“Ward…,” he called, groping blindly with his foot. “I’m slipping.”
“Don’t,” came the reply. “I’m not down yet. I haven’t got you.”
“I am going to fall,” Cam said evenly. “And then I am going to die.”
“Climb back up to the last good resting point,” Ward advised. “Hold out there for one minute until I’m in position. You can do it.”
Cam strained upward, his muscles screaming. He was able to reach a better handhold. Then Ward was down.
“Got you!” he called.
“Do I let go?”
“Yep. Trust me.”
Cam had no choice. Even with the better hold, his arms were failing. He let go. There was a slight jerk as the slack in the rope tightened, then he hung suspended over the rocks on the beach below, clinging to the rope with his feet braced against the cliff.
“Do you lower me now?”
In answer, the rope began to play out, and Cam rappelled down, his feet hitting the wall every couple of yards. He pushed off and swung out, then swung back, smacking against the rock and flailing to keep his legs in front of him.
“Stop bouncing!” Ward yelled up to him. “Just walk.”
Cam settled onto the wall and began to step backward as he descended. Soon he was hiking down at a steady pace. With the proper technique it was surprisingly easy, yet when he hit the beach, he still breathed a sigh of relief.
Quiet waves crept up and swirled around Cam’s feet in the sand before slinking back into the ocean.
“There you go,” Ward said, “you learned something. Remember to use your feet for support next time. Don’t hang by your arms—your legs are a lot stronger. Any questions?”
“Just one. Now that I’m at sea level, I can’t fall to my death anymore, right?”
* * *
As they walked the beach, Cam marveled at his new surroundings. Behind them, the towering cliffs dove straight into a bed of sand and dozens of scattered boulders shed over the centuries. The blue ocean swept in over the sand and slammed directly into the cliff wall, cutting off any retreat in that direction, which appeared to be south. The waves had carved the rock so that the slope was oversteepened and looked ready to collapse. Ahead of them to the north, the widening tan belt of sand between a high bluff and the sea created a safety zone—a beach that would have looked fabulous on a travel brochure. In this protected flatland Cam saw small thatched-roof buildings on stilts. Five of them.
“Huts?”
“Quaint, eh?” Ward said. “We call them the ‘condos.’ They stay dry and usually survive the weather. If a storm gets too bad or the moon drags the tide too far up the beach, we move to higher ground. You’ll be in the last one there with the empty bed and Ari.”
“What’s an Ari?”
“Your roommate.”
They passed several huts. Cam could see that they were solid one-room structures, not makeshift or rickety. Each was slightly different—all built by hand—but they appeared to be roughly the same size, and about the dimensions of the living room in the house he was supposed to be renting with his friends at the university. Farther up the beach and wedged against the bluff was a large square building built from cinder blocks, with narrow openings instead of windows. It seemed to be the central and primary structure in the compound. Its stark, angular gray walls contrasted with the vibrant and textured green jungle behind it and the churning blue water before it. It reminded Cam of a jail with arrow slits.
Beyond the block building lay a natural lagoon with shallow, calm water protected from the open sea. Cam strode past the drab structure to the lagoon edge, curious. The pool was light blue, like the sky, and so clear that, as they approached, Cam could see flashes of color darting between the rocks that dotted the sand on the bottom.
“Fish!” He stared for a time, fascinated.
Ward chuckled. “Yes, they come with the ocean.” He tapped Cam on the shoulder and motioned him back toward the compound. “Let’s go. You can come back and visit them during off time or during hunter-gatherer sessions, if you feel like sushi.”
Cam followed Ward, wondering what hunter-gatherer sessions were. He didn’t ask. There was too much to take in. Past the lagoon, the north end of the beach was hemmed in by more cliffs. Cam noted that these appeared impossible to climb, as they were worn completely smooth, with few visible hand or footholds.
As they walked back toward the main building, a cluster of small, orange monkeys appeared on the roof and began hopping up and down, chattering among themselves and watching them come, like excited fans in bleachers.
“They want food,” Ward explained. “The irony is they are food. They just don’t know it yet.”
