Chapter Twenty-One
Jay’s first fight, weeks after being trafficked
“It’s your turn, Mylos.”
He shuffles in the dark shadows, groaning. He said he’s sore, and he didn’t want to play and would much rather sleep. But once he’d seen the puppy dog pouty face I’ve mastered with years of begging, he caved. It’s so boring. I don’t know why adults wouldn’t play all day every day.
I’ve named him Mylos because that seems to be what everyone else calls him. Plus, it’s fun to say. Mylos.
“Alright. Uh, A1.”
“Miss,” I say.
“How is that a miss?”
“Because it is,” I state matter-of-factly.
“There’s nowhere else your ships could be unless you keep moving them . . . You know what I think? I think you’re cheating,” he accuses me playfully.
But I take offense to it.
I place my hands on my hips. “I am not!”
Okay, maybe a little bit.
“Whatever you say, pup.” He laughs. “But I’ve gotta get some rest.”
“Aw.”
“I know. We’ll play later, okay? Promise.”
Sitting crisscross, I rest my head in my palms and my elbows on my thighs, hunched over. I sigh, “Okay.”
Well, now what am I going to do? I draw in the dirt floor around the board game I made. Alone, I find comfort in the only place left as I brush away dirt to uncover the baby photo I hid. I trace the faces and escape through daydream.
My dream of a better life is interrupted when the man who says he’s my master walks in. “Well, what do we have here?”
“N-nothing.” I hide the picture behind me and back away.
Master opens the cell and takes it from me. “Hey!” I jump for it, but I fall short.
He inspects it and then hands it back to me. “The doctor needs to see you.”
He’s letting me keep it? Astonished and thrilled at the same time, I shuffle to lean it against my cell wall on display in plain sight.
This must be what it feels like when they decorate their own room. I beam.
Master grabs my hand and leads me out of the dungeon and into a bright room. I shield myself from the light until my eyes finally adjust. A man in a white lab coat spins in his stool, smiling. “Hey there. Hop up here for me.” He pats the padded table with a runner of paper across it.
Master picks me up from under my arms and hoists me up. “I’ll be back in after you’re done, okay?”
I nod.
He ruffles my hair and exits the room.
The doctor takes my height and weight and has me strip down to nothing to check me. I’m too scared to ask what’s going on.
After he’s done checking me out, my master walks in. “How’s she looking, doc?”
The doctor scribbles onto his clipboard. “Everything looks fine. A little skinny, but overall, she’s healthy. I’m clearing her to fight.”
“Great!”
I jump when Master claps his hands and rubs them together.
He approaches me, sporting a wide, toothy grin. “You ready?”
I open my mouth to speak, and my lip quivers. Then I remember the rule and shut it and nod.
Pleased with my choice, he hands me a piece of jerky as a reward. Like a savage, I snatch and devour it.
He chuckles. “Hungry, aren’t you? Do you want more?”
I nod again, this time with enthusiasm.
He leans in close until we’re almost nose to nose. I move away from him to give myself space. His eyes darken, and his voice lowers to an even more threatening octave than before. “Then, you better win.”
I gulp.
Master follows the doctor’s movements with his eyes until he’s out of the room. Then, he fishes into his back pocket and pulls out a small glass bottle and needle.
I whimper. I hate needles.
“Hold still. You’ll thank me for this later.” He fills the syringe with a bottle of bluish green liquid. Then, he slides it back to his pocket. “Which arm? Right or left?”
It only takes me a second to roll up my left arm sleeve. I shut my eyes tightly, bracing myself for what’s to come.
He cleans the spot and counts down. “Ready? One, two . . .” He injects the fluid.
It pinches, but it doesn’t hurt. There’s a weird taste in my mouth almost immediately.
“There.” He dislodges the needle, tossing it in a bin. “See? Easy.”
I smile at his praise.
He hooks his hands under my arms and lifts me off the table. Once I’m on the floor, he bends down, so he’s face to face with me. “Now, give me your best growl.”
I hesitate but manage a small roar.
Unimpressed, he says, “Ah, come on. You can do better than that. Let’s hear you roar!”
I’ve never been on a team before.
I roar as loud as I can. And he does the same.
“Yeah! That’s my girl! Now let’s go out there and win!”
And I’m determined to do just that.
***
Same day
Shortly after my checkup, I’m chained to the metal crash cart. Master says it’s just for show.
“Like a prop?” I ask him.
“Yeah.” He shrugs one shoulder. “Like a prop.”
He and others are carting me through a tunnel. There’s a light at the end and a rusted gate drawn to the top.
“Ladies and gentleman,” the man on the loudspeaker says, “tonight is the night you’ve all been waiting for.”
