Sin City

by Jennifer Martucci

“Let’s do it,” Garan says. “We’ll have to run.” He looks from the building across the street to me. His eyes drop to the portion of the arrow still lodged in my leg. “Are you okay to run like that?”

  “I don’t have a choice. If I want to live, I have to,” I reply. My eyes scan the immediate area. “Now’s as good a time as any to go. You ready?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.” Garan smiles. Then, raising the lid he and I have used as makeshift shields, he says, “I have this baby to protect me, so I’ll be fine.”

  I roll my eyes at him, afraid to count the numerous puncture marks in both, before we take off. Sprinting as fast and hard as I possibly can, I ignore the flares of pain that radiate from the arrow. The welcomed numbness that deadened the ache was brief. Faded, it leaves behind sharp streaks of pain that bolt from it in every direction. Ignoring it, I don’t break stride. I hold my lid in front of me and race. Arrows hit the lightweight metal. Some are deflected, while the sharp tip of others stick in it. Fortunately, none pass through. If one were to penetrate, the wound inflicted would be mortal. Luckily it hasn’t. I’m still on my feet, racing headlong toward a ramshackle, ground-level door. Without slowing, I drop my shoulder and ram the full weight of my body into it. Wood splinters from the handle and what remains of the door hangs from its hinges. Stumbling from the impact at first, I quickly regain my footing. Arrows still whizz, reaching as far as the threshold. Suddenly, I hear Garan cry out. I turn and look behind me and see that an arrow sticks out of his hip. Knowing fully the intensity of the pain he’s feeling, I wince when I see his face contort. Blood stains his pants, seeping through the fabric and trailing to his knee. He grips the wood. For a moment, I think he’s going to yank it free.

  “Leave it. If you remove it, you’ll bleed out. You’ll be too weak to continue, much less fight.”

  “I know not to remove it,” he replies sharply. “I’ve lived longer than you have.” He grunts and swipes the beads of sweat on his forehead. “This isn’t the first arrow I’ve had in me. Leave it in until your safe enough to remove it and rest. Biggest worry then is infection.”

  “Yep, that’s what my dad always said.” I can almost hear my dad’s voice reaching across time and space, talking to me as he cauterized the wound left in the wake of an arrow.

  “Smart man,” Garan comments before he snaps the tip of the arrow off, leaving it embedded in his flesh as I did. “And I’m sure he always told you to keep moving, which is exactly what we need to do now.” He tries to smile, but it ends up being a tight, almost angry expression, pain seizing his features

  Looking around, I hear silence. Surely, if anyone awaited us, anyone other than the rooftop archers, they’d have greeted us. I notice an entryway with its door missing. Beyond it is a staircase. Nodding toward it, I say, “We have to walk up a few flights of stairs. You gonna be okay?”

  “Are you?” Garan retorts, grimacing, and looks at my leg.

  “Like I said, I don’t have a choice. I’m getting back to Ara, Pike and Reyna. I’m getting through this gauntlet.” My eyes meet his unwaveringly.

  “Well I don’t have a choice either. I don’t have brothers and sisters or a girlfriend or people who love me waiting but hell, I love me! And I’m not ready to die yet.” His gaze drops nervously.

  “Uh, is this when I’m supposed to tell you I love you?” I mumble and struggle to keep from laughing.

  “What?” NO!” Garan’s head snaps up.

  “Garan, I love you.” A sound that’s a cross between a snort and a laugh bursts from me. The laughter intensifies when I watch Garan’s face. He screws up his features, narrowing his eyes and glaring at me. Behind the façade of his glare, though, amusement lingers.

  Shaking his head at me, Garan says, “Keep laughing. I’ll kill you here and finish The Gauntlet myself then keep your family as my own. And your lady.”

  My wide grin capsizes. “Alright, alright. That’s enough.” A prickle of sensitivity makes me bristle at mention of Reyna. “Let’s go. You win. I don’t love you.” I make my way to the stairwell.

  “Jeez, someone’s very sensitive about his girlfriend,” Garan taunts from a few paces behind me. But when he lifts his leg for the first step, he groans. Despite his injury and my own, we run up five flights. Once at the top landing, one closed door stands in front of us. Garan lowers his lid, leaning it against his leg, and pulls the daggers he swiped from the first challenge from his back pocket. “When I say so, open the door,” he tells me.

