Adrenaline Rush

by Cindy M. Hogan

  “By the way,” the voice said, “in case you fall, I am giving you a second chance. If you can make it through one of four openings in the fence before Sarah gets to you, I’ll let you continue with the circus today. But, if I were you, I’d conquer the air by making it across. Sarah will be sad, but she’ll live.”

  It was Frankie’s turn to be first. I felt a surge of hope. If anyone could stay on the rope, it was Frankie. She was a monkey. She’d introduced me to Henry and walking on ledges.

  By the time she reached the top, her arms and legs were shaking. It’s not easy to climb a wobbly rope ladder thirty feet into the air. She shook out her arms and legs once on the platform. She breathed deeply, several times, her chest moving in and out, in and out. The timer started. Ten. She shook her arms. Nine. She shook her legs. Eight. She breathed deeply. Seven. She breathed again. Six. She put her arms out. Five. She put one foot on the fat rope. Four. She placed the other foot on the rope. She gained her balance and looked toward the other platform, never at her feet, moving one foot after the other. She checked her balance once or twice, but made it across.

  The six of us remaining seemed to let out a collective breath. She’d made it seem easy. I was certain it wasn’t. I replayed the routine she’d gone through before starting across. I would mimic her. I hoped the others would too.

  Payden was next. He fell about halfway across but caught the rope when he fell. He pulled his legs up and shimmied across. It must have killed the burns on his legs to do it, but his will to live was strong.

  Houston made it across without much effort, too, but he went as slow as a snail.

  Duncan fell a quarter of the way across, grabbed the rope, but screamed out and fell. I’m sure he couldn’t stand the pain of his burned hands and let go. He bounced high on the pad. After looking to see where Sarah was, he scrambled to the other side of the tall blown-up pad and made it up the fence and through an opening.

  Maddie was next to fall. In her haste to get to the fence, she forgot to look for the tiger, and Sarah got her. I had to not only close my eyes, but turn completely away. My stomach roiled at the screaming, roaring, and tearing. I puked and puked again. I wasn’t the only one. I couldn’t seem to find my happy place with Jeremy or my prayers.

  Anna fell next, but it was no shock that she escaped. The tiger did scratch one of her legs, though.

  I was last, and I fell too, but was able to catch the rope. It cut grooves into my hands by the time I made it to the platform on the other side. The red, inflamed sores on both hands burned and pinched. I wanted to kill Division. Where were they?

  “Down to six, are we? It’s pretty impressive that six of you remain. By this time, we are usually down to four, but this is no usual group, is it?”

  There couldn’t be much more, could there? I’d noticed we’d seemed to be doing something that involved the elements. We’d already done, air, fire, and water. There was only one element left: earth. What had he thought up for earth?

  “The Bible says we come from dust and will return to dust when we die,” the voice boomed out, confirming my suspicions. “To celebrate the fact that your bodies came from earth and will one day return to the earth, you will fight another from the earth. The choice is yours.”

  It bothered me that he was using the Bible to back up his demented actions. A curtain behind us opened. Six fighters stood in front of us. A male boxer. A male wrestler. A woman karate master. A woman dressed up in a special forces uniform. A male cage fighter. A male knight.

  “Which type of dust would you like to fight? Oh, I have a little twist at the end of the fight I think you’ll all really enjoy,” the commentator said. I was so sore, I couldn’t imagine fighting any one of these men or women. Each of the three tasks we’d already done had sapped the strength out of us. I didn’t want to fight anyone.

  Houston got first pick.

  He did well against the wrestler. The man seemed listless, except for a few times when he seemed to get it together enough to pull Houston close and speak in his ear. He did this several times. Why would he do that? Houston brought him down after about five minutes. Maybe he was better than I thought. Then a skinny girl dressed to the hilt brought out a pillow with a knife on it. She placed it before Houston.

  “Time to finish the job,” the announcer said.

  Houston’s body slumped slightly. His head was bowed down, his chin resting on his chest.

