Blood oozing out of his neck, he comes at me again, and I grab what little is left of his hair, pull his head back, and stab his neck again. With the energy I have left, I begin sawing at his neck. Blood splashes onto my face, my chest as he thrashes his arms, but halfway through, he falls limply to the sand.
I leap to my feet to find two more victims coming at me, eyes white, skin nearly translucent, drool dripping down their chins. They’re emaciated, their white eyes bulging from their thin faces. One has short hair, the other has long, stringy hair. Simultaneously, they leap at me, shoving me back. The ground knocks the air out of me. Cold, bony hands pin my arms to the ground.
I inhale, catching the sickening stench of rotting flesh. The smell makes me gag. I try to kick the victims off of me. Then my legs are pinned to the ground. I try to jerk free. I writhe and twist, but more victims crowd around me, falling on top of me like they just can’t wait to get a taste. Every breath I take is rotten air, putrid and thick—and then I feel it. A sharp stabbing pain in my upper shoulder, by my neck, close to where Chale bit me. Then another by ribcage.
And I scream.
I scream at the pain. I scream at the injustice. I scream and scream and scream because death has come too soon and I’m not ready.
I’m not ready to give up on Ky, to say goodbye to Gideon, to die.
Tears sting my eyes, running down my temple into my ear as I feel another bite in my leg, and another in my arm. They are ripping my flesh off, biting into me like feral dogs, and I shut my eyes tight against the blinding pain and wish it. Would Just. End.
Then I feel a weight lifted. Warm liquid drips onto my face, and I open my eyes in time to see a headless corpse flop off my body. Titus stands above me. He pulls back his sword and beheads another victim. The wild, raged look in his eyes is something I’ve never seen in Titus before. He’s always been cool, under control, but this. This is something entirely different. Chilling. Blood streaks his face. Sweat rolls down his temples. Absolutely no emotion can be found in his eyes. After he beheads the third victim, I’m able to squirm from beneath the weight of my attackers.
The blood doesn’t bother me anymore. The white eyes, flaky skin, rabid appearance of the plagued doesn’t deter me because I’m pissed. Heart-poundingly enraged. Not at the plagued, not at my misfortune, but at Prometheus and all he stands for. At the Nashville citizens and how they watch shows like these every month.
For the plagued—I only feel pity. Regret that I couldn’t save them. As an act of mercy, I join Titus and Ember in killing the victims. I grab the one closes to me, wrap my fist around his hair, pull his head back, and stab his neck, drag the blade around until he falls. Blood runs down the blade of the knife onto my hand, but I shake it off, move on to the next victim. These are my people, and I will give them a quick death and pray God spares their souls. I focus on one goal, racing, fighting, and ignoring the sudden, searing-hot pain in my leg, my side, my arm, and my neck. I fight, fight, fight until I bring down another victim. Then I spin around—to find there are none left standing.
And it’s a bloodbath. One giant canvas of red blood and white corpses bleeding into the dark brown sand.
Silence settles over the stadium.
My hands trembling, I drop the blade.
And fall to my knees.
Titus stares at the box where Prometheus sits. Ember kneels besides me and takes my hands in her own blood-coated, trembling ones.
“We did it,” she says, her voice hoarse and raw. “We actually survived.”
And what happens to survivors, I wonder. I walked onto this arena expecting to die. I never thought to ask what happens to us if we live. But Titus is looking at Prometheus, lips drawn in a tight line like he’s expecting freedom for the battle we won. He looks at me and Ember, his eyes tired and weary as the life seeps back into his soul, and he jerks his head for us to follow.
I’m not sure I have the energy to stand, but if the audience thinks I’m close to death, they might just finish me off. So with Ember’s help, I stumble to my feet. My bitten leg gives out and I almost fall, but Ember catches me, then places my right arm around her shoulders. Titus comes around to my other side, pulls my left arm around his neck. And with both their help, I manage to limp toward the box where Prometheus and his advisors sit.
