CHAPTER 19
While I’m taking in the scene, I block two more hits with Boden sitting on top of me. My forearms are taking a beating and my bruises are getting bruises.
With no rescue in sight, it’s time to get serious about the fight. I lift my butt and legs off the ground like a gymnast and wrap my legs around Boden’s thick neck, hooking my ankles at his throat. I rock my body forward, jerking my legs down.
Boden’s eyes widen as he’s yanked backward.
Entwined, we swing like a rocking chair. He lands on his back, legs spread around my waist. I’m suddenly sitting upright with my ankles wrapped around his throat.
The instant we land, I slam my fists into his groin.
Now it’s his turn to curl.
The cheering crowd instantly mutes. The only noise I hear is Boden’s groaning. Sounds like he’s having trouble breathing.
Just to make sure he stays that way, I jump up and kick him in the face. I kick him so hard his body spins halfway on the dirt.
I wind up for another kick, this time to the stomach. When you’re small enough to have to look up at everyone around you, there’s no such thing as a dirty fight. That’s a new motto for me. I think I’ll keep it.
Before I can complete my kick, someone grabs me around my ribs, pinning my arms. My heart thunders from the adrenaline, and I’m practically panting in my need for blood. I kick and scream at whoever holds me.
“Easy, easy,” says Obi. “That’s enough.” His voice is like velvet brushing against my ears, his arms like steel bands across my ribs. “Shhh…relax, it’s over…you won.”
He guides me out of the circle and through the crowd as he soothes me, his arms never relaxing their hold. I glare my most condemning glare at Raffe as I catch his eye. I could have been beaten to a pulp, and all he would have done was lost a bet. He still looks grim, his muscles taut, his face pale as though all the blood had drained from him.
“Where are my winnings?” asks Raffe. I realize he’s not talking to me even though he’s still looking at me. It’s as if he wants to make sure I hear it along with everyone else.
“You didn’t win,” says a guy near him. He sounds gleeful. He’s the one who collected all the bets.
“What do you mean? My bet was the closest to what happened,” growls Raffe. His hands are fisted as he turns to the guy, and he looks ready for a fight himself.
“Hey buddy, you didn’t bet she’d win. Close doesn’t count…”
Their voices drift into the wind as Obi practically drags me to the mess hall. I don’t know which is worse—that Raffe didn’t jump in to defend me, or that he bet that I would lose.
The mess hall is a big open cabin with rows of fold-up tables and chairs. I’m guessing it would take less than a half an hour to fold up all the tables and chairs to pack for moving. From everything I’ve seen, the whole camp is designed to be packed up and moved in less than an hour.
The place is deserted even though there are half-eaten food trays on the tables. I guess a fight is a not-to-be-missed event around here. Obi’s grip on me relaxes once I stop struggling. He guides me to a table closest to the kitchen in the back.
“Sit. I’ll be right back.”
I sit on a metal folding chair, trembling with the adrenaline crash. He heads back into the kitchen area. I take deep breaths, calming down and getting a hold of myself until he comes back with a first aid kit and a bag of frozen peas.
He hands me the frozen peas. “Put this on your jaw. It’ll help with the swelling.”
I take the bag, staring at the familiar photo of green peas before gingerly pressing it to my tender jaw. The fact that they have the power to keep food frozen impresses me more than the rest of the camp combined. There’s something awe-inspiring about the ability to maintain some aspects of civilization when the rest of the world is sinking into a dark age.
Obi cleans the blood and dirt off my scrapes. They’re mostly that, scrapes.
“Your camp sucks,” I say. The peas are numbing my jaw and my words come out slurred.
“Sorry about that.” He rubs antibiotic ointment onto the scrapes on my hands. “There’s so much tension and jittery energy that we’ve had to accommodate for our people to blow off steam. The trick is to let them do it under controlled conditions.”
“You call what happened out there a controlled condition?”