“Are you saying we eat monkey?”
“If you’re hungry.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You will be.” Ward laughed again.
Cam was disturbed by how often Ward laughed. Not everything he laughed about was funny. If someone told Ward he’d just stepped on a jaguar’s tail, he’d laugh about that too, Cam thought. Although, he’d probably also know exactly what to do and wind up with jaguar-skin gloves he crafted himself. Maybe that’s why he was laughing—he knew what he was doing. Cam, on the other hand, had no clue.
“When do I meet the others?”
“How about now?”
“Okay.” Cam waited, but Ward didn’t take him to the big building. “Uh, where are they?”
“All around us.”
Cam turned. He saw no one.
“You’re fast, right, Cam?”
“Reasonably.”
“Do you think you can get back to your condo without getting tagged?”
“Tagged? Like touched?”
“Something like that.”
“Last hut on the end?”
“Yep. Ready?”
It was a game. A test. A something. Cam scanned the beach. He still didn’t see anyone. “Sure.”
“Go!”
Cam began trotting down the beach. He skirted the first of the condos, figuring the others must be hiding inside them. Instead he hugged the bluff on the landward side. He moved quickly, but didn’t run at first. He needed to scope things out. With his eyes fixed on the structures, he didn’t see the padded pole until it hit him in the head.
The packed sand beach was harder than it looked, and his thoughts were muddled for a moment before he looked up and saw a perfectly camouflaged person separate from the bluff. The figure was male, his age, and taller than him, with a chest and abdomen like a rippled wall. His body was smeared with dirt, and he held a pole with pads on each end. He shook a drooping plant off his head, an ornament that had helped him blend into the hillside.
“Pretty good shot, huh?” camouflage said. “I’m Donnie, and you’ll want to remember this. Now stay down and tap out, and I won’t have to tag you.” He raised the other padded end of the pole. It was red and glistened in the sun.
“Whoa … okay,” Cam said, stuffing his hands into the sand and trying to rise to one knee.
“You have to tap out,” Donnie said impatiently. “Three times on the ground so Ward can see.”
“Just a sec. You hit me so hard. I’m loopy. Is this really…?”
Cam threw two fistfuls of sand in Donnie’s face and rolled hard to his left. The pole came down with incredible speed and force on the sand where he’d just been, but he was already up and running. There was a short pursuit, but the guy was still rubbing his eyes and stopped at the first hut. He barked a single profanity and gave a loud whistle.
One down, Cam thought, but the whistle sounded an awful lot like a signal. There would be others, perhaps eight of them. He stayed away from the bluff. He had barely started toward the next hut when he felt something was wrong. Nothing was happening. No one emerged to stop him. No one leaped from the bluff. It was a wide open space. Too easy. He glanced left and right. Only the shadow of a bird moved on the beach, drifting toward him. He looked up. A shower of red paint ra
ined down, and he barely had time to duck back under Donnie’s hut to avoid being splattered. It hit the beach like a red bomb. Cam guessed that getting painted red ended the game.
The shadow turned away, and Cam peeked out. Hang glider! He broke for the bluff as the triangular aircraft maneuvered for another pass. Cam arrived and hugged the wall as the glider dove after him. There was nowhere to go. He’d trapped himself. But the glider couldn’t operate near the bluff. Still, it came on. He’s crazy, Cam thought. He could see the guy now. He was red-haired and grinning maniacally as he flew headlong toward the wall, getting another bucket ready. At the last moment, he swerved, but it was too late. One of the fabric wings clipped the rocks and dirt, and it crumpled, sending its freckled rider to the beach. He tumbled three times and came to rest in the sand, where his second tagging bucket slammed into his back and covered him in red paint.
It was a hard landing, and Cam almost ran to offer help, but he heard the unlucky pilot utter a loud whistle and realized the game was still on.
Cam ran past the second hut. He didn’t stop, but instead zipped to the water side of the third structure and kept going. There was movement inside. He twisted sideways, zigzagging into the white fingers of surf groping up onto the beach. A sharp prick in his upper arm told him he’d been right to dodge. He glanced. A dart hung there, its point buried in the flesh of his shoulder.
