When we reach the plantation house, I hide the cycle in the woods away from the road and the mansion. Then I give Janine the fob. “Hold on to this. If anything bad happens, promise me you’ll get yourself home.”
“Belle? What’s going on?”
“I don’t know. I have a bad feeling.”
Janine swats a mosquito and gives me her pouty face. “I’m staying with you.”
“Then I’m taking you home.”
Janine’s shoulders sag.
I count 29 cycles out front, all the remaining recruits. Then I lead her inside to the drowning beat of sassy music. It’s a warm, muggy evening. Thankfully, Dara has the air conditioning on inside the great hall. Recruits huddle in small groups, some outfitted in flashy dresses that fail the harmony test, along with makeup like a Halloween ball. No one washed out today, which surprises me.
Bruised from her fight with Dara, Vivian doesn’t look so tough as she bounds over to me. “Glad that’s over. I thought she was going to kill me.”
I nod. That’s something to look forward to.
Dara brings drinks in chipped crystal for Janine and me. “I’ve watered yours down. I know you don’t like alcohol. None for the sibling.”
The way she looks at Janine, I wonder if she saw my sister at the match. While Dara wanders off distributing drinks, the music grows louder, certainly not harmonious. What would Sam think? She’s monitoring us. She knows we’re here, the victors and the vanquished, all except for two who washed out in the first round.
Several girls move to the middle of the hall to dance. Two recruits proposition Janine, who clings to me and looks up for protection. I smile and pull her close. Hanging together is all we need tonight.
Dara joins us. “How about a dance?” She grabs my hand.
When Janine moves away, I use her as my excuse. “My sister’s not feeling well. We’re going to walk it off.”
Dara glares like she wants to push, then returns to the bar. I take Janine by the hand and whisper, “Sorry about that.”
“Thanks for not leaving me. I feel like a gazelle surrounded by lions.”
A fast gazelle, I hope. “I should take you home.” I head for the exit and step outside into twilight to crickets, mosquitoes and something else.
“I want to stay with you, Belle.”
“Remember what I said. Get on the cycle and go home.”
“Belle?”
“Just do it.” I lead her to the edge of the woods. We slosh through soggy weeds; there must have had a flash thunderstorm while we were inside. When she won’t leave me, I lead Janine toward the cycle.
Choppers buzz overhead. Armored vehicles in green camouflage thunder up the road. When we reach the cycle, I crouch down and pull Janine into the bushes. Mech trucks spill up the muddy road.
“What’s happening, Belle?”
“Sam’s rounding us up. I have to go back. She won’t leave until she has all the recruits. After she does, take the cycle and go home.”
“You won’t have transport.”
“I’ll call you now that we’ve synchronized phones. Do this for me.”
With twilight fading into dark, Janine crouches down. I run to the front of the mansion where choppers are landing. I approach the lead truck to distract them.
Four warriors in combat gear with blackened faces emerge from an armored vehicle, along with a warrior in mech gear. Several other vehicles unload. Six mech warriors take positions around the mansion and shine lights on the huge ancient structure. Renee and others move into the house. One of the warriors grabs me.
“What’s going on?” I have a good idea.
“Shut your trap and get into the wagon.” The warrior shoves me into an empty armored truck with bench seats and bars on the single window in back. I sit on one side. It’s going to be a very long night.
Warriors shout. In the dark I count nine bodies thrown in with me, two quite drunk. One chucks it onto the floor. Putrid odor fills the cramped, steamy space, making me want to empty my stomach. I’m glad I didn’t drink.
Dara argues, then goes silent.
“Tranquilize anyone else who resists,” a warrior says.
I pray Janine gets away. Mom has enough heartache with me to have to worry about my sister. Through the tiny back window, I watch warriors load cycles onto a truck and drive off.
“How the hell did they find us?” Capra asks.
“Shut up or I’ll tranquilize the lot of you.”
Why did Sam wait until now to raid? Sweat streams down my neck. The humidity inside the truck is so high I expect it to rain in here. The door slams shut. There’s a scrape of metal as bolts latch. Then we bounce down the road, heading deeper into the woods. The smell of vomit overwhelms, along with mosquitoes feasting on our damp skin.
