The Neo-Spartans: Altered World (18 page)

              She protected herself from his blows and staggered and fell every time she thought it was necessary to do so. It was working; she kept her injury intact and firmed her opponent’s conviction that this was going to be an easy win. His technique got sloppy and hits weakened. He went for showy moves, crowd pleasers, exposing himself for easy counters. But Quinn didn’t jump on the opportunity. Instead, she bought time. The longer she stayed in the fight, the more she calmed down. She mapped her chances on his body and that kept her focused and relaxed. The roar of the crowd didn’t matter anymore, it was a distant background. Anxious to do his victory round, her opponent readied for the final assault. His posture, his eyes, everything told her what he was going to do, and before he had a chance to do it, Quinn sprang forward with surprising speed and hammered him with precise punches. The shock of her counter immobilized him for a few seconds, long enough to give Quinn the time for the execution of her plan. She used her good leg for support and unleashed a relaxed but powerful kick with her injured one. It found the guy’s jaw and sent him staggering backwards. A bellow of exaltation came out of the audience at her ballerina-like agility and grace, and the shocking effect they had on her much bigger opponent. Quinn pounced again and her fast techniques found all the spots she had mapped all over his body, some triggering toxin points, some just plain hurting him with their power. The guy stumbled around trying to stay in the fight, not fully comprehending what had just happened, but the dizzying effect of his organs dumping poison into his body overpowered his will and determination and he went down on one knee, admitting defeat, then fell face-first into the sand. The deafening sound of the crowd’s cheering, the whistles and yelps from the Vaqueros’ bench and the unbridled joy she saw on Nico’s face made Quinn’s blood run fast, gathering in pools of joy and bursting little geysers inside her. Oh, what a feeling that was! She looked around and took in the adulation that was coming from every single direction. In a trance-like state, she did her victory lap and loved it. As she was getting back to her normal senses, her mind whispered an undeniable truth to her: she was becoming a real Vaquero, a real Banger, and she didn’t mind a bit.

* * *

              The mess hall throbbed with music; food and drinks were bountiful; chatter and laughter ebbed and flowed as the boys shared highlights from the fights with occasional re-enactment thrown into the conversation. Quinn was definitely the belle of this ball, the hero of the day, and the Vaqueros jostled around her to get a chance to congratulate her. The high octane atmosphere jazzed her, and she was radiant with excitement. It was her first party, and she was the center of attention. It felt strange at first, but suddenly she discovered she really liked it. Everything she had done was right and great and absolutely fantastic, and she was giddy with all the public appreciation. A cold bottle was shoved into her hand, a toast was shouted in her name and when the fizzy liquid tingled her mouth, she realized this was her first party, her first drink, her first thrill that she was doing something against the rules. Her body felt loose and light, almost like a soap bubble ready to float away. What an alien feeling… and how different it was from the stiff state she was always in—alert and industrious, hunkered down to perform her endless chores and always feeling guilty she was not doing enough. The celebration got even wilder when Nico came in and poured the contents of a small bag onto one of the mess hall tables. Cash rained like confetti, while the Vaqueros howled with delight and cheered for their leader. Quinn barely remembered Nico calling her name when a tide of helping hands pushed her to the middle of the crowd. Nico was saying something to her, must have been something really nice, but his words were drowned by the music and the happy noise inside her head. All she could see were his warm smiling eyes, and Quinn felt lost for words so she just kept grinning. Intoxicated with euphoria, she didn’t notice her inner eye was lulled to sleep and oblivious to the cold, green-eyed stare that cut through the room like a knife. Tyra was leaning against the wall in the corner of the mess hall, like some dormant disease ready to spring on an unsuspecting organism.

* * *

              In the wee hours, Jared shuffled groggily toward the mess hall. His mouth was dry and his head hurt. He must have had one too many beers. It was always like this following game day. Not that he’d counted, but come to think of it he didn’t have more than two. Good-for-nothing liver! What was the point of having it if it wasn’t going to process a couple of drinks?! Now he could drain a lake and there was a marching band inside his skull. He pushed the burlap partition aside and staggered toward the table where the bottles of drinking water were lined up. Clean water was a precious commodity in the Sanctuary, and everybody had a daily ration of it. Bottles were assigned to each member. They carried the names of the Vaqueros, and stealing your buddies’ water was a major offense. Wasting it was punishable too. So Jared hoped to hell he hadn’t finished his already. As he made it to the table, he spotted a silhouette quickly moving away. Somebody was stealing water. The fog in his head lifted quickly.

