by Devon Hughes
They were on some type of a platform. Instead of the low beams of the tunnel, a space opened above them, and overhead, a mess of pipes fed liquid into a man-made stream. Castor followed it with his eyes and saw that the stream fell abruptly in a waterfall. He couldn’t see where it ended, but the sound told him it was a long drop.
Castor stepped forward and leaned over the surging water. Except it wasn’t actually water.
“Ugh!” He recoiled back, wrinkling his nose and gagging. It was the foulest thing he’d ever smelled, and that was saying a lot—Castor had been around humans for the last several months.
“Not there. There.” Jazlyn nodded toward a curtain of liquid that gushed down from one of the pipes. “I don’t know what the other ones are, but that one’s water, at least.”
Castor approached it warily, but once he felt the spray hit his nose, he was slurping away. He hadn’t realized how parched he was until he felt its coolness running down his throat.
It reminded him of the moment he’d first met Jazlyn, when she’d offered him the water bottle in her cage at NuFormz. Back then, Castor had been all dog, and he’d been startled at the sight of the strange white rodent with long ears. He’d been wondering if she was food when she declared herself a friend instead. The thought was comforting, to think that she was still looking out for him, whatever else happened.
“Thank you,” he said, taking a breath. Water dribbled down from his chin.
“I lost track of your brother,” Jazlyn said, her voice heavy with guilt. “They flew up somewhere I couldn’t follow. I found this place, though. When I went back for you, you were unconscious.”
She must’ve dragged him all the way here. Castor couldn’t imagine the strength and determination that it probably took, though he knew Jazlyn would be embarrassed if he mentioned it.
“How long have I been out?” he asked instead.
Jazlyn shrugged. “A little while.”
Castor knew what that meant: Long enough to lose any hope of catching the thing that took Runt.
“I’ll never see my brother again.” The fact of it hit him low in the gut. It was hard to breathe.
“Well, that’s not very optimistic.”
“Jazlyn. We have no idea where we are, and these tunnels are a maze. Even if we knew where we were going, I can barely see in the dim light. I’m not fast enough to catch them, and you can’t fly. How do you stay positive about something that’s impossible?”
“Flying used to seem impossible to you, too, didn’t it? So did winning a match.”
Castor shook his head. This was different.
Jazlyn was insisting otherwise. “Remember training back at the Pit? Remember a certain bull-headed captain?”
“Moss.” Who had given himself up so they could be free. How disappointed their captain would be to see how they’d failed.
“What did Moss tell us that very first week about working together?”
“That it didn’t matter what team we were on, because everyone was doomed?” The zebra-bull had always been a little bleak. Castor was finally starting to appreciate his perspective.
Jazlyn twitched her nose dismissively. “You might not be nocturnal, but my night vision’s pretty great. And I might’ve lost them around a turn, but you sure know how to track a scent.”
“Your eyes, my nose.” Castor considered.
“My legs, your wings,” Jazlyn answered with a nod.
Castor wished they had Moss’s strategy instead of just his advice to add to the mix, along with Enza’s swordlike teeth and Samken’s power—or even just their company—but it was a start, at least.
“It’s still got a huge head start on us.”
“And it’s also carrying Runt’s weight and will have to stop twice as often,” Jazlyn pointed out.
“Okay then, Eyes, what did you see? What are we looking for?”
Jazlyn grinned. “I didn’t get very close, but what I saw was a sort of . . . dog with wings. A bit like you, actually.”
Another dog with wings. Castor cocked his head, unsure of what to make of that. Was this the result of his escape? Had the Whistlers created an Underdog 2.0 to track him down and teach him a lesson?
“What about you, Nose?” Jazlyn fired back.
Castor lifted his snout and sniffed the air. Even beneath the pungent odor of the stream, he could still catch a whiff of something else. There was trash, smog, asphalt, and a hint of peanut butter—the unique scent of Runt that he’d recognize anywhere—plus the awful antiseptic-coated-leather lab-animal smell of his kidnapper.
