Monster Gauntlet Read online

  “What do you think?” I replied.

  His lame smile faltered a little, then returned.

  “Surely you must be excited,” he said, totally clueless.

  Well, if excitement was the beginning of fear, then yes, I was excited.

  I just said, “Sure.”

  He smiled, as if my affirmation confirmed his belief that we were all having a good time. I was starting not to like this guy.

  We ate in silence for a while. Then I asked, “What’s this I’ve heard about betting?”

  Kent said, “You mean you don’t know?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, it’s just something a lot of people do before and during the contest. Unofficially, of course.”

  “They bet on who’s going to survive?”

  Kent almost choked on his chocolate milk. He mopped up his mouth with a napkin and suppressed his laughing.

  “Well, I guess you could bet on that,” he said. “Mostly, we bet on who is going to go first.”

  “Who is going to go?”

  “Sure. You know, who’s going to die. But don’t worry. I didn’t bet on you. I don’t think you’ll go first. Second, maybe, but not first.”

  He took another sip of his milk. It was official. I really didn’t like this guy.

  I looked around the cafeteria. It was filled mostly with MG production crew. I didn’t see any of the other Runners. I knew that was deliberate. We were kept apart on purpose. The producers didn’t want us meeting before being dumped into the arena. They didn’t want us forming alliances or making friends or enemies before the actual contest began. They wanted all that on camera at the start of the show.

  The rest of the day included more running and more weapons choices. There were miscellaneous things, like baseball balls, cans of mace, as well as bigger, one-shot deals like a bomb with a remote detonator. I still hadn’t decided what I wanted and what would make me feel safest.

  That’s really what this was all about. The weapons made people feel powerful, and that, by itself, was power. I still didn’t know what to pick.

  –––––

  One day before the show, I did a run around the track with Quinn. I was sore from working out the whole week, so Quinn said we would “go light.” I had to rest and conserve my strength. I was going to need it.

  As we were walking around the track for a cool-down, I asked, “Quinn, what should I do, you know, in the arena?”

  “You know I can’t tell you that.”

  “Right. Policy,” I said with disgust.

  “No,” she said unemotionally. “I can’t tell you because I don’t know. It’s like life. The circumstances are different for everyone. You have to decide what’s right for you.”

  “But you ... So that’s it? Nothing? No advice?”

  Quinn said, “I have a favorite quotation. ‘Beware any advice, even this.’”

  I was quiet, letting the weight of that sink in. I couldn’t argue with that logic. Finally, Quinn spoke quietly and said, “Don’t go it alone. That’s good advice for anybody, in the arena or out. Also, don’t move at night. Get to shelter before the sun sets. Hunker down, build a fire, and try to ride out the night.”

  She took a deep breath, exhaled, and said, “Of course, it’s all up to you.”

  That advice sounded pretty good, I thought, mostly because it aligned with what I was already thinking. Then she added, “Don’t pick a weapon just because it looks dangerous. Whatever weapon you pick, make sure you know how to use it.”

  –––––

  The workout ended early. Quinn explained that I was “going to meet the press.” I took a shower and got cleaned up.

  Escorted by security, as usual, Quinn took me to the studio. She led me to Vasha, who was backstage. Then Quinn left.

  I looked at Vasha. Standing next to her, I could now appreciate just how tall and pretty she really was. However, the pissed-off look on her face broke the spell that created the illusion of beauty.

  “Are you ready?” She said, staring at the door and not even looking at me.

  Ready to die? “No,” I said.

  “I mean to go on stage,” she clarified.

  “No,” I said again.

  She turned and finally looked at me in disgust.

  “We’re going on camera,” she said as if it were the most important thing in the world. “Don’t make me look bad.”

  I couldn’t believe it.

  Then she added, “Nice country, by the way. We were supposed to go to Brazil this month, you know, sending the cons into the Amazon. After they got killed in the jungle, the cast and crew would have had a week off to go to Rio to party. Then, you pulled your little stunt and everything changed. Your government called us to solve their problem. The show jumped at the chance to get the ratings. Now I’m the cold, wet, ass-end of nowhere. Thanks a lot.”

  I stood there as if someone had punched me in the face. When I snapped back to the present moment, I said, “Seriously? Are you fucking kidding me? You’re mad ... because this tragedy interrupted your vacation?”

  Vasha’s face darkened as she was about to say something. Just then, a floor tech announced that it was time to go.

  Vasha simply gave me an insincere smile and said, “Good luck.”

  –––––

  I followed the tech and Vasha into a press conference. It looked legit. The room was full of reporters and photographers. I stood in front of a nest of microphones.

  Every time I raised my hand or made an “interesting” gesture, I set off a flash flood of camera flashes and shutter clicks. I pointed to the reporters randomly, or sometimes at the ones who waved their hands the most frantically.

  At first, the questions were easy enough. They were personal questions about my background, like where I came from, if I had a boyfriend, etc.

  There were questions with no easy answer, like, “Why did you volunteer for the show?”

  Then the questioning took a darker turn.

  “What makes you think you can survive the night?”