My eyes automatically scan for Summer, as if I could ask for one more act of kindness, one last act to free us, but she’s gone. Didn’t even bother to stay and see if we lived or try to convince Prometheus to let us go.
We stop at the base of the box. The crowd is so silent, I can hear Ember’s and Titus’s unsteady breathing on either side of me. I can hear my own heartbeat thrashing against my eardrums. One, two, three beats.
Finally, Titus speaks.
“Where’s our reward?” His voice is so calm, so lucid you wouldn’t think he just fought for his life. But Titus was always like that. Good at masking his emotions. Good at appearing calm and in control in front of an audience. I’m beginning to wonder if I was the only person he was ever allowed to be real with.
“A reward?” Prometheus laughs through the speakers. “You think you’re the first prisoners to survive an attack from the plagued?”
“So, what then?” Titus shouts, loud enough to be heard in such a large stadium. “You’re just going to shoot us now?”
“That would be too boring. But if you want a reward, I’ll give you one.”
My stomach tightens. I can’t imagine that anything Prometheus has to offer will be good.
“You really want a reward?” He grins down at us. “I’ll give you what you both came to Nashville for.” He laughs. “You can have your son back.”
The shield on the other side of the arena slides open.
And a toddler steps out.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
AURORA
Gideon. He quickly turns around just as the glass shield slides shut, locking him inside the arena. He whimpers, then screams, and it’s the only sound echoing through the stadium. He bangs his tiny fists against the glass pane, then falls to the ground and scrunches into a ball, wailing. And if I thought my heart couldn’t break any more, I was wrong. So completely utterly wrong. Because it’s shattering. It’s being ripped straight down the middle, shredded through the sides, stabbed over and over and over again with every piercing scream my son makes.
Tears blur my vision and I break into a run. I race across the sand, ignoring the pain in my leg, in my side, desperate to comfort the son I haven’t seen in two years.
“No so fast.” Prometheus’s voice urges me forward. I have to get to Gideon. I need to get him before Prometheus does something terrible. “Cade, the doors!” His voice holds the bitter edge of urgency now. “Open the shoddy doors!”
I hear a groaning on both sides of the arena, and I automatically look over, expecting more White Plagued to finish us off.
But what steps out is completely unexpected.
Black tigers from either side leap into the center of the arena, blocking me from racing any farther. I halt in my tracks. Six tigers.
And their eyes are red.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR
AURORA
Of course. The same six tigers I sent to Nashville are the ones that will finish me off. The crowd once again goes into a frenzy. The wild screams of unsated humanity. They drown out Gideon’s cries.
I stare at him, crumpled on the ground, but a tiger blocks my vision. Red eyes. I’ve never seen a tiger with red eyes. Titus trots up beside me and immediately begins talking to them like they’ll listen, but I know better. Prometheus wouldn’t send a bunch of brainless tigers in with us. These tigers have been given the cure. They’re working on their own accord. They can’t be compelled, and by the look in their eyes, they’re starving.
I glance behind the tiger at Gideon again. I can see him stand, press his small body against the shield, hands pounding against the pane, wild eyes looking back at the t
errifying tigers and then back at whatever—whoever is across the shield. Is it Summer? Did she decide he was too much work? That she didn’t want to be left with an orphan? Dread closes around my throat as I realize the hopelessness of our situation. There will be no getting out of this one. We survived the last round, and, as our reward, Gideon will now lose his life.
I blink away my tears and glance the crowd, unable to believe so many people would be cheering a toddler’s death. But I freeze when I catch a glimpse of golden hair maneuvering through the crowd. A closer look and I realize it’s Summer. She walks down an aisle, two men behind her. One has dark skin, the other wears a newsboy cap.
I gasp. Rain and Thorne! They’re here! But…how on earth are they going to make it in time to help us?
“Five o’clock,” I say to Ember as she trots up beside me, hoping she catches my meaning. She does, her eyes scanning the crowd. One of the tigers roars, and it’s loud and guttural and deep and terrifying, making my blood curdle and making the crowd go wild.
