The Headhunters Race (Headhunters #1) (23 page)

“You ready to get Gavin back?” McCoy says, grinning. “This is what you’ve been waiting for.”

I gasp. I hadn’t counted on having to fight cannibals. “Not exactly,” I say, pushing myself up. I slide my knife free from its sheath. McCoy hands me his spear. He swipes the air with his machete, back and forth, up and down, testing its weight.

Jim raises his brows. “What are we waiting for?” he says, looking fired up for a battle. “Time for payback.”

Thank goodness Jim is back! He doesn’t wait for us. He surges ahead, his arm raised, pumping the air with his knife. For a forty-something-year-old man, he can run.

McCoy and I chase after him. I’m not sure we have time to fight a band of cannibals when there’s so little time left, but the thought of losing Gavin when we’re this close to finishing is enough to convince me it’s the right thing to do.

When I hear Gavin scream like a girl, my legs pump even faster. I can’t have them killing him before I get the chance to speak my thoughts to his murderous face. We come upon them sooner than I expected, right at the base of Bitter Mountain. Two of the cannibals have Gavin cornered against a rock outcropping. The other two are wrestling the Brit Devil, but when one of the cannibals sees us, his focus changes. Jim takes him on, easily overpowering the skinny, leather-clad cannibal that has nothing on Jim.

Gavin is cowering under the tips of the spears that are threatening his face. I see one of the cannibals fumbling with his vial of prickers. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that carrying Gavin the rest of the way back to Water Junction is going to slow us down. I weigh my options and the only choice I’m left with is taking out the pricker cannibal first. I retrieve my cannibal knife while I sprint ahead. I’m getting the knife into position when McCoy charges in, stepping in my way just as I’m about to release my blade.

I’m grateful I didn’t let go. McCoy tackles the cannibal with the vial and I’m hoping he doesn’t get stuck with the toxin. They hit the ground, McCoy on top, wresting the man’s hand away from his body. The other cannibal goes after McCoy, spear thrust forward, rage seething from his face. I take aim and a breath and thrust my knife at him. The cannibal stiffens and reaches for his neck, blood gushing out like a waterfall. He falls dead to the ground.

McCoy finishes off the other with a spear to the belly. He retrieves both of the cannibal’s knives and shoves them inside the sheaths at his waistband before he grabs Gavin and drags him over to me. “Keep an eye on him.”

I nod and go over to the body to retrieve the cannibal knife. I might need it. After all, we’ve still got King to face. By the time I get it cleaned off, Jim and McCoy have finished the other two, but not before the Brit Devil got a taste of the toxin.

We don’t waste a minute. There’s no telling how many minutes we’ve got left. But it can’t be many because the sun is almost directly overhead. We start the hike up Bitter Mountain. McCoy keeps close eyes on Gavin and the thought of him wanting Gavin for himself forces itself into my brain again. I argue with myself over his intentions. What if he’s been playing me all this time? What if we get there and McCoy claims Gavin for himself?

The truth of it is there are two chances at freedom and two here that can claim it. I glance in Jim’s direction, contemplating what’s running through his head. Will he be happy with the leisure prison? What if he and McCoy are both planning to use me and Gavin?

They could.

They might.

I won’t let them. I sidestep my way closer to Gavin, smiling at McCoy when he looks at me. He reciprocates with a grin so genuinely sweet that I rethink my distrust of him. I want to believe he cares for me. That he wouldn’t double-cross me when he knows how much I want this. I just wish there was a way to be sure.

At the top of the ridge everyone takes a quick breather. Each of us is weary, overtaxed, underfed, and so exhausted we could probably sleep for days. We’re so close now I don’t even bother to drink any water. From this vantage point I can see Water Junction. It’s within our grasp. I reach for my collar. I can’t wait to get it off. It’s already too tight and if it clicks one more time I’m dead. I pull off the flannel wrapped around it, just in case. I see McCoy do the same.

McCoy steps beside me. “You’re almost there.”

“Yes. Almost,” I say, and when I look at him my heart begins to split. If things go the way I plan, I’ll be free and he’ll be sent to the leisure prison. But I have a plan and I won’t let him stay there.

Jim urges us to keep moving. I’m so pumped I get to the bottom of the hill first. I start to wonder all kinds of things as I head for the trail, like if the townspeople are waiting for us to arrive. How many prisoners have finished the race and had their collars removed? How many of them are already enjoying the leisure prison?

My mind has been spinning so fast that I’m stunned when I realize we’re already halfway down the trail that leads into town. But more than that, I’m amazed to see there really are townspeople waiting. There may only be ten or so, but there are people nonetheless.
Good,
I think. I want them to hear what I have to say to Gavin and King.

The few citizens that have come out stare at us as we cruise down the roped-off section of the trail that leads to the platform. I’m certain we only have minutes to spare and when I don’t see King, I start to sweat. McCoy and Jim and I glance at each other and all I can think is that King better get here soon. There’s no telling when our collars will click.

The townspeople stare, like they’re in utter shock that I made it back. Finally, a man runs off yelling for someone to get King, like he just realized this is the final day of the race.

“About time,” I mumble under my breath. When we reach the platform, we climb the steps and wait on top. I want the whole town to see me when I speak. I’m looking into the crowd to see if I recognize anyone when two men with rifles run toward us. King lags behind them, puffing on a cigarette like there’s no rush.