“I smell a trail,” he answered. “Let’s go!”
The search took longer than Castor wanted, but not nearly as long as he’d imagined. Castor often had the feeling that they were being watched, or that the walls were moving. Twice more they had close calls with humans, and when they finally caught up with the scent, it was in an abandoned train station dangerously near another platform village.
As soon as they entered the space, Castor’s senses were sounding the alarm.
Humans, said the click of his talons on the tile floor.
Humans, said the signs written in humanspeak.
Humans, said the moving stairwell that climbed forever and never took you anyplace at all.
The place reeked of them.
There was also a faintly tropical smell in here, which Castor only recognized from the fried pineapple treats that the food carts used to sell at his matches.
It also smelled like Runt, which was really the only reason Castor kept going.
There was a little box with glass windows that said TICKETS, and perched atop was the creature. Runt was there, too, but the animal was mostly blocking him from view.
Castor looked at Jazlyn sidelong. She thought this looked like him?
This was no dog. The dogs he knew were black and tan, or gray, or white. He even knew a couple with spots, like the mean Dalmatian from the rival pack. He had never seen a dog with fur this color before, though. It was coarse, and long, and a deep reddish orange. Its tail was bushier than most, with a clean white tip.
And he wasn’t sure you could call those things wings, either. They didn’t even have feathers—more like leather skin flaps, if you asked Castor. That was probably why it had let them catch up—its wings were too flimsy to carry any weight for more than a short distance.
It was a monster, though, that was clear. Castor hadn’t realized there were other mutants than those he knew at NuFormz—those on Team Klaw and Team Scratch. Where had this one come from? Maybe it was one of the famed escapees Moss and Pookie had talked about, though that had seemed more myth than fact.
The creature didn’t take flight. Instead, it stood right over Runt and looked Castor straight in the eye. Castor had been in enough street scuffles, and certainly enough official matches, to recognize a challenge when he saw it.
Back in the Dome, Castor had done whatever he could not to fight. Even when Laringo was coming toward him, Castor dodged, and pivoted, and flew away.
But this thing wasn’t an Unnatural. And this wasn’t entertainment. It had attacked his family.
Castor jerked his head around when he heard another animal’s footsteps. He saw a giant lizard lumbering in, so loud that it seemed like it was trying to announce itself. Was this some sort of power play? Were they trying to surround him and Jazlyn? Were there more he should know about?
He had lost Runt once on the dock. Then he had watched as he was taken away, seconds before they were reunited. Whatever happened, Castor was not going to lose his brother again.
Castor bared his teeth. His jaws pulled back into a snarl, and he let out a growl that, echoing around the cavern, sounded more like a roar. Who would call him the Underdog now?
35
“SEE?” KOZMO WHISPERED TO THE COWERING DOG BEHIND her as the mutant dog took a wide, aggressive stance. “Now do you see?”
Runt had been claiming one of the mutants was his brother, the lost family member he�
�d been searching for, but that didn’t matter much anymore. Whatever he had been before, this monster was not the kin Runt knew, Kozmo was sure of that. The serum made that impossible.
Things hadn’t gone how Kozmo had planned, not at all. After all that time she’d spent watching Runt and the lizard, getting to know them so that they could be friends, Runt didn’t even seem to like her.
She’d saved him, but Runt had wriggled so much in her grasp that she could barely fly with him, and when she finally set him down, instead of licking her face in appreciation like she’d seen him do to the lizard, all he’d done was moan that his best friend, the lizard, was gone. Well, she couldn’t very well carry them both, could she?
A sunny smell entered the space, and Runt sat up. “Flicker?” he panted with relief.
She clomped into the subway station, her feet making sticky sounds on the floor, and when the new mutants locked eyes on the lizard, Kozmo knew her instincts had been right. These were aggressive mutants with a strong kill drive, and it was easy to see the murder in their eyes—especially the one that resembled Runt.
“Castor . . . ?” Runt said uncertainly.
