Captive (The Survival Race)

by K. M. Fawcett

  Survival of the fittest, she kept reminding herself. But as they trudged through each long, cold day and dug out snow each freezing night, she didn’t feel fit at all.

  As soon as their makeshift shelters were finished she’d curl up next to Max’s warm body and fall asleep, sometimes before she shrugged out of her backpack. Then when Max woke her for her watch, he’d be out before his head hit the snow.

  Constantly drained, they barely spoke.

  Which was probably a good thing—because if she opened her mouth it would be to bitch. She was starving, freezing, and exhausted. Every fiber in her body ached with a pain she never knew could exist. She had blisters in places she didn’t think possible.

  There was no point complaining about it. Max felt the same fatigue. What he didn’t feel, though, was pressure in his pelvis and back, a soccer ball on his bladder and sore boobs.

  The bastard.

  Her only saving grace was the Ice Mountains. Every day the majestic mountain range grew higher and higher until the peak touched the sky thousands of feet up. Hiking through its foothills these past two days energized her with new hope. They were almost to the base of their second goal.

  Rays of sunlight on this clear morning caught the ice, and it sparkled like brilliant diamond walls. A gentle arctic wind danced about her, blew dusty ice kisses on her cheeks, and carried to her the faint scent of black licorice.

  “Get down.” She grabbed Max’s arm, pulling him with her to the ground.

  “What is it?”

  “I smell Hyboreans.” She searched the foothills for signs of the aliens.

  The muscles in Max’s arm relaxed beneath her gloved hand. “It’s the Tuniit village.”

  She gave him a hard stare. “Who are the Tuniit?”

  “Aboriginal Hyboreans.”

  “They’re what?”

  “They're a nation of spiritual Hyboreans. They still live like their ancestors did hundreds, maybe thousands, of years ago.”

  She studied Max’s face under the week’s growth of stubbly beard. He was hiding something. As usual. “You said we were heading for the ice caves. You never mentioned a village.”

  “I know.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you can’t see the village from the incinerator plant.”

  “Bullshit.” She flipped a clump of snow into his lying eyes. Too bad he was wearing goggles. “You didn’t tell me about Xanthrag’s house or the garbage chute until we were there. You didn’t tell me about the incinerator plant or Lucky until we were practically there. And you didn’t tell me about this village until now. Why do you insist on keeping everything a secret?”

  He wiped the snow from his goggles before he stood and extended his hand to help her up. “I like having an advantage.”

  She slapped his hand out of her way and stood on her own volition. “What advantage could you possibly gain by keeping me in the dark? It’s not like I’m going to leave you behind or anything.”

  His gaze dropped to the snow before bouncing back to her.

  Good, let him feel uncomfortable. “Maybe if I knew what our next move was, I could help you with it.”

  “Here’s the thing,” he said. “This isn’t a democracy. There’s one leader. Me. You wanna know why?”

  “Is it because you’re a self-centered, egotistical control freak?” She flashed him a plastic smile.

  “It’s because I understand the rules on this planet. Your entire frame of reference doesn’t exist here. So to save me from having to argue with you and your Earth-generated ideals, I’ll just let you know the plan when we get there.”

  “You’re an ass.” She hiked uphill past him.

  “Tell me, woman,” he said, falling in stride beside her, “what would be your next step? Enter the village? Go around it? Sneak in at night to steal food and maybe some sort of transportation? You know nothing of these aliens.”

  Her fingers clenched as she imagined wrapping them around his neck and choking the smugness out of his voice. “First, I’d get a look at these aliens. See who they are and what they’re up to so I could make an informed decision.” She crouched down, crawled to the snowy crest, and peered over.

  Tiny clusters of icehouses sprawled through the valley below from the base of their foothill to the base of the ice caverns and continued east and west as far as she could see. Hyboreans, humans, and other beasts freely roamed between the icehouses. Two Hyboreans were cutting up a body of meat the size of a walrus. Another was leaving the village on the equivalent of a giant dog sled.

  It reminded her of an Eskimo village. Or at least what she imagined an Eskimo village from the past might have looked like.