“I don’t know if they’ll be fast enough, Aurora,” Ember says.
I’ve never hoped she was more wrong than I do now. Because when I look back at Gideon, and when I catch a glimpse of a tiger crouching, readying for a running leap toward him, hopelessness fills my bloodstream, and I’m ready to do something—anything—to stop the madness.
“You get Gideon,” I hear Titus’s voice say into my ear. “And I’ll get the tiger.”
“What?” I breathe.
“Live, Aurora. Grab Gideon, and live your life. Go out there and conquer the world. Be the hero our mother failed to be.” With that, he draws out his blade, lets out a battle cry that actually makes the tigers cower back in fear, and races toward the one facing Gideon.
Adrenaline pours into my bloodstream and I bolt. I break into a full sprint straight through the cluster of cowering tigers in vain efforts to save my son. Off to the side, Titus faces the tiger head-on, dagger raised, as he leaps into the hair and pummels the tiger to the ground.
At the edge of my vision, I can see another tiger leaping toward me. I run faster. One foot in front of the other until I finally—finally reach Gideon. His wails pierce the air as I wrap my arms around his waist and fold him in my embrace, using my body as a shield. And then I feel it—the sharp sting of claws sinking into my back, searing my nerves until every conscious thought vanishes and every drop of light disappears.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE
RAIN
“Okay,” Summer says as she races down a set of stairs and through a dark corridor. I run quickly behind her, Mcallister behind me. “I have a transport waiting just outside the back door to the stadium, down that hallway.” She gestures to her right. “We had a few diseased units leftover. Don’t worry, they’ve been struck by the White Plague long enough that the cure wouldn’t even work on them.”
I cringe.
“I’ll send the plagued units out on the opposite side of the arena at the same time you go. The audience will think it’s all a part of the show. The diseased are covered in a scent that will draw the tigers to them. As soon as the tigers’ attention is diverted, you bolt out there, grab those you want to rescue, and bolt back in here. The tigers like slow-moving victims more than the fast-moving ones, so if you’re fast, they’ll most likely avert their attention to the plagued. When you return from the arena, I’ll lead you to the transport, and you’ll be on your way.” She glances back just long enough for me to catch her grin of triumph. She seems so sure of herself, this eighty-something-year-old woman who looks not much older than me. I’m just scared we’re going to be too late to save Ember and Aurora from the tigers.
Summer takes a sharp turn down another hall, and the rabid cheers of the audience echo through the halls. We arrive at a glass shield, and now I can see clearly what’s happening. Ember stands with her back to us, two tigers crouching toward her. Across the sand, Aurora lays beneath the weight of another tiger. My heart plummets into my stomach. Even from here, I can see the blood soaking through her back. Titus finishes killing off one tiger, stands, and bolts toward Aurora.
I utter a curse and look away.
There’s no way anyone is going to get out of this alive.
The glass doors across the arena groan open, and a group of plague victims stumble out. Their white hair and pale skin is blinding in the sunlight. The tiger on top of Aurora lifts its head, but Aurora doesn’t move. I stop breathing. I’m not even sure if she's is alive.
A voice comes on the speaker system. “Whoa! What have were here? A little twist in the entertainment!” The emcee diverts the crowd’s attention to the plague victims. Titus grabs the tiger on top of Aurora around the neck and strikes it with his sword. The tigers facing Ember catch the whiff of the decay and turn toward the victims, then begins walking that way.
“Okay,” Summer says. “Ready yourselves.”
Our glass shield begins sliding open. The voice keeps going on and on about the tigers and the victims, the JumboTron focuses only on them, and I begin to wonder if the emcee is on our side as well, and how many strings Summer was able to pull to help us escape. The shield opens and Thorne and I bolt into the arena, guns in hand.
