Looking at the barrier in front of me again, I noticed a gauge stretching vertically up the door all the way to the very top where the grate met the barrier. There was no indication of what the gauge measured, but my first guess was water levels. Let the water reach the top, hold my breath, and wait for the computers to raise the doors once the chamber was filled completely. That was my plan. Taking deep, long breaths, I backed myself against the wall and waited, every survival instinct yelling at me to leave through the door behind me.
“Come on, Everly,” I said to myself, glancing up through the grates to see the giant screen light up with my image.
The crowd could see my current predicament throughout the entire stadium. The announcer directed everyone’s attention toward me as if no one else in the maze was in quite as dire a situation. I was the focus of their sadistic pleasures now and it wound my stomach so tight I thought I might throw up.
“You can do this,” I spoke, finding strength in the live video of myself standing firm as the water rose.
I was almost fully submerged now and had begun to swim rather than stand. I reached up toward the grates, holding myself up to suck every last breath from the remaining space around me as the water consumed my body. Two more breaths, I deduced. I’d better make them good. When I sucked in the last lungful of oxygen before the water covered my nose, I almost regretted not making my escape through the still unlocked door, but patience was my best ally. My gut told me so.
Staring anxiously at the gauge, I waited, holding my breath for what seemed like hours. My lungs were screaming to take in air, wrenching and fighting me for control. I covered my mouth and nose with my hand, willing myself to hang on just a little longer. Still, the gauge wasn’t setting off the door’s mechanism and I was about to drink half the water around me. Perhaps I was wrong. Maybe I missed something crucial. My eyes darted around the room again, but I saw nothing else. I closed my eyes, trying to stay calm. This had to be the way, but it was taking too long. My chest burned. My throat was beginning to collapse with desperation and every nerve told me to suck in a breath. I tried not to, but that didn’t stop water from rushing into my nasal passages. I felt it burn behind my eyes and squeezed them shut again. Choking, I cupped my hand over my mouth and nose and prayed.
Just as I thought that room would be my grave, I heard the door’s lock slide against the metal. I opened my eyes as the barrier began to lift and the water suddenly poured out in a swift and forceful flow that slammed me against the partly ajar door. As soon as the space was large enough, I let myself get pulled through it and washed out on the other side, soaked and freezing now, but alive. I struggled to my feet as a deafening wave of excitement made the crowds wild.
“And she’s out!” the announcer shouted. “This one’s a lucky one.”
Catching my balance, I glared down the passage ahead and continued on, water sloshing in my boots with each step.
Outside, the sun was rising. What was once a night sky drowned by spotlights was now a twilight blue that was growing in brightness. I wasn’t keeping track of the other opponents. All I needed to do was focus on myself. I was reaching the end of this little nightmare. Cold and out of breath, I made my way down the narrowest passage I’d encountered yet. I’d overcome obstacles left and right, but this was the home stretch.
I turned a corner and down the left side was a long path that looked deceivingly simple. I frowned with suspicion and eyed the chamber at the end where five other contestants were standing, bloodied and panting but safe. That was the finish line. I made it. I was going to be the final winner to move on to the next round. Or at least I would have been had another player not suddenly shown up from the path directly across from me.
Covered in blood, the other player eyed me with an animal instinct that made his eyes rank with adrenaline. He was one of the big ones, and had a sharp stone in his hand covered in filth and blood. He’d killed someone. I could see his willingness to kill me burning in his wide, rabid stare like a dog itching for a fight.
“Here, kitty-kitty,” he said, making kissing noises with his lips. He stepped forward, a haunting expression stretching across his mouth in a smile that was too big for his face. “Time to check out, kitty-cat,” he hissed.
I pressed my lips together and quickly took off down the narrow path while the man barked like a dog behind me and gave chase. The wind bit at my still wet body, but I pushed with every ounce of energy I had left to make it to that finish line. I could hear the man’s heavy, rapid steps so close behind me I was expecting that sharp stone to hit me in the back at any second. The crowd and the announcer combined in a symphony of excitement as we raced to be the last one, but running wasn’t the only thing we had to worry about.
As I pushed toward the chamber filled with the other finalists, the walls suddenly started moving in toward us. The path narrowed with each step, urging me to accelerate. My heart was frantic. My legs were heavy with exhaustion, but I knew it was me or him. Life or death I pushed harder than I thought I ever could, but just as the end was in my reach, my hair was in the man’s fist and he pulled me hard to the ground with a guttural roar.
I thudded onto my back, my skull colliding with the stone floor hard enough to send my vision into a white static of spinning images. The man leapt over me and my leg shot up instinctually to catch his feet and send him sprawling. I heaved myself forward to crawl over his body toward the chamber. The walls continued to press inward. Soon we’d both be ground meat and neither of us would move on.
I forced myself to stand, warm blood trickling down the back of my neck from a wound I didn’t even want to think about yet. The man grabbed at my ankle as I began to move, but his broad shoulders were already pinned between the walls. He stood, turning his body to the side, but it didn’t do him much good. I ignored him, expelling the thought of what was about to happen to him, and to me, if I didn’t hurry. I ran, my frame barely sliding between the narrowing walls as my opponent’s horrified cries rose up behind me.
