by Shay Savage
I could still hear her as we drove away from the quarry and through town. I could hear her pleas echoing in my head as I boarded the first plane and buckled myself in. In my mind, I could see Roger holding her back as the plane took off into the early morning sky. Her tears continued to burn my skin through the entire journey north.
Landon glanced over at me from time to time, but he said nothing.
My mind was in a daze the entire trip. Even as Landon went over strategy and technique for the hundredth time, I was barely responding to him. I already knew it all, anyway. It was as committed to my soul as it was to my brain.
Despite Raine’s fears and the imminent danger, as we switched planes near the frozen northwest side of the Hudson Bay, I began to tingle with excitement. My muscles flexed and released as I thought of past tournaments, blood, and victory.
I wanted to fight. At least for now, I desired blood.
I carefully descended the stairs out of the plane and looked around at our final destination. Other small prop planes were unloading passengers, and I could see a bunch of people bundled in fur-lined parkas heading over to a large, obviously recently constructed building with smoke coming out of several chimneys.
Franks and his bodyguards headed for the building, and Landon motioned for me to follow the group. As we approached, I began to recognize all the people who had been present at the initial meeting. Each family was represented, but also along with them were many others.
Investors.
These were the people who tossed in all the cash to make the tournament happen, bet on individual players, and ultimately reaped the rewards through our bloodshed. Each of us would be fitted with a camera, and the gamblers would watch on closed-circuit television as we slaughtered each other for their amusement.
In the past, I hadn’t thought about them much, but now I did. What kind of people considered this entertainment? What sort of society spent all their illegally earned cash to watch us fight to the death so they could feel power through our bloodied hands?
Sick fuckers, that’s who.
We walked through the wide doors and into the building. Inside was ridiculously luxurious, especially considering the location. There were fireplaces along every wall to warm everyone with ambiance. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and every table was decked out with fancy linen and centerpieces filled with flowers and colorful LED lights. There were several open bars set up around the edge of the room, and it even had a dance floor with a DJ in the back. People milled around in suits and cocktail dresses like they were at a ball following a Hollywood red carpet event.
Except it wasn’t a movie—we were the event. I was equally disgusted and electrified by it all.
It was still early evening, and most of the groups were divided by their loyalties to a particular family. Landon and I milled around with Franks’ people near one of the bars, and I got myself a glass of water when Landon ordered a scotch. I scanned the room to locate the other tournament players. They were easy to spot because they stood out in the center of every group.
Though it wasn’t my style, tournament players usually dressed for their parts. Erik Dytalov and Reaper looked like they came out of Blade Runner or some violent computer game. Both were dressed in black, and she had eye makeup painted over her lids in bright colors and studded jewelry around her wrists and neck. It made sense, in a way. We were essentially a live video game to the people around us. Dressing for the role came naturally to a lot of players. Erik displayed his knife skills to anyone willing to watch, and Reaper posed for pictures with some of the men in suits.
The displays were ridiculous as far as I was concerned, but the investors obviously liked it. There were three women currently hanging off Hunter, who stood taller than anyone else around him. He wasn’t dressed elaborately like some of the others. In fact, he was shirtless, and I wondered if he was planning on freezing to death before the game started. The women milled around him, running their hands over his chest and asking for explanations of his many tattoos. There wasn’t any blank area on his whole upper body, and I wasn't sure how he could even keep them straight.
Glancing away from Hunter and his group, I found Tyrone Chimes. He was near a buffet table lined with hors d’oeuvres, standing with a woman in a bright red dress. He was in a cut-off T-shirt and ripped up jeans. All he needed was a little zombie makeup, and he could have been an extra in The Walking Dead.
I didn’t see Evan Arden at first because unlike the other players, he wasn’t decked out in ridiculous attire. When I spotted him, he was wearing a high-quality, tailored suit and standing near Rinaldo Moretti. In his hand was one of those electronic cigarettes, and he looked the part of crime lord rather than contestant. As I watched, he smiled and clinked glasses with Moretti.
I reminded myself that this wasn’t his thing—he wasn’t a tournament player. This would be his first. It would also be his last.
As far as I was concerned, all of them were here for their last party.
I couldn’t feel any pity for them or any regret for what I planned to do. Not only were they here by choice but they also knew the risks and the potential outcome. It was kill or be killed, and I had more reason to win this game than any tournaments in the past.
“Any concerns?” Landon asked as he took a step closer to me.
“None,” I said.
“What about Arden?”
“You were right from the beginning,” I said. “He’s more dangerous than the rest, even if this isn’t his thing. As long as I can keep to cover, he shouldn’t be able to get a lock on me.”
“Not going to be easy,” Landon replied. “There won’t be a lot of cover in that landscape.”
“The ridges on the mountainside should work. I just have to keep moving. I’ll have to do that for the warmth anyway.”
“Water is your biggest concern,” Landon said.
“Isn’t it always?” I mused. Flashes of my time spent bobbing around the middle of the Caribbean Sea with Raine on a life raft swirled around in my brain. “I don’t think I’ll run out of water. This whole thing is going to go down fast. It has to before the cold takes us all out.”
