The Neo-Spartans: Altered World (19 page)

              “Do you know why I asked you to stay?”

              “I imagine you’re going to tell me to take a hike.” Quinn tried not to think about what that would mean.

              “Kicking yourself out. Good. Makes my job easier.”

              “I know it looks bad. The section of the net I was working on came undone, somebody got injured…”

              “Somebody almost died!” Nico tried to calm himself down.

              “I swear it wasn’t my fault. I did it right. I know you don’t trust me but you can ask Jared. He double checked the straps.”

              Nico’s face turned stone cold; he grabbed her wrist and dragged her upstairs. He pushed her toward the balustrade poles where net straps were supposed to be attached. Only the clamps remained.

              “Jared, double checked, huh? Do you know what this means, Quinn? The straps are not loose, not broken, they are just gone. Undone. This means they were not even secured in the clamps. My guys know what they are doing. Jared might goof around a lot, but he is not incompetent.”

              Quinn was baffled. She could’ve sworn she had secured the clamps and Jared had checked them. She knelt down and inspected the first one. Sure enough, the lever was completely open. She played with it, trying to figure out what had happened, when something fell out of it and clinked on the floor. Quinn picked it up. It was a small black vinyl piece. On closer examination she noticed the red line curving through it and the image jelled for her… Tyra’s long black and red rising phoenix nail. She got up and held out her hand with the evidence in it.

              “You’re right. Nobody’s that incompetent. Not even me. Somebody messed around with my rig. She even broke a nail in an effort to make me look bad.”

              Nico examined the vinyl piece. Tyra! She was rotten, he knew that, but she was very useful to the gang and not one to tick off. He had reined her in by keeping her close to him, a task with certain benefits he did not mind, but now she was threatened and was abusing her power. Calling her on the carpet would only make it worse. Leaving her unpunished for risking his guys’ lives would send her the wrong message. Being stuck in the middle of a surreptitious cat fight was the last place he wanted to be. Nico was trying to keep it cool, and come up with a level-headed solution, but his lack of response triggered Quinn’s.

              “Not so eager to mete out justice! Gee, color me shocked! When it comes to your girlfriend, rules don’t apply. Never mind she tried to poison me… why would that matter, I’m just a newbie in the gang. But now other people are getting hurt, and while a minute ago you were so willing to punish somebody, suddenly you’re not so sure.”

              “Enough! Do you think this is high school? Do I look like a principal? This is gang territory. Yes, there are rules, but nothing is cut and dried. Every day we walk the razor’s edge between chaos and order. If you don’t have survival instinct you’re doomed. There’s nobody to run to and complain.”

              Quinn was outraged at his response. “So what am I supposed to do?”

              “Don’t be a victim. You have a problem, make sure it’s not a problem anymore.”

              Nico walked away, making it clear the conversation was over. He was going to let justice find its own way, but he wondered if he’d made the right choice. Quinn opened her mouth to protest when the meaning of what he had said hit her. Nico had given her the go ahead for reprisal.

* * *

              Quinn advanced stealthily along a dark hallway toward the shower rooms. She stilled her breath and opened the door without a sound. Like a shadow, she glided inside and positioned herself next to the shower stall where water was splashing, happily accompanied by Tyra’s out of tune whistling. Quinn listened to the sounds, feeling hesitation creep back and battle her resolve. Who cares if this viper is whistling or not? She had to send her Neo-Spartan notions of virtue packing. This was about jungle wile. The image of her enemy filled her head; the sounds were obliterated and the only barrier that stood between her and her target was the door of the stall. But not for long.

              Quinn blasted the door open, took a mental note of Tyra’s shock, something she would allow herself to relish later, and pinned her against the wall. She focused her skill and concentration and struck her enemy with tightened fingers right below the belly button. The placement of the hit was a double shock for Tyra. Her hand extended to scratch Quinn’s face, but a sudden paralysis spread throughout her body and the hand froze mid-air. Quinn’s fingers twisted deep in Tyra’s soft belly and she quickly retracted them, making sure what she inflicted was going to be damaging but not lethal. Tyra slumped to the floor holding her stomach. She couldn’t compute what had happened and stared stupidly at Quinn, who studied her for another moment then left.

              Quinn strode down the corridor, restless with the undeniable rush she felt during the attack. Her stealth and power made her feel akin to a jungle predator. She rode on it for a bit, but it subsided as reason overcame instinct. Her mind replayed the attack again and again; only two inches, not three, and the twist was half, not full. She ran over everything she knew about striking this toxin pressure point. It was lethal if fully executed. But she hadn’t done that. She’d made sure of it. She had struck her deep enough beyond the small intestine to barely reach the base of Tyra’s spine—the survival chakra, some called it. Her blood circulation would be briefly reversed, wreaking havoc on her Eugenic body. Her toxin-laden blood wouldn’t be processed, causing temporary shock to her organs. She’d have difficulty breathing, she’d lose some motor function and experience severe pain. Chills ran down Quinn’s spine. Suddenly the thrill of dominating was gone and only the weight of her decision remained.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

              It wasn’t long before the novelty of Tyra being in the infirmary wore off. In the beginning there had been much speculation among the Vaqueros about what had happened to her. Some feared she was close to her Eugenic end, but the fear quickly dissipated when they noticed Nico’s blasé attitude toward her sudden illness. Some even wondered if he had finally had enough of her power grabbing and had shown her his teeth. But a lot of them suspected it was the new girl that had something to do with it. It was more gut feeling than proof, but strangely enough they didn’t mind it. She exuded power that didn’t threaten you but made you feel safe somehow. She diligently showed up for training and did her best, and refused to participate in the just-for-fun verbal thrashing of Tyra. They also noticed that Nico had changed a bit; the shred-you-to-bits guy was put on ice and a more fun personality began to emerge. There were winks and nods among the Vaqueros every time these two were around each other, reactions that didn’t go unnoticed by Nico.