The bird-dog narrowed his eyes and looked between Kozmo and Flicker, clearly deciding whose throat he should lunge for first.
Kozmo was ready. Though she had never fought before, she was pretty sure she knew what to do. Back in the room, the mutants had been in cages, under the control of the men, but she’d studied them from above for long enough that she understood their instincts. She had stood in front of Runt so that the mutants would register her as the primary target. Sure enough, when Kozmo jumped down, the mutants followed her in their pursuit.
“Get up there with Runt!” Kozmo shouted to Flicker.
But the lizard looked terrified and confused. Why wasn’t she using her sticky feet to scamper up atop the ticket booth? It was probably that blue goo in the lab, burning off her footpads, Kozmo realized. The poor lizard was basically helpless. Kozmo swooped down and quickly yanked Flicker up by her tail, tossing her next to the dog, and they huddled together.
Kozmo wasn’t prepared to take on two mutants, so to avoid the rabbit mix—clearly created when Bruce and the Yellow Six were testing bio versus machine flee-response compatibility—all she had to do was stay in the air. Easy enough.
Kozmo careened away and the dog snapped its wings open in pursuit. But with that sort of span length—at least ten feet—he needed space to gain speed. The low ceiling meant he could barely get in a few weak flaps before he had to cut back in the opposite direction.
His switchbacks were nothing to be proud of. The eagle-dog didn’t have the control Kozmo did. It was clear he had flown enough to understand how his wings worked—flap to go up, at least, and dip to come down—but they didn’t seem part of him.
Runt had told her allll about his brother’s career as a professional fighter on the way here, and while the so-called Underdog’s feathers might’ve been a little prettier on a poster, Kozmo knew her scalloped gray wings were made for survival.
And if Bruce and the Six were here testing her, they’d give Kozmo a pass on all counts.
What did surprise her, though, was that the eagle-dog’s movements weren’t at all jerky. He didn’t have that glazed look, either. Maybe after all this time, the lab was making progress with the newest serum?
The kill drive was definitely still there, though. The mutant dog was trying to herd her toward the lights to blind her, and it snapped its jaws at her as she dove down.
Kozmo darted, swooped, and cut across. She dodged the talon that was grasping for her, and instead turned her head to press her sharp teeth into the dog’s furry ankle.
The mutant yipped in pain and jerked his forepaw into his chest. The injury made his flapping more erratic, and he dropped back down to the scuffed marbled floor. He took one step and stumbled on the injured leg. Stupid.
“Leave him alone,” Runt barked from atop the ticket booth.
Her new friend didn’t understand what was at stake. He saw his brother, but Kozmo had learned not to trust appearances. You never knew what you might find below the surface.
Swooping down, this time, Kozmo went for the monster’s neck. Her teeth went in, two needle points, and the mutant dog shook and wriggled. Kozmo felt a claw slice into her side—she’d forgotten about the vicious rabbit-panther—but still she held on tight.
“Stop it!” Runt cried. “No more!”
He threw himself off the ticket booth and onto their backs. The four animals slammed down to the hard floor, and their labored breaths echoed around the abandoned station.
36
RUNT WAS AN EXCELLENT HUNTER, AND A GREAT STORYTELLER, but as the smallest omega dog of the pack, he’d always been weak. If Alpha had had his way, Runt would’ve been exiled along with their mother, but Castor had stood up for him then, and again and again growing up. He’d fought for Runt in spats over territory lines with other dogs, protected him from an entire rival pack on the dock across the city, and stood over him when the humans came.
Now, his little brother was the only animal that could save Castor from bleeding out at the paws of this monster, and Runt had stepped up, putting himself right in the middle of a fight—not just between two dogs, but between two mutants.
To Castor, that took more guts than anything he had done in the Dome.
He was proud. And for a second, he even thought that he, Jazlyn, and Runt could destroy the flying orange beast together.
But then Runt turned to face Castor and, blocking the creature, yipped, “Don’t hurt her!”
“Me?” Castor snuffed in bafflement. “She had those little daggers hooked in my neck!”