“Friggin’ oww!”
He tried to shake off the dart as he ran, but his arm wouldn’t move. A tingle ran through the flesh of his bicep and forearm, but they refused to respond. The entire limb had gone limp and numb, like a cold summer sausage. He grabbed the dart with his other hand and yanked it out, wondering what might have happened if he’d been hit in the neck or face.
His next challenge was sitting on the steps of the fourth hut. Another guy his age, maybe a year younger or older. He stood as Cam approached, rising higher and higher as his long legs stretched out, until he stood at least six and a half feet tall. He was also thick, with heavy apelike arms. Two giant steps later he’d planted himself directly in Cam’s path.
With his size, Cam figured he couldn’t run. Cam altered his angle and headed toward the bluff again. The giant followed. Speed was Cam’s greatest physical asset. He was fast. He had to be to earn the starting right wing spot on a college soccer team. But somehow the big guy kept up. Cam risked a look back. The guy cranked his powerful legs awkwardly, but rapidly, looking almost as though he was unused to his own surprising speed. Cam turned on the afterburners, his feet churning in the sand. Still, he heard heavy breathing close behind. Impossible, he thought. A guy that big running that fast would have to be a pro football prospect, not a dying tumor patient.
Stopping to grapple the monster was unthinkable, especially with a useless arm. But getting pulled down from behind would be no better, and embarrassing. Cam felt like he was on a breakaway with the soccer ball and being chased. A player was always a step slower when handling the ball. He recalled a move he used sometimes on those occasions. His coach hated it, but it always resulted in a foul by the defender and a direct kick. He slowed just enough to let his mammoth pursuer get within reach of him, and then he stopped suddenly, ducked, and braced himself.
Given his bulk, speed, and inelegant gait, there was no way for his pursuer to stop. He tumbled over Cam and went down in the sand. Still upright, Cam didn’t waste a moment. He dashed onward, the seconds he’d gained enough to give him an insurmountable lead.
He passed the fourth condo at a dead sprint, his own now in sight. He glanced waterward and skyward. Nothing between him and the doorway but sand. His numb arm dangled as he ran, flopping against his side. He hoped it wasn’t permanent. I’m right-handed, for god’s sake.
Just then the sand, the only thing in his way, reached out and grabbed his ankle. Cam careened forward. Unable to catch himself with his dead arm, he hit the beach with his face. His mouth filled with grit but he closed his eyes quickly enough that he was not blinded. He flipped over and saw a slim hand wrapped around his leg. Kicking it away, he scrambled to get to his feet. But the sand erupted, and a figure from beneath it rose with him.
She was on her feet before he was. Female. Obviously female, given the accoutrements the nineteen-year-old had squeezed into her shorty wetsuit. With the light-colored sand shaken loose, her savagely chopped hair was as dark as her eyes. She was well muscled too. He could see the corded tendons in her legs, and her abs were rippled neoprene. He lost a split second staring at her while she lifted one foot. Then it shot out and struck him square in the chest. Cam flew backward and landed on his butt. She paused to fumble for something dangling from her belt. Cam didn’t stay to fight. He was already in bad shape. He didn’t need another dart in the arm, pole to the head, or foot in the chest. Wheezing, he pushed himself up with his left hand and staggered onward. He did not look back and didn’t hear footsteps behind him. Nor did he risk looking over his shoulder. He was almost up to speed, the condo was a short sprint now, and turning would only slow him down.
As Cam approached, a boy peeked out of his hut. He looked young, had a slight build, and considered Cam through deep-set eyes. He nodded approval and waved Cam on. Ari, Cam realized. This was his roommate. Cam also understood that Ari would not be an obstacle. Cam ran the last few yards toward him, until he saw Ari wince.
Cam considered ducking and should have. The cord hit the back of his neck, and the heavy ends of the bolo whipped around his throat so fast that Cam didn’t even realize what was happening until the paint-filled balls smacked together beneath his chin, burst open, and painted his chest red.