After some 20 minutes, our truck stops. Two others stop alongside, in addition to several armored vehicles.
Sam’s bass voice carries. “While many of you are done with the tournament, you all face the arena on Saturday. Do you imagine you have time to party? Do you believe being a grunt exempts you from harmony laws? We’ll have the food, drink, and music examined. Infractions may cause recruits to wash out, face disciplinary action, or worse.
“If no one comes forward to take responsibility, I’ll hold each of you accountable. Think carefully before you test me on this. Any recruit not on base and in assembly at eight tomorrow morning will wash out. Goodnight, ladies.”
A moment later the armored vehicles and choppers take off. We’re surrounded in this stinking pressure cooker by thick darkness, the buzz of mosquitoes, a racket of crickets, and groans.
I try to stand; the roof isn’t high enough. “We have to get out of here and back to base by eight. You heard the Commander.”
The girl who sat next to me slumps onto the bench where I sat. Her friend, the one who vacated her stomach, falls on top of her. In the dark, I can’t see much.
“What’s the point?” Margarite says from the back. “Sam’s going to kick us out anyhow.”
“We all know Dara’s responsible for the food, drink, and music,” Capra says. “I’m not taking the fall for her.”
“I say we turn her in,” Hannah says.
“Go ahead,” Vivian says.
“Brandy,” I say.
“Yes.”
“Capra, is your entire team here?”
“I think so.”
“Then listen to me.” I wish I could see faces. “This is another of Sam’s tests. She’s invested too much to wash us all out.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Capra says.
“We’re here by team. We can rat out other teams to save ourselves and lose by fighting among ourselves, or we can work together and find a way back to base.”
“I’m in,” Capra says.
“Let’s get the door open for starters.”
I move to the front of our compartment and try the door. It doesn’t budge. There’s no access to the cab. The only other opening is the little barred window; when I grab the bars, they don’t budge. “Dara, you out there?”
“Yeah.” She sounds groggy, tranquilized maybe. “What do you have in mind?”
“What if we put our backs into it and kick the doors out?”
“Already tried. Must be bolted on the outside.”
I return to the window and grab the bars again. “Any way to pry loose one of the window bars?”
“Trying,” Dara says. “They’re solid. We need a hammer.”
“What about one of the benches?”
Banging and grunts come from the trucks to my left and right as we try to pry the wooden bench off the floor. “Ours won’t budge,” I say.
“Same here,” Dara says.
“No luck,” says Kara, a muscular, pasty-faced blonde who has risen in the rankings with two tournament wins.
“Does anyone have something hard we could use against either the benches or the window bars?” I ask.
Groans and grumbling.
“I’m not giving up,” I say. “Remember what Sam says, reach deeper. Come on, grunts. Let’s show her we deserve to be mechs.”
“Who put you in charge?” Dara asked.
“Then you take charge. I don’t care. I’m not letting my mech career die here. Sam says when you lose all defenses and weapons, dig deep and find something else.”
“Why don’t you bash that hard skull of yours against the bars and see if that helps,” Kara says.
“Hannah,” I say. “Back to back against the door. What do you say?”
“I’m game.”
I move to the door with my back to Hannah. With her pushing me, I kick. The door won’t give. I kick again and again, letting my frustration and anger rise. I imagine Janine’s face in the tournament encouraging me to stay in the fight. I kick again and the door swings open. Hannah pushes so hard I tumble out into mud at the feet of–Janine?
She helps me up.
“I sent you home.” I stare into her sweet face lit by moonlight. Our trucks are clustered in a muddy ravine.
“You’re welcome.”
“What’s going on?” Dara asks.
“We’re out.” In dim moonlight I look at the bolt on the door; there’s no lock. I motion for Janine to open the truck to my left while I go to Dara’s truck.
“How’s that possible?” Dara groans.
“Stand back,” I say, releasing the bolt.
The door flies open. Dara tumbles out into the mud. “Thanks. I guess I owe you.”
Janine returns to my side.
“You?” Dara says. “Are you part of this?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I told her to skedaddle when I heard trucks coming,” I say.