A half-smile brightens his face. “I’m sure Boden didn’t think so.” He rubs antibiotic ointment on my scraped knuckles. “One of the concessions we made is that if a fight breaks out, no one interferes until there’s a clear winner or it becomes life-threatening. We just let people take bets on the outcome. It blows off steam for both the fighters and the spectators.”
So much for the power to maintain a piece of civilization.
“Also,” he says. “It helps keep the number of fights down when the entire camp is taking bets on the outcome. People take fights seriously when there’s no one to rescue you and the whole camp is watching your every move.”
“So everyone knew this rule but me? That no one is allowed to interfere?” Had Raffe known it? Not that it should have stopped him.
“People can jump in if they want, but that invites someone else to jump in for the other side to keep it a fair fight. The betters wouldn’t like it if it suddenly turned one-sided.” So much for making excuses for Raffe. He could have jumped in, we just would have had to fight someone else too. Nothing we haven’t done before.
“Sorry no one explained the rules of the playground to you.” He bandages my bleeding elbow. “It’s just that we haven’t had a female get into a fight before.” He shrugs. “We just didn’t expect it.”
“I guess this means you lost your bet.”
He grins sourly. “I only make big bets that involve lives and the future of humanity.” His shoulders slump as though the invisible weight on them is too much. “Speaking of which, you handled yourself well out there. Better than anyone expected. We could really use someone like you. There are situations that a girl like you could handle better than a platoon of men.” His grin turns boyish. “Assuming you don’t clock an angel for pissing you off.”
“That’s a big assumption.”
“We can work on that.” He gets up. “Think about it.”
“Actually, I was trying to get to you when that gorilla got in my way. The angels have taken my sister. You need to let me go so I can find her. I swear I won’t tell anybody about you, your location, anything. Just please, let me go.”
“I’m sorry about your sister, but I can’t jeopardize everyone here based on your word. Join us, and we’ll help you get her back.”
“It’ll be too late by the time you can mobilize your men. She’s seven years old and wheelchair-bound.” I can barely get the words out through the lump in my throat. I can’t actually say what we both know, that it might already be too late.
He shakes his head, looking genuinely sympathetic. “I’m sorry. Everyone here has had to bury someone they love. Join us and we’ll make those bastards pay.”
“I don’t intend to bury her. She’s not dead.” I grind out the words. “I’m going to find her and get her out.”
“Of course. I didn’t mean to imply that she was.” He had, and we both know it. But I pretend to believe his pretty words. As I’ve heard other people’s mothers tell their daughters, politeness is its own reward. “We’ll be moving soon, and you can go then if you still want to leave us. I hope you won’t.”
“When is soon?”
“I can’t disclose that information. All I can say is that we have something major in the works. You should be a part of it. For your sister, for humanity, for all of us.”
He’s good. I feel like standing up and saluting him while humming the national anthem. But I don’t think he’d appreciate that.
I am, of course, rooting for the humans. But I already have more responsibilities than I can handle. I just want be an ordinary girl living an ordinary life. My biggest concern in life should be what dress to wear to the prom, not how to escape a paramilitary camp to rescue my sister from cruel angels, and certainly not joining a resistance army to beat back an invasion to save humanity. I know my limits and that goes way beyond them.
So I just nod. He can make of that what he will. I hadn’t really expected him to let me go, but I had to try.
As soon as he walks out the door, the lunch crowd shuffles back in. It must be understood, either implicitly or explicitly, that when Obi talks to one of the fighters, everyone gives them privacy. Interesting that he took me to the mess hall during lunch, making everyone wait until we were finished. He sent a clear message to everyone in the camp that I am someone he has noticed.
I get up to leave with my chin up. I avoid looking into any faces so I won’t have to talk to anyone. I walk with my bag of peas down so as to not bring attention to my injuries. As if people are likely to forget I’m the one who was fighting. If Raffe is in the lunch crowd, I don’t see him. Just as well. I hope he lost his argument with the bookie. He deserves to lose that bet.
