Chapter 22 #2
Berkley is nodding, hands raking through his hair.
He turns to Tane and says something I can't quite make out, but Tane doesn't respond.
Doesn't blink. His eyes are locked on me and, all at once, the panic churning in me pauses and turns into something else.
Because he doesn't look nervous, or scared.
The look he gives me is a taunt. He's doubting me and challenging me at the same time, and that fire inside me, that I'm always trying to douse with watery logic, roars to life.
Wrapping the tether around my hands, pulling it taut so it strains around the tower, I start.
I haul my right leg back, and I kick as hard as I possibly can into the plastic wall. The metal gongs and my legs vibrate with the impact, but the shield is already stuck there, a foot off the ground.
Perfect.
I straighten, hovering just above the ground on the metal disk attached to my foot, then swing my left foot back and slam it into the tower. It sticks just above where the first disk is lodged. The angle is awkward at best, and I curse myself for not having longer legs.
I go to pull my right foot out, and it doesn't budge. It's too far embedded into the plastic.
"Ok, like 15% less force should be good," I mutter to myself, already sweating.
I work it out, little by little, dislodging it slowly.
This part is mildly humiliating, as I am so close to the ground that I can practically feel everyone breathing down my neck; watching me fumble, sweat and curse as I figure it all out.
I finally seem to find a rhythm, my legs already aching from the pulling and the reverberating off the metal impacting into the plastic.
But it's so slow. I'm unable to get much distance between kicks with my legs being so short.
Why didn't I stretch? I never stretch enough, and my screaming hamstrings are punishing me for it.
It’s the sting of the fabric around my hands that keeps me grounded in reality.
I'm sweating, and the material isn't meant to be pulled taut like this with bare hands.
It's meant to act as an anchor for the metal, and keep contestants close to the tower.
Which, technically, it is; it's ensuring my upper half doesn't fold backwards.
Unfortunately for me, the fabric only has so much give, and its already starting to irritate my palms.
Halfway up my feet go numb, but it's fine.
Farra and Leo have arrived. I hear intense, frightened encouragement from below. I don't dare look down, though or I'll puke.
Pull.
Balance.
Wind back.
Kick.
Pull.
Balance.
Wind back.
Kick.
The ground in my peripheral starts to look far away. The voices echo loudly in this huge dome, and even up here, I can still hear them all perfectly. The top is so close now. I need to center myself, so I try to tune everything and everyone out.
It's hot up here. Is it supposed to be this hot up here? Two more big steps and I'll be up. I extend my legs more than I thought humanly possible. Every vibration from the disks sends another ache into my bones.
My hands are slipping on the silky fabric, and the heat feels overwhelming as I near the top.
I get a whiff of something, sulphur maybe, and then the faintest breeze glides across my sweat slicked neck.
It's cool, which makes no sense, and I'm sure I’m imagining it, but my heart rate calms at the reprieve.
Taking a slow, shaky breath I give one last push, one last big kick.
Pulling out my last step, I bend myself over the lip of the top, letting out an anguished cry as I use my arms to pull myself up onto the smooth surface.
My body is vibrating, muscles spasming and threatening to lock, as I pull my dangling feet from the edge.
It's silent up here for a moment, my vision sparking with black dots as I work to take big, deep breaths.
It feels like the entire world's gone still.
Then I hear a roar of cheering from down below.
Rolling onto my stomach, the metal disks at my feet clashing awkwardly, I worm my way to peek over the side.
The crowd below has doubled. A slow smile spreads across my lips as I see my friends down below, hugging each other and screaming up at me. Tears well in my eyes.
I did it. I made it up.
I pull myself back from the edge; despite the warm glow in my chest, I know this is far from over. I'll let myself celebrate when I'm back down, safe on the ground.
At the center of the slightly curved top, there's a short metal podium screwed to the surface.
On top there is a siren, a brass circular metal wheel on one side covered by steel with cut holes, on the other is an arm with a worn handle crank.
I chew my bottom lip. It's not far, but with the way the top of this is built, slipping off would be easy.