              “Hey! Hold it there!” said Jared. He pulled a lighter and flicked it on. Its faint glow was enough to reveal the presence of somebody at the other end of the tables. Jared didn’t have time to guess because the mystery person took the initiative.

              “What the hell you doing here, Jared?” Tyra emerged with authority, hands on her hips, “Trying to steal some water?”

              “I thought that’s what you were doing.”

              Tyra snatched the lighter from his hand and put it in his face, so the flame blinded him and covered her nervousness.

              “Watch your mouth, Jared. You don’t want your insults to reach Nico’s ears.”

              Jared was not in the mood for a midnight altercation with her, so he backpedaled.

              “Come on, chill, I just wanted my water. I saw somebody at the tables so I had the same thought you did. It’s dark, you know, I couldn’t tell it was you.”

              Tyra moved the lighter away from his face and used it to illuminate the rows of bottles on the table. She found the one with Jared’s name on it and tossed it to him. He fumbled with the cap, opened it and thirstily pressed his lips on the bottle, guzzling down the precious liquid. Keeping her eyes on him, Tyra reached behind and grabbed a bottle that was just to side of the rest. Jared had finished and was about to exit.

              “Hey, Jared…” He turned around in time to catch the bottle that Tyra tossed him. He eyed it hungrily. “Take this to the newbie. Looked like she was having way too much fun and she might try to rot her gut with tap water.”

Jared stared at the bottle, and then at Tyra, confused. “Damn nice of you, babe.”

              Tyra killed the flame of the lighter, concealing the grin that snaked across her lips. “Don’t get fuzzy on me, Jared, just looking out for Nico’s interests.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

              A bright shaft of sun played across Quinn’s face and made her twitch in her restless sleep. She tossed her head, and the sunlight hit her eyes directly. Her eyelids fluttered a few times, and she opened them. The brightness burned her retinas. She rolled her head to the side, but shot up straight, realizing the bright sun meant it was midmorning. Quinn was late for training. She ran toward the training arena, ignoring the unpleasant feeling in her stomach, but she had to stop as a spasm doubled her over. What now? How could one drink last night wreak such havoc on her system? Once the party was over, and her ecstasy was doused by her sensible Neo-Spartan spirit, she had taken some drops from her pouch to offset the potential GM effect of the beer. So what was making her so sick? The only other consumption outside of her emergency pack and that drink was the bottle of water Jared had offered her. Tap was pure poison here, so it felt really nice that somebody was looking out for her. The thought gave her courage and energy, and she picked herself up and pressed on. She was going to have a great training even if it killed her.

              When she reached the arena, Quinn slinked her way to the bench, trying to be invisible. Nico leaned against the railing, absorbed with the fights, which meant the chances of her tardiness remaining unnoticed were good. She put her mind to coming up with a fight strategy that would be effective and short. Shock the opponent, awe the trainer, and don’t let the lack of sleep and nausea win the fight. Nico turned, spotted her, and she could tell that the disciplinarian in him wanted to call her on the carpet, but he changed his mind and gave her a short smile.

              “First party last night, so you have an excuse.”

              Quinn opened her mouth to say something, but had to close it quickly as the queasiness fought its way upward. He took her silence as a cold shoulder and regretted the smile. His face became all business and he motioned Quinn to the arena. He browsed through the faces on the bench and his eyes landed on Crowbar. Crowbar got up and spat on the ground. He was about to vent his opinion about Quinn, but Nico’s cold stare limited his protest to that single spit and Crowbar moseyed to the arena. Quinn couldn’t believe her luck. How much worse was this day going to get? Crowbar gave her the once over—the pallor and the beads of sweat rimming her forehead.

              “What’s the matter, babe? You don’t look so good,” he chuckled.

              “Your face is making me sick.” Quinn tried to keep it light, but summoned every drop of strength available in her body and slugged Crowbar in the jaw.