“With the exception of Reaper, you will have the advantage when it comes to weapons. The others will have problems using them effectively and keeping their hands warm at the same time.”
I kept my eyes on the other players throughout the evening. Even when a multitude of women came up to ask me questions about prior tournaments and offer me their beds to stay warm for the night, I barely made any conversation past what had to be said. I answered their questions, politely turned down their offers, and steered the conversation toward the food.
The food was actually really good. Death row inmates couldn’t have demanded better. It reminded me to give Franks shit for the food in Raine and Alex’s kitchen. He laughed but told me he’d do something about it.
“It’s good to have you back, Sebastian,” he said. “In many ways, I’ve missed you.”
There was way too much potential for double meanings in that statement to give me any feeling of comfort. I wondered how long he’d looked for me after the trial and what made him eventually give up. I considered asking him but figured it was in my best interest to let all of that go for now. I knew in my heart that he would never truly forgive me for trying to bust him, and I knew in my mind that the only way I could ever get out from under him was to end his life.
Get through the tournament first.
Franks moved off to chat with some of the other bosses. I sat back at one of the tables, tipped a couple of oysters down my throat, and watched the people around me. Some came up to talk to me, and I was as polite as I could manage. Eventually, they moved on to harass one of the other players. Hunter and Reaper had moved closer to one another, and though I couldn’t hear their words, their sexual chemistry was evident as they eyed each other. It was obvious they would spend the night together.
Stupid.
Then again,
it would be their last opportunity for a tryst. It made me think of last night and Raine’s body underneath mine, and I closed my eyes for a moment. The memory of her scent and the feel of her skin in my hands warmed me.
I would be with her again. I had to be. I wouldn’t let her down ever again.
I opened my eyes and continued to watch the crowd. After a while, Landon returned from wherever he had been.
“Heard something interesting,” he said as he sat beside me. He waved one of the servers over to our table and ordered another scotch.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Moretti and Arden talking,” Landon said. “Arden actually sounds a little concerned.”
“Huh,” I responded. “Even punching him in the face didn’t get a rise out of him.”
“Well, apparently the arctic mitts and gloves do get a rise out of him.”
“What do you mean?”
“They’re fucking with his aim,” Landon said. “He was primarily concerned about equipment malfunction in the beginning. It’s possible for the primer in the rounds to have problems firing under extreme cold. What he hadn’t considered was how many layers you have to wear up here just to keep from getting instant frostbite. The thicker clothing is interfering with mounting his rifle to his shoulder. He has to keep adjusting his rifle to hit his target. His gloves or parka shift a little, and his aim is off again. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s a little pissed off about it.”
“You said that could happen.” I remembered his words during training when we had been going over all the supplies I would need.
“I did,” he said with a nod. “Arden didn’t think of it before they arrived up here yesterday. He must be living somewhere far north from the way he was talking, but not this far north.”
“No one lives up here.”
“Exactly,” Landon agreed. “He didn’t consider how much it might impact his accuracy.”
“That’s a point in my favor.”
“A big point.”
“Did you catch anything from any of the other players?”
“Dytalov is nervous,” Landon said. “He hasn’t done this for a while, and I can see how uneasy he is. Tyrone as well, though I think that’s because this is only his fourth tournament and all the others have been held indoors. He’s definitely uncomfortable in the cold.”
“I’m not worried about either of them,” I said dismissively. “I’m pretty sure I could kill them in my sleep.”
Landon agreed with a nod.
“I’m pretty sure Hunter and Reaper have been fucking each other,” he said. “That should provide some entertainment during the games.”
“Yeah, that’s inadvisable,” I said with a snort.
“You should know.”
“It never affected me.”
“It came close.” Landon leaned back in his chair and took a sip of his drink.
“You always said ‘close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades,’” I reminded him.
“And you said you’d never let another girl get close to you,” Landon retorted.
“Raine’s different.” I turned a little away from him, wanting to shut the conversation down, but Landon wasn’t having any of that.
“You’re different around her,” he said. “Not like you were with Jillian. I’ve never seen you quite like this.”
I looked back at his face.
“Is that a good thing?”
“Not sure yet,” Landon replied. “Are you going to let it interfere with your focus?”
“She is my focus.”
“Then that could be a problem.”
“No,” I said, “it won’t. In fact, it’s the reason I’m going to win.”
Six in the morning.
I’d been up and dressed in my gear for an hour, trying to keep myself close enough to the door not to overheat and start sweating. The only thing worse than the cold in this environment was being wet; the combination was deadly. I had four layers of warmth on my body, including the Kevlar vest and a double layer of gloves and mittens for my hands. A canteen of water was looped to my side. The many pockets in my parka held everything I needed—macadamia nuts, pats of butter, tubes of food that could be easily ripped oven without removing my hand coverings, and three long pieces of piano wire—my only weapons.
Inside my left breast pocket was the picture Alex drew of the three of us.
