The Neo-Spartans: Altered World (17 page)

              “He said they’d been developing a new kind of serum to rescue our organs. It was going to save us all. There was a chance for Peter. I wanted to believe him.”

              “Of course you did. But why take Gabriel?” asked Quinn, terror tugging at her heart.

              “I’m only guessing, Quinn—he said it’s all experimental. The cure is based on the nature of the blood of healthy people.”

              “Neo-Spartans.”

              “Yes.”

              “By kidnapping them in secret…?” It was all too much to take in.

              “You know the propaganda about your people. Neo-Spartans are poison. Your food fouls the water and the air. The powers that be can’t suddenly step up and say ‘we were wrong’—it’s only a tiny step to realizing that the synthetic organs they’ve been sold are killing them. People would riot in the streets.”

              Quinn tried to be optimistic. “Maybe the Neo-Spartans will finally get credit for something good.”

              “Not if that look in Robert’s eye is any indication. No, they’ll create a serum from the boys’ blood, claim a breakthrough and return to telling the world the Neo-Spartans are dangerous.”

              “Who’d allow a thing like this?” gasped Quinn.

              “Quinn, there are even rumors that Grant Hughes is sick. This goes all the way to the top.”

* * *

              As she made her way toward the Neo-Spartan enclave, Quinn ran it down for herself. Celeste knew what she was talking about, and not only because she was married to a guy in the inner sanctum, but because she was from the generation that would most clearly be affected by what had been done to the food supply. Quinn worked it through… with Eugenics-created food taking over completely fifty or sixty years ago, Celeste’s parents would have been the first generation of pure test-tube kids. The modified people were just like the modified seeds—once changed, they were incapable of having offspring without help from the test tube. So Celeste and her husband would also have been test-tube kids, destined to live troubled, short lives. It was no wonder their test-tube son Peter was having trouble even at nine.

              Quinn furtively made her way to Kilbert’s home, making sure she was not seen. There she related everything she had done and discovered.

              “It’s not enough,” said Kilbert once Quinn finished.

              “They’ve been taken against their will, and are being used as guinea pigs,” insisted Quinn.

              “And we know what’s going to happen after to them after the serum is created,” mulled Kilbert.

              “So what’s our next step?” asked Quinn anxiously.

              “You have to bring me something I can act on,” said Kilbert. “A tunnel and a black van are not enough. Get me hard evidence and coordinates for this ‘Citadel’.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

              Quinn shot out of her bed, her thigh still throbbing, anxious not be late for training. She wanted to make sure her leg was not completely stiff and swollen. Making Nico and everybody else aware she got mysteriously injured during the night was out of the question. She stood up and gritted her teeth as the pain seared through her thigh like battery acid. She walked off the stiffness and got used to the pain but was fully aware she would need to do a heck of a job concealing her injury. Quinn produced some Slippery Elm bark powder and applied it to her wound. A Magda scarf kept the poultice in place, and after her looser pants were pulled over it nobody could tell anything was wrong. In her mind, she ran over some fighting combinations that would protect her thigh from being kicked, and she headed out for the training arena.

              But nothing she wore or applied could ease her mind over the discoveries she’d made the previous night. A conspiracy at the highest level thought of Gabriel as a guinea pig. The notion that it was designed to save the life of the heir to the Hughes fortune ignited a kind of anger she didn’t know she carried—an anger she’d need to get past the pain and through the day’s training.

              She tried to pace herself, disguise her anger, and protect her injury without sacrificing performance. The thought that one little mistake, one little hit in the wrong place might give away her secret made her run on pure adrenalin, and that powered her through her sparring. Quinn could feel Nico’s eyes following her every move, and if it weren’t for her current worries she might have been tickled by the attention. But right now his hawk-like stare felt like a drill into her back. She pretended she didn’t notice, but when he finally moved across the arena to the spot where she was sparring, her anxiety got kicked up a notch and she lost her concentration. She went for a more aggressive move, loading her injured leg and exposing it to attack. She instantly realized her mistake as the pain from the sudden strain shot through her thigh and weakened it instantly. It was the anger at work. She had to get it under control or give away everything.

              Her leg gave out under the opponent’s counter attack and Quinn crumpled onto the approaching Nico. He prevented her fall and she was quick to upright herself, downplaying what just had happened. Nico fixed her with an assessing look that she tried to meet. His eyes scanned her body as if looking for an answer, which made her uncomfortable for multiple reasons, and it was almost a relief when he tackled the issue.

              “What’s wrong with you?”

              “Nothing.” Quinn’s response came out more defensive than she would’ve liked. She saw Nico’s suspicion alert immediately go off.

              “I mean, I don’t know, I thought I was my usual. What am I doing wrong?”

              “For starters, you buckled under the simplest attack. You should’ve been able to take it. What happened to your strength? Are you hurt?”

              “No! Where would I get hurt?” Quinn made a mental note she had to tone it down when she was lying. What a scramble it had become to be herself. Oh, for the days working like a dog as a Neo-Spartan.

              “It’s not about where, it’s about our bodies randomly quitting on us. Come on, don’t make rookie mistakes. Listen to your body. We’re Eugenics, after all. I can’t afford to have you injured with games scheduled tomorrow.”

              “Games? What do you mean?”