              He reeled backwards, his body exposed, and Quinn hammered his floating ribs with her fists. Crowbar doubled over, a perfect position to quickly finish him off with a knee to his sternum—but before Quinn could execute her plan, Crowbar snuck a nasty upper cut into her gut. The pain from the hit she could’ve taken; she was trained to endure pain, she could even control it. But the ripping spasm that shook her innards and sent the wave of acrid bile up her throat was not something she could handle. Quinn went down on one knee, clutching her stomach, hand over her mouth, desperately trying to keep what tasted like sewer from escaping.

              Nico noticed her strange reaction and walked around the fighting circle to get a better look. The symptoms she was exhibiting were something he had seen before. Inevitably every Vaquero succumbed to the temptation to last longer, to get stronger, to become the ultimate glorious fighter; and they all paid the nasty price—performance enhancement drug poisoning. But he couldn’t believe that this girl had the nerve to dupe him, lie to him through her teeth, and go ahead and get sick in his arena. He jumped over the railing, and pushed Crowbar away just as he was preparing to deliver a kick that would’ve sent Quinn sailing all the way to the bench.

              “What did you use?”

              Quinn looked up to him. She was swallowing hard, breathing heavily, failing to answer his question. She could see he was really upset, even hurt, but she had no explanation or excuse to offer. He grabbed her by the shoulders, lifted her up, and got in her face.

              “What did you use!!?”

              “Nothing.” Quinn barely got the words out as another spasm riddled her body and she slouched down, writhing in pain. Nico refused to give her the relief of lying down on the ground; instead he yanked her back to her feet.

              “Nothing! You’re sick as a dog and you still lie. What did you use?”

              “I swear, I didn’t use anything.”

              The slap came out of nowhere. It shocked Nico that he was so mad with her that he actually hit her.

              “Was I born yesterday? Think I see this for the first time? Did you use it to win the games yesterday?”

              “No, I didn’t.”

              The fear of being banned from the gang and from the Sanctuary ran like a shock through Quinn. She buckled up, fighting the urge to collapse completely, and looked at Nico pleadingly.

              “You gotta believe me. I didn’t use anything. I don’t know why I’m sick. Please,” said Quinn.

              Tears streaked her face, not that Nico was ever softened by them. He knew they were a weapon girls weren’t afraid to use. But there was desperation behind Quinn’s tears, and that sincerity he had first noticed meant he couldn’t simply throw her out. That made him mad. Not so much at her as at himself. He dragged her to the railing and faced the rest of the guys who stood frozen in silence.

              “Look at this,” he said to them. “This is what your moment of glory looks like. You’ll be great for a fight or two and after that you’re useless. Just like Thor is right now, just like she is too. I told you people, stay off the freaking dope. I catch one more of you doing it, you’re out. I’ll make sure you never see the inside of the Sanctuary again.”

              He released Quinn and stormed out of the arena. She slumped to the ground, sick and humiliated. She didn’t know which one was worse, but the combination made her bury her face in the sand and allow the tears to flow. The guys watched her for a moment. Nobody made a move to help her and nobody noticed Tyra, high above the arena, gloating at the sight of the prostrate Quinn.

              How Quinn dragged her body all the way to the restrooms was a blur. She leaned against the chipped, rust-streaked sinks and fumbled her leather pouch open. With a trembling hand, Quinn pulled a little glass vial of Holy Basil, removed its cork, dripped the bitter liquid into her mouth and swallowed. Whatever had poisoned her, this would take care of it. She slumped to the floor and she waited for the medicine to kick in. It bugged her that she had no explanation for her sudden sickness, but what bugged her even more was the fact that she’d jeopardized her position with the Vaqueros now that she had stumbled on a lead to where Gabriel might be. Quinn closed her eyes and she tuned in to the rhythmic drip of a leaky faucet. It was soothing and distracting. The grating of the metal door against cement broke her peace and the squish of footsteps on wet floor brought her around. Quinn opened her eyes. Jared was standing in front of her.

              “Crappy luck, babe. I’m sorry.” He crouched down to check on Quinn. “Nico was a jerk to treat you like that, but he is right about the stuff.”

              “I didn’t use—damn it!” Her voice reverberated throughout the restroom. She stopped and thought for a second. Some puzzle pieces began to fall into place for her.

              “Come to think of it, Jared, the last thing I put into my system was the water you gave me. You want to tell me something about that?”

