The Battle Begins

by Devon Hughes

  Leesa’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t answer him. Instead, she reached into her bag for her paperback from Ms. Hoiles, which had become a tactile reassurance when she was upset. She knew it was stupid and babyish, but just holding it close to her made her feel like Pookie was nearer somehow.

  But it wasn’t there.

  “Did you move my book?” Leesa asked in alarm.

  “Nope.” Antonio shrugged, unconcerned.

  Her talisman gone, and her hope fading, Leesa’s empty stomach tightened with worry.

  The Invincible had the Fearless pinned beneath him now, his white-striped paw pressed on the grizzly’s throat. He raised his scorpion’s tail up slowly behind him, the translucent membrane curling forward. Leesa couldn’t be sure but Laringo seemed to be letting the grizzly-tiger lash at him, drawing out the last few moments of the fight for fun.

  Why wasn’t anyone doing anything?

  Leesa looked around at the handlers and guards. Everyone knew what the Invincible was capable of—they’d all been at the Mash-up. Why weren’t they stepping in?

  Up in the box seats in the upper balcony, she could see Mayor Eris through one of the glass windows—her long, burgundy hair was easy to pick out.

  “She could stop it,” Leesa said bitterly. “Instead, she’s just sitting up in her box, watching the money roll in.”

  Antonio popped the last jalapeño zinger into his mouth. He looked amused, which annoyed her even more. “And what about you? You’re always talking about how things need to change,” she said bitterly. “But all you are is talk, just like everyone else.”

  “Don’t worry, Vince and me are on it.” Antonio flashed a mischievous grin and flicked a pocket lighter a few times while wiggling his eyebrows. “One day we’ll blow all these sky dwellers up, just for you—a revolution!”

  Leesa looked at Antonio uneasily. Lately, she couldn’t tell whether he was joking when he said scary stuff like that—stuff that sounded exactly like something Vince would say. That was Vince’s lighter, too, she noticed, watching the flame dance. She wondered when Antonio had started carrying it.

  If only the Fearless had fire, Leesa thought, looking back down at the ring. Then she might have a way out of this match.

  Abruptly, Leesa stood up on the platform, struck by a sudden idea. She snatched her messenger bag, and Antonio looked at her quizzically.

  “Come on!” she shouted at him, already climbing down the ladder.

  38

  EVER SINCE THE DAY HE’D SPRAINED HIS SHOULDER, AND Marcus had learned the truth about the Unnaturals, Pete had been helping Marcus come back to the facility to visit the animals without Bruce or his mom knowing. But this was the first time he’d gotten up the courage to watch a live match, and he’d picked a doozy.

  It was even worse than he’d feared, and Marcus wasn’t sure he could watch another second of this slaughter. He couldn’t stand the meanness of it all, written on every cheering face. He shifted his gaze from the battle to the space high above the field, where Joni Juniper’s avatar refereed, silently begging her to stop the match. He couldn’t catch her eye, but when the stadium lights switched over to a spotlight on the two tigers, Marcus did see something else.

  Someone else, in the strangest of places.

  High atop one of the light posts, Marcus caught the sudden movement of a figure standing up. He commanded his simulink vision chip to zoom in and saw it was a girl. The girl—the one he’d met in the training center days ago, with the tan skin and smart eyes and strange intensity.

  Though he definitely hadn’t expected to see her tonight, she was the whole reason he was here. And now she was leaving.

  Marcus watched as she climbed into a hole at the top of the post and disappeared inside. Then there was that guy from before, too—the bully—climbing down after her.

  Marcus leapt out of his seat, too. He felt bad for leaving after he’d begged Pete to get him these tickets, but he’d seen enough. And he had to catch up with the girl.

  Trying to protect both his hurt arm and his skateboard, Marcus pushed past other fans and their annoyed protests until he reached the aisle. Then he took the stairs two at a time and when he got to the bottom, he ran. He got to a maze of interior hallways, where he could no longer see inside the Dome, and he looked around, unsure which path to take.

  Luckily, a sudden, loud siren answered his question.

