Monster Gauntlet Page 2

  I smiled. The weather was beautiful and everyone, while opinionated, was respectful, or at least of afraid of the armored police. Almost everyone was well-behaved and seemed to be having fun. That was about to change.

  The problems, at least at my part of the parade, started right in front of me. I was midway down The Mall when it happened. The atheists were marching in a group ahead of ours. Some people on the sidelines started shouting at them, calling them all types of names. I heard things like, “You’re violating my religious freedom!” and “How dare you say my God isn’t real!” There were lots of fanatics shouting, “You’re going to Hell!”

  So many people were involved it was hard for the cops to identify who the troublemakers were. Then people started throwing things.

  The sense of peace and the fascination I had quickly turned to terror. The atheists and members of the crowd clashed like Highland clansman on a medieval Scottish battlefield. I could see the crowd closing in up ahead like the parted Red Sea in the Bible collapsing in on the Egyptians. The atheists, gays, and Monster Gauntlet fans were attacked by the crowd fueled by religious ferocity.

  People shouted behind us. The Monster Gauntlet fans greatly outnumbered the protesters, and the whole thing quickly became a free-for-all.

  Then the women were attacked.

  The police scurried in like an infestation of black beetles, arresting anyone they could lay their hands on, parade participant and spectator alike, just to get them off the street.

  I instinctively looked for Alysh.

  “Hey Blue Hair! Turn around! You’re under arrest!”

  It took me a second to register that somebody might be talking to me. I turned around.

  A cop stood about four meters away. She was short and thick. She stood with her legs apart as if she were practicing shooting at gun range. My eyes focused on the metal can in her hands.

  “That’s right, bitch,” she said. “Get down on the ground! NOW!”

  I froze. Then a blurry shape collided with the cop. The next thing I saw was a tangled human mass on the ground as the cop struggling with a random person. Knocked from her hand, her weapon skidded towards me and stopped at my feet as if fate had meant me to have it. I picked it up.

  I turned to find Alysh. I spotted her signature red hair and was horrified by what I saw. A massive man (even taller than Alysh) in a police uniform seized her forearm and was attempting to twist it to bring her into submission. Tall and strong and versed in self-defense, Alysh managed to break out the man’s grip. He responded by tackling her, rugby-style. Somehow, Alysh managed to get her feet. So did the cop. Alysh turned to run. Her eyes met mine as the cop grabbed her hair. He snapped his arm as if cracking a whip. Alysh went down. I actually saw her head bounce off of the asphalt. There was a sickening sound like an egg cracking. Then the man piled on top of her.

  Suddenly, I was on my way to the ground. I shouted out in surprised. I felt like I’d been hit from behind by a car. Pain pierced my side. I rolled on to my back and the woman cop mounted me. She raised her armored fist to smash it down on my face.

  Remarkably, I hadn’t dropped her pepper spray in the fall. I whipped my arm up, held the can in front of her face (underneath the protective half-shield) and unloaded the spray directly into her eyes, nose, and mouth. She would have screamed if sound could have come out of her mouth. Her body slumped off mine. She writhed and rolled around in pain. Remarkably still willing to fight, she drew her yellow plastic Taser pistol with a shaking hand.

  As she raised it, I stepped aside and sprayed the rest of the spray in her face. Then I dropped the can and twisted the Taser out of her hand.

  I turned to find Alysh. Then I saw him - the man who had attacked her. Even in the armor, the cop was recognizable, like some type of giant. He looked at me and I could see the hate in his eyes. This riot had triggered something in him, in all the cops, and in the crowd. He started coming towards me. He raised a club over his head. I could make out some debris on it, a combination of blood and human hair.

  “You!” he shouted. “You’re ...”

  The Taser darts hit him squarely in the chest. He started shaking uncontrollably. The bloody club fell from his fist. He dropped to his knees and fell to the ground like a tall tree crashing down in forest.

  I can’t really say what possessed me to do what I did next. Maybe it was the sight of all the violence. Maybe it was the fear that he would recover and come after me. Like the woman cop, I was sure he would fight to the end. He would fight to win and never give up. That was his job, and his authority had removed any fear of consequences. Mostly, I was thinking of Alysh. I didn’t see her, but I thought I saw blood on the spot where she had been.

  That was the trigger. It was like I was on autopilot. This whole situation felt like a nightmare that wasn’t really happening, so while the thug cop was lying on the ground, convulsing, I swung my foot back and then forward, kicking him in the teeth. I actually felt my foot crunch through as it crashed deeper into his mouth.

  I stood there, looking at what I’d done with a strange combination of horror, awe, and satisfaction. Suddenly, the street beneath my feet seemed to be an upright wall I was leaning against. White light flashed in front of my eyes as if someone had taken a photo of my face. The whole world turned sideways, and my vision and consciousness went black.

  3

  I woke up in jail, of course, even though I don’t remember being arrested. I was on a hard hospital bed, handcuffed to the rail. The right side of my face was fractured. It had the color and tenderness of a purple plum.

  I was not allowed a phone call or counsel because of the “special circumstances of my crimes.”

