The Benders (28 page)

We are marched into a large room with high ceilings and tall windows. The only view behind them is the concrete wall surrounding the compound, but for some reason, the brightness of the room eases my mind a little. In the center of the space is a large wooden table, flanked on either side by two smaller tables. Plates, cups, and silverware are set at intervals in front of long benches. In the center of each table, arrangements of cut wildflowers and sprigs of cactus are arranged at pleasing angles. All very fancy. All for us?

“Sit,” the guard says, pointing to two spots right of center at the big table.

Nada and I do as we’re told, hands in laps. I’m afraid to touch anything for fear of knocking over crystal glasses or messing up the center piece. Nada flicks me a look and I shrug.

More guards appear with Mister and his partner in tow. When Mister sits down, the glasses tremble. He huffs, flaring huge nostrils. My hate for him is, at once, fierce and overwhelming. Make him uncomfortable. Then stick him in that torture device while you’re at it.

Mister’s partner from the games sits on the far left, though I haven’t learned his name. He’s huge with angry black eyes and hands like dinner plates.

Two lines of Merek’s entourage, or rather his court, file in. His wives sit at one table with their staff. Auntie walks in with a baby in her arms. When her eyes fall on me, her face lights up, but then drops again as she realizes I’ll be forced into another challenge. I offer her a smile, which seems to wipe some of the worry off her face, but not much.

The announcer scurries in a side door, wearing his ornate jacket and feathered hat. He clears his throat and begins. “Ladies, gentlemen and benders, please rise for Lord Merek.”

We stand and turn our eyes to the door. Lord Merek strolls in, nodding to his wives (I count seven) and his men, before coming to sit at our table.

My heart pounds. I drop my eyes to my plate as he stops and sits right across from me.

Oh my God.

“Please sit,” Lord Merek says in his high-pitched voice.

I sit, trying not to look up, not to do anything that might draw attention. Beside me, Nada is stiff as a petrified cactus. I place my hands on either side of my empty plate and focus on breathing. If I do something to offend him, I’ll be disqualified. Worse, I’ll probably be beheaded.

Breathe
, I think.
Calm
.

“So,” Lord Merek says, “our four remaining champions.”

My eyes flick up and meet Lord Merek’s. I draw them down instantly.

“Yes sir,” I mumble.

“I don’t know you,” he says. “Look at me.”

I lift my eyes. He’s staring, scrutinizing my face. I hold still and try to remember my breathing. Up close like this, I can see the crow’s feet around his eyes and wrinkles lining his bare forehead. The clumps of powder mixed with sweat at the collar of his jacket. I wonder if he’ll see through my disguise and know I’m a girl. I wonder if he would even care at this point. He’s entertained either way.

“Where are you from?” He peers at me.

I shift uncomfortably. “North.”

“Hmm,” he says, “and you’re tiny like this one.” He looks over at Nada. “Our little lion.” Merek smiles. “It was good that we put you back in the games, little one. The guards have started calling you the Chihuahua.”

“They can call me the victor,” Nada says, staring at Merek unflinchingly, “when I win.”

Merek laughs, slapping the table. “Yes, yes. You’re so spunky.” He reaches out and pinches Nada’s swollen cheek. I can see on her face that she’s thinking of biting his hand.

“Now, Mister here,” he says, sweeping a gloved hand toward the hulking form at my left. “We knew you’d be a champion. What do you think of your competition?”

Mister snorts. “What competition?”

Merek chuckles again. “Very good. Very good. Four excellent candidates. You’ll see that my men have concocted something very spectacular for this evening’s engagement. I’m excited. Are you excited?”

I stare up at his face, lit up like a child who’s found a present in his lap. Does he really think we should be excited at the prospect of being murdered? He watches for an answer, but I have none to give. I cannot understand this man.

“I’m excited to win and be rid of this place,” Nada says, pushing up to stand.

Merek frowns. He sets down his wine goblet and looks at Nada. “Sit down, you filthy bender.”

“You call me filthy?” Nada asks through her teeth. “I know what you do to your wives.”

Merek’s face contorts with a slow-burning anger as he stands. “What did you just say?”

Nada turns and bolts from the room.

Merek, looking furious, points a finger toward the hallway where Nada just disappeared. “Get her.”