The other contestants milled around in the same area, eyeing each other. Erik Dytalov and Tyrone Chimes looked nervously at me as they met my stare. Hunter and Reaper stood at opposite ends of the doorway, glaring at one another.
Arden stood quietly and stoically with his eyes focused on the airfield. The long sniper rifle responsible for his infamy was strapped across his back, and a shorter assault rifle rested between his arm and body. He was the epitome of calm.
Outside, six helicopters rested on the runway near the planes. Landon was talking to the pilot who would take me from Resolute to Buckingham Island, but the wind was too loud for me to overhear anything he was saying. After a few minutes, he waved me over, and I joined him next to the aircraft.
“You set?” he asked.
“Ready,” I said. “Anything change since last night?”
“No—all’s clear.”
“Good.”
The helicopter’s engines roared, and the blades began to spin. Landon adjusted the camera attached to the goggles across my eyes and made sure it was transmitting properly. Once he was satisfied with it, he shook my hand as he leaned close to me.
“This is it,” he said. “Now you go fuck those guys up.”
I nodded and turned away without another word. The wind was burning my cheeks, and I pulled the loose-fitting mask around my face as I climbed aboard the helicopter.
We rose into the air and above the ice floes.
The scene would probably have been considered beautiful under other circumstances. Even though it was insanely cold, the sky was clear and the sun was peering out over the horizon. Everything below us was white, grey, and a thousand shades of blue.
The helicopter veered to one side and began to descend close to the ice floes near the bottom of the mountain. Chunks of ice floated in the open water near the island’s edge, and the wind blew snow into the air all around us as we neared the surface.
“Ready?” the pilot called out over the noise. “I can’t actually set down here, so you’re going to have to jump!”
“Got it!” I called back.
The helicopter descended, and I held onto the bar near the open door. As the pilot maneuvered the aircraft close to the ground and hovered, he gave me a thumbs up sign, and I jumped to the white surface below.
It was only about six feet to the ground, and I tucked and rolled easily against the icy surface. It was somewhat jarring, but I at least managed to get back on my feet without injuring myself. I checked my compass, looked out over the rocky ground leading up to Mount Windsor, the only real landmark on the island, and took off at a quick pace.
Game on.
Looking up into the sky, I saw the other five helicopters rise into the air and head back north to the airfield. I mentally marked the positions beneath them as they departed, noted the closest one to my location, and headed that way.
I didn’t know which helicopter held which fighter, but it didn’t matter much to me. Everyone would be heading to the peak of the mountain—the place with the highest and most desirable vantage point. I intended to come up from behind.
Let’s do this.
My body and mind were ready. At least for now, I knew exactly what I was doing.
Gauging the area between the closest helicopter drop-off and the most logical way up the mountain from that point, I made a beeline directly across the lower face of Mount Windsor until I found what I was looking for—slight depressions in the snow. Even with the wind quickly covering the impressions, I could see the outline of footprints. They were smaller than mine, and I guessed they belonged to either Eri
k or Reaper. I gazed up the mountainside, but I couldn’t see anyone.
Looping one of the pieces of piano wire around my gloved and mittened fingers, I adjusted my goggles and followed the tracks silently as the frozen wind whipped around my face, keeping close to the tall ridge on my left. It didn’t take long to catch up to the owner of the footprints, and even less effort to actually locate her. Reaper wasn’t exactly stealthy about her battles.
I could hear loud scuffling and grunting as I approached. Staying crouched, I maneuvered myself off to the side to get a good view of what was going on without being seen. As I got close enough to see through my goggles, I witnessed Tyrone swinging in a wide arc with a crowbar at Reaper. He towered over her form, but she ducked away from his swing and rolled to the side.
She was quick and agile, moving around him in fast steps as he tried to make contact with her. Tyrone moved from left to right as he swung the crowbar at her, but he missed every time. Reaper danced away, laughing as he missed again.
“You suck!” she called out though Tyrone refused to acknowledge her verbal taunts. He only glared and took a stance in front of her. “You think you’re fighting with your boyfriend? I bet my dick’s bigger than yours!”
I checked behind me and then up higher. I couldn’t see any forms or movement, and I was fairly sure Arden wouldn’t have had enough time to reach the mountain peak to fire down on me just yet. I figured I was still a good two and a half miles from the top, and even with his fancy sniper rifle, I’d still be out of range.
Unless he went for another tactic.
I heard a loud grunt and looked back to see Tyrone take a hit from Reaper’s brass knuckles as she yelled out in glee. Blood spewed over the ice from the bottom of Tyrone’s facemask. A moment later, Reaper was on top of him, pounding her fist into his face. He brought his hands up to her arms, trying to hold her off, but the chick was a lot stronger than she looked. He managed to pull them both into a roll, but she still came out on top.
Her fist slammed into his trachea, and he sat part way up with a jolt. He dropped his hands from her arms and clawed at his collapsed windpipe. Reaper jumped off of him and stood her ground, fists up and ready. Tyrone clutched at his throat, rolled to his hands and knees, and started crawling away from her.