I’m barely out and walking between the buildings on my way to the laundry area when two redheaded guys step out from behind the building. If they didn’t have matching boy-next-door smiles, I would have thought they were ambushing me.
They’re identical twins. Both look scrappy and strung-out in their dirty civilian clothes, but that’s not unusual these days. No doubt I look just as scrappy and strung-out, too. They’re barely out of their teens, tall and skinny with mischievous eyes.
“Great job out there, champ,” says the first guy.
“Oh, man, you really put old Jimmy Boden in his place,” says the second one. He’s practically beaming. “Couldn’t have happened to a better man.”
I stand there, nodding. I keep a polite grin on my face while still holding the frozen peas to my jaw.
“I’m Tweedledee,” says one.
“I’m Tweedledum,” says the other. “Most people call us Dee-Dum for short since they can’t tell us apart.”
“You’re joking, right?” They shake their heads in unison with identical friendly smiles. They look more like a couple of underfed scarecrows than the chubby Tweedledee and Tweedledum I remember from childhood. “Why would you call yourselves that?”
Dee shrugs. “New world, new names. We were going to be Gog and Magog”
“Those were our online names,” says Dum.
“But why go all doom and gloom?” asks Dee.
“Used to be fun being Gog and Magog when the world was Tiffany-twisted and suburban-simple,” says Dum. “But now…”
“Not so much,” says Dee. “Death and destruction are so blasé.”
“So mainstream.”
“So in with the popular crowd.”
“We’d rather be Tweedledee and Tweedledum.”
I nod, because, what other response is there?
“I’m Penryn. I’m named after an exit off Interstate 80.”
“Nice.” They nod as if to say they understand what it’s like to have parents like that.
“Everyone’s talking about you,” says Dum.
Not sure I like that. That whole fight thing didn’t really go off the way I had planned. Then again, nothing in my life has gone the way I had planned.
“Great. If you don’t mind, I’m going to go hide now.” I tip my bag of frozen peas at them like a hat as I try to step between them.
“Wait,” says Dee. He lowers his voice to a dramatic whisper. “We have a business proposition for you.”
I pause and politely wait. Unless their proposition includes getting me out of here, there is nothing they can say to get me interested in any kind of business idea. But since they aren’t moving out of my way, I don’t have much of a choice but to listen.
“The crowd loved you,” says Dum.
“How about a repeat performance?” asks Dee. “Say, for a thirty-percent take of the winnings?”
“What are you talking about? Why would I risk my life for a measly thirty percent of the winnings? Besides, money doesn’t buy you anything anymore.”
“Oh, it’s not money,” says Dum. “We just use money as a shortcut for the relative value of the bet.”
His face becomes animated like he’s genuinely fascinated by the economics of post-apocalyptic gambling. “You put your name and the bet you’re making on, say, a five-dollar bill, and that just tells the bookie that you’re willing to bet something of greater value than a dollar bill, but less than a ten dollar bill. It’s the bookie who decides who gets what and who gives what. You know, like maybe someone loses a quarter of his rations and gets extra chores for a week. Or if he wins, then he gets someone else’s rations to add to his, and someone else scrubs the toilet for him for a week. Get it?”
“Got it. And the answer’s still no. Besides, there’s no guarantee I’ll win.”
“No.” Dee gives me an over-the-top used car salesman’s smile. “We’re looking for a guarantee that you’ll lose.”
I burst out laughing. “You want me to throw a fight?”
“Shhh!” Dee looks around dramatically. We’re standing in the shadows between two buildings, and no one seems to notice us.
“It’ll be great,” says Dum. His eyes shine with mischief. “After what you did to Boden, the odds will be so far in your favor when you fight Anita—.”
“You want me to fight a girl?” I cross my arms. “You just want to see a cat fight, don’t you?”
“It’s not just for us,” says Dee defensively. “It’ll be a gift to the whole camp.”