The guards jump to it. I’m watching, terrified for Nada, when someone grabs my wrist. I flinch and look up.

Merek stares at the ankh brand, the cross with the oval head burned into the underside of my wrist. I want to yank my arm away, but it’s too late. He’s seen it.

“What’s this? The Breeders’ mark?” His eyes search my face.

My blood runs cold. A lie tumbles out before I can think. “I worked as a janitor at the hospital. They branded all of us.”

Merek’s eyes move from the brand up to my face. I can tell from his furrowed brow he’s not sure if he believes me. “I see,” he says slowly.

He lets go of my hand and I pull my sleeve down. Beneath the fabric the skin there seems to burn. I’ve been so careless. Dammit.

Lord Merek, still watching me, calls one of his guards over. I’m done for. I gnaw my lip. Should I run like Nada?

Sounds of a commotion erupt from the hallway, grunts and a cry. I swivel toward the dark hall where a guard is running in. “Lord Merek, could you come out here, sir?” he puffs.

Merek leaves his seat, seeming to forget about me. The remaining three victors are handed a chicken drumstick and a bread roll and escorted out of the dining hall. As we walk back to the barracks, I keep looking for Nada.

I never see her.

I watch the sun slink across the sky from my bunk, a great weight settling on me. I think of my dead comrades, my dead family. I think of Clay, Ethan, and Auntie. Mostly I think of Nada and those cries I heard echoing from the hallway. We have to compete tonight doing God knows what. Will they let her enter? Is she even alive?

I spend some time mulling over the many awful ways they might torture us tonight—snakes, that torture rack, a human chess game—but I give it up. No sense in imagining terrible ends to my life. As Auntie would say,
No sense in poking the pie before it’s cooled.

Mister lays on a bunk somewhere. His partner, too, Garrit. There are guards stationed around to make sure none of us attempt to remove the other from competition. No worries there. We’re all too terrified to move at this point.

I keep thinking Doc will come in and give us one last pep talk, but he never shows.

“Time to go,” a guard finally calls.

I push up with shaking legs. The terror is so big I’m afraid I won’t be able to walk, but I do. I walk. Mister walks. Garrit walks. We walk across the square and get into Jeeps, Mister and Garrit in the back of one and me in the other. Then they drive us through the desert. I stare out at the swirling tail of dust that blots out the compound. Maybe I’ll never see it again.

The rocking of the Jeep lulls me into quiet thought, so I almost miss the driver of the Jeep saying my name. I look into the rearview. “Doc?”

“We don’t have much time,” he says. “You need to watch out for Mister. I overheard two guards talking. Merek’s betting big money on Mister. I guess Merek told him if he wins, he’ll move Mister up to one of his body guards. That means a free life with wages, status. It’s the chance of a lifetime.” Doc raises his eyebrows as he glances in the rearview. “Mister will try to kill you.”

“What’s new?” I say, trying to sound light, but feeling sick.

Doc turns the steering wheel and the Jeep veers right. A huge cluster of people stand off in the distance. I want to tell Doc to keep driving, just gun it and peel off into the sunset, but I know he won’t leave Nada. Is Nada even alive? What did they do to her?

“There’s something else,” Doc says, slowing down. The other Jeep has already pulled up to the crowd.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Lord Merek’s birthday is April 4
^th
, 2087.”

I frown. “Why do I need to know that?”

“I don’t know, but Ulrick, the announcer, was asking someone at dinner.” He sighs as he looks out at the crowd. “I wish I could help you more.”

Get me out of here
, I think, but he’s already exited the Jeep.

I stare out at the crowd, wishing to God someone would save me. Rescue me from whatever awaits. No one does and I force my shaking hand to pull the handle.

We step out to a crowd of onlookers ringed around something in the dust. Everyone is here—the benders, the guards, the few female attendants. Lord Merek is seated on the wooden platform with his wives. My eyes scan the very bare landscape, scrub grass, weeds, cactus, and dirt. Off to one side is a mechanical digging machine, with a long, angled arm and huge bucket. Will we be forced to use that for something? To dig our own graves?

We’re waved out of the Jeeps and the three of us walk toward the crowd. It parts and I see what they’re clustered around—a giant pit dug into the hardpan. When we get to the edge, I stare down.

