Recruits (Keeper of the Water Book 2) (36 page)

Isabella nods. “Humans have all kinds of wonderful new inventions now, including an amazing machine that can hold more information than you could imagine. Using these ‘computers’, I learned that little Lizette survived early illnesses and eventually married, had kids of her own.”

My heart swells with as much happiness as my eyes do with tears. I have so many questions I want to ask and nearly forget who’s giving me this information.

“I tracked Sacajawea’s entire bloodline all the way to its only remaining member,” Isabella says, tapping the photo in my hand.

I can’t help staring at the picture, hoping to find proof that she’s lying. But the more I look at the young woman, the more I realize she
is
my granddaughter, regardless of how distant. Isabella snatches the photo from my hand and tears it into little pieces; she may as well be doing the same to my heart.

“If you want to save her life, then follow me into the jungle right now,” Isabella orders me. “Abandon the water, abandon your post, leave this life behind and you can save your great-great-great-great-granddaughter. If not, I swear I will kill her right now, strangle her with my own two hands.”

Isabella turns and walks away before I can say another word. I’m torn about what to do and glance down at the ripped pieces of photograph scattered within the grass. My peripheral vision takes in the calming glow from the water and my soul yearns for me to become lost in the water again. But the thought of my granddaughter stops me and I turn the other way, watching Isabella gather together the other queens. I’m so busy watching her that I barely notice other Amazons that approach me.

“My Keeper, is there a problem?” Jane asks as she and my recruits stand beside me, watching Isabella standing in the center of her clan. More than ever before, our tribe is divided and now I’m certain there’s no way of reconnecting us.

“Form a wall between the Keeper and the water,” Isabella orders her clan once they’re gathered around her. The queens are hesitant at first so she provides the extra motivation. “If you don’t block the Keeper from the water then I swear you won’t be among the protected once I take over the world.”

Catherine is the first to move, raising her twin swords, ready to defend herself if any other Amazon tries to stop her. The other queens follow dutifully, even if they don’t exactly seem thrilled to do so. Without waiting for my orders, my recruits step in front of the approaching queens. I’m certain another clash is about to break out.

“Tell your peasants to back off,” Isabella commands me.

She doesn’t need to add the second part of the threat. The decision she asks me to make is impossible and I have little time to weigh the pros and cons. Ultimately I can only go with the answer my heart is telling me.

“Harriet, stop!” I tell my strongest recruit, who’s already on her way to clash with Catherine. The women turn toward me, shocked. “Let them stand where they want. Listen to what Isabella says and
nobody
start a fight.”

Isabella smiles widely, which makes me feel sick. She knows she’s won already. The former queen of Spain turns and heads into the forest.

“You better hurry up or
she’ll
pay!” she calls back to me. “And make sure your watchdogs stay where they are.”

I take a deep breath and step away from the water, slowly shifting my feet one after another. Every inch I walk farther from the water is more painful than the last, my soul crying out for me to stop.

“What are you
doin’
?” Mary asks.

“You can’t leave the water,” Amelia adds. “You
know
what will happen.”

The women are panicked but I’m losing strength too quickly to explain myself. It takes all of my energy to merely nod.

“I know,” I say breathlessly. I see my recruits eyeing the nearby Queen Clan. “Please don’t fight among each other. And don’t follow us – that’s very important.”

My recruits and the other Amazons are loyal to me to the end, remaining near the water despite knowing that I’d be changing their lives forever – and not exactly for the better – by walking away. I struggle forward, still light on my feet as I see the jungle in a whole new way. Every leaf, every drop of rain, every piece of dirt. I can see clearer and smell clearer and
feel
clearer than ever before. Since becoming Keeper, I’ve remained so close to the water that I haven’t experienced the jungle with my enhanced senses. It’s nothing short of amazing, which makes me even more depressed that it will be ending shortly.

Isabella walks so quickly that I have trouble keeping up.

“Please slow down,” I call out. “Let’s stop and think about this for a minute, think about what you want me to do.”

“Oh I
know
what I’m doing,” she calls back to me. “I’ve had five centuries to think about it. And I’m not letting
you
ruin my dreams after I’ve waited so long. Now hurry up or your granddaughter dies.”

Isabella is obviously beyond the point of reasoning, not that she and I even live in the same world anymore. Instead of asking her to slow down, I will my legs to speed up. I feel like I’ve been shot with an arrow but instead of blood draining out of me it’s my Keeper powers. The air doesn’t feel warm and inviting anymore and instead is hot and humid. Colors seem to be dulling in front of my very eyes. But the worst feeling is my waning connection with every living thing around me – insects, animals, plant life, everything that makes up Mother Earth.

