Salt & Stone

by Victoria Scott

  Cotton has backed against the opposite wall. He’s sitting on the floor, and his legs are pulled close to his chest. “I thought maybe they were lying,” he says, his voice breaking. “I thought maybe he was still alive.”

  There’s so much I want to say to him, or maybe there’s nothing I want to say. He came here to kill me, but he also saved me during the avalanche. How am I supposed to feel toward someone like that? I open my mouth to speak, but then snap it back shut and crane my head to the side, listening. A creaking noise rips my attention from Cotton, and I bolt upright. When I glance back at him, his eyes become as round as shiny quarters.

  “Is it the ceiling?” he whispers.

  I don’t respond, because he already knows the answer. My gaze flies across the room, considering our options. There’s only one I believe could work. I walk slowly on hands and knees toward the mound of snow. Cotton seems to understand what I’m doing and follows along.

  We move like feral cats trailing a finch. Slow now. Not too quick. Not even a tail flick, lest we lose our prize. The ceiling wails and whimpers as a child would during a temper tantrum. Every step I take I believe is my last and that this is the position some future robot will find me in. “Human expired while walking like dog. Bleep, blurp, bleep. Shall I gather the bones? Bleep.”

  When we reach the snow, we can’t stop ourselves any longer. We throw our bodies on top of it and pray that when the roof falls, it won’t hurt us since it’s already collapsed on this side.

  The ceiling gives one final groan, and then more or less farts. I think to myself, Yeah, that’s about right.

  It crashes to the floor.

  We scramble backward, and then the snow is everywhere. It spills from the ceiling like a waterfall and races toward our legs like high tide on a beach. I used to think the snow wanted to swallow me, but now I know better. It wants inside of my body. It rushes into my ears and rams up my nose and presses at my clenched lips. I pull in one final breath before breathing is impossible.

  I’m suspended in white like a fly in a Jell-O mold. My lids are closed, but I feel the snow pushed against them, begging for a taste of my mother’s eyes. I thought dying inside the Brimstone Bleed would be chaotic, all bared teeth and intense pain. But this is a surprise. Turns out I’ll die quietly inside a cotton-ball tomb. Who knew?

  The snow clogs my ears and makes me think I’m hearing things. It whispers the sound of Guy calling my name, of Madox barking, mad. What a cruel thing to do. I’d made peace with suffocating, had embraced the slowing thud-thud of my heart, and now this? I mean, really, if you’re going to kill me, at least have the decency to do it without mockery.

  Guy’s voice grows louder, Madox’s barks more insistent.

  Good-bye, Madox. You were a good Pandora and my best friend.

  A hand grabs my shoulder. Two hands. My body is wrenched from the snow, and a face I feared I’d never see again hovers overhead. I understand at once who brought the ceiling down, even if it was an accident.

  “Tella? Tella!” Guy yells. Why is he yelling? I’m doing the best I can here. Maybe I should keep my eyes open. No, too difficult. Sleep sounds amazing. Those same hands shake me until my brain rattles inside my skull. “Open your eyes. Don’t go to sleep. Damn it, Tella, listen to me!”

  My eyes snap open, and all the oxygen in the entire universe rushes out of Guy’s lungs. I cough, and snow bursts from my mouth in a watery display. I look like a fountain.

  “That’s good,” Guy says. “Keep coughing if you need to. Eyes open.”

  I turn my head and see Cotton on the ground next to me. Braun and Harper are braced over his figure.

  Something warm touches my face, and when I see it’s Madox’s tongue, I offer my first smile. That really gets Guy going. He waves something over, and Oz moves in tighter, radiating heat as if he’s trying to warm the Dallas Cowboys’ stadium. Monster, M-4, Rose, RX-13, and EV-0 all hover nearby, along with Olivia and Willow. They’re all trying to peek at the girl dumb enough to hesitate when an avalanche said hello. Only Y-21 is out of view, but when I turn my head again, I see the bull is knelt down next to his Contender, long neck laid across Cotton’s stomach.

  I go to sit up, but Guy says it’s too soon. I push his hand away, because it’s not like lying in the snow is therapeutic. Madox climbs into my lap as soon as I’m upright, and I bend my head to cuddle him close. This time, he lets me get as near as I want, tough fox reputation be damned.