  Down the hall to his left, he saw them standing in front of the fire alarm, and they saw him watching. In the next instant, the boy was running. The girl stared at Marcus for a second, and then she took off, too, her long braid swinging behind her.

  “Wait!” Marcus yelled, but obviously, there was no way they were stopping.

  This is why you carry a skateboard.

  He kicked hard and tore after them, his wheels spinning over the waxed floor so fast that the deck shook beneath his feet. His bum arm made him teeter a bit, but he was still gaining on the two kids. When they disappeared around a corner to the right, he pressed on his back foot to make the sharp turn, almost careening into the girl.

  He reached his good arm out and caught her hand. Apparently, she wasn’t expecting it, though. He heard her black boots skid on the floor, then she whipped around and yanked her arm away from him.

  Marcus, already off balance, went flying off his board to crash and burn. The floor seemed a lot less smooth when your bare skin was dragging on it, and now his injured arm wasn’t just aching, it was throbbing. Marcus groaned, and the girl’s face appeared above him, her cool blue steak of hair dangling in her eyes.

  “Hey.” Marcus smiled, but the girl didn’t smile back.

  “Don’t ever grab me like that,” she told him, but despite the anger in her voice, it softened a little when she saw him cradling his arm. “You fall a lot, huh?”

  She reached down to help him up, and Marcus felt pretty awkward, but he took her hand, hoping his own wasn’t too sweaty.

  “Sorry,” he said when they were face-to-face. “I’m Marcus, by the way.”

  He waited for the girl to say her own name, but she shot Marcus a guarded look and crossed her arms. “Did you . . . follow me here?”

  “What?” Marcus’s face flushed. “No! I was in the stands. I had seats. I mean, my brother got me tickets. . . .” He must sound like such a lame sky kid right now. He knew how expensive Dome seats were, and he’d only gotten them because Pete had a hookup at work.

  The girl glanced behind her at her friend, who was beckoning to her from down the hall.

  “Anyway,” he said quickly, before she could leave, “I saw you up on the light thingy, and I just needed to tell you that you were right.”

  “About you being a Moniac?” She raised a dark eyebrow at him questioningly.

  Real smooth, Marcus.

  “No. I mean what you said about me being a phony for not seeing the live matches.”

  After he’d learned the truth about the mutant animals, Marcus had gotten rid of all his most valuable Moniac cards and he’d stopped following the stats. He never wanted to see the Unnaturals fight again, but when the girl said he couldn’t really understand how the animals felt without being with them in the Dome, he knew he had to do it. Just once.

  “You were right. It’s way worse being here, but I’m glad I came. And I’m really glad you pulled the alarm when you did.”

  The girl shrugged like it was no big deal, but he could tell she was proud. “Hey, if we do something, maybe things will change, right?”

  Hearing his own words, Marcus beamed. He was about to ask her name, and what the Drain was like, and how she got up on that light post, and how she thought they could save the Unnaturals, and a million other things.

  Instead, right then, the doors from the Dome banged open, and the crowd started to pour through them. Marcus could see blue lights flashing around the corner.

  “Leesa, let’s GO!” the older boy yelled, and pushed through the emergency exit at the end of the hall.

  The
n the wave of people closed in around him, and before Marcus could even reach for his skateboard, the girl—Leesa—was gone.

  39

  CASTOR LAY SPRAWLED ON HIS BELLY ON THE FLOOR OF his cell, his wings splayed limply behind him. His chin rested on his front paws, and he stared through the glass wall into Enza’s empty room. The Whistlers were working on replacing the fourth door, and they’d cleaned the floors and walls. Yet there was no sign of Enza, and no telling whether she was coming back.

  When the Whistlers carried Enza off the field after the loud bell ended the match, they’d taken her through a big red exit door at the back of the stadium, where they transported only the most serious injuries. Moss said animals almost never came back from the “Hurt Door.”

  She could be dead for all he knew.