I shimmy myself over, making sure to keep hold of my anchor ropes firmly.
I pull myself up so I'm kneeling beside it, the stupid shields still attached to my feet making me sit at an awkward angle. Using shaky hands, I reach to crank the wheel. I turn it and turn it, expecting some resistance and sound... nothing.
I try harder this time, almost rocking myself backwards. I note the wheel on the inside spinning, but it's too fast. There should be some traction.
It's broken.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Why can't anything just be easy?
I reach around to the side, digging my nails into the seam of the metal case and pull. It's rusted, but it starts to inch away and I let out a pained groan as my fingernails resist.
Finally, the case pops free, and I look inside. I pull the crank again to see what it looks like... and nothing engages. I think for a second, running through all the possibilities.
Hopefully, it's just a wheel off the track. Otherwise, I am royally screwed. I have no tools or supplies.
I pull the front gear off, cleaning it a little on my shirt.
Then I put it back, pushing until it clicks its teeth between the others, hopefully connecting, and pull the inner looping wheel forward.
It reminds me of the one and only bicycle we owned.
I remember my dad fixing it a lot. I smile a little, thankful for the memory, hoping someday I can teach Willow. She's never been near a bike.
Another reason I can't die up here. Things to do, and all that.
I put it back together as best I can, testing that the lever drives the wheel now, and a small, garbled sound comes out. Better than nothing, I guess.
Shoving the main plate back on, I take one deep breath, and crank it; once, twice, three times. Faster and faster.
A loud, roaring whine, screams out of the small siren, echoing off the clear ceiling, and I let it go for a few more awful seconds before I stop, chest heaving.
Tears spring to my eyes again, in both relief and pride.
I did it. My head slumps forward, resting on the podium as I hear another roar of cheers from below.
My eye catches on something. Sitting underneath the machine are name tags.
Over a dozen of them. Worn, and in different colours than my own. All laying flat underneath the speaker.
My eyes catch on one name. Valo. My fingers run along the stitching absently. I had suspected he'd done it, from the rumours of how fast he'd moved up the ranks. Now I know.
My victory is short-lived, as I peer over to the edge. Because now I have to somehow get myself down.
I hadn't let myself think of the way down because I knew I'd chicken out.
When Deacon and I were kids, we'd scale the outside of abandoned buildings. I'd always beat him, always get higher. But then, coming down was always awful. He'd usually have to talk me through it. This is much higher, and the stakes are much higher too. If I die now, my crew gets nothing.
Wiping my damp hands on my pants, I wrap the fabric over them tightly again, wincing at the raw skin there.
I swing my heavy iron-disked boots over the edge and frantically lock one foot in as I begin to slip a little faster over the lip than I'd like.
Immediately, I realize this is going to be harder than the ascent.
Swinging my free foot hard enough below my locked in foot is nearly impossible.
It doesn't feel secure enough and I hold my breath for a moment, trying to slow the panic taking root.
My sweaty hair has fallen out of its stupid tie and is getting in my eyes.
I silently vow to cut it all off as soon as I make it down.
I manage to start slowly, making it down the tower little by little. If I thought going up was slow, this is worse. The gravity wants to suck me down and my thighs burn as I squat and swing back in a downward vertical crawl.
As I make my way down, my feet are once again completely numb.
That's probably why I don't feel that my shoe has come loose until it is far too late.
I look down just as the fabric previously securing my shoe to the metal handhold loosens, and I watch as the disk slips down the bowing sole of my shoe towards my toes.
I lurch to grab it, but I hear a scream.
It's Farra, I realize, telling me to hold on to the fabric, so I tighten the hand that was about to reach down.
My moment of relief is over in a breath, as I hear the disk clatter against the hard floor with a crack.
My tingling foot is suddenly half-bare in the torn-up boot.
I am so fucked.
I'm about a third of the way down, if that. I have more than a twenty-foot drop to hard ground underneath me. I hear Farra demand someone go get something to soften my fall, and others arguing with her. I tune them out.