              Stunned by her accusation, Jared moved away. “I ain’t such a rat as to sneak poison into your drink. It stinks you’d say that. I was just trying to be nice. Tyra asked me to give you the bottle. I could’ve taken it for myself, you know, let you drink the battery acid that comes out of the tap. But I didn’t. And what do I get for being a nice guy…?” He shook his head. “You chicks are weird.”

              Jared started to leave, but Quinn’s voice stopped him.

              “I’m sorry.”

              Jared turned and looked at her. She meant it, but he wasn’t ready to accept her apology. Without saying a word he left the restroom with the posture of a defeated man. Quinn closed her eyes, kicking herself for alienating the only person that was watching out for her. His words grated on her conscience and she focused on what was bugging her so much. Tyra. She had given him the bottle. Of course. Tyra was out to get her, and if Quinn weren’t careful she’d lose her spot in the gang faster than she’d got it.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

              Only two days had gone by since Nico had left Quinn sick and crying in the arena, and now, much to his astonishment, she was showing up for training. He ignored her presence and refused to pair her up with a training opponent. He refused to believe she was back to normal. She stayed on the bench in silent determination, and when he gave his guys a break she went in and practiced her moves on the wooden posts and the sand bags at the perimeter of the arena. Nico wasn’t sure if she was simply rubbing it in as payback for the humiliation he had subjected her to, or if she was really eager to prove she was not a liar and a cheater. He watched her for a while, then caved in and went to spar with her briefly. She was solid and fully recovered. He should’ve been happy that the girl hadn’t lied to him, that she wasn’t taking dangerous shortcuts with enhancement drugs, but her quick recovery and stamina created an even bigger mystery and that made him uneasy. He wanted life in black and white and instead Quinn was adding a whole new pallet of gray. He didn’t want to dwell on complications, he needed to busy himself with something else. His sweaty, tired troops reminded him that they all deserved a distraction. Nico wrapped up the sparring and joined his guys.

              “Good work! It’s looking up for next week’s games. We’ve all been working hard, and I’d say we deserve some fun!”

              Nico’s words raised an all-around cheer from the Vaqueros. Faces lit up with the excitement and anticipation of the next Banger-style adventure. This was something new for Quinn.

* * *

              The wind chased crumpled papers and dust through twenty stories of the round building known as the Rotunda. Big, wide, and empty with a spectacular spiral staircase, the derelict Rotunda inspired amazing feats of lunacy. The Vaqueros were planning a twenty-story vertical drop right down through the middle. No bungee cords were to be used, just a pure untethered plunge. Face death and in the last moment deny it the pleasure of snatching you away. That was the way to go. They were living on stolen time, robbing the Grim Reaper with every stunt they pulled. But the only way to trick The Nasty One was to be clever. And clever meant safe.

              The Vaqueros had spread throughout the building and were busy securing the mesh net, border ropes, and tension straps along the edge of the second floor landing. Nico commanded the operation like a general, and soon the large net was stretched taut over the eye of the spiral. They bore down as they attacked the serious task of anchoring and attaching the net to whatever structure was available. The net mechanism, where and how it attached, was Big Mike’s design. Mike had been a skyscraper window-washer before entering the Sanctuary and knew everything there was to know about high-rise safety.

              Quinn had paired up with Jared and was all focus and hard work. She had to do a good job; there was no room for blunders of any kind. She listened to Nico’s directions and watched Jared carefully as he aligned their section of the net with the few remnant metal poles that once held the balustrades of the Rotunda stairwell. He attached the strap to the pole, ran it through the clamp and made sure it got engaged. She looked at the ropes and straps she was holding and tried to emulate the procedure. Jared noticed her forehead beaded with sweat from worrying. He offered a hand.

              “Here, slip this over the pole, now run the strap through the clamp.” He put his hands on hers and guided her as she pushed the clamp lever and slid the strap through it. “Now pull the strap tight and make sure the clamp is securely locked.” Quinn followed the steps and secured the strap. Jared tugged on it; it felt strong. He smiled and gave her thumbs up. Quinn looked at her handiwork.

              “Isn’t it going to break if it’s so tight?”

              “First jump, huh? All you can think about is the net breaking. No sweat, the worry will pass. I see you’re the thinking kinda girl, so maybe this will make you feel better. It has to be tight. Has to be as snug around the base as possible. Which is a bit of a problem because we have a square net covering a round floor, but let’s not get stuck on minor details. Anyway, if you don’t have them tight, the straps will slacken on contact and that’ll create a gap between the net and the wall, and you’ll be spilled like garbage out of a dump truck. Yes, there’s the possibility of snapping, these things aren’t exactly brand new, but hey, if there was a one hundred percent guarantee it wouldn’t be fun, would it?”