“Tagged,” the female voice behind him said, not without some satisfaction.
CAM’S PLAYLIST
5. SMELLS LIKE MONDAY
by Cheez Whiz
6. THE OATH
by Slinky
7. HEY, I KNOW THIS SONG
by The Nobodies
“Dude, it’s like … aww, forget it.”
Cam fell to his knees on the beach five yards short of the condo, gasping for air and clawing at his throat. The cord was wrapped ferociously tight, and he couldn’t breathe. Nor could he speak to ask for help. As he drifted toward unconsciousness, he was vaguely aware that the girl was standing over him triumphantly. It was Ari who bent to loosen the bolo, although when Cam’s flailing hands interfered with Ari’s progress, she did help by slapping them away. Finally, a breath rushed into his lungs.
“Here comes Ward,” Cam heard Ari say as he blinked and sucked in air. “He’ll be asking you what you learned and have a silly catchphrase for it.”
“Like ‘the hardest part of every journey is the first step,’” Cam wheezed.
Ari laughed. “Bingo. Especially when that step is out the door of a helicopter.” He extended a hand in greeting and to help Cam up. “I’m Ari.”
Cam couldn’t lift his arm. “Sorry, my arm’s messed up,” he said. “I got stuck with something.”
“A dart,” Ari said. “If it’s just your arm, it wasn’t even half a dose. You’ll recover.”
“You guys poisoned me?”
Ari grabbed Cam’s left arm and pulled him to his feet. “Relax. It takes two full doses to kill ya.”
Cam wasn’t reassured, but he found Ari easy to like, perhaps even trust. The skinny guy was friendly and somehow genuine, not like an instructor with catchphrases. Cam turned to greet his beautiful assailant.
“Hi, I’m Cam,” he said stupidly. He added a conciliatory grin.
“You’re dead,” the woman replied without cracking a smile. “The dead don’t talk.”
Ari handed her bolos back to her. “Cam, I’d like you to meet your assassin, Zara.”
Cam waited for her to extend her hand. She didn’t.
Just then, Ward arrived, followed by a small mob of other young adults, all between the ages of eighteen and twenty from the look of them. My teammates, Cam thought.
The big fast guy was there. Tough to miss. The red-haired ha
ng glider was limping, but grinning ear to ear. Camouflage Donnie of the padded pole strode up in the back, his narrow eyes assessing Cam. A smaller guy stood at his shoulder like an imp, and Cam decided he must be the dart man. Cam couldn’t imagine either of the soft-skinned girls he saw behind Ward sticking him with a needle. One had lips, freckles, and eyebrows so pale they blended with her skin as though someone had smudged them all together with a photo editing program. The other had eyes too big for her nose and a chin too small for her mouth. She looked like a cartoon drawing by a carnival artist who exaggerated his subjects’ features so much that they were embarrassed to ever show their friends the picture. Finally, there was a girl with glasses. She didn’t look very aggressive either, although her lips were puckered so tight she reminded Cam of his fussy Aunt Eunstice. He recalled that Aunt Eunstice could be a real bitch.
“Zara gets the tag,” Ward said. She nodded proudly. “But it wasn’t perfect. You had him on his back and mishandled your weapon. Imagine he had a gun. Hesitate and you graduate.”
Cam didn’t quite understand, but Zara didn’t seem too pleased about her potential graduation.
“That was some bullshit he pulled with me,” Donnie said.
“Donnie, you also had a chance to take him out immediately,” Ward said. “But you chose to hurt him first. Bad choice. Cruelty inspires your opponent, and gloating like a supervillain just gives him a chance to escape. Instead of showing Cam who’s boss, he showed you that you’re not.”
Donnie scowled. “I only clocked him once. I was giving him a chance to tap out, but then…”
“But then he threw it in your face?” Ari chuckled.
Donnie shot the smaller boy a menacing look. “No honor, Steiny,” Donnie said. “I gave him a break. But it won’t happen again.”
“There is no honor in the individual struggle here,” Ward interrupted. “Only in serving the collective good.”
The Terminals Page 4