  “There are four archers out there,” I say and expect to hear an idea mapped out.

  “On three. Ready?” Garan forgoes an explanations.

  “What’s the plan?”

  “One. Two,” he starts counting.

  I place my hand on the knob, heart hammering in my chest and without a plan of attack.

  “Three!” Garan calls and I turn the handle, yanking the door open.

  Gripping a dagger in each hand, Garan doesn’t hesitate when he sees the two archers facing the door, bows loaded and aimed at us. He flicks his wrists and hurls them forward. The blades launch, tumbling end over end until one sinks in the neck of the archer on the right and into the eye of the archer on the left. Dropping their weapons before dropping to the ground, the men howl out. Lifting his lid instantly, he presses forward. I follow suit, charging. Arrows sink into it but I don’t stop. I run, rushing until I slam into the archer farthest from the door. Standing near the ledge, he doesn’t have time to fire his arrow at me. I collide with him, forcing him backward. He’s knocked off his feet, toppled over the edge. Garan blasts into the other archer, who manages to release his arrow. The arrow fires anemically, landing to the rooftop with a soft clack, the impact of Garan’s broad form smashing into him steals his air. Bow crashing to the ground, the man is flung from the top of the building. He screams as his body careens to the pavement below before silencing finally with a bone-crunching thud.

  Chest heaving and with sweat dripping from my brow, I kneel, scooping up the fallen bow. I straighten and load it with an arrow. Aiming at one of the two archers stationed atop the building next to us, I pull the bowstring taut. Releasing my grip, I let the arrow fly. My target has an arrow loaded, as well. But it’s too late. He never releases it. My arrow bores into his skull just below his left eye. Screaming and writhing in pain, he drops to the ground. The second archer fires on me. I load my bow as fast as I can as his arrow just misses me. Pointing my loaded bow at him, I train my gaze, his throat the intended mark. I let the arrow fly. In the space of a breath, it carves the atmosphere and burrows in his throat. Dropping his bow and quiver of arrows, both hands reach for his neck. Pulling the embedded arrow free, a torrent of blood gushes from the wound. A burbling sound bubbles from his lips before the color drains from him. He drops to his knees and collapses onto his side.

  “Nice shooting,” Garan stands at my side and says.

  “Thanks. Where’d you learn to throw a dagger like that?” I ask

  Wincing as he bends to yank the small blades from the archers he replies, “Lots of practice.”

  “If we live, you’re going to have to teach me how.” I gather as many arrows as I can fit into the quiver, removing them from dead bodies, then sling it over my shoulder.

  “Don’t you mean when we liv—” Garan starts to say but his sentence is cut off by the shrill whistle of arrows carving the air.

  Dropping to the ground, I crawl, taking cover tucked beneath the two-foot ledge at the edge of the rooftop. “Where are they coming from?” I ask as soon as Garan’s beside me.

  “Third building down on our side, I think.” He chances poking his head up to confirm. “Yeah. They’re coming from there. Two shooting at us.”

  “Even though we’ve killed six of them already, we can’t go back down to the street again. Too open.”

  “Volac was counting on the first four archers to take us down. The ones further down the road are just in case one of us is injured and straggling.” Garan exha
les loudly.

  He’s right. “Well, Volac underestimated us.” I turn and look at him. “There’s a way. There’s got to be.

  My mind spins dizzyingly, trying to find another way to get close enough to kill them off. “We took out the archers on the building just next to us,” I think out loud. “But we can’t go down to the street…”

  Garan’s head pricks up. He examines the lip under which we take cover. Arrows zoom over his head. Still, he cranes his neck.

  “Garan! Are you insane? Get back!” I pull his arm.

  “No, no.” He shakes me off, staying exposed for a few moments longer. When he returns, he says, “There’s a way to get from this rooftop to the next.”

  Eyes widening, I roll my hand forward, encouraging him to tell me more.

  “There’s a large gap between the buildings, but if we get enough speed and jump—”

  “No way! It’s not possible!” I protest. “It’s too far. We won’t make it.”