  Castor heard keys jingling in the hall, but he didn’t even lift his head—it was just the medic, coming to check on the bump on his head. Pete was gentle with him, but Castor doubted he would’ve noticed if the man had been rough. His body felt as numb as his mind. All he could focus on was Enza’s empty bed in the cell next door.

  The medic saw him staring. “You’re worried about her, aren’t you, buddy? She had a rough go, but I think she’s going to be okay thanks to the fire alarm.” Pete chewed his lip like he did when he was thinking of breaking the rules, and Castor’s ears perked up. “Maybe in a few days I can take you over to see her or—”

  Castor jerked his head up and gave a sharp yip. He was alert now, his ears standing up, his eyes pleading. He pawed at Pete’s leg.

  “Or I could take you right now, I guess?”

  Castor barked his appreciation, actually wagging his tail now. Pete clipped on a leash, and Castor bounded after him through the door. The medic was visibly nervous as they went through checkpoints on the way to the care center, but the halls were empty. The jingle of his keys and Castor’s clicking claws were the only sounds in the maze of empty hallways.

  Inside the little white room of the clinic, the giant bear was laid out on a gurney that took up most of the room. Her orange-striped tail hung limply off the end of it, and Castor would’ve thought she was dead if it wasn’t for the awful rumbling sound her chest made with each breath.

  Castor immediately ran to the gurney, stood on his hind legs to reach Enza’s lolling head, and sniffed at her for signs of life. Enza opened her eyes and, despite her saber teeth, it almost seemed like she was smiling. Castor knew it wasn’t possible, but he could’ve sworn he heard a purr.

  “See? She’s just a little banged up, like you were,” Pete said with forced enthusiasm. “She’ll be good as new in a few weeks.”

  But Castor knew the grizzly was in rough shape. Her head was wrapped in gauze, and where the fur on one shoulder had been shaved, the skin underneath was a mess from the scorpion sting.

  “Hang in there,” Castor told her. “Team Scratch needs you, Enza. Who else is going to make us run faster, jump higher, and train harder?”

  In truth, Castor couldn’t care less about training anymore—what was the point? But he needed Enza to know she had friends. That was what she’d really wanted, after all.

  “Time to change that dressing,” Pete said, gathering his tools.

  When the medic touched her, Enza’s eyes squinched shut, and she let out a heart-wrenching groan. Castor whimpered himself, wishing he could help her.

  “This is all my fault,” he said, licking her face.

  “No,” Enza said, her breath heaving. “You said to remember who I was. But I didn’t want to be who I was before, Castor. I didn’t want to be scared and self-conscious, a follower. I wanted to be the tiger you saw in me. A huntress, a queen . . .”

  She winced as Pete swiped a cotton ball over her wounds.

  “You are,” Castor said.

  “I’m lucky the bell went off before he was finished with me,” Enza shook her head sadly. “I should’ve gone through the fourth door when I had a chance. Anything would’ve been better than this. Promise me you’ll go, Castor,” Enza begged with shining eyes. “If you ever see an open door, promise me you’ll run!”

  PART THREE

  FINAL FLIGHT

  “Big Cat Face-off Ends in Alarm Bells

  and Death Knells!”

  “The Fearless Learns Meaning of Fear!”

  “Will Team Scratch’s Underdog

  End Underground?”

  40

  CASTOR WAS UP BEFORE THE MORNING WHISTLE. EVEN without his extra training with Pookie, he hadn’t slept much. Enza’s words kept replaying in his mind, but he didn’t think he would wait for another door to open. Now, something in his gut kept insisting. Somehow, some way, they had to escape.

  Castor trotted quickly down the tunnel, and burst into the slop room.

  “We need to talk,” he announced to the room.

  Jazlyn jumped. She’d been jittery lately, and she could hardly have a conversation without bursting into tears.

  The other animals barely looked up. Like him, they’d been walking around in a daze since Enza’s match. There had been injuries all along, risks from the start, but this had been different. It had shown them the true darkness under those bright stadium lights.

  “I saw Enza at the healing room, and Laringo almost killed her.” His ears drooped, remembering her cries. “We’ve got to get out of here before something else happens.”