  My face slowly turned pink and then back to normal as I waited for weeks for sentencing. But instead of going to court, I was then taken to another prison at a secret location. I was blindfolded so I never saw the outside of the building or where it was. All I could see out the window were patches of cloudy skies and frequent rain, which told me I was still in England.

  Several times a day, I was allowed to go to a small, paved, inner courtyard. The courtyard was surrounded on four sides by high walls with small windows. I really enjoyed my time in the courtyard. I liked looking up at the patch of open sky above it.

  Walking was good. It was healthy and it was free. It also was the prison’s answer to almost everything. Depressed? Walk. Stressed? Walk. That exercise worked remarkably well for those ailments. Internal bleeding? Not so much.

  I didn’t know anything about what was going on in the world anymore. My access to information was severely limited. I wasn’t allowed visitors. That included my parents.

  One day, guards came and demanded I put my hands through the slot in the door. They cuffed me while there was still a closed door between us.

  Oh great, I thought. Another inspection.

  But it wasn’t another inspection. I had a visitor.

  I was led to room. Inside were two simple chairs and a metal table. A good-looking man in a suit stood next to the table. When he saw me, he smiled and extended his hand. I looked at him suspiciously, and then at the guard. The guard remained expressionless. Apparently, extending my arms and touching the man’s hand was allowed. We shook hands.

  “Moira MacMillan. Please, sit.”

  He gestured towards one of the metal chairs. I looked at it and guard shoved me towards it. I sat.

  The chair must have been aluminum. It was light-weight and I slightly cringed at the hollow sound it made as it dragged across the floor.

  “Ms. MacMillan, may I call you Moira? My name is Sterling. MI5.”

  MI5 – The Security Service. Great.

  “OK,” I said, wondering what this was all about.

  “Moira, do you know why I’m here?”

  “I have no idea,” I said truthfully.

  “How much do you know about what’s been going on in the world lately?”

  “Nothing, really. Why?”

  Sterling looked s
erious. He collected himself like he was about to give a prepared speech.

  “Moira, I’m here because I need your help. After the incident in St. James Park, there were ... problems.”

  “Problems?

  Sterling cleared his throat and said, “Riots. People attacking police. People distrusting their own government. People burning cars, as if this country were France or something. Disgraceful.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “We want you to go on national television, apologize, and issue a statement calling for peace.”

  What? I asked the obvious question. “Why me?”

  Sterling shifted in his chair and his eyes glanced away from mine. Then he sighed and said, “Everything you do in public is recorded these days. Any time you’re in public, you’re on camera. That’s true anywhere, but especially here in England. Let’s just say you were ... recognizable in footage from the riot.”

  Recognizable? What did that mean? I must have been “recognizable” from my blue hair. But why would anyone care?

  Then it hit me. Because I fought the cops.

  People must have been shocked by the police brutality. My fighting back must have gotten attention. Did it spark riots?

  “Do you understand what I’m saying?” Sterling said sternly like a teacher talking to a child.

  “No.” Again I asked, “Why me?”

  Sterling sighed and said, “Because people want to hear from you. You have a certain amount of ... attention ... now. People will listen to you. You can call for peace.”

  “Call for peace. That’s it?”

  “Yes,” Sterling said. “Apologize and call for peace.” He smiled like an insincere salesman.

  “Apologize? Call for peace? Why would I want to do that?”

  Sterling’s face fell. He smacked his hand loudly on the metal table. It startled me badly. In my fantasy-inspired mind, I saw him as a real-life werewolf. His human disguise was splitting, and I was starting to see the beast underneath.

  “Look!” he shouted. “I don’t think you appreciate the situation here. You’re a terrorist! You have no rights! We have footage of you assaulting two peace officers!”

  Peace officers?

  “You know how seriously the state takes assault on government officials and police, don’t you? That’s a capital crime. Right now, you’re looking at the death penalty. We could commute it to life, but we’re going to do even better.”

  “Even better?” I echoed.

  Sterling leaned back in his chair and said, “Twenty-five years.”

  “Twenty-five years?”

  “That’s right. Beats the death penalty, doesn’t it? Look. You’re young. You do this for us, and we do this for you, and you get out while you’re still in your forties.”

  We stared at each other in silence. Finally, I said, “I don’t think that’s your call. You’re not a judge or a prosecutor. If you have a revolution on your hands, that’s your problem.”

  Sterling stared at me, and then banged both fists on the table. I was prepared for it and was less startled this time.

  “Angus Fowler and Sarah Finn.”

  “Huh?”

  “The officers you assaulted. You don’t even know their names? You put both of them in the hospital. All this time and you’ve never asked anyone how they are.”

  “They belong in jail,” I said flatly.

  Sterling eased back in his chair. His hardened face slowly melted into a creepy smile. We had crossed a line. He understood that I wasn’t going to comply, so his work was done. He could relax now.

  “You’re just like every other criminal. You don’t care about the rule of law. You don’t care about society. You don’t care about other people. All you care about is yourself.”

  He slowly got up from the table and stood tall. I’m sure it was supposed to be intimidating. He could stand while I had to sit. If I stood up, the guards would beat me down.

  “I think we’re done here,” Sterling said. “You’re a sociopath.”