  “Let’s find out,” Garan says as he springs to his feet. He charges, racing as though he’s not injured and leaps. Hurtling through the air impossibly with a bow and quiver at his back and daggers in each pocket, Garan lands on the edge. Barely clearing it, he rolls forward. “Come on!” he shouts to me.

  Swallowing hard against the rise of dread in the back of my throat, every part of me trembles. I shake so hard, I don’t trust my legs to run, let alone bound from one building to the next. But right now, I don’t have another option. According to Garan, forward motion is necessary. We have to continue, or we lose. Without another way to move forward, this is the only option.

  I inhale deeply, filling my lungs before I scramble from concealment. Arrows are continually fired at us. We’re barely able to dodge them. I backtrack to the middle of the roof then run full speed until I reach the ledge. There, I don’t slow, I leap, seeing the ground five stories beneath me and feel my stomach plummet. I realize midair and about halfway there that I’m not going to make it. My jump is short. I won’t clear the edge of the next building. “No!” I scream seconds before I feel my chest slam into the side of the brick building. Air forced from my lungs, pain explodes from what feels like a shattered ribcage to every other part of my body. I frantically grab for something—anything—to hold onto. My fingertips find a piece of metal flashing. Skin singing on the blazing-hot surface, I scream, “Help!” My grip is faltering, weakening, and the sweat, slick on my hands, causes them to slip. “No, no, no!” My arms shake. My muscles burn. I can’t hold on. I’m going to fall,

  Just as my burned and trembling hands give out, a pair of hands grip my forearms tightly. Cords of black hair drape over the edge and a familiar face appears. “I got you, Lucas.”

  I dig my toes into the small outcroppings between the stone blocks of the building, thrusting myself upward as Garan pulls me. Just as I reach the edge and have one leg and one arm over, Garan cries out. “Ahh!” He grips his backside. ‘I’ve been hit!”

  I roll onto the rooftop then stand. Shielding Garan with my body, I pull him down. Arrows spray us from the two archers on the rooftop next to us. Garan roars in pain then launches to his feet. Heaving a dagger with all of his might, the blade slices the air, closing a much greater distance than before and sticks in the chest of one of the archers. Stunned and with a dagger drilled into the left side of his chest, the archer’s eyes round before he sinks to his knees. Mouth agape, he flops backward. Beside him, the last remaining archer on the building freezes. Horrified, he looks across the way at us. Garan raises his arm, as if aiming to throw his second dagger. Seeing Garan, the man throws his loaded bow to the rooftop floor then turns and runs.

  “Coward!” Garan calls. The laughter that rolls from him is pure venom. After the deserter disappears, Garan turns toward me. Arrows land behind us, the distance between us and the shooter too vast for accuracy. “You ready to jump again?” he clips his chin toward the far edge of the building.

  “Do I have a choice?” I ask. My hand reflexively rubs my banged-up torso.

  “Nope.” Garan shakes his head. “Luckily it looks like the gap between this building and the next is not as wide.”

  “Oh good,” I say but feel little in the way of relief.

  “See you on the other side.” Garan claps his hands together then runs, despite an injury to his backside and hip. When he reaches the edge, he jumps, clearing the space with ease and landing roughly atop the neighboring roof.

  “Oh please let this be easier,” I mumble to no one just as I charge for the edge of the building. Bounding from one to the other, I’m stunned at how much smoother it goes. Instead of slamming into the side of the structure, I land beside Garan. Although I feel as if I’ve broken every bone in both of my feet and both of my ankles, I’m in one piece. When I stand, I realize nothing is broken. It was just the impact of the landing that hurt so bad it felt like my bones rattled.

  “Let’s go.” I offer my hand to Garan. He takes it and I help him to his feet. “The door is there.” I point to an egress I’m certain leads to a stairwell. Nodding, he follows me. We descend four flights of stairs and reach the door that leads to the street.

  “Archers are still out there, but they’re on the other side, behind us now,” Garan stops with his hand on the knob and comments.

  “We’ll make it.” I can’t keep the hope from coloring my tone. “We’ll make it out of here.”

  Garan smiles. “I hope you’re right,” he says before we race out the door and down the street.