Runt’s hackles stayed raised in warning. He was afraid of Castor. His own brother! To Castor, this hurt more than the whole pack turning on him, more than Enza and Samken’s recapture, more, even, than losing Pookie. Castor and Runt had known each other their whole lives. If Runt really believed he was a monster, could it be true?
“Runt, look at me,” Castor whined. He put his belly on the ground and crawled forward, trying to look as nonthreatening as possible. “I’m your brother. A few feathers doesn’t change that.”
“Oh, I don’t mind your wings,” Runt said, perking up. Even now, Runt couldn’t keep his tail from whipping. “They’re amazing! They’re better than the Invincible’s tail, or the Mighty’s horns! They were the best part of every match.”
“You saw my matches?” Castor asked in wonder.
“Every one. Well, the highlights. The flash pictures only show little clips.”
Castor was touched, but at the same time, the thought made him a little queasy. Runt had always been a fan of the Unnaturals gladiator reality show, but back then, he used to root for Laringo, the scorpion-tailed invincible tiger.
“I saw when you refused to fight. I saw when you learned to fly. I saw them say you were the winner.”
Runt’s voice was proud and full of awe, and Castor’s heart swelled. During the hardest matches and his toughest times alone in his cell, he’d talked to Runt in his mind. Castor had wanted someone in the crowd rooting for him, as the human girl Leesa had for Pookie, and all those times he’d imagined Runt was in the stadium, cheering him on. And in a way, he actually was.
“Then what’s wrong? Why are you shrinking away from me like that?”
Runt dipped his head down, and one of his ears flopped forward. “Kozmo says you’re dangerous. That you’ll hurt other animals, even though you don’t mean to.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “That you’ll hurt my friends. My very best friends.” He shot a look to the top of the ticket booth, where the lizard was lying on her belly and peering her head fearfully over the edge.
Oh, so the pineapple-smelling loud-foot was with him, not the creature. Figured—Runt was always picking up strays weaker than himself.
“I didn’t know that was your friend,” Castor started to explain, but Runt quickly cut in.
“That you
’ll hurt me.”
That was what Castor had feared most. That he’d become cold. A killer. But he’d fought that with every ounce of his soul.
“I won’t. Never. I’m still the same inside.” Pookie had made him believe that, and it was the only thing that had saved Castor from crossing over. From becoming Laringo. “Don’t you trust me?”
“Trust doesn’t matter,” the enemy mutant cut in. “Biology does. Did they give you the serum?”
“What?”
“The shot.”
Castor thought back to that first day he’d spent in the NuFormz lab. He remembered a needle the size of a rat’s rib. The cold liquid shooting through his veins, stopping his heart for a few terrifying moments. And then the feathers poking up between his shoulder blades.
“We all got a shot,” he pointed out. “It’s what made us mutants.”
“The mutant part isn’t what matters,” the creature said. “The kill drive is.”
“Is that what made you try to drain my blood?” Castor snapped.
“I was protecting Runt,” she said. “I don’t have the kill drive. I’m not like them. Like you.”
“Well, I don’t have it, either,” Castor insisted. “And neither do my friends. I don’t know where you came from, but I sure never saw you in the NuFormz prison, or in the lab. Maybe we were given different shots.”
The mutant paused and cocked her head, considering. “You don’t have the jerky motions of the others I’ve seen. Or the flat voice. Or the dead eyes . . .”
Castor was relieved to hear her say that, while at the same time, a shiver went down his spine. Laringo was like liquid mercury on his feet, but otherwise, the lifeless gaze and weird voice described the Invincible exactly. Jazlyn shot Castor a look letting him know she was thinking it, too.
Castor could feel the other animal still watching him. She stared openly, rudely, like she was used to looking at things that couldn’t see her. Her eyes were a deep, chocolate brown—smart, thoughtful. Her gaze made Castor uncomfortable, but it also made him feel warm somehow. If she wasn’t trying to kill him, he could see how you might be drawn into her deception.