“And you returned?” Dara asked.
I nod. “Didn’t want to miss out on whatever Sam has planned.”
“Okay, girls,” Dara says. “Let’s get these trucks out of the ditch and back on the road.” Dara turns to Janine. “Thanks, little sister.”
Janine clutches my hand, while I shield her from Dara.
It takes two hours to get all three trucks out of the ravine and facing the plantation. It takes another hour in the dark to make our way to the mansion. Since it’s past midnight and we have to be on base at eight, we drive the three trucks straight to the mech center.
Sam’s waiting when we reach the gate. She expects us, because she can track our movements. Sam escorts the muddy lot of us to the gym, where she has spread out 30 thin mattresses. “This will be your home for now. Anyone leaving base will wash out. If you can’t handle this, leave now.”
Sam waits a moment. We each move to pick out a mattress, all except for Janine, who stands by the door. Before I can go to her and thank her for saving our asses, Sam escorts her away.
Sam never mentions the party, the illegal food, drink or music. What has me pissed is that she’s using Janine.
* * *
Saturday morning, Sam escorts us back to the arena with our mech gear. The arena looks much bigger without the four raised tournament platforms. The 10-foot wall prevents escape. There’s a padded platform in the middle where recruits can go to catch their breath or wash out. There’s nowhere to hide, no place to escape brutes who will enter the arena to challenge us. I smell sweat and fear more than I did during the tournament, more than any disinfectant can remove. This isn’t how I want to meet boys.
At least the first arena test is in full mech body armor. We face three brutes at once, musclemen from nearby prisons and escapees pumped up on steroids to make the contest more challenging. At any time we can signal to wash out and escape injury or death. But by now, none of us want to quit, for reasons we don’t share. We can’t show weakness.
The advantage of winning the first two rounds of the tournament is that I get to see other trainees in the arena before my turn. Those who lost round one go first. Those who lost round two follow. The eight still in the tournament go last. Unlike the tournament, there’s one match at a time, and 30 of us. This will take our entire Saturday. I can’t miss seeing live action to prepare myself. At least there’s no audience, except other trainees, and warriors here to cover their bets.
I sit in the lowest level of the stands with Dara, Margarite and Brandy. I feel numb watching match after match. Too much violence.
Next up is Vivian, the tough blonde from my group who fell to Dara in round two. I suspect she quit rather than let Dara injure her so she could compete today. She has something to prove.
In full black body armor, Vivian stands beside the padded centerpiece facing the three doors the brutes use. The idea is to get over our fear of fighting big opponents in stages. In the first arena test, you win if you get all three brutes down and cuffed. You lose if they remove your helmet. It’s not a fight to the death, but I don’t relish facing three fighters at once. Even with my mech suit advantages, they look intimidating.
Vivian stretches and flexes her mech joints, showing fluid movements she’ll need to stand victorious. I hold my breath, feeling the tension and adrenalin rush, unfocused at this point. I don’t want to burn out before my contest.
All three steel doors open. Men in bulging haptic suits saunter onto the field for this single-elimination round, the first of several tests. They spot each other and their target. Though Sam says they’ve had no contact beforehand, they would know to work together to defeat the armored warrior. Remove her helmet and win the round. They’ll receive rewards Sam doesn’t mention, while the recruit washes out.
With a nod, the men rush toward Vivian. I watch and consider: should I wait for them to reach me, or rush them?
Vivian turns. She runs full force at the one on her left and thrusts her clenched mech glove into the man’s gut, sending him backward. She chases his retreating body, putting distance between herself and his companions.
He tumbles onto the dirt, winces, then scrambles to his feet. She hits him again. He grabs her shielded arm and reaches for her helmet clasp. She slams him full force into the padded wall, knocking the wind out of him. Then she throws him over the 10-foot wall into the stands.
When the remaining two brutes close in, she jumps over them. While a mech warrior removes the brute from the stands, Vivian runs toward the centerpiece to catch her breath. The two men run toward her, side-by-side so she can’t separate them. She waits until they get close and jumps, grabbing one from behind. The other brute climbs onto her shoulders, reaches up and removes one helmet clasp. Three more and she’s out.