  “Well?” Max asked. “What’s your plan?”

  “We waltz into town in broad daylight, announce we’re here, ask for food, and trade for transportation.”

  He regarded her with bright, green eyes. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes.”

  “What makes you think these Hyboreans won’t capture you?”

  “The smoke holes. The smaller igloos have them. The big ones don’t.”

  “Which means?”

  “That if the humans were pets in the Tuniits’ homes, the big houses would have to have smoke holes, too.”

  “Maybe the Tuniits don’t believe human animals belong inside their homes.”

  “Maybe. But you told me these aliens were spiritual, which makes me believe they live in peace with man. You also said they live like their ancestors did hundreds of years ago. Since they live in snow houses, cut up their meat outside, and drive dogsleds, it stands to reason they don’t have any other technology like shock collars to keep people from leaving. Am I right?”

  Max took his time before nodding his head. He didn’t seem very happy she had figured it out. He even had the nerve to look disappointed. Should she tell him she had known they were safe the moment his muscles had relaxed under her hand when he announced this was the Tuniit village?

  Nah. Max’s easy-reader body language was her advantage.

  “Well done,” he finally said. He stood, brushed snow off him, and adjusted his baldric before starting down the hill toward the village.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Xanthrag sublimated the door, and Regan followed his master inside the tack room. He hadn’t been in here since the day he’d left for the Survival Race Championship, so hadn’t seen the new hologram images playing on the wall. The final battle against Max caught his eye.

  He could feel his heartbeat increasing as he watched the beaten and bloodied images fighting to the death. Damn, he looked powerful. And his skills and techniques were quite impressive, if he did say so himself. And though he hated to admit it, Max had been a formidable opponent.

  He couldn’t wait for the next survival race so he could kill the bastard again.

  When the fatal blow entered Max’s holographic gut, adrenaline surged through Regan as if he were right back in the action. He jumped and pumped a fist in the air. “Yeah! Take that, you bastard.”

  His hologram double pulled the sword—now covered in blood and tissue—from Max’s body. The life slowly drained from the loser’s ugly green eyes. He’d forgotten that he stomped his crampon engaged boot on Max’s chest, and giggled as he remembered how hard he had to jerk his leg to get it out of the damn corpse.

  Xanthrag’s heavy paw tousled Regan’s hair. The Hyborean’s pride and satisfaction smacked him and then vanished, as though his master had given him a mental high five before moving on to some other thought.

  The new thought seemed agitated.

  The mood swing seemed sudden, even for Xanthrag. Regan followed his master to the thermal suits hanging on the wall pegs. No wonder the Hyborean was agitated—some suits were missing their matching tops or bottoms. Someone would be getting his ass kicked for that.

  As Xanthrag matched the garments, hanging them on the correct pegs, an icy chill sliced through Regan’s soul. The feeling came from his perception of Xanthrag�
��s anger.

  One peg was bare.

  Shit. Xanthrag’s gladiators knew better than to misplace their gear. Mistakes were never tolerated. Their master was neither lenient nor forgiving.

  If Regan got punished again because of another gladiator’s stupidity, that would be the last mistake that gladiator ever made. He’d mangle their body past the point of reawakening.

  Regan rummaged through the equipment boxes looking for the suit, but it wasn’t there. And neither was all the equipment. He counted fourteen pairs of boots and goggles. There should have been sixteen.

  This was no mistake. This was theft.

  Only one person would have the balls to steal them. But how the hell did he get in and out of the room?

  Though Xanthrag made no real sound, Regan sensed an angry growl. It didn’t take more than a minute before Xanthrag’s servant ran into the room. Xanthrag lashed out with what Regan could only interpret as the snarls and growls of an angry smilodon ready to bite the tender neck of its prey.

  The servant cowered, and then ran to the garments hanging on the wall and searched for the missing thermal suits. He’d never find them. They were on Max and Addy.

  Duncan had been right five days ago. Somehow the pair had escaped.

