Chapter 31 - Lies

  By the time I exited the bathroom, dusk was settling in. I went to find my tent, wanting to sort out whether there was actually a spot for me before heading back to Jeff and the kids.

  I couldn't decide if I should go with them. The kids grew on me, and with their mother gone, I felt a pull to see them safely to their grandparents. But being around Amanda and Liv had made me miss Ester even more. If I go home, was I even ready to face her? What if she never forgave me? What if things with my brother had gotten worse after I left, and she'd had to bear that alone?

  All these thoughts, layered on top of all the running and fighting, left me too exhausted to decide anything at all.

  The communal women's tent was lively. People were getting ready for dinner, chatting like they'd known each other for ages, and I felt like I was the new girl in school, arriving mid-semester.

  Foam pads lined both sides of the large tent, scattered with rolled-out sleeping bags. I moved through them looking for an empty one, and when I thought I'd found it, a short brunette glanced up from her conversation.

  "Hey, that's my spot."

  "I'm sorry," I said, stepping back. "Do you know which one's free? Lindsay said I could sleep here tonight."

  "Just find empty space and throw your sleeping bag down. No assignments," she said, already turning back to her friend.

  Right. A sleeping bag. Lindsay had forgotten to mention that. Though to be fair, I'd had three hiking backpacks on me when we spoke. She'd probably assumed I was sorted.

  Every part of me ached. All I wanted was to be horizontal, but the thought of curling up on a bare foam pad while everyone watched felt unbearable. Maybe I'd come back after dinner, once the tent had quieted and the dark was thick enough to hide my lack of resources.

  I stepped back outside. The light was fading, the colours were losing saturation, and shadows were stretching long across the ground. Should I eat now, or go find Jeff and the kids and eat together? Either way, I didn't want to keep drifting through a crowd, feeling like a lost outcast.

  "Chloe!"

  I turned. Andy was standing by a tree strung with a laundry line, someone's faded black shirt swaying gently beside him. His face was blank as stone. Which made the yellow Smiley Face on his t-shirt look unsettling.

  What did he want? Should I find someone and tell them he was a threat? But then they'd ask why, and I'd have to explain everything.

  "Need to talk," he said.

  "Talk."

  He gestured at the people passing by on their way to dinner. "You want me to say it all out here?"

  I glanced at the tree line. The redwoods were widely spaced, the undergrowth thin. I could see a good distance in. And the last time I'd checked, I had more cards than Andy, and I was faster.

  "Fine. But I'm not going far."

  He turned and walked toward the forest without another word.

  I looked back at the warm glow of the campfire, at the easy movement of people who felt safe, and then followed him into the trees. His light blue shirt was easy to track in the fading light. Behind me, voices disappeared until there was nothing but the soft crunch of the forest floor underfoot and the last threads of gold bleeding through the canopy.

  Andy hadn't looked back once.

  "I'm not going any further!" I stopped and called out.

  He stopped, but didn't turn around.

  Something was wrong. I turned back toward camp. And something heavy smashed into the side of my skull with a sickening crack.

  The blinding pain filled the silence of the woods with overwhelming ringing. My brain lost track of which way gravity was pulling, and I spiralled, hitting the soft, spiky soil with my shoulder. Warmth trickled down my neck.

  I reached around desperately for trees or the ground, unsure if I was still up or down. My fingers were scraping on mulch, so I must be lying down. Nausea churned in my stomach as the ringing subsided.

  "… Still alive. That was a good one … " The voice came from somewhere above me.

  Leather boots filled my vision. And then one of them drove into my solar plexus and the air left my body in a violent rush.

  "…Said [Leap] and some fire card…" Another person said as a heavy hit landed on my back.

  My reflexes kicked in before my mind caught up. I curled inward, arms up to shield my head. More blows followed, and a taste of blood filled my mouth. They were aiming at my head, and most of the impact landed on my arms, and it was enough to keep me too rattled to think about defence strategies.

  Something sharp pierced my side. And two more punches landed on my arms, before I realized that they were using a knife.

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  Were they trying to kill me? I hadn't even seen their faces. Was this Andy's idea of payback?

  Something small and miserable quivered in my stomach, and tears spilled. In two weeks, I'd been poisoned, cut, I've lost a limb, nearly died and was attacked more times than I could count. But this was the first time I felt death as something physical, like a cold weight pressing me into the ground.

  And no one knew I was out here.

  I should scream… Just as soon as I could take a breath.

  The time stretched. I couldn't predict the next blow: where or when it would land. Every other fight in my life had been fast in its momentum. This was different. This was suffocating stillness between equally painful moments.

  "…rich pickings…doubt it…" One of them spoke, almost casually. Like I wasn't there.

  I just needed a moment. One moment to orient, to reach for anything: a hutchet, a card.

  The knife raked across my shoulder, and the weight of my backpack fell away. There went my hutchet.

  Each blow landed harder than the last. Each breath costed more than the one before. Something cracked against the back of my skull. My fingers, maybe, the ones shielding my brain. My mouth filled with bile. I was starting to suffocate, to drown.

  "No… leave her …" A voice, shouting. Then a heavy thud beside me, and the beating stopped.

  I coughed up blood and vomit and dragged in a breath.

  This was my chance. I pushed the [Torch] up and out, showering everything around me in flames. That was, however, a wrong move. Smouldering dirt bit painfully into my palm as I attempted to lift on all four.

  Someone laughed. "I call dibs!"