              “Yes, games, I already told you. And you
gotta earn for me now that you’ve taken out my big fighter.” Nico was dead serious.

              Games. Fights. Tomorrow. The words flashed and throbbed in Quinn’s brain, making her forget about the ache in her thigh but inflicting a whole new range of panic and pain.

              “Fights, tomorrow, in front of a crowd?” Quinn said.

              “Yes. The glamour of a modern gladiator, isn’t that why you joined us?” Quinn’s dumbfounded stare made him groan with exasperation. “Come on, you can’t become lame and stupid on the same day! Take a break, don’t make me regret taking you in.”

* * *

              The night came and went in no time and a new day broke over the Sanctuary. A big day. Game day. Quinn had not slept at all, jittery from what lay ahead of her. She had forced herself to empty her brain and drift off into several brief naps, so when the arena started to hum with activity she was already up, feeling relatively refreshed. Several crews worked feverishly on removing the makeshift living quarters of various gangs that occupied the arena, and transforming the place into a modern day Coliseum. It was astounding how different the place looked, restored to its previous glory as a place where athleticism was celebrated. Movable wooden benches were placed over the old slabs of cement, and the different sections of the bleachers were dressed with the colors and paraphernalia of the gangs that were going to participate in the games.

              People were coming in, setting up food and beverage courts. It was busy and all that activity made the place and the event look even bigger in Quinn’s eyes. She was trying to grasp the scope of it all, not noticing she was in the way of those responsible for outfitting the place until she was maneuvered to the side. Still in some kind of stupor, she was yanked aside and guided under the arena to the changing area. It was jam-packed with fighters, all pumped up for the imminent clashes. Palpable anxiety coagulated in the cramped room and made everybody shout louder and push harder. She swam against this raucous sea of human flesh and found herself in a small changing room with the rest of the Vaqueros. The familiar faces made her feel less lost. Nico was pacing around giving tips and orders for each one of the fighters. Most of them were busy smearing their faces with paint for a scary effect or even choosing masks for that same reason. It was tribal and barbaric and it finally sunk in for Quinn—they were truly gladiators. Nameless bodies to be hurt for the entertainment of the crazy crowd that was beginning to gather at the gates of the arena.

              Nico spotted her standing frozen in the middle of the changing room and briskly walked up to her. “Come on, you gotta get changed,” he surveyed her clothing. “Lose the pants and put on something short.”

              All Quinn could think about was her bandaged thigh, and the possibility of revealing her injury and having to explain it made her panic.

              “No.”

“No? Hey, if I tell you to lose the pants it means lose the pants. We are putting up a show here…”

              “I know, I know, it’s just that this is my first fight. I wanna be comfortable. I want to have an advantage,” Quinn was quick to interrupt him.

              “You are gonna have an advantage if you wear something short. These are guys you’ll be fighting. A little loss of focus on their side might work in your favor.”

              “But it will make me self-conscious and distract me and I don’t want that. Please, let me fight on my terms. For the next games, I promise, I’ll do anything you ask.” Her eyes begged even better than her words and Nico sighed in defeat.

              “Fine. Just make sure you convince me you should be in the next games.” He turned and walked away to deal with the other fighters.

* * *

              The roar of the crowd echoed through the enclosed bottom level hallway and reverberated through Quinn’s bones as the Vaqueros made their way toward the arena entry. It was just a fight, she kept telling herself, but it felt as if it were a life or death moment. Was that how gladiators felt? Were they thinking about dying or was the fear so paralyzing that their brains shut out any thought? True, these were not fights to the death, but if her secret got exposed and she got kicked out of here, failing to locate her brother and the others, she might as well be dead.

              The group emerged and they all took their places on the long wooden bench in the fighters only area. The noise was even louder here than down below and it almost made her cower. That faceless collective force that emanated from the crowd felt like an invisible wave about to crush her. Panic was rising, together with an inexplicable sensation that her force was being drained. Quinn tried to pull herself together and focused her attention on the guys that were fighting. It was a beastly slug-fest, sweat and blood droplets flying each time a fist found a jaw or a nose. Brutal hits were followed by roaring cheers in a predictable pattern, and Quinn couldn’t help but notice how the energy of the crowd fed one guy and depleted the other. It struck her that if she allowed fear to walk onto the arena floor with her, it would absorb that amorphous power and turn it against her. Her revelations were interrupted when she heard her new Vaquero name, Amazon Banger Babe, repeated by a crazy Banger with a maniacal grin who served as master of ceremonies.

              She stepped onto the sand and the reaction of the crowd wrapped her in a sound blanket. She felt her heart go up into her throat, thumping away, making her mouth dry. Quinn looked around and the filled up arena suddenly seemed huge, dwarfing her completely. From the other end, her opponent made his way across the sand. The closer he came, the smaller Quinn felt. He recognized her fear and smirked contentedly. And it was that smirk that hit Quinn in the sternum and shook her to her senses. She knew what that meant. Victory. But not for Quinn. Fear had walked onto the arena with her for sure, and the opponent already had one up on her. She knew from experience that recovering your spirit in a fight is the hardest. Frantic flashes shot through her brain, looking for a way out. The guy sprang with a snarl at her, and from there she let her smarts guide her. His self-assured attacks were those of a victor and Quinn played the role of the defeated one.