I am too far away from the water to see it but I
know
it no longer glows so brightly or sparkles so brilliantly. My bond with the water is being pulled away and I’ve nearly reached the point where my role as Keeper will be completely severed. My peaceful serenity seems to suddenly explode, replaced with a burst of protective anger I’ve never felt before.

“Hurry up or I’ll make certain your granddaughter suffers before I snuff out her life,” Isabella warns through the trees ahead of me.

I have to give her
some
credit for her evil plan: every move she’s made so far has been the right one to force me away from my Keeper post. The only way she could force a takeover was to cause me to willingly walk away from the water. Until a few minutes earlier, I didn’t even
know
there was anything – or any
one
– in the entire world that would make me leave the water. But she found my weakness and exploited it to perfection. But she
does
finally make the mistake of keeping her back turned to me once I’ve left the tranquility of being Keeper.

I once vowed to work with my Amazonian sisters-in-water but one of them has now become my mortal enemy. I must protect the water at any cost. Weeks of stored energy erupt out of me. Isabella never sees what’s coming. I bolt toward her so quickly that the jungle is but a blur around me. She’s a hundred feet in front of me but I make up that distance in less than a second.

I lower my shoulder, fully intent on smashing into her and breaking her in two. But I haven’t given her enough credit for how many years she’s been honing her own senses. Though I don’t make a sound as I move, she tenses and turns her body just enough so I can’t snap her spinal cord. Still, I hit her so hard that she goes flying and bounces off a tree. The impact would’ve killed a normal person but Isabella is no normal person. I rush at her again but she quickly scrambles to her feet and rushes toward me in return.

The fight that’s been brewing for more than a century is on…

The rage that swells within my chest feels just as strong now as it did all those years ago. I want nothing more than to become lost in the memory of kicking Cassie’s ass but the skidding of motorcycle tires snaps me out of the past. I’m worried that the
squealing
means impending doom but that’s not the case. I’m shocked to see the sun in the late stages of twilight. My last memory was no longer than any of the earlier ones but I was stuck in my own mind for longer than usual.

John turns off the motorcycle and pulls off his helmet. I’m surprised to see that we’re parked directly in front of an arena.

“Snap out of it, we’re here,” John says.

The distant roar of a crowd escapes the big building and I see a flashing billboard advertising “MMA FIGHTS TONIGHT.” I glance at the area around us. The only other activity is a few drunken fans stumbling around the parking lot and an ambulance with flashing lights backing up toward the side entrance.

“What happened to Amelia and my mother?” I ask. The photograph of the young woman suddenly flashes in my mind and I feel an intense concern for my mother –
technically
my distant granddaughter.

“Haven’t seen them for hours,” John says. “Amelia tried to keep up with me at first but your mother must’ve convinced her to slow down. You weren’t complaining so I never traveled less than a hundred the whole way here. Let’s go check this out.”

“
If
they even came here,” I say. “If Jack lied about everything else, I doubt he told the truth about
this
.”

“It’s the only chance we’ve got,” he says.

We approach the entrance, where a heavily muscled man covered with tattoos blocks our way.

“Tickets?” he asks.

I don’t like the way he leers at me and I’m guessing not many people give him trouble. But I’m not most people and there’s no time to explain the situation to him. Besides, I have a feeling that being understanding isn’t one of his strong suits. He’s the only person guarding the entrance so without warning I go on the attack, dropping him with a punch-kick combo he never sees coming. He drops to the ground and a walkie-talkie clatters out of his hand. I stomp on it for good measure so he can’t call for backup.

Inside the arena holds a pretty big crowd. The smell of beer and testosterone permeates the air. The crowd is rowdy and a chorus of
boos
descends upon the two fighters in the cage, even though they’re throwing crazy punches at one another. We scan the crowd for any sight of Cassie or Celeste but it’s like looking for a needle in a haystack. Neither of us has much hope of finding them in the seats but I feel a familiar tingle in the back of my mind.

“She’s close,” I tell John. “I can sense her.”

We head in the direction of the dressing rooms, where we spot several EMTs working on a severely injured fighter. His face looks like a puffy mess and is dripping blood from several deep gashes. But that’s not nearly the worst of his injuries. His elbow is bent the wrong way and I can see the splintered bone in his forearm popping out of the skin. I’ve seen plenty of death in my years but never injuries this grotesque.