  I was probably left alone, as the air around me was hot and empty. I crawled to the nearest tree and rested my back on it, trying to see through eyes that wouldn't stop watering.

  Four figures. One on the ground, wearing a light blue shirt.

  Andy.

  Two men were standing beside him. A woman was precariously close to me. And she was holding a large hunting knife. The blade was long and coated in blood.

  I felt like puking again. If that thing sliced into me, did I even have a chance of living long enough to heal?

  "[Snare]," the man near Andy said, extending his arm toward me. Glowing ropes slammed me into the tree and coiled around my feet. Any chance I had to flee was gone.

  I glanced around for somewhere to [Leap]. The card allowed a ten-foot jump, but I couldn't see that far. Everything was fragmented, edges blurred, colours washed out. The world swam like I was looking at it through water.

  Two figures stood over Andy, putting their boots into him with lazy, unsteady kicks. Drunk, maybe. Or it was just my eyes lying to me.

  I probably already had a concussion. One more knock on the tree wouldn't make much difference. I tried to [Leap] toward what looked like a gap between the trees. The lines of power bit into my skin and into every cut I already had. A whimper tore out of me before I could stop it.

  The man laughed. "That's right, little bird. Your [Leap] is too weak."

  I didn't want to die. Not here. Not like this.

  "Help." The word came out as a croak. I forced it louder. "Help!"

  "Don't bother," one of them said. "We made sure no one would hear you."

  "Help!" This time it rang in my own ears.

  The man by Andy stopped and walked over. He hit me in the stomach. I would've crumpled if the snare wasn't holding me up.

  The third man stepped away from Andy and turned to face me. "Our Sport here had a change of heart. But to become a real man, he's got to learn not to let his mouth write checks his ass can't cash."

  "I don't know," the woman with the knife said. "That fire card is pretty sweet."

  "He can hand it over as payment. Fair compensation for disabling a fighter like her. I just want him to prove he means it, Kayla." He paused. "You've seen his face every time we collect our retainer for delivering strugglers to the camp. He thinks he's better than us. Some kind of hero out of one of his video games."

  "Snotty hero," the woman with the knife chuckled beside me.

  "Give him a knife. Let him finish her. He's the one who wanted her dead." The man suggested.

  Kayla stared at me for a long moment, dark eyes unblinking, then swore and hurled the knife at Andy instead. It buried itself in the dirt right beside his face with unnerving precision.

  "So… what do you say, Sport?"

  A kick. Andy groaned.

  "Leave her alone. I changed my mind." He said quietly.

  Kayla moved to Andy's side in an instant, leaned down, and whispered something against his ear, patting him once on the chest.

  Silence settled over all of us.

  I could hear Andy breathing: ragged and uneven. It took me a moment to understand he was crying.

  This was probably my chance to beg for my life. But I was still trying to breathe after that last hit. Damn it, I needed to see Ester again. To learn if she'd made it. If my attempt to help her was actually worth something.

  "Get up, you little shit!" The man's boot connected with trembling Andy's body again.

  The timer on [Pyromaniac Torch] was counting down.

  If I could find the right moment. If I could just think.

  I needed a plan. I needed time.

  "So you want to kill me," I said, directing it at the group by Andy. "There are people in camp who'll come looking. People who know I know him." I tilted my chin toward Andy. "What if I just hand over my cards and we all go home? Please."

  Kayla laughed. "No one gives a fuck about anyone but themselves out there. If they did, they wouldn't have let us in. We've stripped people of cards right under their noses, and not one person said a word. We still have our tent. Still have our seat at the table."

  I looked back at Andy. He'd pulled himself upright and was dragging the knife out of the dirt.

  "Is this how you pay me back?" I asked. "After everything?"

  "You killed my mom!" The words tore out of him as he struggled to his feet.

  That made me see red. "Your mom was already gone! She would have taken your throat out if I hadn't stopped her!" The words cost me. It was getting harder to talk, harder to hold my head up. I let it fall back against the tree, not because of the snare, but because the spinning wouldn't stop.

  What do I do?

  I pulled up the [Pyromaniac Torch] description again. They were all clustered close. If I could get free of the restraints, I could catch all three of them at once. Or burn through the ropes themselves?

  "Lies!" Andy's voice cracked. "What if she would've been fine when the moon went down? I promised her she'd get better. I promised!"

  The image hit me without warning: Tim, on his knees in the meadow, sobbing over Amanda. I had to clench my eyes shut to clear my vision.

  "I know," I said, the same way I'd said it to Tim. "I'm sorry for your loss. I know how it feels." I held his eyes. "But I saved you. You owe me."

  Andy moved closer, hunched like something inside him was breaking.

  I forced my focus back to the card description. I read it again. Wait. It didn't say anything about releasing the fire from my hands. A fire-breathing circus performer flashed through my mind, but I shoved it aside. There were better options. Options that would leave my face intact.

  "You know nothing." Andy dropped to a crouch in front of me, close enough that I could see his face clearly.

  I didn't look away.

  He blinked back tears. His hand came up to rest on the bark above my shoulder, the other angling the knife toward my stomach. Then he lowered his face to my ear.

  "I'm sorry." His breath was barely there against my cheek. I was so far gone I could hardly feel it. "How long until [Torch] resets?"

  It took me a moment to understand what he was asking.

  "Six minutes," I whispered.

  "Distract them when it's up." Then, louder, he almost chanted: "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you —" and I felt the knife move, sawing through the strands around my left arm.