Monster Gauntlet (6 page)

“You will have fifteen minutes to orient yourselves before the games begin. Your time starts now. Go.”

Games? I thought. Was that what they were calling this?

I looked around at the people near me. There were three guys and one girl. The sky was getting a little lighter, and my eyes were adjusting to the darkness, so I could make out more details now.

The five of us instinctively formed a circle, and we stood in the field, sizing each other up. A tall, thin guy stood across from me. He had long, scraggly black hair that for some unknown reason, seemed to be dripping wet. He looked around at the others and then at me.

Most of the time, when a guy looks at me, he will smile, especially if we make eye contact and I smile first. He’ll look me over from head to toe and there it is. It works all the time. Even the married guys or the old ones will look briefly, even if they pretend they’re not. This guy, however, looked at me and winced. I was insulted. Then I thought about the reason. He was hoping for some stronger teammates. In this arena, I wasn’t what he’d hoped to see.

As if to confirm my theory, he looked up at the sky and shouted, “Hey! I changed my mind! I’ll do the time! I don’t want to run the Gauntlet! This is a suicide mission! Come back! Get me out of here!”

“Too late for that, dude,” said a short but strong-looking, shaved-head guys standing to my left. He had an American accent. “The time for negotiating is over.”

“Shut up,” the oily guy said.

“You want to make me shut up?” said the American.

“Hey!” I said, “Relax. We just got here.”

I was wondering if I had the authority to control this situation when a loud voice said, “Girl’s right. Both of you shut up. Time’s running out, so let’s get this over with. Either of you got a problem with that?”

The deep voice belonged to a huge man with a shaved head and a dark mustache that only belonged on the face of a biker or a prison guard. Another American. He asked if anyone had a problem. Nobody did.

“Alright, let’s get this done,” he said. “My name’s Bear.”

He glared at each of each, one at a time, searching for an insulting smile, daring us to make a comment about his name. Nobody did.

“I was chief enforcer for my club, the Devil’s Riders. I killed a cop.”

He said that with a smile and a weird gleam in his eye that suggested he was proud of both things. He nodded at me and said, “What about you?”

I cleared my throat and said, “I’m Moira,” and after a moment I added, “Government protestor.”

There were a few nods and a murmur of acknowledgement from the group, except from the oily guy. He said, “Oh no. Not you. You’re that girl. They’re going to be extra hard on you. No way you’re getting out of this alive. I didn’t sign up for this.”

He shouted at the sky, “You hear me! I didn’t sign up for this! Get me out of here!”

Bear and the other guy both said, “Shut up!” at the same time.

I looked at the short guy. He was short and thin, yet somehow had a fierceness about him. I guessed he was in his twenties. He had insanely light-blue eyes, and an unnervingly genuine smile. This guy wasn’t scared, or if he was, he didn’t show it. He seemed used to this type of stress. He actually looked happy to be here.

“Call me Marine,” he said, “because that’s what I am. Or what I was. Court martial. Now I’m here.”

Marine’s smile fell slightly when he said that. His intense blue eyes seemed to lose just a little of their animal-like ferocity. I imagined there were a lot of opportunities for mistakes in military, both in and out of a war zone. Whatever his crime was, accident or not, he wasn’t proud of it. My respect for him edged up a little.

Next was the guy with the tangled black hair. He simply said, “Mason. Drugs.”

Figures.

The last person in the circle was the other girl. This is going to be a special show, I thought. Seeing one girl run is unusual, but two – That’s rare. At least, that’s what I’ve heard.

Two women on the show meant the ratings would be higher. More people would be watching. I didn’t know if that was a good or a bad thing. Probably bad ... for me. The producers, wanting to appeal to their larger audience, would probably deliver more spectacular kills, so they would probably be sending more exotic monsters. Wonderful.

The girl said, “I’m Trish. It doesn’t matter why I’m here. I got screwed and I went to jail. This is my only way out, and that’s why I’m here.”

Everyone seemed to nod in agreement. That was all of our stories, really.

Trish had a short, spiky haircut and hair that was so blonde it was almost white. She didn’t look any prettier than me. She didn’t look any tougher either. I guess I was thinking like Mason now.

