A crown of deep red pooled around the dead man’s head; I saw the fingers of his right hand twitch and I stared across the long space between them at his eyes, open and empty, and even through my sadness I couldn’t shake the feeling I knew him, or that at least I’d seen him somewhere before.
The crowd roared and stomped; the bleachers shook and moved underneath the weight of so many people, but not even the threat of the bleachers collapsing and taking me with them could shake my mind free from the very real possibility of Atticus being that man lying there. I regretted all the times we saved our bullets and didn’t kill larger animals for food and adequate protein; I regretted all the times Atticus gave me the healthier portion of our meager fish catches, the bigger handfuls of blackberries and pecans. He could’ve been so much stronger than he was when we were captured; he could’ve been ready for a fight. To the death. Oh, Atticus! How can I help you, my love? What can I do to get you out of here? I wanted to weep into my hands; I wanted to push Kade off the bleacher next to me and jump over the head of the woman in front of me, and I wanted to run out into the arena and stop this inhumane injustice. But what really could I do that would make any difference?
Nothing.
Nothing!
I sat unmoving next to Kade, staring now at my shaking hands rested within my lap, and I did…nothing.
The second fight was more fairly matched. And no one died.
The third fight was between a man and a woman. And the man almost died. They dragged him off the arena floor by his feet, unconscious, his head busted open, leaving a small smear-trail of blood behind him. But he was alive because someone had announced it.
The fourth fight was as unfairly matched as the first, but to my surprise, the smaller man was much quicker and stabbed the bigger man underneath his armpit, dropping him instantly.
The fifth fight—I couldn’t keep up anymore; I refused to watch until Kade noticed and forced me to. And so I stared out ahead and pretended to watch, when really, I’d somehow found a peaceful place within my mind and shut most everything else out.
I remembered the day Atticus and I found the cabin in the forest, and I pictured every day after it; absently I smiled thinking to myself, reliving our happiest moments together, although few, and I pressed my hand against my heart and I could almost feel Atticus’ hand atop mine.
And then, as if connected to him by right, I felt the stuffy room grow cold and my eyes found the entrance Atticus would walk through seconds before he walked through it. Before anybody else this time, I rose from the bleacher seat, and my hand remained pressed to my heart, and with no breath in my lungs I watched Atticus as he entered the arena floor, and I called out over the boisterous crowd, “Atticus!” and over the boisterous crowd he absolutely heard me.
He lifted his head and saw me from afar.
I flung myself forward and almost made it past the woman in front of me before Kade’s hands grabbed my waist from behind and yanked me toward him; I snapped backward into his lap like a rubber-band.
“Don’t make him fight!” I screamed into Kade’s hairy face. “I’ll do anything! Let him go!”
“There’s nothing I can do to stop it, little lady,” he said. “And even if I could, I wouldn’t. Now sit down.”
My hand shot out and snapped him in the face, stunning him for a moment.
Kade paused, moved his jaw around underneath his fingertips, and then grabbed my shoulder and shoved me onto the seat.
Then he stood up and spoke loudly over the crowd so everyone would hear: “Gauntlet!”
The crowd went wild; the man to my left shouted with excitement, pumping his fists into the air, and then he reached around me and patted Kade on the back.
“You got the ante, Kade?” the man shouted over the rising noise.
The woman in front of me turned around fully, revealing her face, which surprised me—it was the woman I’d encountered when Kade walked me through the streets, whose vicious dog almost attacked me.
“She’s too damn skinny, Kade,” the woman reminded him, looking me over. “But I’ll accept her as a wager.”
I looked back and forth between them—is this because I hit him? Did I just become part of a bet? What is a gauntlet? My eyes found Atticus again, just as his opponent entered the arena from an opposite entrance. He looked equally matched for Atticus—same height, same build, same age—but in his right hand there was…something. What is that it in his hand? My breath came back but in short, frantic bursts; my hand was pressed to my chest again and I could feel my heart beating through my fingers.
I turned to Kade, eyes wide, my mouth parted. “That man has a knife!”
Kade smiled, but did not look at me.
“Gauntlet!” one man shouted.
“Gauntlet!” shouted another.
And another, and ten more, until the entire gymnasium was chanting: “Gauntlet! Gauntlet! Gauntlet!” and a thousand feet stomped the bleachers and the floor.
I attempted once more to leave the bleachers, but Kade grabbed hold of my elbow and he shook me; he shoved me onto the seat again and leaned over into my face; his hot breath smelled of food; his eyes bored into mine with dangerous admonition. “Consider this,” he said, squeezing my elbow so tightly it hurt. “If you want that man to have any chance, you should probably sit still and keep your pretty little mouth shut, or else you’re going to distract him and get him killed.” His hand tightened and he pulled me so close to his face I could see the tiny black hairs sprouting above his upper lip.
Then, trading warning for interest, his dark eyes swept over me, leaving the hairs on my arms to prickle, and an uncomfortable feeling, the need to be anywhere but next to him, to reawaken in my chest. My head reared back slightly, but Kade’s followed; his mouth found the corner of mine where it lingered long enough to convey what he wanted from me.
He pulled away and sat as before, his gaze fixed on the soon-to-be fight I wanted more than anything to stop; and he released my elbow with confidence, because he had made his point and I knew he was right. If I made a scene, Atticus would be focused only on me, and not the man trying to kill him.
I didn’t even want to look at Atticus now; I wanted to cover my eyes and my ears and shut it all out, but I couldn’t. I had to watch. I had to witness. If Atticus was going to die tonight, I wanted him to know that I was with him, that I was strong enough to stay with him in his final moments, and so I couldn’t look away.
61
THAIS