121. It Doesn’t Look Good
121
It Doesn’t Look Good
W illow
I see him now. One enormous male in red coveralls carrying something huge and red in his arms. My heart swells with pride and affection as he puts on more steam, somehow reaching inside himself to get here on time.
I’m jumping up and down and screaming, feeling like a dystopian cheerleader, calling his name until my throat is raw.
The drones are swarming, many in front of me, focusing on my fear and pain. Many others have hurried to join the two that have been following both males on their journey.
As he gets closer, I hold out my hand as if we’re playing some childhood game and all he has to do is touch me to be safe. When Valor’s only a step away, I realize he doesn’t need to touch me. He needs to touch the pole, and so does the comatose male in his arms.
Zedd’s exquisitely evil red face fills every screen in the little encampment as she gleefully counts down to narrate the coming sunset. “Ten, nine, eight…”
I watch as Valor slides in to grip the pole. Reaching around his enormous biceps, I grab Braveheart’s hand and slap it to the metal pole as Zedd says, “One.”
All three of us freeze, hands on the pole. Valor’s and my gazes fly to the biggest screen, waiting for her to pronounce us safe.
I remember Down to Two . Mistress and I had been glued to the program and couldn’t believe when what turned out to be one of the winning couples arrived at the goal before the deadline and were turned away.
Zedd had ordered the doors locked. She can do what she wants—including cheating. She’s done it before. Hadn’t she threatened right before the start of the game that we would feel her wrath?
My heart is jackrabbiting in my chest as I await her pronouncement, our three lives hang in the balance.
I stand, one hand still gripping the burning metal, the other on Braveheart’s wrist, holding it tight to the pole.
“Safe.” Zedd declares dramatically. “Wasn’t that exciting females and males? Were you betting on this triad? Hoping they’d win, or betting against them? By the look of it, though, there’s one teammate who might not make it until morning.” She tips her head and tsks. It’s not in sympathy. She’s mocking us.
I’ve watched over the last hour or so as other teams made it to the finish line. I wasn’t sure how it happened. When we left the starting line, we were the only ones headed in this direction. It’s only because I heard another team talking, saying how the drones informed them they were going in the wrong direction and had the teams follow them.
The other team said some thought it was a trick, misinformation, and never changed course. Others simply couldn’t run the extra distance fast enough. Zedd must have gotten nervous when she realized there would be no more episodes, no more viewers, no more money , if only one team made it to the second round.
“Thirty-one teams have made it to the next challenge,” Zedd announces. “Follow your drones. They will take you to your team’s tents. You have thirty minutes to use the porta showers in the center of the area, change into the clothes we’ve provided for you, and return to the meal The Galaxy Network has so generously provided for you.”
As we follow our drones, the screen flashes the donated credits each team has received. I’d been watching while I waited for the guys. Luckily, we got a big burst of credits at the end. We’re going to need them, but it’s not enough.
I can see from here Braveheart’s leg is swollen from his toes to above his calf. His fur is short enough I can see that his skin has turned an ugly bluish black. He’s unconscious. Despite the jostling and all the noise, his eyelids haven’t even flickered. The moment we get to our tent, I’ll take a good look at him, but there’s no doubt in my mind he’s going to need a medic and some treatment by a medbot just to stay alive.