Into the Fire

by Cheree Alsop

  I rose shakily to my feet. I couldn’t look at the laptop. The words had stopped, but they circled in my mind like vultures. Not a monster. Not an animal. I was an animal. The words were a lie. I robbed without remorse. I had fallen into Jake’s trap without question. I had become his scapegoat, following him blindly because he promised to keep me from Academy. I had been so desperate not to go back that I believed anything he said. I was a fool.

  I pulled the Molotovs from the satchel and lit them without bothering to check how long the fuses were. I threw all three into the living room where the laptop waited to condemn the stupidity of my actions. The roar of flames was the only comfort I felt. I stood and watched the fire consume the drapes and couch cushions. It beat against my face with the same desperate rage I felt, ready to destroy anything in its path. I finally retreated when the heat became too much. I stumbled outside into the backyard.

  What would I do? Everything had been a lie. Inside the Academy, we were raised with the belief that combat was sacred, and an honorable death was the only way to reach heaven. When I left the Academy, I found that all the truths I had believed were wrong, designed to feed a greedy nation who gambled life savings on the show where they broadcasted our fights to the death. How many Galdoni had died with the belief that they would reach heaven instead of some cable box to the enjoyment of bloodthirsty viewers?

  When Jake found me, he had promised to give me a purpose in life. I remembered the gleam in his eyes when he took me in. Memories danced within the firelight.

  “You okay, son?”

  I stood up straight despite the pain in my shoulder. “Fine.”

  Jake’s eyebrows drew together. “You don’t look fine.” He indicated my shoulder with a lift of his chin. “I heard a gunshot. That’s why I came.”

  “They outnumbered me. I had to fight back.”

  I had finally given up flying when my empty stomach hurt enough to drive me to search for food. I found discarded loaves of bread in a big metal bin behind a bakery. That was where they found me.

  “This is our turf,” a big, burly man with black marks down his arms growled.

  There were seven of them. I was fast, but they were armed. A quick check showed a variety of knives and clubs. I wasn’t at my full strength because I was starving and had flown for hours, circling back over the surrounding cities because for some reason fear pressed against me the further I got from the Academy. As much as I wanted to leave it behind, it still had me in its iron claws. “I don’t want trouble,” I replied.

  “Too bad,” the first man said with a chuckle, “Because we do.”

  My wingspan was too wide for the alley. I tried anyway. When I spread my wings, a sharp crack rang out. Fire tore through my shoulder with such force that I stumbled back against the garbage bin. The gang closed in.

  I crouched and drove a fist into the first man’s groin, then chopped the knee of a second hard enough to feel his joint give way. I spun back and elbowed another in the face, followed by a haymaker to the jaw of his companion. A man jumped on my back, tearing at my wings. I let his weight pull me backwards and shoved my elbow behind me as I fell. The force drove the air from his lungs as I slammed my full mass into his stomach. I rolled to the right in time to avoid a club, then caught it on my way up and punched my attacker in the stomach.

  A man flipped open a knife and tried to slice my face. I ducked under his slice and caught his arm in both of my own. I brought my left hand down and drove my right arm up on the other side of his elbow, snapping it with a quick push. He stumbled back, screaming in pain.

  A club caught me behind the knees. I fell on my back, but kicked out before any of them could jump me. My foot connected with a knee and another scream followed. Someone drove a fist at my face. I blocked it with my forearms and used his momentum to pull him down on the pavement next to me. I slammed my elbow into his nose. A club hit my head. Stars danced in my vision.

  “What’s going on back there?” a voice demanded. “I’ve called the cops!”

  “Let’s get out of here,” one of the gang members shouted. They pulled each other to their feet. Some limped and several were bleeding from crushed noses or mouths. As the man from the front neared, they ran the opposite way down the alley.

  I used the garbage bin to pull myself up. I held my shoulder to staunch the blood that flowed from the bullet wound.

  “You okay, son?”

