137. Gruesome Game-Changer
137
Gruesome Game-Changer
B raveheart
Our attention to Willow’s sweet fantasy is stolen by what’s happening in the dusty bowl below. I have raptor eyesight, so it’s easy to see across the distance. I’m glad Willow’s human eyes can’t perceive what I’m seeing. It would crush her soul.
At first, it looks like something’s snaking under the soil’s crust. Huge swaths of dirt rise in rapid furrows, as if something is moving just beneath the surface. Our competitors are screaming and running faster, trying to avoid the mayhem going on beneath their feet.
Now something erupts from the surface and grabs someone. All I can see are their green coveralls. One moment, they’re above ground, the next they’re wrenched into the hole from which the animal emerged.
I watch two or three more times until I can fully understand what my eyes are seeing. It looks like a giant worm, fat, and pink, that slithers under the surface of the crust, then heaves through to create a hole. Lifting up, it snags the closest prey in a mouth filled with rows of teeth, then slithers back whence it came.
“I can’t quite make out what’s happening,” Willow says, her voice panicked. She leaps off my lap and walks to the edge of the escarpment, her arms wrapped around her waist as she paces.
“Don’t try, my love,” I say. The endearment falls easily off my lips. We’ve declared our love for each other. There’s no reason to hide it, even with the tragedy unfolding down below.
“Don’t look at the drone screen,” Valor orders.
I haven’t looked either, I don’t have to, but I’m certain TGN is ecstatically broadcasting every gory minute for their viewers’ entertainment. I can only hope a few of their expensive, overeager drones are swallowed up as they go in for gruesome close-ups.
“No, Willow. You don’t want to see this. They’re giant worms. Worms with rows and rows of sharp teeth. Picking off our competition.”
The teams have split up. Although all morning I’ve watched as the triads stuck together, now I see coveralls of matching colors going in all directions in the frantic attempt to avoid the predators.
There are dozens of the giant worms engaging in a feeding frenzy. Actually, it’s hard to know how many there are. Are they leaping up, snagging food, and going back into their dens to eat? Or are they hoarding bodies down there, stacking them for later, then returning to the surface for more?
It doesn’t matter.
I see one of the beasts leap and get three members of the brown team in one gulp. Brown was Melch’s color. He was a jerk, but he never really hurt Willow and he certainly didn’t deserve this.
“I… I guess there’s no reason to run. Where would we go? And we’ll be dead in a few hours anyway,” Willow says, her voice hollow.
I turn to see the remaining staff have all migrated close by to watch the morning entertainment. The medic is still here, standing next to me and looking out at the mayhem, a pained expression on his face.
“The wyrms can’t break through rock,” he says. “This bluff is rock, it was in this morning’s staff update.”
His lips are pulled into a tight grimace. I can feel his desire to somehow reach the wounded and ease their suffering.
“What’s your name?” I ask, my gaze still glued on the plains below.
“Balric. I wish I could have been of more help yesterday. They threatened to harm me if I provided help before they approved it.”
Our drones are filming us. His words were barely whispered. When my drone edges closer and turns its camera toward him, he walks away as if we’d never exchanged a word.
Maybe I’m heartless, incapable of compassion or empathy, because at this moment, I realize we might make it through today’s contest.
While I was busy kissing the top of Willow’s soft, blonde hair, I couldn’t keep my gaze from wandering to the progress of the other teams. I watched the screen on my drone. When the wyrms hit, only one team had arrived at the flagpole. Unless nine triads can survive this destruction, there’s room for us to squeeze into the top ten.
It’s hard to tell from the canyon floor how many have made it to safety and how many have been killed. No bodies are lying there. They’ve all been dragged away by the beasts.
Again, my gaze flicks to the screen. Three more teams, four in total, have arrived at their goal, and fifteen of the thirty are officially out of the running. There are six openings and twelve teams left. We are still in the game.