  Now I heard the man yell out. “Please, please. My family. They need me.”

  The timer started. Ten. What would he do? Certainly he wouldn’t kill the man. Nine. Eight. Why doesn’t he just let go of the man and stand up? Seven. Six. I moved forward slightly, wanting to grab him into a hug and tell him it would be okay. He didn’t have to murder anyone. Five. In a sudden blur of movement, Houston grabbed the knife and then thrust it into the man’s heart. Blood spurted all over. I gasped and looked away. Houston had done it. He had murdered someone. It was a horrible, senseless killing. Houston rolled to his side, sobs wracked his frame until his guide picked him up and forced him back in line. The kidnapper had to be stopped. Rage boiled within me, but at the same time, fear niggled at me, twisting up my insides. I would also have to choose.

  My name was called next. I made my choice: the karate master. As I made my way to the karate mat, I tried to figure out what each of these challenges told him about us. What kind of people did the nutty announcer want in this place? He obviously wanted someone who could fight, but why wasn’t winning enough? Why the twist at the end? Why the dagger?

  I was a master at karate, and I doubted any of the others in the Avengers were. They wouldn’t stand a chance against the woman this crazy man had standing there. She also seemed a bit slow, off her game, although we were fighting on a very advanced level for about five minutes. Then she got the right move in and brought me to the floor and whispered in my ear, “Please. I have cancer. The chemo makes me weak. I will beat the cancer. I must beat you.”

  I pushed her away. A ploy? Why was she whispering to me? I got her several times, and she slowed significantly, until I made a mistake and she brought me down again and whispered, “Please, let me win. My family. I must save my family.”

  Had this madman taken the family members of these fighters and would kill them if the fighters didn’t try to win? She had me firm on the ground. I thought of giving in. It would be the charitable thing to do. The first fighter must have said the same types of things to Houston. They must be here under duress. I couldn’t be responsible for her death. I wasn’t afraid of death. But I hadn’t come here by myself or for myself. The others who’d been kidnapped—I was responsible for them: they were my mission.

  Then it hit me. The madman wanted soldiers that showed no mercy. The woman I held captive deserved my mercy, but I couldn’t give it to her. I had to complete my mission. If I didn’t, there was no hope of me saving the several hundred kids here. I would have to take one life to save the many. Could I?

  Then the countdown started. She must have been given the knife. If I let her kill me, the commentator would still be able to hurt people. I had to stop him. I had no choice. I would have to kill her so that I could stop him. I had to keep the bigger picture before me.

  I saw the knife in her hands and knew it would be plunged into my chest in about three seconds. I found the strength to free my arms and grab her wrists. I twisted her onto her back and in one swift movement, grabbed the knife from her and plunged it into her chest. It was nothing like I’d imagined it. It felt almost like the knife didn’t even go in her body. Sort of like when I’d attacked someone with a knife suit on. There was no resistance, but there was plenty of blood. She lay there unmoving. The only way I could make this the right decision was to save everyone here. I would find a way. I must find a way.

  I quickly stood and walked away, not able to face what I had done. My chest burned with the rightness of my decision, but at the moment, it didn’t help the anguish I felt at killing an innocent person. I
hoped her family would be spared. I would survive so that I could beat this man at his own game.

  I know the others fought, but I couldn’t seem to focus on anything anymore. I looked, but didn’t see what was right in front of me.

  At some point, my guide led me to the middle of the floor and had me climb up some stairs. I stopped at the top. The bright lights shining down on me hurt my eyes. I covered them. My guide was immediately by my side.

  “Here, you need to put your hand like this,” she whispered urgently, demonstrating that I should to put my pinky and the two next fingers out straight, while tucking in my thumb and pointer finger under my palm and place it on top of my heart. She helped me do it. I couldn’t seem to work my fingers.