* * *

              The dry canyon lay thirty miles outside the city. The Vaqueros had descended upon it like a flock of angry birds, roaring in on their motorcycles, raising up an orange cloud of dust that filled the nostrils with the parched smell of desert. It had been an adventure for Quinn; it was the first time she had officially left the Sanctuary perimeter and the first time she had ridden on the back of a bike. The fact that it was the leader’s bike made it that much more special. There was something otherworldly riding across the barren land that stretched outside the city for miles and miles. It was just you and the flat terrain going all the way to the horizon. She felt the wind in her face and thought about nothing. The idea that this desert was a result of man’s greed to produce and sell more food than anybody needed didn’t gnaw at her mind. A bubble of guilt rose inside her but was quickly blown away by the warm wind. It was okay to escape her Neo-Spartan consciousness. Just for a little while. She looked at the horizon and felt one with it. She was here and now, and nothing else mattered. And suddenly she realized why the Bangers existed.

              The Vaqueros roared to a stop near the jagged edge of a deep canyon. They dismounted as one and surveyed the gaping earth down below—a hundred-foot plunge into rocks and dry river bed. The sight sent shock waves of excitement through them, and they all rushed to check out the battered ramp that stood near the narrowest section of the canyon. The ramp had been made years ago and its bleached-out wooden construction stretched like the spine of a newly excavated dinosaur. Motorcycle ramp-jumping over the canyon was a favorite Banger pastime and one of the first stunts in their now-rich arsenal of entertainment. They would speed down the rickety ramp, launch themselves into the air, fly more than sixty yards across and land on the other side.

              Quinn looked down the ravine. The crags at the bottom of it looked like the teeth of a cavernous stone monster. She felt the chill of terror but she also felt the tingling of excitement. Her gaze sauntered down the ramp where most of the Vaqueros were lining up, readying for start off. Her hands were sweating and her heart was pounding. She uncoiled like a tight spring when Nico touched her shoulder. His knowing smile embarrassed her but she found no point in hiding her emotions.

              “Ready for your Vaquero christening?”

              She must have looked really confused.

              “I get the honor of getting you to the other side. Once we make it, you’ll have earned the full right to call yourself a Vaquero.” Nico seemed proud to be her initiator.

              “But I thought I already…?”

              “Yes, you proved you’re one heck of a crazy fighter, but now you gotta prove you’re a hundred percent nuts.” He grinned wider and wider as her heart sank into her heels. Quinn looked down and across the canyon. The gap seemed vast.

              “It’s huge. We’ll never make it.”

              “We never say that around here. It’s bad luck. Now come on, let’s get in line.” His expression was dead serious. She followed him to his bike and got on behind him. She wrapped her arms tightly around his middle, and he maneuvered the bike toward the ramp.

              Full throttle, bikes roared down the ramp one by one. With syncopated breath, Quinn watched them soar in the air, sail for a few seconds then start the dangerous drop and land in a cloud of dust as they cleared the gap and made it safely to the other side. She exhaled with relief every time the loud cheer and clapping bounced around the canyon walls, signaling the successful jump of another Vaquero. Nico felt her nervous tension and tried to encourage her.

              “See, it’s fun.”

              Quinn showed her teeth in a failed attempt at a smile.

              As she did, another biker revved and rolled ahead. Scrap-Iron’s engine screamed at 8000 rpm as he rocketed up the ramp. At the last instant he adjusted his weight on the bike—not content to merely fly over a hundred feet of killer rocks—and threw himself and the bike into a double-back flip, rear tire skidding and screeching as it hit the uneven dirt inches from the edge on the opposite side.

              “They land so close to the edge,” said Quinn, a whimper in her voice.

              “That’s Scrap-Iron for you. Besides, that’s what makes it fun. You see, part of it is taking pride in your skill at beating the odds.” Nico walked with the bike as they were getting closer to the front of the line.

              “So, you’ve done this before and you’re sure we’re going to make it?” asked Quinn.

              “If you ask the betting man in me I’ll say we have a fifty percent chance.”

              “And the other fifty?” Quinn asked, not really eager to hear the answer.

              “The other fifty says we are going to crash and be one helluva firecracker down there.” His crazed smile did not comfort Quinn one single bit.

              “Crash and burn! This is not funny.”

              “And I’m not laughing. But what a glorious way to die!”

              His exaltation was something Quinn wished she could share.

              “You’re going to be dead and that doesn’t bother you?”

              Nico heard the exasperation in her voice and tried to hold her gaze.

              “No. And it shouldn’t bother you. In two, three, or five years we’re going to be dead anyway. I’d rather go out with a bang, experiencing life to the max, than lie and wait for my organs to rot. I thought that’s why you joined us. Did I get it wrong?”

              In that moment, Quinn realized she’d rather take a chance with her life than take a chance with not being part of the gang. She must be turning into a real Banger. The thought tickled her. She smiled at Nico. “No, you didn’t. Let’s go and test our sixty percent luck.”