Ember is the first to see us. Hope ignites in her eyes and she hurries toward us. Then Titus, who kneels beside Aurora, sees us. His mouth drops open and a look of utter shock crosses his features. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Titus surprised. I wonder if he knows we have no intent on rescuing him. He turns back toward her, lifts her limp body and takes something out from beneath her.
When Ember reaches us, she launches herself into my arms. As if she’s really an ember, warmth spreads through me, and I’m surprised at the unexpected fullness I feel with her pressed against me. I want to laugh. I want to weep. I want to hold her and never let go.
My Ember. My flame. My fire.
I want to stand here forever. I want to cherish this moment—but we’re in the middle of the arena. Already the audience has diverted their attention from the tigers long enough to spot us, and I can hear the sound of surprise ripple through them.
“Off the arena,” I tell Ember.
“We have to get Aurora.”
“I’ll get her. You go to safety.”
“I’m coming with you.”
For once I wish she would just do as I tell her. But there’s no time. “Fine.”
I run my hand down her arm, then link my fingers through hers and we race across the sand toward Aurora’s limp body where Mcallister is already kneeling by her side. Titus lies curled up by the wall, his arms wrapped around something while a black tiger hunches toward him.
Mcallister’s gun lies discarded in the sand as he gathers Aurora in his arms. The other tigers are still distracted by the victims, but it won’t be long before they notice us and charge. We arrive just as Mcallister stands, Aurora in his arms. Ember grabs his discarded gun. Titus is shouting something, and I tune my ears in just in time to hear him say, “Wait, help me—” But I tune him out and follow the others toward the exit. Whatever help Titus wants, he ain’t gonna get. He can die out here for all I care.
Aurora’s head lulls to one side, half her face covered in sand. Blood oozes from her neck, her arm, her side. It’s everywhere, and I quickly look away. I don’t want to know if she’s dead.
We race across the sand through the chaos, me and Ember shooting at any victims and tigers that stand in our way, Mcallister gripping Aurora in his arms. Ember trips and the gun flies out of her hand. She reaches toward it but I shout at her to forget it—just as one of the tigers swats at my legs, tripping me. I fly into the sand face first. Sand grains fill my mouth, and I spit them out. Two plagued come at me, and I lift my gun to shoot, but the click releases no bullets.
Typical luck.
Tossing the gun aside, I leap to my feet, grab the plague victim’s head and snap his neck. It’s not enough to kill him, but it’ll slow him down. I grab the next victim by
the shoulders and knee her gut, then toss her aside and race across the sand, following Mcallister and Ember through the exit. The glass shield slides shut behind us.
I hunch over, my heart pounding in my head, my neck, every corner of my body. Shoddy rot, how did we get out of there alive? Blood seeps through the base of my pant leg, but the pain has yet to hit me. I glance at Aurora in Mcallister’s arms, half afraid of what I’ll see there. Her eyes flutter open. My heart takes a violent leap, and I stumble back against the wall, simultaneously catching my breath and sighing in relief.
Her lips move, her eyes filled with some sort of urgency.
“What?” Mcallister asks, leaning closer.
“Gideon,” she rasps. “In the…arena.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX
RAIN
Ember gasps and covers her mouth. I utter a string of curses, step toward the shield, and look for Gideon.
And I find him.
Wrapped protectively in Titus’s arms.
So that’s what Titus wanted me to help him with. I silently curse myself. My stupidity. My bitterness.
Gideon’s head is cradled on Titus’s shoulder. Titus races through the chaos, and it all seems to happen in slow motion—the battle between tigers and victims, Titus leaping over bodies, dodging attackers. And I think he’s going to make it—I think he might actually maybe get out of there unscathed—and for the first time I root for his success because he’s carrying Gideon in his arms—he’s carrying Aurora’s child, her only hope, in his arms.
But.
His success would be too good to be true. This whole mission to rescue Gideon wouldn’t end in success. Of course it wouldn’t. Everything Aurora has put all her energy into has never ended well. It’s almost like the natural forces of the world look for someone to destroy—and she’s their target.
white dawn (Black Tiger Series Book 3) Page 40