  Jake had taken me home and introduced me to alcohol for the first time when he had me drink it as a painkiller so he could remove the bullet. He then joined me in drinking, and when his landlord pounded on the door and demanded the rent, Jake showed me the rage his drinking invoked. The next morning, we moved to a new apartment and I vowed to never touch the stuff again. Jake disappeared for two days, and when he came back, he was ready for me to get to work.

  I shook my head, clearing the memories of learning how to open safes and break into houses. It had been something to do. I didn’t care back then whether it was right or wrong. After the Academy, nothing seemed right anymore.

  Sirens raced toward me. The safe was a loss. Trepidation filled my chest when I opened my wings. I pushed down hard and flew high above the burning house. I watched the fire engines pull up. The team hurried to save the home, but the Molotovs burned so hot and the flames devoured everything so quickly there wasn’t much they could do.

  I felt a pang of remorse as I turned south and searched the ground by habit for the blinking green light. I rode the wind slowly toward Jake’s car. The heaviness in my chest grew when I saw him leaning against the door with his arms crossed. I didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t ready to confront him. As much as I hated to admit it, I had nowhere else to go.

  “What happened?” Jake demanded the instant I landed.

  “One of the Molotovs exploded early,” I said quickly, hoping he would buy the excuse.

  The cold look in his eyes chased away that hope in a heartbeat. “You didn’t make it to the safe?”

  “I-I had just started on the dial when I heard the Molotov explode. I tried to hurry, but I couldn’t hear over the flames.” I looked at the ground. I wasn’t a good liar. I supposed in a normal world that would have been a good thing. In mine, however, I was as good as lost.

  “Get in the car.”

  A chill ran down my spine at the growl in Jake’s voice. I slid onto the backseat without speaking. Explanations only made him angrier. Nothing would save me from the beating his clenched jaw promised. The steel in his eyes as he watched the road buried itself in my heart. I wished I didn’t need him.

  Chapter Seven

  I sat on the chair and gritted my teeth. The first lash cut deep across the scars of the others. The second quickly followed. If I had to guess, I would have said Jake was putting more strength into it. Each lash cut deeper than the one before, and the whip hissed through the air, splattering small drops of red across the wall closest to us.

  “I wish you would just listen to me,” Jake said. Lash. “You know to check the Molotovs before you light them.” Lash. “You’ve done it two dozen times already.” Lash. “You’re getting sloppy.” Lash. He fell quiet.

  I preferred the silence broken only by the hiss of the whip. He whipped me three more times, then whispered a curse and whipped me once again. The tip of the lash cut around my shoulder to my back. I couldn’t help the yell that tore from my lips at how deep the leather cut into my shoulder. Jake’s face paled. “Turn around,” he demanded.

  I followed his command and turned. Jake let out a breath of relief. “It didn’t cut your wing.” He smiled. “Can’t damage those money-makers. That’d be stupid, wouldn’t it?”

  I nodded because his pause meant he expected a response.

  He let out a loud sigh. “You know I don’t like to do this, Saro. Why can’t you just be more careful?”

  “I’ll be more careful,” I replied in a monotone voice.

  He studied me for a minute, then nodded. “Good. Go get yoursel
f cleaned up.”

  I sat on the chair for a few more minutes as he helped himself to a beer from the fridge and collapsed on the couch. He took a long swig and closed his eyes. When it was obvious he wasn’t going to move anytime soon, I grabbed my tee-shirt from the floor and went into the bathroom.

  My chest bled freely. I grimaced at the sight of torn flesh layered on top of the scars from both the Arena and Jake’s tutelage. I grabbed a few bandages from the box by the toilet and dabbed at the blood. My mind flashed to Alana’s feet. She shouldn’t be alone.

  I gingerly slipped my black tee-shirt over my head. The slits I had cut in the back fell around my wings. Maybe if the Galdoni were free, someone could make clothes that actually fit right. I shook my head and grinned at the absurdity of the statement. My whole world had fallen apart yet again, and I was wondering if different clothing choices were available.

