by Kolin Wood
Behind on the bed lay the few things that she had managed to gather together; an empty satchel made of frayed green denim, two crushed, plastic bottles of brown water, the General’s journal, and the knife that she had taken from the prison.
She walked over to the bed and began loading the things into the bag. As she picked up the combat knife, she turned it over in her hands. The dull blade still had dark spots of dried blood which had coagulated around the hilt from when she had stabbed Donnie through the eye. If she closed her eyes and thought on it, she could still feel the abrasion on the tip of the knife as it scraped the inside of his eye socket. It was such a gory artefact, but she no longer felt any shame or revulsion for what she had done. The world had changed its rules and so had she. And she would do it again in a heartbeat. She stuffed the knife in a side-pocket of the bag and slung it over her shoulder.
“You can do this,” she said aloud, as she stared deep into her own eyes, searching for self-assurance. Then she turned and made her way down the stairs.
Like yesterday and the day before, Tanner had left early that morning to train, but this time he had told her not to expect him back until after it was done. It was done. What troubled her the most was the extent of what constituted as it in that sentence; surviving the Pit? Killing her father? The General? Of course, the easiest thing to do would be to win his fight, collect his winnings, and go. She stared at herself, hoping that she would talk herself into some form of acceptance of that plan; surely it was a win-win situation? They would be set free. She could walk out of the gates with Tanner, a man more than capable of looking after them both, never to look back. She could even try and start a new life somewhere else, somewhere away from here, from him. But the eyes looking back at her remained dead and the mouth stayed silent. As much as she wanted to, she knew that there was no way that she could leave, not without knowing it was done.
In a corner of the room, adjacent to the kitchen, she found the heavy army jacket that she had taken from the dead boy at the prison. The collar had dried stiff and dark brown, as were the cuffs on both sleeves, but she slipped it on, welcoming its heavy protectiveness around her once again.
Once satisfied that she was ready, she returned to the room at the front of the house and stood by the boarded up window. Outside, the sounds of jubilation; chanting and laughing, shouting and whistling, told of the impending spectacle. Even with hours still to go until the fight, people were truly excited as they made their way out from their temporary shelters and on towards the arena. In a world where the only entertainment was fucking or drinking, a show of this magnitude was something clearly revered by the masses. She thought about her dad and how he sat on top of this stinking mud pile; a lord in a world of blood and shit. There had never been a job more befitting of the man.
But there was a problem. For all the reasons that he had told her, Tanner hated him. Given half a chance, he would try and kill him; a feat far more challenging that it may appear. She knew, better than most, that Teddy Braydon was anything but an easy target. Some might even say he was bulletproof. So far, she had not told Tanner about the relationship, fearing that he would retract his offer to leave with her should he find out. With fight night looming and Tanner predisposed, it left only one option—get to him first so that, just maybe, she could prevent both of them from ending up dead.
She craned her neck to gain a view of the end of the street. Although the gate had been pulled over, the chair where the guard normally positioned himself to ensure ‘resident-only’ access sat empty. Probably on account of the extra security at the arena tonight, she thought. The sight of the empty chair came as a relief as she had been fully ready to dispatch of him in order to escape into the Capital. With any luck that same brevity in numbers applied elsewhere in the city; it would make her movements easier and hopefully prevent any more bloodshed than was necessary.
Through a small gap in the boards she could see that the light in the sky had started to fade slightly, bringing with it the onset of dusk. As soon as it was dark enough to move without drawing attention to herself, she would leave. In the distance, music started to play and a huge cheer rang out. A short burst of automatic gun fire brought another. Juliana sat with her back to the wall, hugged her knees to her chest and closed her eyes. For now there was nothing more that she could do. Nothing except wait.
***
The loud banging on the front door awoke her from her slumber. She had no idea how long she had been asleep, but the extent of her disorientation led her to believe that it had been some time more than she had intended. The bang came again and this time she pushed on her legs, sliding her back up the cold wall with a groan. Now devoid of blood, they tingled painfully and she shook them hard to try and make them workable again.
“Tanner?” she called, tentatively.
No reply.
She rummaged through the satchel and pulled out the knife. Although she had searched the entire house in his Tanner’s absence, Juliana had been unable to procure herself a weapon better than the blade that she had entered the capital with. She had not once seen Tanner with a gun, a fact that seemed odd considering his position as the Gatekeeper to the capital. The rest of the guards that worked under him certainly each carried a significant personal arsenal.
Juliana inched her way as quietly as possible towards the door. Her fists clenched the knife handle so tight that her knuckles ached. The rough wooden floorboards creaked with every step. In the distance, the consistent boom of a bass drum took the lead in a chorus of excitement.
The bang came again and this time she was so close that it made her jump. The door was thick and solid oak, meaning that sound struggled to penetrate it. With a deep breath, Juliana took a hold of brass catch and turned it downward.
“Well, well,” came the voice in a thick South African brogue as she pulled the door open. “Don’t you scrub up good, eh?”