“No!” the man shouted. “No, you bitch! Graaah!”
His voice turned into an almost childish wail, laced with fear, and I felt myself yelling too as I pushed through the narrow gap and burst clumsily into the chamber with the other winners. The man’s screams turned higher in pitch then dissipated into a gurgle accompanied by the cracking of bones and the squishing of muscle.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to unhear the sounds of him dying. Once it stopped, there was a brief hesitation in the crowds, but as they realized the six winners were determined, they went ballistic. I looked around, realizing I’d made it, and slowly stood, panting and sore. On the screen, photos of the remaining contestants were displayed in a row for everyone to see, and I was up there with them. I’d done it. I was one step closer to the prize and at that point, I knew I could win. There was no question. I had to win.
There was no camaraderie between the winners as we waited for the chamber doors to open and let us all out to get the medical attention we needed before the next round. We all stared each other down, sizing one another up for the coming challenge that would determine the top two competitors. There was only one other woman among us and she looked just as wary as I was. Scrapes down both shoulders said she had seen her fair share of challenges. Her eyes shot toward me and I stiffened. That bitch still looked like she wanted to eat me alive.
I was being underestimated by the others. I could tell by their faces that they wanted to get me out of the way. Or, maybe they didn’t. A smart combatant would want me to be one of the two finalists because, to the untrained eye, I was the softest. Even compared to the other woman, I was the smallest. I would be the easiest to beat in a one-on-one fight. I’d come this far, though. I had a lot to lose and a lot to gain if I won. I just needed to push myself harder than I ever had in my life.
4
Everly
. . .
I stood, staring down at a boy about my age with my boot planted firmly on his chest. He
had a cut on his cheek. A deep one. I hadn’t intended it to be so severe, but he lunged at me so suddenly that it just happened.
I sheathed my knife in my boot and stepped away, extending my hand toward my opponent with a crooked smile. I knew Michael was a good sport, even when everyone had seen him get bested by a girl. He took my offered hand as a similar grin flashed across his lips. I helped him to his feet and the two of us dusted off our clothes before parting ways.
As Michael headed to get his cheek stitched up, I walked across the small courtyard toward an apartment building at the end of the road where Taurus was most likely cooking dinner. He did so at the same time every evening as if his brain was an alarm clock.
Greyport was a small town just outside the cities. It was for people who didn’t like the crowded life of a metropolis or being in close quarters with the Draak population that made up a noticeable portion of them. Many people in Greyport managed their own farms and sold goods to city markets when they needed the money, but for the most part, the outlying towns were self-sufficient.
I’d always wanted to spend time in a city. More than just the occasional couple of days Taurus and I visited to buy things we couldn’t get in the rural areas. The cities were huge and populated with people who dressed in color and lived to pamper themselves. They danced in clubs and wore fancy outfits and drank brightly tinted drinks. I’d never known that kind of careless freedom. My life was filled with work, training, and learning and though I wasn’t complaining, I always found myself being curious about what it would be like to have so few responsibilities. To have riches enough not to worry about meals and other necessities. To have everything readily available.
My thoughts got away from me a bit as I walked up the stairs through the apartment building. The wooden steps creaked and complained like an old man. A remnant from the world that existed before the second wave. No one from that world still existed. No one human, that is, but they did leave us buildings and cities at least. Now, everything was a gamble. Lives, riches, and happiness were all a game, and it wasn’t an easy one. I’d learned that from the moment I emerged from my mother’s womb.
Walking into our apartment I could smell the garlic rice and turkey in the air and my stomach complained that the food wasn’t already in my belly. I unbuckled my boots and dropped them by the entrance along with my weapon belt, which didn’t even have anything on it yet, and my leather jacket, which was spotted with blood from the playful quarrel I had in the square. Taurus knew I fought the boys in town all the time, but he didn’t enjoy filthy clothes at dinner or dirty boots on his hand-woven, hemp rugs.
“Hey,” I greeted as I turned the corner into the kitchen where Taurus was standing like a giant at the stove stirring the garlic rice. He glanced over his shoulder at me, his grey beard braided and beaded just like I’d left it that morning. He smiled, stretching his facial hair around his lips. “Where’d you get the garlic this time?” I asked, sitting at a metal table that Taurus welded himself. On it, a bowl of peas was already set out.
“John and his daughters gave it to me before they went to sell at the farmer’s market,” Taurus said, taking the rice off the burner and putting it on the table.
I leaned over, taking in a deep breath of the food, which only made my stomach scream louder. Taurus chuckled and put out a plate of rolls and the turkey before taking a seat across from me. Only then did he furrow his brows at my clothes. I pretended I hadn’t noticed and began serving myself, taking a big bite out of a roll in case Taurus asked me a question I didn’t want to answer.
“Brawls before dinner?” he asked. He placed a napkin on his lap before serving himself some rice.
He was a rugged looking man. Pikes all looked rougher than any human and they usually had a personality to match, but Taurus had the nurturing attitude of a mother hen. He wore a weathered, beige t-shirt and his face bore a mysterious scar across his forehead, but he spoke like a father wondering if his daughter had any boyfriends he disapproved of. It made me laugh sometimes to see that tone coming out of someone that could scare the piss out of small children with a glance, but most of the time it warmed me to know that someone cared enough to ask me about my day.