  I looked down, letting my eyes adjust. Frankie, Houston, and Duncan stood on the platform a level below me. I was on a box, one level higher than everyone else. They all stared up at me. Frankie’s eyes were swollen with tears. Duncan looked at his feet, Houston looked a bit triumphant. They had all killed their opponents. Had it been the right thing to do? I’m sure they felt they had to preserve themselves. Would they be able to live with themselves now?

  I looked around for Payden and Anna. They were not there. They were gone forever. Deep hurt spread throughout my body as I heard a type of anthem play. I let my hand drop from my chest. Only slight pain from my burns registered.

  Determination filled me. I set my jaw. I would stop this madman.

  Once the anthem finished playing, the crowd roared, and we were escorted back to our rooms by our guides. Mine instructed me to shower. I did but only used cold water. My burns couldn’t take any heat. My head whirled. I sorted through all the information I’d ever read, intentionally or unintentionally, about crazy madmen and the psychology around them. The kidnapper must have an endgame.

  What did those tests he did today show? What were his motivations behind them? I brought up an article in my mind about this very thing, and I remembered something interesting. He wanted to see if we would be merciful. Did he want us to be merciful or not? He was cruel, and the people he employed showed no emotion with the circus feats. They were heartless. We won if we killed. No, he was looking for those of us who were not merciful, but why? Were we going to be his soldiers? The documents in my mind highlighted the most likely psychological profile this kidnapper would be looking for if he were creating assassins. If so, they would be strong willed, yet easily influenced, have no compassion, love an intellectual thrill, need an ego boost, and be able to conquer fear.

  When I got out, my guide handed me a shift to put on and then she tended to my wounds, putting ointment on them and dressing them. She then put me in a bright yellow jumpsuit and painted my lips yellow. At least this time I didn’t get a nose, wig, or clown makeup. I wanted to sleep. Instead, I would be going to a dinner with the enemy while I plotted his demise.

  The magnificent oval dining hall screamed with wild, garish color. I felt like I’d walked into a demented rainbow. The walls were bright yellow and purple. The floor was a fluorescent green. The wooden, oval table and the chairs around it were hot pink, except for one. It sat at one of the top ends of the oval and looked like a king’s throne. It was gold. I wondered if it was solid gold. Could it be real? The plates on the table were a dark blue and the flatware, silver. We had goblets made of red, colored glass. Our napkins were orange. The colors didn’t blend, and they hurt my eyes. Videos of today’s triumphs were playing on screens high above us. I refused to watch them.

  A man entered the room, dressed like a servant from long ago, and said, “His Majesty, King Sterling.” I felt a sudden desire to laugh at the absurdity of it all, but was able to stifle it by closing my eyes and pressing my lips together. I desperately wanted to see this man. The man I would take down. So, I slowly opened my eyes. I watched the tall, comical man stand next to his chair of gold. He wore a black, pin-striped suit with a bright orange shirt, an orange tie, and orange socks. His hair was also bright orange and stood a good four inches out from his head. It looked like spokes sticking out.

  The man who had announced Sterling proceeded to undress him. I looked away. What in the heck was going on? After a few minutes, the man spoke again. “Your King.”

  I was afraid to look, but knew I’d be punished if I didn’t. He stood next to his throne still, but he now wore only the tie and a pair of boxer shorts. They were white with orange hearts on them. His face was painted white with orange triangles above his eyebrows and below his bottom lip. He obviously had a color fetish. His eyes were accented with a thick line of black paint. He looked wickedly cruel. His mouth was somehow familiar, and it raised goose bumps on my arms thinking about it.

  He took a seat after someone blew a horn, like the announcement of the arrival of a true king in medieval times.

  “King. King. That is so formal. I would rather you all call me Sterling, instead. Please enjoy the movie while you eat,” he said. “I certainly will.” He had this odd twitch in his right eye. It happened every time he ended a sentence. It was quick and almost imperceptible, but I was only four seats away from him and saw it.