  “Brilliant idea, Castor,” Moss said dryly. “Right after breakfast, let’s all just strut through the checkpoints and right out the front door!”

  The bull was red-eyed and touchy. He’d warned them that Laringo was dangerous, but he seemed more affected by Enza’s grave injuries than anyone. Just looking at him, Castor could see the tension in his shoulders, the anger simmering just below the surface.

  “That’s not what I had in mind,” Castor said. “But there must be another way.”

  Samken giggled, but Jazlyn nudged him to stop. “He’s actually serious,” she said softly. “Aren’t you?”

  Castor nodded. “We have to escape.” Saying it aloud made him almost dizzy with hope.

  The animals shifted uncomfortably, glancing at the door for approaching Whistlers. Submission had been so drilled into them that even the thought of freedom seemed taboo. Actually talking about escape was unthinkable. Moss nickered and turned away, not interested in hearing another word.

  But others were curious and leaned closer over the trough.

  Now Samken was looking at Castor with the determination he usually reserved for the arena, and his voice was dead serious when he asked, “How?”

  Castor had been thinking about this all night. He still didn’t have an answer.

  “I’m working that out. But we’ll think of something. Think of all the incredible routines we’ve come up with using each of our talents—we just need a plan.” He spoke quickly, pleadingly, desperate to convince them. “If there was a way out, if we stuck together, I know we could make it.”

  “I think there’s a door that leads out of the Pit,” Jazlyn suggested haltingly. Castor glanced over at the rabbit-panther, thinking that she didn’t seem quite herself, but he nodded his encouragement.

  “That must be where Slim goes to smoke his paper sticks.”

  “The parrot patrols the Pit,” Rainner noted.

  “We could try the fourth door in the cells. . . .”

  “The fourth door is s-s-sealed,” Deja said with a flick of her forked tongue as she popped up by his side.

  Castor tried not to flinch as he looked into her snake eyes. He’d tried hard to avoid Deja since the match, but she always seemed to be sneaking around where he least expected it.

  Still, he wasn’t deterred.

  “The door in Enza’s cell wasn’t sealed. She gave it a little nudge and it just crumbled. I bet if we work on the others we can get them open.”

  “We don’t even know where those tunnels lead . . . ,” Jazlyn said anxiously.

  Castor hadn’t thought Moss was listening, but from
down the trough, the zebra-bull answered, in a far-off, wistful voice, “They lead to the Greenplains.”

  Castor’s jaw dropped, and his eyes grew wide. “The Greenplains are real?”

  Since he’d arrived on the island, Castor had usually been exhausted from training, and he dreamt less and less of the mythical forest. It was like the features of Runt’s face or the sound of his mother’s voice: hazy and lost, part of a life he sometimes doubted had ever existed.

  Now his memory of the dreams came back, stronger. He saw the rows of strong trunks, the treetops reaching toward the sun. The haze of leaves wasn’t just green, but many different colors—some closer to yellow or brown, some in shadow that made them seem blue or black.

  “We had a view of the Greenplains from the Sky Zoo. You really didn’t know about them?” Samken sounded surprised.

  Deja didn’t, either, but she’d come all the way from the desert. She darted her diamond head forward, keenly listening in.

  “Unnaturals used to train there, but the land there is toxic,” Moss explained. “That’s why the Whistlers sealed up the doors.”

  “They’ve been cleaning it up for years, though,” Jazlyn jumped in, eager to share her knowledge. “The children in my classroom studied the Greenplains, and the teacher was always talking about them as . . . what did she call it? ‘A model for radioresistance and bio-hardiness in the post–Warming Age!’” She said it in one breath, like she couldn’t get the words out fast enough.

  Castor didn’t understand any of that, but he knew what it meant. “There’s a better life out there—right outside the door,” he yipped.

  “A life we can’t have,” Moss said.

  “Animals have escaped before, though,” Samken reasoned. “I hear the chimps on the second floor chattering about it sometimes at night. There might be a whole bunch of Unnaturals who already made it to the Greenplains.”

  “They didn’t,” the zebra-bull insisted stubbornly.