The man directly in front of her on the doorstep was dressed in dark clothes and wearing a full face mask, but the sound of the accent gave away the fact that it was Jan the Fez; the angry man with the Fedora hat. The double barrel of a shotgun was turned up in her direction.
“Told you I would be seeing you again, sweetheart.”
Panic gripped her as she looked down once again at the gun. Two shots, two chances, both with maximum spread and huge damage capability.
“Now, how about you be a good girl and let me in, eh?”
Before her thoughts even had a chance to register her reaction, Juliana swung hard, jumping backwards as the door whooshed past her face. There was no way that this man was going to fuck up her plans, not now that she had come this far. The heavy wood connected with a dull thud but did not shut properly. She glanced down and saw large, black boot jammed into the space between the frame and the door. Suddenly, she felt a pushing from the other side.
“Don’t fight me, bitch!” he shouted as the pressure increased.
Cold sweat tickled her face and her arms began to feel heavy. Aware that she would never win in a battle of shove, Juliana spun on one heal and sprinted down the hallway towards the staircase. If he was going to shoot her in the back then so be it; there was no way that she was ever going to willingly submit again. A second later she heard the front door crash open and boots thumping on the boards behind her. She took the stairs two at a time, pounding her legs until her thighs burned. The staircase vibrated under the weight of both sets of boots.
Above her, the landing loomed. Juliana weighed up her options. Once she reached the top of the stairs, there would be nowhere to go. The rooms were dark and empty, offering nothing of use, and her knife would not be any match against the firepower of the gun. Her only chance now lay in her elevated position and the element of surprise.
As her foot stepped onto the landing at the top, Juliana spun and kicked out her leg as hard as she could manage in the direction of the face of the man coming up the stairs. The tactic was a risk that, should it fail, would ensure a bullet i
n her gut, but she was all out of options. The muscle in her thigh burned as it over-stretched into the darkness of the stairwell. For a second, she thought that she had missed and the lack of contact threatened to send her toppling back down the stairs. A second later she felt a connection with the thick rubber heal of her boot. A grunt followed the sickening cracking noise of something breaking. Desperately, she clutched for the wooden pommel on the top of the banister, barely managing to pull her body back up straight before she toppled over. The man’s arms shot out to the sides, grabbing at anything in an attempt to stop his fall. But he was too late. With a crash that shook the house to its foundations, he crashed backward and slid away from her, swallowed immediately by the blanket of thick shadow below. The sound of the gun skidding away from him at the bottom of the stairs followed.
The jacket was thick and hot and she wiped a stiff arm across her forehead to mop at the sweat and clear the hair from her eyes. Her lungs worked hard, passing hot air which condensed on her face. Tiny spots danced in front of her vision as she searched for any signs of movement beneath her, but found none. There was nothing; no movement, no sound. She had connected with something, but she could not be sure of the extent of the damage that she had done; he could still be waiting for her in the darkness below.
She waited for another minute.
If she gave him the chance to recover, then she would have wasted her advantage. Her heart thumped in her chest. The knife felt sticky in her hand. She had no choice but to take the risk.
Juliana headed down, frowning at every creak of her feet on the old the stairs.
At the bottom of the staircase, lying parallel to the wall obscured by the dark, lay a shape. It blocked her way past, but appeared to not be moving.
With the help of the banister, Juliana managed to jump over and away from the shape. She landed with a bang, half-expecting a hand to shoot out and grab her ankle, but none came. Satisfied that she was out of arms reach, she spun and began hunting desperately in the gloom for the gun.
It took a few moments of blind searching on her knees before she spotted the stock of the shotgun poking out from under the hallway dresser. With a rush of hope she picked it up, surprised by its heaviness. It was not the first time that she had held a gun like it, but it was telling of her current strength. She brought the stock up to her shoulder, and turned to train it on the felled man.
“Get up!” she shouted, keeping back to ensure the barrel remained a safe distance from the body. She had no way of even knowing whether it was loaded, but would have to take the chance that it was.
There came a shuffling sound and the man at her feet groaned.
“Try anything, and I will shoot your fucking dick off,” Juliana said as her finger squeezed down on the trigger.
More shuffling.
The pale skin shape of a face appeared in the darkness; the man had pulled off the hood.
Juliana listened as air bubbled through the blood of Jan’s smashed nose. He coughed and the white of the face fell away once again.
Confident that he was pretty badly knocked up and therefore not posing her much danger, Juliana moved closer. Her palms felt sweaty on the smooth wooden stock.
“Who sent you here?” she asked, her voice barely more than a hiss.
More coughing followed by the sound of fluid being spat at the wooden flooring. Beyond the hallway, the heavy front door banged in the night breeze, but she ignored it. Below, Juliana could hear the sound of somebody breathing loudly through their mouth.
“Last chance!” she shouted, squeezing her finger down on the trigger.
The laugh when it came sounded cold and hollow. Rancid breath made her twitch her nose. Anger flooded her like adrenaline and she pushed the barrel of the gun down hard in the direction that the face had been.