  Our meals rose out of the table and a movie projected all around us: Sniper Serenade. It appeared to be a Hollywood movie, but I’d never seen anything so brutal before. I tried to avoid the movie, but discovered that if I didn’t look up every so often, I would get a low grade shock from my collar. Duncan, Frankie, and Houston seemed to be having the same problem because they would pull at their collars every now and then and shift in their seats. I couldn’t help but notice that Houston seemed to watch more than any of us. No one ate much.

  It was obvious Sterling was trying to acculturate in a hurry. He wanted us to change our views so that what we had seen as bad or unacceptable our whole lives was suddenly good.

  When the movie ended, he stood up and had two servants dress him back into his suit. Our dishes and remaining food disappeared back into the table. Then he turned around and addressed us.

  “Welcome, new selections. I’m so excited to have you here as a part of this exclusive program. You were chosen because of your impressive skills and willingness to do what it takes. You will be directly involved in helping eliminate this world of those who oppress us through media and other means.” He started to pace and then moved down the side of the table where I sat.

  “What is truly interesting about the four of you, is that there are four of you. The maximum number of selections one group has provided us has been three, until now.” He was standing directly behind me. “I’d been watching your group for a good, long while, but you were missing a key element.” I felt his hands press on the top of my chair. “You were missing a cute little blonde-haired girl. Lucky for you, this little beauty showed up.” He spun my chair around, and I looked up into his scary face. A shiver raced down my spine. “Yes, you were nothing without this one, here. A blonde-haired goddess to be sure.” He pinched both my cheeks, hard. I would bruise. How did he know I was naturally blonde? Did he know who I was in real life? Had I somehow broken cover?

  “You will find there is no greater thrill than the mental preparation and the physical execution of a well-thought-out kill. You will be doing rigorous, death defying stunts on a daily basis to prepare you for your tasks. You will find that many of these stunts will be played out in your mind, however.”

  On the screens all around the room, pictures of people who had died recently flashed across the screen. I recognized most of them from the news. Cheri the Chameleon, a popular wrestler, died of an overdose of steroids. Jeff Monroe, an actor who played edgy roles, died during the filming of one of his movies. I watched as a politician who was secretly involved with terrorists died on his knees, hands tied behind his back and blindfolded, obviously savagely beaten at the hands of men who looked like terrorists. A TV personality, Sinclair Scott, died of an overdose. He had been known for his love of drugs. One actor, Jason McNeal ‘fell’ from a balcony in front of all his fans. A judge died when a huge gavel a
t a local courthouse fell on his head. Others I didn’t recognize also died in horrible, strange ways. Sterling narrated it with gusto. He had orchestrated all the deaths? Most were done in some poetic way, but were never determined to be foul play.

  Was his plan to really use us as elite assassins? Were all of those kids in the circus tent assassins? I shuddered.

  Had Division 57 ever received my signals? Or was I alone like Jeremy had told me I would be? It had only been one day, but the most horrible day ever. I thought Division would be here by now.

  He finished his narration and then added, “Yes, you will help rid the world of smut, indecision, lawlessness, and greed. I will judge and announce sentence accordingly. You will carry out the sentence.”

  My whole body felt weak and strong at the same time. I didn’t want to do what I had to do. I wanted to run back to the safety of Bresen Academy. But I also knew that if I didn’t find a way to stop him, Sterling would continue kidnapping and killing innocents to carry out his vigilante justice. I had to stop this man, and I would.

  At the end of his speech, he led us outside. It was dark, but a huge bonfire raged in front of us, casting ugly shadows everywhere. The smell of burning wood brought back memories of camping as a child. I tried to hold onto those happy moments.

  “Now for the induction ceremony,” Sterling said.

  I noticed a small stage set up in front of the fire.

  “Please, head up onto the stage.” As we climbed, I saw that we weren’t alone. In the background were a bunch of kids. The same kids from inside the circus tent? They started shouting a chant, “A world without smut. A world without indecision. A world without lawlessness. A world without greed.” They repeated the chant over and over again. Sterling held up his arms and the crowd silenced.