“Sucks for Caruso,” says a passing fan who glances toward the injured fighter. “But that new guy fought
awesome
.”

“Wait!” I call out to the nearby crowd of rowdy frat boys. “What was the name of the other fighter?”

Only one of the guys walks straight and has clear eyes. The rest of his friends turn toward me, making no attempt to hide their eyes from roving all over me. Someone in the back whistles while the nearest guy reaches out to touch me.

Big mistake for him.

I grab his arm and twist it behind his back so quickly that I’m not sure if I yanked his shoulder out of the socket. John steps in to help but I move too fast to need him. My reflexes take over and within seconds I’ve dropped them all except the only guy clearly not wasted.

“
What was the fighter’s name?
” I repeat.

His eyes go wide at the sight of his friends lying on the floor, moaning.

“Jack something,” he stutters. “Foster or Forcet.”

“Fawcett?” I ask.

He nods. “Yeah, that’s him. I never even heard of him before today, some young kid from Pennsylvania. The fight lasted about thirty seconds but he did so much damage to his opponent that it looks like they were in a three-round war. I’ve never seen anyone move that fast before.”

John and I look at each other and I know we’re both thinking the same thing: only someone who drank the special water could fight like that. We move on before the security guards reach the pile of groaning frat boys. We head for the backstage area, where yet another monster of a man blocks our path.

“I need to see Jack Fawcett,” I tell him.

“You’re way too pretty to be a reporter,” he says, licking his lips. “And I don’t think his mom or sister would be too happy to see a groupie.”

“Mom and sister?” John asks.

“I think we know who that is. At least both of them are still alive,” I say before turning back to the guard. “We’re getting into the back to see him. It’s just a matter of how much pain you want to endure.”

John is tall and thin – probably weighs about half as much as the guard – and I’m
just a girl
so the man makes the same mistake as the guard at the entrance and the group of drunken frat guys. This time it’s John’s turn to get his hands dirty. Seconds later, the guard is on the ground, doubled over in pain. We rush into the backstage area, reading the names of fighters handwritten on scrap paper and taped to the doors.

“Hey! You’re not supposed to be back here!” yells a small, slick-haired man in an ill-fitting suit. He rushes toward us but we pay no attention to him.

One of the last doors nearest the exit is labeled: FAUCET, JACK. My heart hammers with anticipation. John doesn’t hesitate to kick in the door of the dressing room, if it can be considered that nice. The room is tiny, not much bigger than a supply closet. Thick metal pipes run in and out of the walls. Only a pair of metal folding chairs shows that anyone could’ve been in here recently but they’re long gone. My spirit deflates.

“What do you think you’re doing back here?” the greasy man yells, his face red. “If my security guards find you, you’ll be in big – ”

I spin and grab him by the shirt, lifting his tiny frame more than a foot off the ground. His cheap shirt begins to rip so I force him against the wall to stabilize him. His eyes are wide with shock but I soon see that he’s actually impressed with my strength.

“Do you have an agent by any chance?” he asks.

“Who are you?” I demand.

“I’m the promoter of tonight’s show,” he says. “And
you
are the second-most amazing thing I’ve seen tonight. Have you ever considered stepping into the combat cage?”

“Where’s Jack?” I ask.

“The new guy? Wish I knew. He begged me for months to add him to the card; had I known he was so talented,
I
would’ve been the one begging,” the slimy promoter admits. “I wanted him to hang around and do some interviews, maybe sign up with me to fight exclusively for my promotion. But he didn’t even hang around long enough to collect his pay. The second he finished his opponent – in spectacular fashion I might add – you could tell that his mother was upset. She must not see much violence, huh?”

I can’t help but snort as he looks down at me and smiles.

“What happened after that?”

“Well, she tried dragging Jack’s sister out of here while he was still in the cage. But the girl clearly resisted,” the promoter says. “I normally don’t pay much attention to what goes on in the crowd but Jack was more focused on them than his bloody, unconscious opponent. I rushed over to talk to Jack as he left the cage but that’s when I heard him arguing with his mother. All the way back toward the dressing room she kept accusing him of… wait, you two aren’t with the athletic commission, are you? Because I’m not legally obligated to drug test
all
of my fighters if – ”

“Do we
look
like we’re from any commission?” I interrupt. “Now you were saying?”

“The milf…err, I mean, Jack’s mother – ”

“She’s
not
his mother,” I snap. I didn’t realize how much this lie bothered me until now.

