The Harvest (16 page)

“Begin,” Jones yelled, standing by to
referee.

The girl raised her hands in front of her and
twisted her body slightly sideways. Not looking intimidated, Tracy
lifted her fists and stepped toward her. She threw a left hook, and
the girl blocked it, countering with a punch to Tracy’s nose. She
stepped back, covering her face. When she pulled her hands away,
blood ran over her upper lip. Blinking, she looked at Jones, as if
to see if he’d call a foul. When he didn’t react, her expression
contorted into one of rage. She charged at the Israeli and dove for
a tackle. The dark-haired girl sidestepped and kicked her in the
stomach, a loud thump resonating from the impact.

Shane cringed, watching Tracy lay on the
ground doubled over, her face bloody and her eyes wide and moist as
she tried to catch her breath. Jones looked at the Americans,
raising a hand to warn them to stay out of it.

“Yes—it is as we expected,” a Russian boy
taunted. Some of the others laughed.

Jules started toward him, and he caught her
arm, pulling her back. She looked at him with wild eyes, and Shane
shook his head, and then nodded toward Tracy.

Tracy cast a glare in the Russians’
direction. When the girl followed her gaze, she rolled left,
wrapped her body around the Israeli’s legs, and slammed the girl to
the ground. Clearly the stronger of the two, Tracy mounted her and
started punching her in the face.

“That’s enough,” Jones said, dragging her
off.

The Israeli pulled herself to her feet, her
nose bleeding now as well, and her left eye swollen and red.
Brought to quiet tears by the attack, she returned to her group.
Tracy looked at the Russians again, a warning in her eyes. They
chuckled, though with a bit less confidence than before.

A proud grin crossed Shane’s face. His squad
had been pushed so hard during the assault on Atlanta that they’d
nurtured an animal ferocity the other teams might not be able to
match. Once the switch was flipped, they’d be able to hold their
own.

Tracy came back and stood between Shane and
Jules.

“Good job, killer,” he whispered to her.

“Thanks,” she said, giving him a bloody grin.
“That little girl kicked like a mule.”

Dr. Blain came around behind Tracy and tapped
her on the shoulder. She used the small device she closed Shane’s
wound with to treat her nose, then went around and took care of the
Israeli.

Next, Jones pitted a Chinese boy against one
of the Korean girls. An experienced martial arts fight should have
been fascinating to watch, but Shane was nervous about what was to
come. He didn’t care that he would have to fight, that he might get
injured and beaten. He sweated from the hot sun beating down and
radiating off the blacktop, but also at the thought of Kelly going
into the ring. Imagining her getting hit made his stomach twist
into knots, his hands tightening into fists.

The two Asians demonstrated the advantage of
years of training. They threw beautiful spinning kicks, stopped
lightning fast punches with blocks, and tirelessly evaded injury
and defeat for five minutes before Jones called the match.

“These are the people you must learn from,”
he said, pointing at the two of them as they returned to the
sideline. “Their martial arts training is an invaluable resource.
The Shock Troops are masters in a form they’ve modified to be used
in conjunction with energized and de-energized armor.”

“Now you,” he pointed at Steve, “and you.” He
pointed at the tall, blond Russian boy Steve had pinned against the
bathroom wall the night before. “Into the center.”

“Happy birthday to me,” Steve said, smiling
broadly.

The Russian showed as much arrogance, his
comrades shouting, “Spetsnaz!” as he stepped forward.

The boy raised his hands in a fighting stance
that looked like he may have as much martial arts training as the
Asians. There was a glimmer in his eye that made Shane
uncomfortable. It might have been a show of his competitive nature,
but it looked too much like the meanness he remembered in Shamus’
eyes. He had faith in his big friend, but he worried Steve’s
cockiness might get him into trouble.

Steve bent his knees slightly and raised his
fists, looking like a bareknuckle boxer at a honky-tonk. Not
wasting any time with dancing around, the Russian charged. Shane
thought he was going to make the mistake of trying to tackle the
linebacker, but at the last instant, the Russian jumped sideways
and brought both of his feet into the air, landing a double kick
that looked right out of a Hollywood action movie into Steve’s
stomach and chest.

The
assault caught Steve off guard, but he’d taken big surprise hits on
the football field. He’d always been deceptively light on his feet,
and a few people had even called him graceful. He managed to step
back and absorb most of the energy of the Russian’s kick, though he
grunted loudly and grimaced with pain. Shane expected anyone else
would have ended up on the ground with some broken ribs after
getting struck so hard.

Having put his entire weight into the attack,
the Russian landed on his side on the hot asphalt and rolled back
onto his feet. His team cheered him and mocked Steve. Steve huffed
as if to breathe off the assault and moved toward the boy. The
Russian darted in and delivered a rapid-fire succession of punches
into his stomach before he could launch an attack, finishing with
an uppercut into his jaw.

Steve stepped back, rubbing his big chin and
grinning. “The kick was more impressive.” Although his tone mocked,
his smile seemed a little contrived. Shane knew he must be
hurting.

The arrogant Russian didn’t take to being
taunted. He charged Steve again. This time, the linebacker was
ready. He lowered his six-foot-two-inch frame and accelerated his
two hundred and twenty pounds of muscle at the approaching boy. The
Russian hit him at full speed, and there was a loud crunching
sound, bones breaking. Steve was moving so fast that he had to leap
over his flattened target, plowing into two of his wide-eyed
comrades who stood on the sideline.

Shane almost felt sorry for the kid, who
rocked back and forth on the asphalt holding his shoulder. The
doctor stepped in and eased his hands away from the injury.
Sunlight glinted off red and white, the boy’s jagged collarbone
protruding through his bleeding flesh.