“Yeah,” says Dum. “Who needs television when you’ve got all that water and laundry suds?”
“Dream on.” I shove through them.
“We’ll help you get out,” says Dee in a sing-song cadence.
I stop. My brain runs through half a dozen scenarios based on what he just said.
“We can get the keys to your cell.”
“We can distract the guards.”
“We can make sure no one checks on you until morning.”
“One fight, that’s all we ask.”
I turn to look at them. “Why would you risk treason for a mud fight?”
“You have no idea how much I’d risk for an honest-to-God mud fight between two hot women,” says Dee.
“It’s not really treason anyway,” says Dum. “Obi’s gonna let you go, it’s just a matter of timing. We’re not here to keep human prisoners. He’s overemphasizing your risk to us.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Because he wants to recruit you and that guy you came with. Obi’s an only child, and he doesn’t understand,” says Dee. “He thinks keeping you around for a few days will get you to change your mind about leaving us.”
“But we know better. A few days of singing patriotic songs ain’t going to convince you to abandon your sister,” says Dum.
“Got that right, brother,” says Dee.
They touch fists in a fist bump. “Damn straight.”
I look at them. They really do understand. They’d never leave each other behind. Maybe I have a genuine ally. “Do I really have to do this silly fight to get your help?”
“Oh, yeah,” says Dee. “No question.” They both grin at me like mischievous little boys.
“How do you know all this stuff? About my sister? What Obi’s thinking?”
“It’s our job,” says Dum. “Some people call us Dee-Dum. Other people call us Spy Masters.” He wiggles his eyebrows up and down dramatically.
“Okay, Spymaster Dee-Dum, what did my friend bet on the fight?” It doesn’t matter of course, but I still want to know.
“Interesting.” Dee arches his brow in a knowing fashion. “Of all the things you could have asked when you found out we deal in information, you pick that one.”
My cheeks warm despite the frozen peas on my jaw. I try not to look like I wish I could take back my question. “What are you, in kindergarten? Just tell me already.”
“He bet that you’d last in the ring for at least seven minutes.” Dum rubs his freckled cheek. “We all thought he was crazy.” Seven minutes is a long, long time to get hammered by giant fists.
“Not crazy enough,” says Dee. His smile is so boyish and pre-disaster that it’s almost possible to forget we live in a world gone mad. “He should have bet that you’d win. He woulda raked it in. Man, the odds were so far against you.”
“I bet he could take down Boden in two minutes,” says Dum. “That guy’s got bad-ass written all over him.”
“Ninety seconds, flat,” says Dee.
I’ve seen Raffe fight. My bet would be on ten seconds, assuming Boden didn’t have a rifle like he did the night he caught us. But I don’t say that. Doesn’t make me feel any better that he didn’t jump in to play the hero.
“Get us out tonight and you’ve got a deal,” I say.
“Tonight’s awfully short notice,” says Dee.
“Maybe if you could promise you’ll rip Anita’s shirt off…” Dum gives me his little boy smile.
“Don’t push your luck.”
Dee holds up a slim leather case and dangles it like bait. “How about a bonus for ripping her shirt off?”
My hands fly to my pants pocket where my lock picking set should be. My pocket is flat and empty. “Hey, that’s mine!” I make a grab for it but it disappears from Dee’s hand. I hadn’t seen him move. “How’d you do that?”
“Now you see it,” says Dum, waving the case. How it got from Dee to Dum I have no idea. They’re standing next to each other but still, I should have seen something. Then it’s gone again. “Now you don’t.”
“Give it back, now, you thieving bastards. Or the whole thing’s off.”
Dum gives Dee a sad clown face. Dee arches his brow in a comic expression.
“Fine,” Dee sighs. He hands me back my lock picking set. This time, I was watching for it, but I still didn’t see it moving from Dum to Dee. “Tonight it is.”
Dee-Dum flash identical grins at me.
I shake my head and stomp off before they can steal any more of my things.