  “How do you expect to stay alive?”

  “What’s your strategy?”

  Then the questions got mean.

  “Do you have anything to say to your family?”

  “Do you have anything to say to the families of your victims?”

  Victims?

  “How does it feel to know that people all of the world will be watching and waiting for you to get what’s coming to you?”

  My least favorite was, “How does it feel to be doomed?”

  I wanted to argue, saying that I wasn’t, but there really wasn’t any point. I simply said, “I’m not dead yet.”

  I tried not to take the bait. I never blurted out the first thing that came to mind. I thought about what I said before I said it. A lot of times, I said, “I don’t know how to answer that.”

  Once I said, “I’m not going to dignify that with a response,” which is a good way of pointing out that the person asking the questions is out of order.

  Sometimes I was mad. I think they wanted to see an emotional breakdown. They wanted to see aggression and meanness. I started to wonder if Vasha had tried to provoke me on purpose.

  But I didn’t give it to them. I just tried to stay cool. It was hard though. When the questions got nastier, I said, “I think we’re done here,” and walked out – with security following, of course.

  A few of the reporters (if that’s what they really were) jeered, “Good luck!” and “See you tomorrow!”

  Vasha quickly stepped in like press secretary and said some type of closing remark. Then she met me in hall.

  “Well, that went well,” she said sarcastically. “I don’t think you made any friends.”

  “I’m not trying to make friends,” I said. “Tell me, were those even real reporters?”

  “Why wouldn’t they be?”

  “The questions seemed ... I don’t know ... too rehearsed.”

  Vasha said nothing and said, �
�The press will try to define your image, but you have to define it for them. The press will try to work you, but you have to work them.”

  You would know, I thought.

  “Besides, we’re not into manipulating everything in your life.”

  “Really? I thought that was your job.”

  Vasha looked at me coolly.

  “You know,” she said, “Some people are saying you might have some type of ‘home field advantage’ being from Scotland. I say ‘Bullshit.’ I’m betting you’ll be the first one to go.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  Then Vasha said, “By the way. Beautiful country you have here. It’s great, if you want to see what the world looked like in the Dark Ages.”

  “Don’t insult my country,” I said. I was deadly serious.

  “Or what?” Vasha countered, getting my face. “Are you going to attack me? Does one week of fitness training make you a badass? Well, tomorrow the whole world’s going to see just how badass you are.”

  Then she said, “So welcome home. Enjoy the scenery before you get attacked by some Scottish leprechauns or something.”

  “Leprechauns are Irish, bitch.”

  “Yeah, whatever,” the tall woman said. “Besides, we’re not sending little things like that after you. We have much bigger things in store for you.”

  I didn’t like the emphasis on the word “bigger.”

  I tried to look tough like her words weren’t scaring me, but they were. Then she added, “But don’t worry, I’m sure you’re ready.”

  My face was flushed, but I’m sure the color was draining from it. It felt hot from the blood rush, but it was quickly becoming cold. Was I ready? Ready to run? Ready to fight? Ready to die?

  I answered, “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”

  “Good!” she said with a perky smile. “I hope you have good night’s sleep. You’re going to need it. Just don’t think about what’s going to happen tomorrow.”

  Damn her.

  7

  Remarkably, I did sleep. It was still dark out when the door to my room/cell opened and the guard shouted, “Wake up, Runner! It’s time to get dressed. You have twenty minutes.”

  He dropped a stack of folded clothes on the floor and walked out.

  I went to the bathroom, cleaned my teeth, and put on the clothing the producers wanted me in: combat boots and clothing that looked practical for hiking. There was a dark, waterproof jacket with the MG logo on the back of it.

  Twenty minutes later, two guards appeared. One already had his Taser drawn. Apparently, if anybody was a flight risk, this was the time when she would panic and try to escape. I took a deep breath and exhaled. I wasn’t panicking, yet.

  The guards took me to the cafeteria. Quinn was there. She looked very serious.

  “Good morning, Moira. How did you sleep?”

  “OK.”

  “Good. Listen to me carefully. Here’s the breakfast menu. Normally, I’d advise eating the healthy options, but today is different. They’re offering a traditional English breakfast: eggs, sausage, bacon, and toast.”

  Quinn shuddered. “To me, that’s like a heart attack waiting to happen, but ...”

  She paused. I finished her thought. “...but I don’t have a future to worry about, right?”

  Quinn shook her head and said, “Moira, what I’m saying is normally I wouldn’t advise eating a lot before any type of athletic event, but this is different. Monster Gauntlet is an endurance test. Even if you’re not hungry, I advise you to eat now, and eat a lot. It may be your last meal.”

  I looked at her and she said quickly, “I mean, in 24 hours. You’re going to be hungry, so eat what you can now.”

  “OK.”

  I wasn’t hungry at all. In fact, my stomach felt a little rumbly. I was scared, like you might be if you had to do public speaking or something. I did order the English breakfast. I could only eat about half of it.

  I cleaned my teeth again. I felt like I had to pee again but didn’t have to. It was the nerves.