From my cage on top of the cart, I notice the arena is sphere-like, with stands circling upwards. Under the moon, without a ceiling, the starry night sky is the closest I’ve seen to the outside world since . . .
My chest tightens.
The cart comes to a stop. The thousands of audience members in the stands are hushed at the announcer’s signal.
A boy with chocolate-colored eyes and matching hair, buzzed in rough patches, appears from the tunnel, unchained.
Shirtless, he has more muscles than I’d expect a seemingly twelve-year-old to have.
I tell myself at least he looks fed, but the relief dies fast when I remember why my Master feeds me.
This pup could be a champion. How many have they forced him to kill? How long has he been a prisoner?
The only person I feel sorry for now is him. I may be suffering the same fate, but he’s been through it longer. The things he must have seen . . .
I lock eyes with him, hoping to share a moment with him, maybe shed a tear or two together. I search for any indication he’s just as scared as I am. At first, I think he’s scared, too, but his fear must be hidden by the daggers trained on me.
The chains fall and clatter at my feet. Free only to roam tonight’s hell.
Master slaps his arms on my shoulders and massages them. “You ready, kid?”
“For—For what?”
He bends down behind me and points to the pup on the opposite side of the arena from me. “See him? That’s your opponent. He’s the current champ. All you have to do is hit him until he doesn’t get up anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re going to have to kill him, kid.”
My jaw drops, and my breathing picks up. I try to back away, but Master holds me still. “No, no, I can’t. I won’t. I’m only nine. I don’t wanna kill him.”
“You either kill him, or he is going to kill you.”
None of this makes sense. Why would anyone want us to fight? Why would he want to kill me? Is he mad at me? No. Why would he be mad? I don’t know him.
“No, please don’t make me do this. I’ll be good, I promise,” I beg my Master.
He pats me on the top of my head once and backs away from me, leaving me standing alone in the ring.
“In this corner, weighing sixty-four pounds, our newest contender . . . make some noise for Bait,” the announcer echoes.
The crowd boos, and I duck as they throw things at me.
Tomatoes.
I remind myself to grab one when I get out of here. If I get out of here.
“Alright, alright. Settle down, everyone, so I can introduce to you . . . your defending champ. Weighing ninety-five pounds . . . With a record of eight kills and a fall as quick as one minute in the first round . . . Your champion . . . Stone Cold Jones!”
The crowd roars and Stone Cold Jones flexes his muscles. No one throws any tomatoes at him, though.
“Now . . . are you all ready for a dogfight?”
The crowd woofs and howls, but their imitations are poor, not like a wolf at all. Are these humans?
The arena lights shut off, and the crowd disappears. The only lights on now are pointed at Jones, the announcer in the funny blue suit and me.
The announcer motions with an open palm to the ground, and I follow Jones’s lead as he walks to the center. Face-to-face with the pup, he’s got bite marks and scars that I would only expect to see on a warrior.
I’m not the first one he’s killed. So, why would he hesitate to do the same?
I gulp.
“Alright, let’s have a good, clean fight and give these people the show they came for. No shifting until the second bell goes off. Biting is fine, but there’s no medical team until after the match is over so be careful about digging into bone. If you break teeth, no help will come to you.”
Bone? Teeth?
I jump at the announcer’s hands clapping like thunder. “Alright. Shake hands.”
I extend a shaking hand to Jones, who growls and slaps it away. Chuckles and hoots from the crowd show they approve of his poor sportsmanship.
I drop my hand at my side and tug on my shorts, trying to ground myself. I can’t hurt him. I don’t even know him.
A bell sounds, and the round begins. Jones circles me, and I circle the opposite way, mimicking his motions.
I notice he doesn’t cross his feet as he moves, so I try to sidestep, doing the same.
He extends an arm in the space between us and then shuffles closer. He repeats it, and my nerves heighten.
What is he doing? He’s a champion, of course what he’s doing is deliberate, but what is it?
I can’t anticipate his moves because I don’t know any, but I can try to convince him not to do whatever it is.
“Um . . . my name’s Jay. You’re . . . Jones?”
No response.
I try again. “I—I don’t want to fight you.”
He growls and drops his stance. I mimic him, and his upper lip quivers at my motion.
He must be trying to work an angle.
“Maybe we could—”
He strikes me square in the jaw, and my head jerks backward. I clasp my hands over my nose.
The crowd erupts and roars at my injury.
Wiggling it, I don’t think it’s broken. I shake my head and recover, getting back in a stance, circling him again. But I’m rocked to my core. The moment he hit me told me that this is real.
“Look if we just—”