“That’s what he told me to let her backstage. Anyway, the lady kept telling Jack that he must’ve taken something to fight so good. But I never heard of no steroid by the term she called it,” the promoter says.

“What term is that?” John asks.

“The water.”

I drop the sleazy promoter and he collapses to the floor. The tingle in the back of my mind is suddenly much stronger. Celeste could obviously tell that Jack wasn’t fighting and moving the way a normal man would, but Cassie still refused to leave with her.

“Where did they go?”

“Jack seemed mad – I see guys deal with adrenaline dumps all different kinds of ways after they fight. The older lady tried to take the girl away again but Jack dragged them both out the exit about twenty minutes ago,” the promoter says.

“And you didn’t try to stop them? To help the woman and her daughter?” John asks.

“The girl didn’t look like she needed much help. Besides, I’m a fight promoter, not a social worker,” he says with a chuckle.

The sleazeball disgusts me but we have much more important matters to deal with. John takes a threatening step toward the promoter but I grab his arm and pull him toward the exit.

“Come on,” I tell him. “They couldn’t have gotten far.”

We push open the door when the promoter rushes to catch up. “Hold on a second.”

“Did you remember something else? Anything about where they could’ve gone?” I ask, hoping he’s not a
total
creep and wants to help.

“About Jack? No,” he says, handing me and John a copy of his business card. “But if you find him, give him my card, tell him he can have the main event slot on my next fight card. And if either of you has an interest in fighting – ”

John and I turn and walk out, crumpling the business cards even as the promoter calls out that we’d be ‘naturals.’ I tell John about Jack’s old clunker of a car but a quick inspection of the parking lot shows no sign of it.

“Where could they have gone?” I wonder aloud, worried that Jack is taking them farther and farther away with every minute we stand around.

“If Cassie was in no rush to leave with Celeste, that just confirms that she knows who Jack really is and more importantly, who
she
really is,” John says. We’ve both assumed this for hours but hearing even more evidence takes away any hope that we were wrong. “But we still don’t know what his plans are, if he still intends to destroy the Amazons.”

“Maybe Cassie told Jack about her plans for gaining world power by using the water. She could’ve asked him to join her since she thinks you’re dead… and since you chose me over her,” I say.

John’s eyes narrow, his brow furrows, the corners of his lips turn just slightly downward. I doubt John even knows he reacted but it’s hard for me to miss.

“You don’t really think she’d replace me, do you?” he asks, unable to hide the disappointment in his voice. He’s also unable to miss the suspicious glare I shoot him. “It’s not that I care or anything. It’s just that it had been
our
plan for hundreds of years and now some guy she just met takes over my spot… not that I care.”

“Yeah, you said that already,” I tell him. “We don’t have time for that now. I have to concentrate.”

I close my eyes and reach out to the world the way I once did when I was Keeper. I don’t know what I hope to accomplish with this but it’s worth a shot – it’s not exactly like we have tons of options. At first I feel nothing and only hear the distant sound of the booing crowd. But I quickly block out that noise – block out every insignificant sound around me – and allow my mind to search for problems. I recall my time as Keeper well enough to know that this experience isn’t
nearly
the same but I
do
feel that familiar tingle of an Amazon in trouble.

Finding the words to describe the sensation is difficult but I can almost sense the recent tension. The feeling fades quickly but my legs seem to move on their own, following the trail of tension. John walks behind me in silence, knowing not to interrupt me, but it wouldn’t matter if he did. Any slight feeling I may have had quickly evaporates. When I open my eyes, I find myself halfway across the parking lot but there’s no sign of Cassie or Celeste or Jack’s car.

At least not that I see at first. I’m so frustrated at myself for losing the trail that I want to hit something. I’m about to kick some trash on the ground – a few empty beer bottles – when I think I notice the bottles arranged in a particular pattern.

“Does that look like something to you?” I ask John.

He looks confused at first but his eyes soon light up. “An arrow?”

It’s the only lead we have so we follow the direction in which the arrow is pointed. We run across the lot until we find a small section labeled ‘Fighters Only’ parking. A bunch of cars are parked in this area but there’s one spot conspicuously empty, skid marks leading away from it. Standing in the empty spot, I see which way the tire marks are headed. It’s not too hard to figure out where they drove considering a large section of the lot’s chain link fence now lays on the ground, crashed through. As if their hasty retreat isn’t enough cause for concern, I spot several small shiny spots of liquid near the parking space. I touch one with my fingertip, which comes back red.