  I slipped into the trench coat and checked to make sure Jake was asleep before I shut the door behind me. Carrying two more bottles of water and a half-eaten box of pizza from the night before, I hurried down the stairs to the basement.

  Alana was still sleeping on the couch. She had turned to her side so that one of her gray wings spread along her body. I avoided looking at the jagged edges of her feathers as I knelt beside her. “Alana?”

  She stirred slightly, but didn’t open her eyes. A slight smile touched her lips that I couldn’t help echoing. In the light of the bare bulb overhead, her cheek looked flushed. I wondered if she had a fever. I opened my hand slowly and set it on her cheek. Her skin felt warm, but not too hot.

  Alana’s brown eyes opened and met my gaze. “Hello, Saro,” she said in a sleepy whisper.

  I dropped my hand and sat back, feeling suddenly exposed. “I was, uh, worried you might have a fever.”

  She nodded. “I think I’m okay.” She moved one of her feet, and then winced. “Or a little less than okay.”

  I needed to change her bandages, but it was going to hurt. I hated causing her pain. “Do you like pizza?”

  She sat up with a smile. “I love pizza.”

  I opened the box and set it on the couch beside her. “It’ll give you something to focus on while I check your feet.”

  Her face paled. “Do you have to?”

  I nodded. “Somebody’s got to get you better.”

  Her gaze softened, taking on a quality I hadn’t seen before. I dropped my eyes to her feet while my heart gave a strange thump. I pulled the sack of supplies over and tried to hide the pain the action caused. I could feel blood trickling down my stomach and was grateful I wore a dark shirt so she wouldn’t see it.

  I gently worked the bandages off from the bottom of her feet. She munched stalwartly on pizza while I eased a few stubborn pieces from the cuts. She only gasped once when I had to remove a particularly difficult piece from a gash near her big toe. “You sure this is necessary?” she asked.

  I nodded while keeping my attention on her feet. “You have to put fresh bandages on to keep your chance of infection low.” I gently washed the wounds with saline solution. They were healing much better than I had hoped. She would be walking around in a few days.

  “I’m glad you know what you’re doing.”

  “I’ve had a lot of practice,” I replied, almost succeeding in keeping the bitterness out of my voice.

  “I can’t imagine life at the Academy,” she said quietly after a few minutes had passed. “It must have been horrible.”

  I spread ointment carefully over the gashes. There were so many things I wanted to say, yet part of me warned that I should keep silent. Anything I revealed could be used against me. I let out a slow breath, reminding myself that I wasn’t in the Arena anymore. Somehow the world seemed darker than it had a few days before, even with Alana’s presence. “It wasn’t easy,” I concluded in a voice barely above a whisper.

  Alana winced as I pressed bandages over the deepest wounds. I looked up to see tears in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

  “It’s alright to cry,” I told her, touched more than I could explain at her strength.

  She shook her head. “It seems silly to cry about my feet when other Galdoni have gone through so much.” Her voice broke. “I can’t imagine how hard it must have been.”

  “We survived,” I told her in a gentle, but firm tone. I met her gaze. “And you weren’t there.” Before my words could hurt her, I hurried on, “I haven’t lived your life or experienced what you have gone through.” I indicated her feet. “To me, it seems like this would hurt a lot. Things you’ve gone through might have been a lot worse than what I did, and even if they weren’t, it’s your life. I haven’t walked in your shoes.” I gave her a soft smile, the first I had ever given anyone. “If you need to cry, go ahead.”

  Her eyebrows pulled together and she looked like she wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. A single tear broke free and slid down her cheek. “How can you understand?” she asked with a tremor in her voice.

  “I don’t,” I replied.

  She smiled despite the pain of me wrapping her feet with gauze. “I think somehow you do.”

  I shook my head. “I’ve never had a family.” I glared at the gauze to avoid looking at her. “I’ve never had all you had before it was taken from you.” My throat tightened. I was responsible for what she had lost.