  Did you hear me calling for you?

  Madox barks.

  Guy moves in closer and guides my face up. “I thought I lost you. I thought … what you said about if I didn’t say it, you’d never know.” He closes his eyes and opens his mouth as if he’s going to say something profound.

  “No, don’t,” I say. “Not when I’m spitting up snow.” He laughs, and I tell him how terribly rude it is to laugh while I’m hypothermic. He laughs harder.

  “Can you get up?” He stands and offers his hand.

  When I climb to my feet, I find I have more strength than I thought I would. I guess becoming a human icicle is invigorating. Screw seaweed body wraps and triple-shot lattes. Avalanches are so in.

  Cotton is already on his feet. Nerves shoot through me as I remember what he was doing to me seconds before the team found us.

  Guy’s hand sails to my throat. “What happened here?”

  My face must give me away, because the next thing I know, Guy is in front of Cotton, hands balling the front of his jacket.

  “What did you do to her?” Guy bellows. Gone is the quiet Contender we’ve grown to know. In his place is a wild banshee defending his banshee girl. “Did you do that to her? Did you?!”

  Y-21 gallops toward Guy, his head lowered, bull horns poised to strike. Before he can get close enough, M-4 lunges across the open space and lands on the bull’s back. The two Pandoras fall to their sides and battle for dominance.

  The other Pandoras watch on like kids at a playground. I like to think they’re placing bets on who will win this fist-and-knuckles scuffle.

  I rush over and pull on Guy’s back. “Stop, it’s not what you think.”

  Not exactly anyway.

  Guy clocks Cotton. The hit is hard enough to trigger another avalanche. Cotton falls into the snow, and his Pandora goes wild with rage.

  “Here he goes,” Braun says.

  Red smoke shoots from Y-21’s flared nostrils, and the lion drops like a stone.

  Cotton scrambles upright. “I wasn’t going to kill her.”

  Guy tilts his head, and his mouth hangs agape. “I’m sorry? Did you just admit to strangling her?” He lunges again, but this time Braun intervenes, and though Guy is all muscle, Braun is an island of flesh. Guy bounces off him and tries to go around, but Braun, and now Harper and I, manages to hold him back.

  Cotton turns his gaze from Guy to Harper and lowers his voice. “I’m sorry. I only did it because —”

  “Don’t talk to me,” Harper snarls. “Don’t say one damn word to me.”

  Cotton throws up his hands. “I’m out of here.”

  “Damn straight you are,” Guy growls.

  “Guy, stop,” I interject. “You don’t know the full story.”

  “Don’t,” Cotton pleads. “I’m already going.”

  But I’m done with keeping secrets from those who support me. “He’s Titus’s brother,” I say in a rush. “I had a hand in Titus’s death, and the people running this race thought it’d be amusing to bring his older brother in to take his place and see if he’d seek revenge.”

  No one speaks. Cotton presses his fingertips to his temples as Y-21 noses his Contender’s side.

  “Is it true?” Harper asks.

  Cotton’s arms drop. “It’s true. I changed my mind about the revenge part. After I met Tella, I knew I couldn’t hurt her. I just wanted to win for my father.”

  “And that’s why you strangled her?” Guy’s voice is void of sympathy.

  Cotton ignores Guy and looks to
Braun, who’s holding our only pack. “I want half the rope before I go.”

  Guy laughs. It’s a cold, dry sound. “You really are something.”

  I put a hand to Guy’s chest and say to Cotton, “What will you do if you reach base camp first?”

  “I’ll send the Cure home to my father,” he replies without hesitation. A fire builds in Cotton’s stance, shadowy tendrils dancing over his face. “Then I’m going to accept their invitation to work for headquarters. I’m going to slink inside like a virus and infect their minds with unimaginable horrors. I’m going to burn the walls that surround them and watch as the skin melts from their bones. I’m going to stand over their leader’s bed as they sleep and open their neck with a rusty, serrated knife. And as the blood gushes from their wound, and they drown inside their own body, I’ll whisper my brother’s name. That’s what I’ll do if I win.”

  “Jeez,” Braun says. “Did you rehearse that?”