More people gather round like ants hearing the news of a picnic. King takes his time, walking up the steps of the platform as if our being here is too much trouble for him. King faces me, the riflemen on either side of him. I spot the key dangling on a chain around his neck. Just seeing it fills me with relief.

“Well, well, well,” says King, shaking his head. “I am astounded that you made it back, Avene. And your friends, too. You’re the first, you know.”

I gasp. How can we be the first prisoners to return? I start to say something and then I realize why. The cannibals. No one else knew about Boom’s special trail.

“Now who is this?” King asks, looking Gavin up and down and eyeing him with suspicion. “I don’t recognize you. What did I send you to prison for, son?”

Before anyone can answer, Jim’s collar tightens. He starts gagging and gasping and holding on to his neck, looking at all of us in desperation.

“Oh, looks like one of your friends isn’t going to make it,” King says.

I take a step forward, my blood racing. One of the guards points his gun at me. “We finished the race,” I say through gritted teeth. “Unlock us.”

The crowd grows larger. The murmurs swell.

McCoy grunts and I whirl to see why. He’s choking, being strangled by his collar, and I start to panic. I turn back to King. “Unlock us now!” I scream it, horrified that King would stand there and watch us all die. “We’ve brought Gavin. This is Gavin!” I say, pushing Gavin toward him.

King picks up Gavin’s hand, inspecting the scar he gave him years ago. When he drops Gavin’s hand he whirls him around, yanks down the collar of his shirt, and studies his shoulder blade. He steps back between his guards, shaking his head again. “No, Avene. This isn’t Gavin. Looks like you’ve been fooled.”

My mouth drops as a collective sigh erupts from the crowd. But right now I don’t have time to argue about whether this is Gavin or not. Jim is flat on the ground, with little life left. McCoy drops to his knees, still grasping at his collar. “We finished your race! Unlock us!” I scream again.

“Not going to happen, Avene.”

I glance at McCoy. I can’t lose him, but I don’t know what I can do. I can’t win, even though I’ve done exactly what was required for the race. But McCoy can. “He brought me in,” I say, pointing to McCoy. “Now unlock him. He wins. He’s the winner of his freedom!”

“No. I don’t think so,” says King, stomping out his cigarette. “This kid rubbed me the wrong way when he came to town. I’m afraid I have to disqualify him.”

I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe King won’t unlock any of us. We did what he wanted. What’s wrong with him? Why aren’t the townspeople saying anything? Then I remember the money. I wrench the Millers Creek money from my pocket, all wadded up in my hand, and shove it toward King. “Here’s your proof. We went to Millers Creek. All three of us.”

King laughs. “You don’t get it, do you, Avene? You weren’t supposed to make it back.”

“But we made it back! You said you’d unlock the prisoners that came back with proof. You said we’d be upgraded to the leisure prison. Are you going back on your word?”

King grins, nodding. “Yes. I guess you could say that’s what I’m doing. You’re a mother killer, Avene.”

This isn’t happening to me. The money slips through my fingers, withering to the ground like leaves in the beginning of autumn. Verla comes to me then, just as my own collar tightens around my throat.
You’ll know it’s time to give up. It’ll be when you’re backed into a corner and there’s no one to help and not a damn thing you can do to save yourself. That’s when you pray for forgiveness, in the last seconds you have, before you lose your chance for that too.

I turn to McCoy, kneeling down in front of him so we are face to face. He’s dying. It’s not right. He’s always helping me and I can’t help him. Tears spill from my eyes, streaming down my face. He takes my shoulders with what little strength he has.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper and I touch my lips to his, me gasping for breath, him wheezing. I rest my head in the crook of his shoulder and see that his knives are still in his waistband and I know at that moment Verla isn’t right. She doesn’t know everything. I have to think for myself. I’m a fighter. It’s not time to give up.

I withdraw McCoy’s knives and before I know how I’ve done it, I’m in a standing position, throwing my arms across each other for better aim before I release the knives at each rifleman. The blades find their mark in each man’s throat, blood spilling everywhere, sometimes sputtering from their wounds. Their rifles clatter to the floor, one after the other. The second rifle goes off when it bounces off the platform, sending the crowd scrambling for cover. And before King’s two guards have hit the floor, I send my cannibal blade into King’s despicable heart.

It’s hard to breathe. Air comes in desperate gasps but somehow I snap the chain with the key from King’s neck and turn to unlock McCoy. I don’t even take a step before something snags a chunk of my hair and I’m yanked backwards. “We … made … a deal … with the … can,” King whispers in my ear. My mind cannot process the rants of a dying lunatic. I cannot fathom his words, so I take what strength I have left and thrust my leg back, into his gut, sending him to the ground.

The impact from the hit on my body almost finishes me. I focus on taking in air, what little I can, slowly, concentrating only on breathing. Only on McCoy. I need to get to McCoy. I need to unlock his collar. It takes effort, focus, determination for me to reach him. I’m shaky and doing everything I can to keep my hand steady, only centering on the key slot, on McCoy. I get the key inside and turn. McCoy throws off the collar, gulping in air, rubbing his neck. I think he’ll be okay.

I crawl toward Jim, but he’s already dead. He’s with Martha. I fall on my face. I’m only getting wisps now, not enough to live, not enough to keep my mind working properly, but enough to know I’ve helped McCoy. I hope it makes up for all the kind things he did for me. For all the times he watched over me.

The sky closes in, getting darker, blackness spreads across my vision until all I see is a narrow tunnel that keeps getting smaller and smaller and smaller.
Just breathe,
I tell myself, and I breathe … in … in … out …