“Help me carry him to medical,” the doctor
said, and two of the now somber-looking Russian kids came out and
picked up their friend.

Steve let out a loud primal growl and thumped
his chest once, a silverback gorilla asserting his authority. He
walked across the ring to his group, the same wildness in his eyes
he’d directed towards Shane when they had tried to kill each other
before Tracy shut the weapon down. He didn’t ever want to be on the
receiving end of the linebacker’s wrath again. Everyone in the
circle was quiet now, all eyes following the enraged victor of the
short-lived match. Shane reckoned between Steve and Tracy, his team
was quickly gaining points and respect.

“This will help you learn your strengths and
limitations,” Jones said, selecting two more kids.

The brutality of the early fights seemed to
make the kids approach each other with more caution. Other than one
more broken nose and a black eye, the next fights ended with less
violence. Jules fought a Korean boy and was able to land only one
punch. The Korean kicked her multiple times, though he must’ve been
holding back because she escaped with only minor bruising. Then it
was Laura’s turn against another of the Israeli girls.

Laura got hit pretty hard a few times, and
tears started flowing down her face, though she kept it together
and didn’t cry out. Shane wanted to beg for the fight to be
stopped, hating to see her get beat up. But then Laura managed to
grab hold of the girl’s ponytail and got a knee up into her face.
Shane was shocked—Laura had a mean streak. She came back to stand
next to Steve, still crying silently but arguably the victor, as
the Israeli girl was knocked out cold.

“You,” Jones said, pointing at Kelly. “And
you.” He selected another of the Russian boys, the dark-haired
cackler Tracy had tripped earlier.

Acid flooding his stomach, Shane
involuntarily stepped forward to object. Kelly grabbed his arm.

“I got this,” she whispered, her eyes
narrowing as she studied her opponent. Shane had seen the look when
she killed in the gym, and when she fought in Atlanta. He knew she
was no wimp, but it didn’t make it any easier to see her go against
the much larger Russian boy who had to be craving revenge.

She walked to the center of the ring,
approaching her opponent so casually it didn’t look like she was
even going to try to fight. The boy smiled wickedly and raised a
finger.

“Shall I beat this little girl with one
finger, or two?”

Except for Anfisa, who glared at him with her
arms crossed over her chest, his comrades laughed. The tall Russian
girl seemed disappointed with the performance of her team, and she
seemed to be having trouble keeping them in control.

Kelly smiled amiably at him, her hands still
at her sides. With no sign she was going to attack, her foot came
up between his legs, landing in his groin with a sickening thud.
The boy’s eyes went wide, and he crumpled.

“Maybe try three fingers next time,” she
suggested, pushing his head so he toppled to the ground. Then she
turned around and walked calmly back to Shane. “And you thought all
those cheerleading kicks were just for show?”

“I’ll never doubt you again,” he said,
chuckling.

“Alright,” Jones shouted. “Give me four more
laps around the tarmac.”

Groans came from half the sweating kids.
Shane was too tired to be disappointed that he didn’t get to fight,
though he wouldn’t have minded pummeling one of the Russians. The
vengeance Steve and Kelly had taken was awesome, but he wasn’t sure
it was enough to make them leave his team alone. He started around
the track, head tilted down to avoid some of the sun’s blistering
heat. The rest of the kids followed. This time, there was no
racing. Everyone stayed behind Shane. Having grown up with sultry
Georgia summers, his people might have the advantage when it came
to dealing with the heat.

Shane found a groove, cruising along just a
little faster than a jog. He glanced over his shoulder at the turn
and saw Laura was at the back of the pack with Maurice, looking
slower with each step. He couldn’t drag them around on every run,
and he wasn’t worried about them being attacked in broad daylight,
so he let them be.

Kelly, Jules, Steve, and Tracy kept up with
Shane, the exercise they did in their respective sports in school
giving them an advantage. He turned the next corner and looked back
to see the Finns and the Russians looking like they were suffering
the most. Their pale faces were flush, and they huffed the hot,
humid air vigorously. They probably never experienced such weather
where they came from. The other nationalities were doing as well as
his team.

By the end of the fourth lap, Shane was
hurting. Jones directed them around to the cafeteria, but made
Laura and Maurice keep going, as they were only on their third lap.
The rest crowded a table with drink dispensers on it, taking turns
filling cups with some generic, powdery-tasting sports drink, and
sucking it down until they recovered enough to grab lunch.

In the cool air of the cafeteria, Kelly
plopped down next to Shane and leaned her head on his shoulder.

“They’re gonna kill us.” She sighed.

“Or make us much stronger,” Tracy
observed.

Sweat plastered everyone’s hair to their
heads, and their black T-shirts and shorts had lines of white where
the water evaporated, leaving only the salts of their
perspiration.

“What do you suppose they’ll make us do after
lunch?” Jules asked, supporting her freckled cheek with her fist as
she munched absently on her sandwich.

“Don’t know,” Maurice replied, sitting down
with his tray, “but I hope it involves lying horizontally.”

Too tired for conversation, they ate in
silence, staring absently across the table at each other’s wearied
expressions. Laura sat down last and, after eating a quarter of her
sandwich, she crossed her arms on the table and laid her head on
them.

“Everyone up and out,” Captain Jones shouted
from the door.

Grumbles passed through the room. They’d been
eating for only ten minutes, and no one had a chance to finish
their lunch. Shane was glad he’d taken the horse pills last night.
Although he was exhausted, he felt better than he would expect
after such a rough morning. He reckoned they were filled with some
high-tech ingredients that would keep everyone going much longer
than they could on regular food alone.