  He shook his head with that maddening, knowing smile, and started to turn away.

  “What happened to Alysh?” I blurted out. Sterling’s smile fell and he had a vacant, searching look in his eyes.

  “Alysh O’Connell? My roommate? Red hair?”

  Then I said, “You don’t even know her name? She was in the march.”

  I saw something in Sterling’s eyes. They seemed to widen in recognition. He turned his back on me and started walking out the door. I got to my feet. Two men appeared on either side of me and clamped their hands around my arms. I shouted at Sterling, “So that’s it? Nothing? Who’s the sociopath now?”

  I attempted to break out of the guards’ grips but that didn’t happen. They were dragging me away when Sterling ordered them to hold me in place. He turned around and put his face uncomfortably close to mine. His eyes narrowed and his lips crept up into a sinister smile. He looked at me and said, “We’re going to put you in the Gauntlet.”

  Then he turned and walked out.

  4

  I wasn’t intimidated by Sterling’s threat. People volunteered for Monster Gauntlet. Nobody “put” them in the show.

  Still, I wasn’t too surprised by what happened a week later. The guard came around again and said, “Hands out the door. You’ve got visitors.”

  I was cuffed and led to the same room. I figured it was probably Sterling again, or some replacement the government thought would be more convincing to try to force me to make a public apology or do whatever they wanted. I was wrong.

  The door opened to the room. My eyes went immediately to a tall woman wearing shear black slacks and a form-fitting black jacket. Her long, straight, purple hair was pulled back in an ornate clip. She was beautiful, and even though I don’t watch the show, I knew who she was.

  “Vasha?”

  The woman smiled and extended her hand. “Moira MacMillan. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  I stared at her hand. I didn’t know whether to shake it or smack it away, but since a guard was standing next to me and two others were watching, I thought it best to conform to the social conventions. I shook her hand.

  “Do you know why I’m here?” she asked.

  “I have a good idea,” I said.

  “Of course,” she said, smiling. I wasn’t stupid.

  A tall man in with a shaved head stood next to Vasha. He wore a brown leather jacket and looked like he might have been about 50. His eyes were blue and I could see he was intensely interested in me. There was a sheen of outward friendliness in his eyes, yet beneath their icy surface I detected an underlying hardness. I almost dismissed him as some type of “correctional” official or something like that. Then he stepped forward and extended his hand.

  “Moira, my name is Maximilian Cain. I’m the producer of Monster Gauntlet.”

  I reluctantly shook his hand, and he said, “Let’s talk.”

  We sat. Maximilian talked while I listened.

  “Normally, we have recruiters who do this sort of thing, but this is a special case, and I wanted to meet you in person. Besides, I’m a fan.”

  “A fan?”

  “Of course,” Cain beamed. “You’re something of a celebrity, simply for fighting with the police. And you’re a woman. We don’t get many opportunities to recruit female volunteers for the show. Of course, we don’t get many people willing to take on law enforcement either.”

  There were so many things wrong with those statements I didn’t know where to begin, so I did something uncharacteristic of me: I sat there with my mouth shut.

  Cain said, “We want you for the show. You’re a fighter and you have a good chance of surviving. It’s a chance to earn your freedom.”

  “It’s a death trap,” I said coldly.

  “Not if you’re smart!” Cain said excitedly. “Most Runners think it’s about being tough, being lucky, or picking the right weapon, but they don’t see that it’s a strategy game as well. Like life, you get better r
esults when you plan your moves. Certain choices can trigger the monsters, and of course there are areas to avoid. You have to be smart. And lucky.”

  “Somehow, I don’t think that will help when there’s a werewolf chasing me.”

  “You’ll get weapons,” Vasha said. “And there are always five Runners. That increases your odds of winning.”

  Winning?

  I wasn’t sure I followed her logic. I took it that Vasha was here as a distraction. Maybe it worked with male prisoners. They would look at Vasha and think of how much they missed seeing beautiful women. They couldn’t stand the thought of being trapped in here forever with nothing like that in their lives. They would want out. They would be willing to fight. They would be willing to die for the chance. They would be ready to sign.

  Indeed, the guards seemed to be staring at her. Her charm didn’t work on me, of course. In fact, it had the opposite effect.

  “Look,” Cain said. “I know it’s a big decision. I know it’s scary. But this is a great opportunity.”

  “An opportunity to be killed.”

  “Everyone dies, Moira. We could all die at any second. Really. But the bottom line is, you’re looking at either a life sentence or the death penalty. Either way, you’re going to die in here. You don’t want that do you?”

  He was right. I didn’t.

  “We’re giving you a choice. Do you want to die on your feet, fighting, or in here, on your knees?”

  I didn’t answer. He continued.

  “If you choose to stay in here, you’ll never get to see your family again. You’ll never see Scotland. All you’ll ever see is the small yard I’m told you’re allowed to visit. Is that enough? Could you be happy with that?”

  I think I subconsciously shook my head. There was a moment of silence as he gave me time to let that sink in. Finally, I said, “So this is what it comes down to? You put me with a bunch of other prisoners in an arena and then you murder us?”