  On hands and knees Regan scoured the floor. If Max had been in this room, he’d find the evidence. It didn’t take long before he spotted a long strand of strawberry-blonde hair beneath the garbage chute. It wasn't Max's. “Hey. Over here. I found human hair.”

  Xanthrag strode across the room to take the proffered strand. He held it up, examining it.

  “It’s my broodmare’s,” Regan said, though he knew they didn’t understand a word. “She escaped with Max.” He dropped to his knees again. Max must have left some evidence behind. There’s no way his little pet got in and out of this room on her own.

  How they did it and where they were now, he didn’t know. But he sure as hell would figure it out.

  That goddamn loser would not cause him to be tortured again.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  With every step Addy and Max took inside the village, the scent of black licorice grew stronger. Though no one had bothered them so far, almost every Hyborean outside had glanced their way as they passed. Addy’s heart rate increased. Her hands itched to reach out and take hold of Max’s arm. She refused to do it though. She would not let him know she was scared.

  Especially since he radiated confidence.

  There was an energy coming from him she hadn’t noticed before. He hadn’t drawn his sword or adjusted his baldric like he often did. He simply strutted by the houses, chest puffed and arms out slightly away from his sides like a gunfighter in what must have been his relaxed ready-to-fight stance.

  She prayed she didn’t have to see his battle stance.

  The Hyboreans had left them alone to enter the center of the village where people, dressed hood to boot in fur, gathered in a crowd around them, speaking a strange language.

  Addy plastered on a smile and nodded. “Hello.”

  One young woman stepped forward. The glossy animal hair fringing her hooded parka blew in the wind. “Why High People come to Tuniit village?” she asked, not unfriendly.

  “I’m looking for Kaskae,” Max said.

  “Who you?”

  “Suinnak Tiglikte.”

  She smirked, eyeing him up and down. “Nukka,” she called. A girl of about eight came to her side and the young woman spoke to her in the native language. The little girl nodded before pushing her way out through the crowd.

  “Suinnak...?” Addy whispered to Max, trying to pronounce the unfamiliar words.

  “Tiglikte. It’s what their leader calls me.”

  “What does it mean?”

  His grin beamed proudly. “‘Good-for-nothing thief.’”

  “Glad to know you made an impression last time.”

  While they waited, more Tuniit people gathered around them, speaking in low whispers. Children pointed at their tight, spandexlike thermal suits and giggled. Addy shifted on her feet and forced herself to keep smiling.

  It seemed like forever before the crowd parted, permitting a man Addy assumed was their chief into their surrounding circle.

  “Max.” He extended his gloved hand. “Why you come to peaceful village?”

  Max shook the chief’s hand. “Refuge.”

  “Again?”

  “Yes, but this time I’m in better company.” Max wrapped his arm around Addy’s shoulder and pushed her forward. “She needs food. She’s—”

  “Ahnah. Feed this woman.”

  Obediently, the young woman who first spoke to them stepped into the circle. “What your name?”

  “Addy.”

  “Come, Addy. Eat.” Ahnah led her away from Max and the crowd, and they ducked into a domed icehouse. The temperature change was instant and dramatic. Who knew a house made of ice and snow could be this toasty? Compared to the little ice shelters they’d slept in over the past five nights, Ahnah’s home was a cozy five-star resort.

  Light from a crescent-shaped, stone oil lamp burning in the center of the room set the smooth, crystalline walls ashimmer. Suspended above the oil lamp was a steaming pot. Ahnah stirred its contents with a spoon made from some kind of bone.

  The home was bigger than it appeared from the outside. “Is that another room?” Addy asked pointing to the open doorway off to the left. She could see animal pelts on an ice shelf.

  “Yes. Sleep there.” Ahnah pulled out a hunk of animal meat, squeezed the broth from it, and handed it and a knife to Addy.

  “Thank you.” Grateful for a hot meal no matter what the animal might be, she moved to the small wooden table to eat. Ahnah brought her cold chunks of blubber, and some kind of thick soup.

  “Again, thank you.” Addy dug in, too hungry to taste it and too hungry to care that she burned her tongue.