  Arrows continue to fly from far down the street, missing us and landing around us. The farther we run, the more distance we place between them and us.

  When the buildings are so distant that the archers stop shooting, we slow our pace to a stop. Doubled over and struggling to catch my breath, I bend at the waist, resting my hands on my knees. “Is that it? Did we make it? Is it over?” I wheeze.

  Garan opens his mouth to speak, but his words are drowned out by the sound of motorcycle engines roaring to life. Revving with a whine that grows louder and louder, I can’t be sure of how many I hear. All I’m certain of at the moment is that we haven’t completed The Gauntlet yet. Injured and bleeding and exhausted from narrowly surviving this far, Volac has another daunting test in store for us. More danger awaits us.

  Chapter 20

  “It’s not over yet!” Garan looks over his shoulder. “We’ve got company!”

  Bikes raging like vicious beasts awakened from slumber, the snarl and snap of their engines rips through the air.

  “What’s happening?” I have to shout over the sound as they grow louder.

  “Volac’s guards. They’re on motorcycles. And they’re coming for us!” Garan’s expression is shocked and filled with fear. “Run!” he shouts.

  Heeding his single-word command without delay, I take off, sprinting as fast as I can. Pain flares from the arrow still buried in my thigh and every muscle in my body aches. But I don’t dare slow or stop. Head down, I watch my feet take turns slapping against the pavement. Pulse hammering and thoughts racing, I wonder whether we’re being forced into a trap. I wonder whether the motorcycles are driving us toward some horrific situation akin to being trapped in a room with Night Lurkers or peppered with arrows from rooftop archers. This is Volac’s gauntlet, after all. I’m sure that what we’re running toward will be a nightmare realized.

  I turn and look behind me. Five riders in all, they hurtle toward us. “Come on!” I cry, pushing my body harder, urging myself to move faster.

  “Ahhh!” I hear Garan scream. In my periphery I can see the agony in his features. He’s hurting. Bad. But what else can he do? Stand and wait for the bikers? Bringers of doom, I’m sure the most merciful death they can offer him is to mow him down.

  “I know it hurts! Just keep going! We can do this!” I try to encourage him but I can see that he’s slowing. The leg he’s favored has been taxed too hard. “Come on, Garan! Fight through the pain!” I shout, but Garan isn’t beside me any
longer. When I look behind me, I see that he’s stopped. “Garan! Come on! You can’t give up!” I rush toward him, determined to drag him the rest of the way if I have do. “What’re you doing? You have to keep moving!”

  Ignoring my words, he points toward the motorcycles. I follow the line of his finger and see that the bike formation is splitting. Three zip to the left down a side street, and the remaining two speed right. The piercing buzz of their engines grows fainter until they all but disappear.

  “What’re they doing?” Garan’s features are haunted.

  Dread slithers like a serpent in my gut. Ears ringing from the sudden silence, I almost miss the sound of cheering. “I don’t know what they’re doing, but I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough.” A faint breeze blows, carrying on it the stench of burnt rubber. It whispers across my skin, foreboding and raising the fine hairs on my neck despite the sweltering heat. “We have to keep going.” I turn and take off at a jog. But I don’t hear Garan’s footsteps beside me. I look over my shoulder at him. Stock-still and unresponsive, he continues to stare back toward the spot where the group of motorcycles just split. I run back and grip his arm, pulling him forward. “Garan! We have to move! Now!”

  Garan, as if snapping out of a catatonic state, shakes his head. Looking directly at me he says. “Yeah, we do have to keep going. Have to keep moving forward. That’s part of the rules of The Gauntlet.” He swallows hard. “That sound…the cheering…it’s the people of Sinsity. They’re screaming for our blood to be spilled. I’m guessing they’ve been promised quite a show.” He licks his front teeth and makes a clicking sound. “Whatever we’re running toward is where it’ll all take place.”

  Filling my lungs with air, I consider Garan’s words. He’s right. I can feel it in my bones. “So what are we waiting for? Let’s give them a good show. Let’s get to where we’re supposed to be and spill some blood.”

  Garan nods, a slow, arcane smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “Let’s do it.”