  Fierce hatred filled her voice. “They weren’t my family.” At my surprised expression, her features softened. “I’m sorry, Saro. I know you don’t understand. But I wasn’t one of them. I lived there, but it wasn’t because I was a member of the family.” Her tone darkened. “Cranston created me.”

  My stomach tightened. “He’s one of the scientists?”

  She nodded. There was so much in her gaze, such frustration and pain that she was keeping inside. She finally spoke, “He kept me there because he had used his daughter’s DNA combined with that of a Galdoni to create me. He said because of that he couldn’t let me go.”

  I carefully finished tying the gauze as I processed her words; I tucked the ends beneath the rest so they wouldn’t catch on anything. I chose my words carefully. “Was he kind to you?”

  She shook her head, then hesitated and nodded. “He was, but the men he brought over weren’t.” What she left unspoken told plenty.

  My hands balled into fists. I wanted to tear their heads off. They should pay for what they had done. She didn’t deserve any of it.

  Her gentle hand touched my shoulder. “Saro, it’s okay. I’m away from there now.” She lifted her fingers and looked at them. They shone dull red in the harsh light. “Saro?”

  I gathered up the supplies and tried to ignore her searching gaze. I was about to stand when she put a hand on my chest to keep me there. I gasped at the pain; she withdrew her hand quickly and stared at her crimson palm. “Saro, what happened?”

  “I made a mistake,” I replied, trying to guard against the tears in her eyes. She shouldn’t cry for me. No one should cry for me.

  “What kind of mistake?” she asked. She tried to rise to her feet, but a small squeak of pain escaped her.

  I hurried to her side. “You shouldn’t stand,” I said.

  She ignored her feet entirely. Instead, she caught the lapel of my trench coat. I wanted to pull back when she tried to work it over my shoulder, but the look on her face kept me still. I turned slightly, letting the coat slide down off my wings. It fell around my legs as I knelt on the floor.

  Alana touched the edge of my shirt. I leaned back, ashamed to show her. It was against the Galdoni way to reveal weakness. I had done wrong and a human, a weak, pitiful human, had whipped me. I hated myself for what I had done, and hated that I couldn’t leave him. I was weaker than I thought. I lowered my head.

  “Let me see, Saro,” she said.

  I let out a slow breath. “You won’t understand.”

  “I haven’t walked in your shoes.”

  I bit back a wry smile. “So it’s okay to cry?”

  She nodde
d. “Definitely.”

  I closed my eyes as she worked my shirt up. She paused and I heard her whisper, “Oh my goodness.” Before I could change my mind, she raised my shirt completely up. “Saro.” I had never heard my name said that way before. It encompassed all the agony and shame I felt, as if she could read my hatred of myself in the blood that trailed down my chest.

  I opened my eyes. Tears wet her cheeks. “I thought I was the one who was supposed to cry.”

  She shook her head and sniffed. “I’m sorry. I’ve just never seen anything so painful. Here I am being a baby about my feet and yet you’re hiding this?” She indicated my chest. “You should have told me.”

  I lowered my gaze. “I failed to rob a safe when I burned the house for Jake tonight, so he whipped me. It was my own fault.”

  She was quiet for a moment. “You’re the one that set my house on fire?” she asked.

  I nodded, but refused to look up. I didn’t want to see the judgment on her face. I had put her life in danger. She could have died because of me. I was scum, even lower than scum. “I should go,” I said. I grabbed my bloody shirt and tried to stand.

  Alana caught my hand. She shouldn’t have been able to keep me there, but between the look in her eyes and the weakness I was feeling from my lacerated chest, I couldn’t fight her. I dropped back to my knees.

  “Somebody’s got to get you better.”

  My eyes burned at the kindness in her voice. I studied the floor as she pulled the bag over. A slightly swoosh sounded when she lowered herself from the couch to the floor. I watched the way her fingers sifted through the contents of the sack, making the plastic rustle. “Good thing I’ve had a good teacher,” she said.

  I heard the smile in her voice and felt my lips tug in response. I smothered the feeling.