  “Your first baby?” Ahnah pointed to Addy’s stomach.

  “Yes.”

  “Goddess Akna will visit you soon.” Her warm and friendly smile set her blue eyes sparking. She patted her own swollen belly. “Me same. First baby.”

  “Are you scared?”

  “Was scared. Today husband return from Southland. I no scared no more.”

  Good for her. When the baby came, she’d not only have the support of her family and friends, but most important, she’d have a husband by her side.

  Mom never had that. Her baby’s father had left her. Addy would never have that, either. The father of her baby took zero interest. Max never once asked about the pregnancy or Superbaby. But what had she expected? He barely said anything that didn’t have to do with survival.

  It was nice to actually talk to someone about her pregancy, especially when that someone was another young mom going through the same thing. It was an instant connection. But as much as she would have liked to continue the baby talk, she needed to focus on the more pressing issue right now: getting information about the refuge.

  “Is Southland at the equator where the refuge is?”

  “This I don’t know. You can ask Yakone. Boats take men to Southland. They hunt and bring home much food.”

  “I see.” The men must have traveled to the warmer environment to hunt. It made sense; the Tuniit band probably live on reserved land and couldn’t find enough food here. Relief spread from her thoughts to her cracked lips. Ahnah had confirmed that land lay past an ocean and people could travel there. It wouldn’t be long before Max and she stepped foot on Southland. They were one stride closer to freedom.

  Ahnah sat across from her. “Where you from?”

  “I escaped from a place called HuBReC, but I was originally taken from Earth.”

  Surprise lit her eyes. “I heard of this village. Cam say he from Earth. You know Cam?”

  “No, I don’t.” Addy handed her the empty bowl. “Thank you so much for the meal. It was delicious.” She yawned. Now that she was warm and her hunger was satisfied, fatigue took front and center.
Until now, she hadn’t realized how tired she really was.

  “You like to sleep now?” Ahnah asked.

  It might have been the pregnancy bond thing, or knowing Max wasn’t far away, or maybe she was just too tired, but she didn’t feel the need to be wary of the Tuniit woman or her people. “Maybe just a little nap. I’m really exhausted.”

  Ahnah led her into the adjoining room and helped her climb into the bed under the soft animal pelts. “Thank you, Ahnah,” Addy said, snuggled in a blanket of warmth. “For your kindness and hospitality.”

  Ahnah smiled warmly and nodded before slipping out of the room. As soon as her eyes closed, Addy fell asleep.

  * * *

  Max licked the oil from the seal blubber he had just eaten off his gloved fingers and followed Kaskae to the edge of the village. Men unhitched teams of wolves, and unloaded thirty-foot umiak sleighs made of wood and covered with stretched skins similar in color to a seal. “I want one of those boats.”

  Kaskae gave him a penetrating look.

  “I mean to trade for it this time.” He unsheathed his gladimort and handed it hilt first to the chief. “With this.”

  Kaskae accepted the sword, weighed it in his hand, and then shook his head no. He offered it back. Max didn’t take it. Instead, he pulled out his Flesheater and handed it over as well.

  “Weapons good.” Kaskae turned the blades in his hands. Sunlight reflected off the gladimort's blade. “But no even trade.” He gave them back to Max.

  “This is Hyborean steel.” Max held the gladimort out to Kaskae. It won’t break or chip.”

  “Have no need Hyborean steel. Hunt bows and spears like ancestor. Need umiaks,” he said, tapping a boat, “travel to Southland. Bring food to Tuniit people. No even trade.”

  Max dumped out his backpack gaining the attention of two men unloading wood from their umiak. “Is there anything here you are willing to trade for?”

  As Kaskae knelt and rummaged through his belongings, the men peered over his shoulder. After a minute they went back to work and Kaskae stood and shook his head. “Naga.”

  Max shoved his things into the pack, trying to hide his frustration. He was sure Kaskae would have wanted the sword. That was what Kedric said he had bartered with last time. He must have given them something in addition to his weapon. But what? Max zipped up his bag.