She dives into a somersault and drops her mech weight on the man as he pops the second clasp. It looks easier than it must be to use the suit to advantage. The third man climbs onto her back, pulls the third clasp. Vivian cuffs the second man, then drops back and scrapes the last man off her shoulders.
She turns to face her last opponent. He steps back. She charges, sidestepping at the last moment. He lunges for the clasp. She slams her mech arm across his neck, sending him sprawling, and cuffs him.
Vivian stands victorious. I tell myself: be aware of your helmet clasps, but don’t obsess or you’re done. It reminds me of losing focus during the tournament.
Yawning, Dara grabs Margarite and leaves.
Brandy and I sit through the next contest. I like Hannah, a good runner and strong competitor, the strongest in Renee’s group. She should do well, but she hesitates when the men charge at her. Instead of singling one out, she jumps when they converge. One of the brutes catches her foot.
At first I don’t recognize the guy, so bulked up on steroids. It’s the boy from Michael’s school, my redhead, Morgan. Damn it all. All those risks, all that effort, and he didn’t get away. My stomach knots. How can Sam force him into this life like my dad? And the final contest is to the death? I force myself to watch.
Hannah kicks to free herself. Morgan slams her down and bangs her helmet onto the ground. That has to hurt, despite the padding. The men converge, ripping open her helmet clasps. By the time Hannah stirs, they’ve released three. She scrambles to her feet and scurries away with all three in pursuit. She runs around the arena, tiring herself out. She’ll want to reattach the clasps. That’s an automatic wash-out.
Morgan directs the other two to corner her. It’s more a suggestion than a command. I can’t take my eyes off him.
Each time the men attack, Hannah jumps and runs, with the suit giving her speed and agility. She can’t win this way, though; time will run out. Pulling out a set of cuffs, she waits until the men charge. She darts sideways around the one on the right and cuffs one of his hands, then struggles to get the other hand and finally cuffs it.
Two men jump her and fight over the last clasp. She throws Morgan. Don’t hurt him. He flies through the air, clutching her helmet.
The third man attacks. Terror fills Hannah’s freckled face. The judge triggers the man’s collar, sending him into convulsions. Two mechs jump into the arena and escort Hannah away. She’s out of the program. Too bad. I liked working with her. Is this what happened to Voss and Scarlatti?
Morgan backs up toward his door, which opens for him. He disappears into darkness to wait for the next fight.
Brandy is up next. I can’t watch my sweet, stocky teammate who acts sweet like Janine. Instead, I scan the stands for my sister. I don’t need to be surprised again, not when a split second can end my chances and I’ve already been distracted once, by Morgan. I don’t see Janine. When I look back into the arena, Brandy has two men cuffed, and she’s still standing. She takes the last one down and looks my way. I should have watched.
I get suited up. When I return, Dara’s in the arena. She painted a red sword on the front of her helmet, against regulations.
When the doors open, Dara charges the man in the middle, sprinting with the full power of her oversized mech suit. The man enters the arena and stops mid-stride. His partners stare, no doubt confused. They eye their target: the helmet and latches.
When Dara reaches the man in the middle, he grabs for her helmet. Dara thrusts the full force of her mech fist into his nose. She mashes him back against the closed steel door. His head looks like a crushed melon. He collapses onto the dirt.
Dara rushes the man to her left before the two can team up. She slams her mech fist into his stomach, then grabs his jaw, yanks, and snaps his neck. Pushing aside the body, she faces the third man. He looks much less intimidating before this large mech. She grabs his neck and throws him to the ground. He reaches up, releases one of her helmet latches, and slumps into a puff of dirt. The judge sounds the alarm and calls the match.
It happens so fast the judge must be as stunned as I am…and as the men were.
“This is not a fight to the death,” the judge reminds us. “You will receive penalties.”
Two of the men are dead. The other doesn’t move.
If, a big if, I keep winning, I’ll face Dara in the tournament. She’s a killer. But if I quit, I can’t help Morgan, a need that swells up inside, distracting me from my own contest.