  I consider what Cotton said and then say over my shoulder, “Give me half the rope.”

  No one contests my decision.

  RX-13 uses her talon to cut the rope in two, and we hand it to Cotton. I’m not sure what we may need these tools for besides climbing, but he’s traveled with us this far. He had an opportunity to kill me, to have his revenge, and he didn’t follow through. In the end, maybe I give him the rope because of what he said. I don’t like the thought of inflicting such pain on people I’ve never met.

  But then again, I do.

  Cotton turns his attention to me. “I’m sorry,” he says, and then he spins and walks away.

  As Cotton marches away, Guy grabs my head like it’s a bowling ball and smashes it against his chest. “I said I’d never let anything happen to you again.”

  I wrap my arms around his waist. “Why are you such a filthy liar?”

  Watching Cotton disappear from view, I can’t help feeling conflicted. After what he did to me, I want him gone. But I also don’t want everyone to view him as they did his brother. “He wasn’t like Titus,” I say to no one in particular, eyeing the collapsed cabin Cotton shoved me inside of. “He saved my life.”

  But even to me, the words ring hollow.

  After three days at a fast march, we’re feeling confident. We’ve found two more flags for a total of six. Braun carries the pack now, and inside we harbor a long length of rope, a pickax, and a harness, all of which we found at the flagpoles. Bonus: This time, nothing bad happened when we retrieved the equipment. The things we’ve collected are essentially climbing gear, and we certainly need it with how far we’ve ascended. Every once in a while, we find ourselves on a steep ledge, and I can’t help but look down, though I order the others to resist the temptation.

  This time, like all the others, my stomach drops to my feet and Eskimo-kisses my frostbitten toes. It’s not the depth of the fall that scares me most, but rather the cone-shaped spikes that line the valleys. I don’t want to be impaled. I mean, I don’t want to fall, either, but impalement is something I really want no part of.

  Somehow, the snow is thinner the higher we rise, so we no longer need the crisscrossed weight distributors. Not that we have laces to attach them with even if we did. Now our boots open to the sky, tongues hanging out like heathens. One upside to not feeling your extremities is that you don’t sense the blisters forming on your heel. The rule is not to look. Never look.

  Olivia always looks.

  The first night we spent in the snow was the worst, wolves’ howls ringing in our ears and frostbite nipping at our fingers and toes. Since then we had one additional night in a cabin. Last night we never found shelter, and I’m beginning to think we won’t find it today, either. Call it a hunch.

  We don’t discuss the avalanche, more than to say we agree it wasn’t an accident. And we’ve pretty much adjusted to a new group dynamic sans Cotton. Guy’s lion does moan in his sleep, which can’t be great, but then the nights are never good for person or Pandora.

  As we walk, though, we try and keep our spirits high. It’s the only thing we can do to combat the knowledge that soon we’ll near base camp, and in that moment difficult decisions will need to be made.

  “Do you think I look good as a Contender?” Braun asks. “I mean, comparatively speaking, I feel like I’m less ragged than the rest of you.”

  “It’s because we had a long way to fall.” Olivia touches a hand to her hair, which retains its frizzy quality despite there being zilch humidity. “If we had before and after shots, the difference would be staggering. You, on the other hand …”

  Braun scoffs, and Harper laughs.

  “You think it’s funny, Barbie?” Braun says. “You haven’t just fallen; you’ve nose-dived.”

  Harper shoots him a look. “Please.”

  “She looks pretty to me,” Willow says, taking Harper’s hand.

  “Yeah, whatever,” Harper says, shaking her head. “I could go for a hot shower. That’d help.”

  “You know what I want?” I say from the front. “A steak. I’ve never counted myself a steak girl before now, but I want a steak as big as —” I open my arms wide.

  Guy speaks up, surprising everyone. “Hot chocolate.”

  “Lame,” Olivia chirps. “Everyone wants hot chocolate.”

  “With chili powder and jumbo-sized marshmallows,” Guy continues.