“Just a small one,” I shrugged, spooning some peas onto my plate. “With Michael. He said I looked like a boy with my hair cut this short and I said he looked like a girl with a dick that small. So we fought. I won,” I said, buttering my bread for another, massive bite.
Taurus laughed at my nonchalant storytelling and shook his head as he moved a fork full of rice to his mouth.
“He likes you, you know,” Taurus mentioned. “He looks at you differently than the others. Even with your hair that short.”
His words made me pause as I bit into a moist piece of turkey breast. I cleared my throat, pouring myself some water from a metal pitcher in front of me before I choked on my food.
“Naw,” I said. “He thinks of me as one of the guys.”
“He thinks of you like a girl. That’s why he lets you win.”
“Are you saying I can’t beat him unless he’s not trying?”
“You could beat anyone in Greyport, but Michael in particular just likes to get a rise out of you.”
“I doubt he’ll let me win next time if that’s what he did. I gave him a pretty deep cut. It’ll leave a mark.”
“I’m sure he’ll like it,” Taurus laughed.
“Stop,” I laughed myself.
We shared in the amusement for a while before the reality of the idea struck me. My face hardened and I began pushing the peas around my plate in thought.
“He doesn’t know about the scars,” I said with a sigh. “I’m sure he wouldn’t look at me the same if he did.”
“You’re nineteen. As we grow older, scars become less of a flaw and more of a story. They’re remnants of what we’ve been through. You just have a particularly vivid past. You know, some tribes long ago used to tattoo their bodies to tell their story. Their tattoos were self-inflicted scars illustrating who they were and where they’ve been.”
I thought about the concept and looked up at Taurus with an idea.
“Tattoos, huh?” I said, tilting my head to the side. “There’s a tattoo parlor in the city. How much do you think it would hurt to tattoo over scar tissue like mine?”
“It would be pretty painful,” he replied, staring at me.
“You think I could get a tattoo? To cover the scars, I mean.”
“A tattoo of what? It should mean something, shouldn’t it?”
“I have ideas,” I smiled, standing up and walking to a wooden desk in the living room.
It was an old thing with peeling, white paint and some names carved into the surface from whatever family owned it before us. I pulled open the top drawer and took out a small stack of papers on which I’d drawn designs. I walked the stack of images to the table and set them down before taking my seat again. Taurus reached over and sifted through the sketches.
“What about some designs of my own?” I said, taking another bite of food. “It would mean something. It all means something.”
“What are these?”
“Things I do when I’m bored. Shapes I see in my head when I dream.”
“I think,” Taurus sighed, “that it’s a good idea.”
“Oh! And I want to dye my hair something crazy. Ariel made hers blue the other day. What if…”
“No,” Taurus chuckled. “Your hair is fine the color it is.”
“Dirt brown is not fine.”
“Your mother had the same color, didn’t she? You don’t want to keep it the way it is? You seem eager to change who you are.”
I swallowed, struck by the mention of my mother. Taurus never mentioned my parents.
“I don’t like the girl I am,” I muttered under my breath. “She lost everything. I don’t want to be a girl who’s lost everything.”
5
Everly
. . .
“Age?” the nurse asked as
she examined my battered body. Or what little of it she could see with my tattered shirt still clinging to my sticky, mangled wounds.
“Twenty-seven,” I said flatly, turning to see the other contestants in other areas of the infirmary, all lightly veiled by thin curtains as they underwent their own treatments.
“Any broken bones?” the nurse asked, never looking me in the eye as if I was an object and not a person.
The nurse was disconnected. Perhaps she expected me to die next. Hell, who wouldn’t?
“No,” I said.
The nurse caught a glimpse of a deep cut on the back of my shoulder and motioned for me to remove my shirt. Once upon a time I would have rather suffered my wound and possible infection over showing a stranger my body, but this was determination at full force.
I unbuckled my leather vest and lifted my tattered shirt up over my head. My black bra was all that covered me now. The nurse hesitated as she walked around to my back, prepared with antiseptic and a needle for sutures.
I had more muscle than people usually thought at first, but mine wasn’t for looks. Mine was hard-earned, practical, fighting definition that I’d gained in training over the years. I could see the other contestants eyeing me once my clothing was stripped away. The nurse, however, was staring at the canvas on my back. Rigid burn scars covered my left side. They’d been made even busier with years’ worth of dark tattoos in graceful, feminine designs as well as sharp, menacing glyphs.
“Well,” the nurse sighed. “You’re going to surprise everyone I think.”
She didn’t bother being gentle as she dabbed my wound with an alcohol-soaked cotton swab. She didn’t use anything to dull the pain when she began to sew me up either, but the pain was just training. I clenched my teeth and didn’t speak. Instead, I kept observing my opponents. I was looking for weaknesses. Injuries that might give me an advantage.
Ash Bringer (A Storm of Fire: Paranormal Dragonshifter Romance Book 1) Page 2