“Argh!” Jan moaned.
Something soft pushed back against her but Juliana maintained the pressure.
“I said, who fucking sent you here?”
Frustrated she stood and swung her boot into the body. Her toe gave way to something soft. She heard an ooomph.
“Okay, okay,” the pained voice in the dark said, “Stop!”
More heavy breathing.
Eventually, Jan said “I was sent here to take you to the arena.”
Juliana remained standing, holding her distance. “By who?” she spat.
Another kick.
“Braydon! Teddy Braydon sent me!”
The sound of her father’s name, disarmed her.
“You’re lying!” she shouted.
The faint outline of his face was now visible in the dark once more and Juliana stabbed the gun at it again. There came a sharp sound like metal hitting bone.
“No, no, it’s true!” Jan pleaded. His voice was garbled, mouth now full of blood. “He thought that he could use you as leverage to make sure Tanner doesn’t make it out of the ring. He’s made some big bet with Farringdon that he cannot afford to lose. It’s true, I swear it!” The speed of the words combined with the blood and the thickness of the accent made the man difficult to understand, and it took a few seconds for her to process what she was hearing.
So Tanner was never intended to make it out of the ring alive… Her dad, Teddy Braydon was trying to fuck him over again.
“Where do they keep the fighters?” she screamed as the panic that she might already be too late, set in.
“In the cells at the back of the arena,” he said, his voice hinting at the level of pain he was in. “There’s a path, runs under the stands down one. It will take you around the back of the cell blocks away from the sta—”
Juliana pulled the trigger, turning her head too late as warm fluid splattered her face. Her mouth opened in shock of the blast and a coppery taste filled her mouth. The boom of the gun was deafening and the recoil smashed into her shoulder, causing her to stumble backward. Her ears began to ring, the sound drilling deep into her head. Her shoulder began to ache immediately.
She let the gun hang, reached up and wiped her face. A voice in her head rose up from deep inside.
One down, it said.
In the wake of the blast, Juliana knew that she had no time to lose. It was doubtful that Jan had been sent to bring her in on his own, and even if he had it was likely that others would soon follow.
She groped blindly in the darkness, her hands eventually closing down on his boots. He was heavy and it took all of her strength to drag his body over to the front door where a slither of light from outside allowed her just enough to see by.
A quick check of his belongings uncovered a pack of smokes, a lighter, a small knife, and a handful of bullet cartridges for the gun. In his hand, Jan still held the balaclava tight and she had to pry open his dead fingers to take it from him.
She stashed everything in the satchel except for the bullets which she stuffed into one of the large side pockets of the jacket and the mask which she kept in her hand.
At the open front door, she stopped. For the first time since forever and now with a gun in her hands, Juliana felt that she had a chance. A slim chance, but still a chance.
The street outside was dead and dark; so far, it seemed nobody was wise to what had just happened.
The material of the mask itched her face as she pulled it on. If she was to traverse the capital and make it to the arena unseen and in time to warn Tanner, she would need to take any advantage handed to her.
The guard was still missing as she approached the gate. The big wheels trawled in the mud and it took all of her strength just to pull it open enough to allow her to squeeze her body through.
Before her, the rest of the capital not involved in the festivities lay quiet and dark. The sky—open above the shanty town parkland—shone with a hazy shade of purple and orange as the last of the sun licked against the clouds. A half crescent moon waited in the wings ready to stand watch over the planet. Beyond the quiet darkness, the bass drum boomed on and the subtle glow of a hundred fires on the far side of the par
k shone like a signpost showing her the way.
26
As the familiar sound of the microphone static hissed across the top of the crowd, the cheer when it came was so loud that it caused the inner part of his ear to throb with pain. The tripod flood light clicked on, revealing the cage in all its magnificence to those present, a crowd so bloodthirsty that the saliva could be seen spraying from their lips with every cheer.
“Well, Well!” Teddy’s deep voice boomed. “How the hell are we all doing tonight?”
The arena erupted into chaos. Chanting and screaming filled the air. The night was humid and hot and a cloud of sweat as thick as a sea fog, rose up from the heads of the people, causing the Plexiglas of the VIP box to run liberally with perspiration. In the centre of the box, on top of an upturned milk crate, stood Teddy, bathed in light, one arm outstretched and the other holding the microphone to his bottom lip. He turned slowly, addressing everybody, his face animated, his golden crown blinking as light caught his smile. A shot rang out as one of the guards fought with an over-excited spectator but the bang was barely audible beneath the din.
“My wonderful people…” he continued. “Braydon Enterprises is happy to welcome you to this contest of champions. I trust you bought some betting money with you?” The cheers were consistent and Teddy smiled and nodded his head at the adulation. “As I look around me, I see that we have some of the Capital’s big spenders here amongst us tonight. Although, judging by their tightly squashed faces, I’m not sure they appreciate being down here in amongst it with you all!”