  We continue like this for a while, alternating between food fantasies and ripping on one another, until we come to a crossing. There’s a short bridge that isn’t quite a bridge connecting one side of the mountain to the other. A crevasse separates the two, and one glance down is enough to make my head spin. Like all the other valleys, it brims with ice spikes reaching upward like ravenous witch’s fingers in some gruesome fairy tale. The fissure runs too far to the left and right to make out an end point, so I motion for Braun to remove the pack.

  “We’ll have to cross,” I say, hoping no one hears the angst in my voice.

  Guy reaches for Braun’s backpack and withdraws the rope, harness, and pickax. “I’ll go first and secure a line to the opposite side. The rest of you can follow the rope across.”

  Harper snatches the rope from him. “Not that I don’t appreciate your constant state of martyrdom, but sometimes the rest of us have to take the lead.”

  Guy glances in my direction. I raise my eyebrows, because Harper’s speech is the same one I’ve given him. “Fine. Turn around.”

  When she does, he straps the black harness around her body and then attaches the metal ring to the length of rope. He hands her the pickax. “Steady across,” he says. “If you fall, we’ll have you.”

  Guy takes the opposite end of the rope and gives it to EV-0. The elephant wraps her trunk around it instinctually and steps back until the rope is taut. Harper pats me on the back once, and our eyes meet.

  “Don’t be a hero out there,” I say.

  She laughs, because there’s nothing to be a hero about, and moves toward the icy bridge without so much as a backward glance. The bridge is wide enough, ten feet across and fifty feet in length, but it’s the height that has me worried. As she places her first foot down onto the crossing, my fingers itch to pull her back. I should have demanded to go in her place, but then I’d be as bad as Guy, always believing I can do things more effectively than the others. So I draw in a deep breath and allow Harper to do what she came here to do, which is to ensure that I prevail in this race.

  She takes five sure-footed steps onto the bridge while the rest of us hold the other end of the rope. I even have Monster — and Madox dressed as Monster — step on the end to be sure we’ve got her, should the worst happen. RX-13 hops along behind Harper on the bridge as if she’s providing moral support.

  After Harper’s made it halfway, she calls back, “Piece of cake.”

  I wait for her to fall. If this were a movie, this is where she’d eat it. But she continues her passage across the stretch of ice, and makes it to the other side composed. Swinging the pickax above her head, the muscles a
long her back and biceps flex. She drives the axe into the snow four feet from the edge and secures the rope around the base.

  I step forward as the obvious choice of who will go second, but both Guy and Braun stop me in my tracks.

  “I should go next,” Braun says.

  Guy waves to the bridge. “As long as it’s not her.”

  “What the hell, Guy?” I complain. “Are we back here again?”

  “I want to go before you, and I don’t want to discuss my reasoning,” he says.

  “Ugh. You’re such a freaking caveman.”

  Guy grabs my shoulders and lowers his head until our foreheads almost touch. “I pulled you from the snow, Tella. You couldn’t even keep your eyes open.”

  I roll my eyes to show him how well they work now.

  When I glance back at the bridge, I’m stunned at what I see. Willow is halfway across the bridge, sliding one foot after the other, using the rope as a railing.

  “Damn it, Willow,” Harper barks. “You should have waited until I could send the harness with RX.”

  But Willow is already on the other side, hands on her hips, a satisfied smile on her face. Harper squeezes the girl close and releases her just as quickly. Then she hands the harness to her eagle, and RX-13 soars across the space. The bird hesitates overhead, and when she spots Olivia jumping up and down in earnest, she drops the harness. Olivia has herself strapped in before any of us can voice a complaint.

  “How is this happening?” I ask.

  Olivia rushes toward the bridge as if she’s actually excited to cross. “You snooze, you lose.” She turns back once before stepping away from safety, and the smile on her face steals the breath from my lungs. She’s too happy, too eager to gain Harper’s approval. The last thing she needs while balancing over an eighty-foot drop is a competitive desire to beat Willow’s time.

  Guy bumps me with his elbow. “She’ll be fine. We’ve all got her.”

  I clench my fists around the rope until the fibers dig into my palms. I wish Guy hadn’t said that, about her being fine. It feels as if he sealed an omen with his optimism. Olivia is a third of the way across, and I still can’t slow my racing pulse. She has nine fingers. Will that make a difference in the hold she has on the rope? I should have gone with her.