              Quinn forced a nervous smile. “Yep, that’s why we’re Bangers.” She went on to make those straps as tight as possible.

              The gang gathered on top of the Rotunda. Excitement ran like electricity through the crowd. The Vaqueros pushed and shoved one another like kids on a water slide line, jazzed and impatient to swan dive off the twentieth floor. Quinn stood at the edge of the group. She didn’t want to be among the first to do the jump. The wind battered her back, sending chills throughout her body, but it was the fear that froze her limbs and rendered her immobile. She looked at the Sanctuary below, a bizarre colorful settlement, her new temporary home. She tried to distract herself by spotting the major sites—the sports arena, the market, the wall. Her eyes followed the winding streets and alleys, as if she were navigating a live map. Somewhere down there was Gabriel, and she still had no idea where. Nothing around here looked like a Citadel, not that she had any idea what a super-secret facility should look like. A shrieking yelp of joy combined with fear scattered her present thoughts and she looked at the gaping stairwell to see the first Vaquero flash like a comet twenty stories down, hit the net and bounce back in the air, hooting with delight. He rolled over the edge of the net and jumped to the ground. Her heart started pounding again now that there was one fewer before it was her turn.

              A second member stepped to the edge and flung himself in the middle of the spiral, screaming like a primate. It must be fun… Quinn’s thought was cut short by a fast hissing sound followed by a dull thud. Seconds later the anguished scream of a badly injured man bounced around the circular building.

              Nico took off running down the stairwell, jumping three steps at a time. The guy down there might be dead. Another Vaquero down. The thought tightened its grip around his throat. He kept running, hungrily inhaling air and still he felt as if he were suffocating. What was he afraid of? Finding his pal dead? It wasn’t going to be the first time. That’s what happened to Bangers. They lived dangerously and died gloriously. No! No! His feet hit the cement steps hard, he had to get down there fast, he had to do everything to save his guy. He strained to hear moans or cries of pain but only the sharp whistle of the wind reached him. It was mocking him. No! He was going to get there, he was going to help. It bugged him that he’d been a Banger for more than three years, but still couldn’t accept the death of his
compadres
. Why did he have such a problem with death? Other people’s deaths. He had vowed he’d learn to accept it. But in truth, he’d vowed to try to beat it, claw every single Vaquero out of its grip. Was he nuts?! The whole reason for becoming a Banger was to say screw it, who cares, death doesn’t matter.

              But it mattered. Ever since his little brother had died on his watch, it mattered. It wasn’t his fault, they’d told him, the boy’s organs had all quit at the same time. Words, meaningless words. He was the big brother, he was supposed to make sure nothing bad happened to little Teo, and he had failed. The thought propelled him to run faster. Before he knew it, he was cradling the head of the Vaquero, looking for signs of life. He was hurtled back in time, back to that wretched moment, his dying brother’s head on his lap. Anger smudged Nico’s vision. The Vaquero stirred and coughed. The air had been knocked out of him during the fall, but now he was coming to. He groaned and a wave of relief washed over Nico. The rest of the gang members poured in, all out of breath from running twenty stories down. They gathered around, offering a helping hand. Nico got up, leaving the injured one to their care. He didn’t want the rest of the guys to see his weakness. He couldn’t afford to show them that he cared, that he took the inevitable end of his gang members as a personal failure. He focused his attention on the unfastened net. He looked up at the gap between the second floor base and the net, and the image of Jared and Quinn flashed in front of his eyes.

              That girl again! Of course, ever since she’d shown up he’d been forced to face his fears. He should get rid of her right now. Nico looked around and spotted her, all pale and frozen, eyes fixed on the gap through which the guy had fallen. There was guilt and incomprehension, not exactly the signs of intentional malevolence. He was split about what to do. He shook off his own indecision and quickly dismissed his disappointed gang. He spotted Quinn trailing behind and moved quickly in her direction. He clamped his hand over her shoulder, and she turned to him. There was no need for words or orders. She knew quite well what was in store for her. As soon as the last Vaquero had emptied the premises, Nico whirled on her.