“Alright,” Bear said. “Tools and weapons. Let’s see everybody’s shit.”

We all had the right to one weapon from the base. Everyone looked around at each other. Nobody seemed willing to go first. Then Bear drew an enormous chrome pistol from a holster on his hip I hadn’t noticed before.

Mason took an involuntary step back.

“Cool,” Marine said, “Glock 9 mil.”

“Damn right,” Bear said, grinning. “With hollow-point silver bullets.”

Marine nodded approvingly, sharing some shared insider’s knowledge and bonding with Bear.

“What about you?” Bear said, excitedly, “Let’s see yours.”

A huge survival knife appeared in Marine’s hand as if by magic. Bear looked disappointed.

“That’s it? A knife?” He looked like he had just tasted something sour. Then he said, “What about you, Blue?”

I pulled my canister of mace out of my sack and held it by its pistol grip.

“What the hell is that?” Bear spat. “A fire extinguisher?”

“No,” I said “Bear mace.”

I smiled coolly. Slowly, a smile crept over Bear’s face. Then it fell and he said, “Seriously, you could pick any weapon you want and that’s what you picked? You expect that to protect you?”

I said, “If it breathes or if it has eyes, I can hurt it.”

Bear grunted. I think he guessed the truth. I had no weapons training, and I needed something with no learning curve. Most people think pointing a gun automatically makes them dangerous, and it does, but it’s like anything else. You have to practice if you want to be good at it. I wanted something that didn’t require good aim or any experience. I also didn’t want to get too close to my targets.

Mason produced a machete with a hand guard from a sheath that hung at his side.

“Seriously? Another knife? What’s wrong with you people?” Bear growled. “Where’s the firepower? Are you telling me I’m the only one who’s got a gun?”

“This has a silver lining,” Mason said, holding up his weapon. “Literally.”

Everyone turned to Trish. She reached into a large sack and pulled out an impressive, modern crossbow.

“Cool,” Marine said.

“Finally,” said Bear. “Somebody with some survival instincts. What have you got there, Babe?”

Trish hefted the crossbow up and said, “Ultra-light semi-automatic crossbow with ten rounds. Bolts have wooden shafts and silver tips.”

Everybody, including me, nodded approvingly at the impressive weapon.

Bear looked Mason and nodded towards Trish’s weapon. He said, “You see that? You didn’t have enough imagination to ask for something like that? A lot of good that weed whacker’s going to do you against any of the beasts.”

“Yeah, well a lot of good that gun’s going to do you against a ghost.”

Bear looked like boxer, desperately waiting for the bell so he could rush in and started hitting someone, but his puffed out chest slowly deflated. His shoulders slumped as if someone had let the air out of him. Mason had made a point. Nobody wanted to face a ghost. I didn’t say anything about my amulet.

Bear sighed and said, “Alright. Let’s see what we got in our goodie bags.”

He reached into the pocket of his parka a produced two small objects.

“Matches,” he said. “And a compass.”

“And a canteen,” Marine added, pointing to Bear’s other hip opposite of the holstered gun.

“Yeah,” Bear grumbled. “One canteen.”

I was next. “One water bottle, one energy bar, and a lighter.”

Marine: “Flashlight, canteen, beef jerky.”

Mason was looking around. His eyes scanned the surrounding tree lines.

Bear said, “Let’s hear it.”

“Um,” Mason said, “Canteen, food packets, med kit, and a map.”

“A map?” Several people said it at once.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Let’s see it,” Bear said, extending his hand.

“Not yet,” Mason said. “What about Trish?”

We looked at Trish.

“Nylon rope, blanket, a pocket knife, and an energy bar.”

We all looked back at Mason.

“Let’s see that map,” Bear said. “Hand it over.”

“No.”

“I don’t think you understand me.” Bear’s gun was instantly in his hand. He pointed it at Mason’s face and said, “Hand it over. And the food too.”

“Wait,” I said, “If we all just ...”

“Shut up!”

I’m with a bunch of thugs and psychos, I thought. We’re never going to survive this thing.

Back in the day, when the show first started, all of the Runners got the same supplies. Everyone got food, water, a flashlight, and a knife. Now, the producers scatter the supplies. The shortages cause conflict. That’s what the producers want. They want us fighting over the limited resources.