  The guards took me to a staging area. There was a camera crew there. I was sure the Director wanted shots of me looking stone-faced as I picked up my tools and weapons and stashed them in various pockets.

  Then the producer himself, Maximilian Cain, stepped forward. He extended his hand. My hand, on autopilot, reached out and shook it.

  “Good luck, Moira. We’re rooting for you.”

  Rooting for me? You’re the one sending the things that are coming to kill me.

  “As promised, here are your bonuses.”

  Vasha stepped forward, holding a tray. On it lay something that looked like a locket, a water bottle, and two wrapped energy bars. I remember wondering if I should have picked a gun with an extra ammo clip, a bulletproof vest, or extra food. I picked up the food and stashed it in my jacket. I was comfortable with my choice.

  I picked up the necklace.

  “The amulet,” Cain said. “Wards off the ghost. One less thing for you to worry about.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “One less thing.”

  I put the amulet around my neck and hid it under my shirt.

  “Well,” said Cain. “We’re hoping you’ll put on a good show. Any last words?”

  “I’ll see you back here tomorrow,” I said.

  “Maybe,” said Vasha, smiling.

  “A positive attitude. Splendid. We love that,” said Cain. “Now, go out there and kick some ass.”

  With that, the smile in Cain’s eyes disappeared. His gaze looked past me and he nodded. Guards on either side of me grabbed my arms and clamped cuffs on my wrists. They held me in place while someone behind me held my head. I shouted out and a voice boomed in my ear.

  “Right now, it’s a blindfold. You resist, we do a gag and a hood. You understand, nod.”

  I nodded.

  “Good.”

  Large guards blindfolded me. Strong hands clamped around my arms and shoved me forward. The men marched me out of the room and led me towards my fate.

  8

  Blindfolded, I staggered down halls, in whatever direction the armored guards pushed or pulled me. Suddenly, the temperature dropped as if I had plunged into a lake. From the wind and the noise, I could tell I was being loaded onto a helicopter. Strong hands shoved me down onto a bench and shackled me to it.

  I heard a lot of voices shouting over the din of the rotors, then finally, the vehicle took off. Flying in the helicopter blindfolded was a little better than the riding blind in the car, but it was still bad.

  The air time was fortunately not that long. The training camp must have been close to the arena. The massive military helicopter had barely settled into the earth when a large hand yanked off my blindfold. I heard a beep and the heavy cuffs that restrained my wrists and ankles fell to the floor, unlocked by remote control. They clanged loudly on the steel surface. Similar sounds banged around me as the shackles popped off the other prisoners.

  The blindfold flew off my face. My eyes squinted as they adjusted to the darkness. Shadowy, faceless figures moved in the gloom. Fast hands flipped open the buckles of my seat harness. A massive, gloved hand clamped around my arm.

  “Get up!” a voice shouted, barely audible over the din of the engines and the rotors. A tall man roughly pulled me to my feet. He was dressed like a cross between a cop and a ninja. The only part of his body that was not encased in armor was his face. His wide jaw was weeded with a short, scraggly beard. He grinned like a perv, revealing a missing tooth.

  Of course, I thought. This wasn’t a law officer. It was some riffraff hired by Monster Gauntlet, given a uniform and some undeserved sense of authority and self-importance. He probably got off on this type of work.

  As if to prove my point, the guard grunted, “Ha!” as he literally threw me out the open door.

  I was airborne for a few seconds. Then I fell on my hands and knees onto damp dirt and grass.

  I got to my feet and looked back at the helicopter as the armored guards e
jected other prisoners out the opening. Once everyone was out, the one that had thrown me out turned towards the pilot and called, “Clear!”

  Other guards were closing the door while the bully stood there, smiling. My eyes were adjusting to the blue gloom now and I could make out faces and expressions. I couldn’t see his eyes through his googles and the darkness, I had the impression he was looking right at me. I couldn’t hear him, but I could read his lips as they sarcastically said, “Good luck.”

  I wished I had something to throw at his face, but any chance of that was removed when a steel door with a window slid in front of him. The door clicked shut, the rotors sped up, and the helicopter lifted off. All of the figures around me watched it silently as it shrank in the distance and disappeared into the dark Scottish sky.

  I looked around. We were in a large open field, fenced in by forest on three sides. Massive mountains in the distance loomed behind the trees, rising majestically like support columns for the sky. The top of the tallest ones completely disappeared into the mist. Everything looked wet, as if it had recently rained. The air was cold, and I felt like I could breathe the moisture. The dew coated my throat and collected on my skin. This was fresh air in its cleanest, purest form. Yes, I was in Scotland.

  I was enjoying the stillness and the quiet when a booming voice broke my momentary sense of peace.

  “Welcome, Runners! Thank you for volunteering to participate in Monster Gauntlet, the trial by ordeal where you have a chance to earn your freedom.”

  Like the voice of God, the host’s voice was loud and deep and seemed to come from everywhere at once. I wasn’t sure but, it sounded a lot like the enthusiastic Assistant Director Kent.

  “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.