my eyes. I can barely see, I can hardly breathe, and I’m shaking.
A startled sob escapes my throat, and my resolve crumbles. I can’t do this. I drop to my knees and hold my hands up in front of me, in surrender. “I can’t. I can’t,” I pant, my voice trembling.
They’ve got what they wanted all along. I know they’ve been counting my flaws and revel each time they find another. The smile on O’Donovan’s face exposes his secret – he not only wanted to see me fail, he needed it.
Kane comes into the ring and pulls me up to my feet. When I falter, he lifts me over his shoulder like a sack of flour and heads for the building. “That was pathetic,” he says, as I bounce along his shoulder with each step.
All the other recruits are lined up against the side of the building, being hosed down with giant fire hoses. Kane drops me amongst them, and instantly I feel the cold blast of water smack me in the face. The pressure from the hose blasts into my tender skin, and I bring my hands up to block the direct pressure against my nose and mouth. I wipe my eyes and look down. The water running away from my body is muddy and tinged red. After the mud is gone, I step away from the spray of water. My clothes cling to my body. I shiver in the night air and follow the group inside.