Bear said, “Give it me! This is your last warning!”

“Drop it. Now.”

It was Marine.

“Oh, you want some?”

The gun was now pointed at Marine’s chest. Marine held both of his hands close together in front of him. His fingers flared out like curtains peeling back to reveal a stage. Inside his hands was an object that looked like a metal lemon.

I took a step back.

“That’s right,” he said. “Grenade. Put the gun down, or I pull the pin on this fucker and make this the shortest Monster Gauntlet episode ever.”

Bear didn’t budge. Marine continued, “Do you really think I’d just pick a knife? Believe me, if I’m going down, I’m taking my enemy with me.”

“Grenade. Nice,” said Bear. “You know, that’s meant to be thrown, not held, you idiot.”

“If you’re afraid of death, you’re in the wrong contest.”

This was getting out of hand. The boy were measuring their manhoods and we were all going to get hurt. I said, “Stop it. All of you. We’re not here to kill each other. That’s what the monsters are for.”

Everyone’s eyes were on me now.

“The only way we’ll survive,” I said, “is if we work together. We all need to see that map. We need to check the compass to see where we are. We need the flashlight to see everything. So are we cool? We’re running out of time.”

Marine and Bear looked each other and slowly lowered their weapons. Everyone slowly exhaled.

We looked at the map. It looked like something that could have been centuries old, from a time when map-making was equal parts artistic and informative. In the ocean, there were renditions of sea monster and the words, “Here be monsters.” That was a common thing on maps back then, when large parts of the world were unexplored and unknown. Here, however, the words had a different meaning. They were entirely true.

There were four X’s marked on the map to indicate locations where we could find shelter or supplies. There were three exits from the “preserve.” From our starting point, they looked about equally far apart. Quilled script at the bottom noted that the map was “not to scale.”

The host’s booming voice jolted us to attention.

“Time’s up,” he said.

Mason shouted at the sky, “It’s not fair!”

The voice on the God mike said, “You are not alone. You have tools. You have weapons. You must rely on your strength, ingenuity, cunning, and luck. Survival is possible, but it won’t be easy.”

“Of course not,” said Trish.

“Nothing ever is,” Bear muttered.

The voice startled us again. I could actually hear the glee in it as it said, “Are you ready, Runners? It’s time to get moving! The monsters are coming.”

“So what’s the plan?” Mason said.

We looked at the map. A circle marking our starting location was near the bottom of a long clearing with forest on either side. There was an illustration and the words “Ruined Cathedral” to the left (in the west). It required going through the woods. On our right, through a forest on the other side, was an “X” marked in the mountains labelled, “Sanctuary.”

Straight ahead, and furthest away to the north, was the image of a lake and the beautiful, hand-drawn icon of a castle on a peninsula jutting into a large lake. There was another site marked “Watchtower” near the castle.

I looked around. We were in a field fenced in by forest walls with towering mountains looming behind them. Straight ahead a vast open valley and mountains in the distance. The lake was too far away to see.

“Sanctuary sounds good,” said Trish.

“We don’t want to go through the forest,” said Marine. He was smart.

“The cathedral?” said Mason.

“No,” I said. “I can almost guarantee there will be witches there tonight.”

“How?” said Marine.

“Scottish legend. Trust me on this one. Plus, it’s a church, right? There will be a graveyard beside it, and we don’t want to go near that.”

Everyone seemed to agree.

“If you know so much about Scotland, what do you suggest we do?” Bear grumbled.

“We don’t want to go into the woods. We don’t want to go over any bridges. We don’t want to go near water.”

“So what’s left?” said Trish.

Everybody was looking at me. I knew Scottish folklore and now everybody was looking to me for direction. I made my best guess and said, “We head for the castle. Castles are places of safety. It’s near one of the exits that will open up in the morning, and we can hole up there for the night.”

“It’s the furthest away,” complained Mason.

I said, “We don’t want to be outside when it gets dark.”

“The castle will have ghosts,” said Trish.

I didn’t tell anyone that I wasn’t worried about that.

Marine backed me up. He said, “Who knows what’s there? But look at that weapons and supply stash! We’re going to want that food.”