The pit is twelve feet down and one hundred feet across, the size of a small gymnasium. In the center, four swords in various states of decay are stabbed into the dirt. Other items—a dented shield, a rusty helmet, one metal glove, a wooden folding chair, a broken spear—lie around the circle. Beside me, Mister snorts, a smile flaring on his face. Hand-to-hand combat.

A knot clenches around my gut. They mentioned it before, but I’d hoped they’d changed their minds. This is the worst possible scenario.

But I’m wrong. A Jeep backs up to the hole with cages strapped to the back. Guards lower their whining, yapping freight into the pit. I cringe as cages
thunk
into the pit’s hardpan. One guard jumps in and goes around unlatching all the crates, running like mad as coyotes burst forth. When the last animal is freed—five bags of fur with sharp canines and hungry eyes—the guard scampers onto one of the cages with a coyote on his heels. Looking down, the crowd laughs and points for a while as the guard barely manages to fend off the dogs. Finally, one of his comrades pulls him out of the pit. Then they draw the cages back up. The coyotes leap at the edge of the pit, snapping.

Oh God. Oh God.

“Lords and ladies. Contestants. We have come to the final birthday game!”

Cheers from the guards, the wives. The benders stand stone-faced. I find Doc in the crowd. His worried eyes bring me no comfort.

“We have four contestants tonight, all ready to win our glorious prize.”

Four? My eyes scan the crowd. Being pushed through, a small hunched form stumbles up to the pit limping. Nada. She’s been beaten. The black eye and split lip are one thing. The arm around her waist that suggests broken ribs and the hobbled walk are another. I run to her and grip her shoulders.

“Oh my God, Nada, what did they do to you?”

She lifts her cracked lips in a smile. “They were worried I would win too easily.” Tears pool in her eyes. She drops her head and won’t look up at me.

A sob is catches in my throat. But there isn’t time to be furious. There isn’t time for anything as they shove us toward the pit. The crowd is churning around us. There’s too much dust and Nada slips from my hands and all I can see, all I can hear is the pit. The pit. The pit. The pit.

Then they push us in.

“Wake up. Clay, wake up.”

The voice floats like a kite just outside my consciousness. Someone’s callin’ me, but I can’t for the life of me figure out who.

“He’s not waking up,” the voice says again. It’s a small voice filled with fear.

“Well, I told you I only
assisted
in these things,” says another voice. Female and pouty.

I focus on the voices, try to go toward them, but really, there’s no movement where I am. No up or down. I’m in a black fog. My head, if it really is my head, feels like a throbbin’ cotton heart. I try to locate the rest of my body and fail.

“Do something,” the little voice says.

“Fine,” says the female voice.

A burnin’ rushes through me hotter’n any brush fire. My eyes fling open and I sit up.

Two faces watch me, eyes wide, mouths open. A girl and a boy. Both look… familiar.

“Clay,” the boy says, leaning toward me. “You okay? Can you talk?”

I open my mouth, not really sure how to answer him. Can I talk? “Who…are you?”

His face falls. He looks at the girl. “I thought you fixed him!” He slams his fist into his leg and looks like he’ll cry.

Her face wrinkles with frustration. “How can you expect me to work miracles? I’m just an
assistant
!” She screams this last word, her face flush and red like a swelled apple.

I’m still tryin’ to figure out where I am. Light from a window streams in, lined by metal bars near my bed. Clean white sheets cover me, but a spot of blood near my arm draws my eye. Did they…do something to me?

A boom rattles the whole room and both the boy and the girl look to the window and then to each other. Sirens go off outside. The girl’s hand goes around the boy’s arm.

“What do we do?” he asks her.

She presses her lips together and opens them with a poppin’ sound. “We can’t stay here. They’ll kill us.”

I lean forward. My throbbin’ heart-head beats like a drum. “Who’ll kill us?”

Her eyes flick to me. “Can you walk?”

“How should I know?” I say, lookin’ at the two white lumps under the blanket.

She pulls back the sheet and hands me a pair of denim pants. “I guess we’ll find out. Get dressed.”

But she has to help me because my legs and arms are weak and don’t respond to my orders. She pulls on my pants, a shirt, and stiff shoes all while the deep booms rattle the house and make the little boy more and more nervous. I want to comfort him, but I can barely operate my limbs and a strange lady is zippin’ up my fly.