“We’re afraid we won’t be traveling in your chopper,” the substance says as it slides toward the bottle in a single puddle instead of three.
“Why not?” I ask. “It’s not far, and we should have—”
I fall back at the deafening roar of an explosion. A massive fireball rises to the sky, coloring everything in bright orange. My skin grows hot from the heat.
“What the fuck happened?” Buck shouts, but I can barely hear him through the ringing in my ears.
“Paul’s friends were careless,” the substance says and slides into the bottle. “We believe that one of them tried to eat a missile, causing the unfortunate explosion.”
I pick up the bottle with shaky hands. It weighs more than I expected.
River helps me back to my feet and says, “I think the explosion killed most of them.”
I watch the rising smoke, and it dawns on me what this means. “It will take us days to get back to Florence.”
“It sure the fuck will,” Buck grumbles and begins walking. “We’re not going to get there any faster by staying here.”
I feel like screaming. We came here to find a way to help Caden, but this is going to set us back, and we don’t even know if what we found can truly help us.
Josh puts his arm around my shoulders. “I hate this too, but Caden will need to hold on for a bit longer.”
I stop myself from saying that for a Defender at the hands of Raiders, a bit longer can feel like a lifetime. But there is nothing I can do about it now, so I walk with the rest, carrying with me what I pray will be worth the trouble.
Chapter 17
Caden
“Get up, maggot! You call that fighting?”
I call that getting my ass kicked, but I don’t have enough air in my lungs to say it out loud. I’m a lump of pain, lying at the foot of the Raider who’s been overpowering me for the last hour. He’s a level two, making him close to the top, but I also struggle to beat anyone who’s level three. After I surprised everyone during the latest game at the arena, they expected me to maintain those abilities during training. Unfortunately, Hector was the one who made me stronger, and since he’s not here, I’m back to being my regular self again, which clearly isn’t enough.
“Get up!”Master Trainer shouts, and I wish I could shut him up with a punch to the face. I get that this is his job, but he should face reality and stop forcing me to train against opponents above my league.
I grunt and push myself up, wobbling on my shaky feet. Other fighters pretend to be practicing, but I can tell they’re watching and loving the show. There was a small part of me that thought that having this tattoo on my back would make me less of an outsider, but all it did was make me more of a freak in theireyes. I didn’t even need to wait for it to heal, as though my flesh hurried to embrace the inked scales.
“We can’t have him fighting with us in the arena tomorrow,” the one who’s been kicking my ass says.
I stop myself from pointing out that I’d be more than happy to stay back, but the order to include me came from Hector himself, like it had the last time. At least Elijah no longer believes I’m doing anything behind his back; he saw me after I returned from Hector’s—dizzy, tattooed, and furious.
“None of you get to decide who participates,” Master Trainer says, though I can sense he shares their opinion. He tells me, “Start again, and try to stay on your feet for more than ten seconds.”
I manage to last more than ten seconds this time, but not by much. When I hit the ground again, Master Trainer grumbles in anger and walks away. I remain lying on the grass, watching the spinning sky and wishing for this to stop one way or another.
The one who overpowered me crouches down and glances around to make sure no one’s listening. His long hair moves in the warm breeze. “You’re better off giving up, Defender.”
“I don’t have that privilege, asshole.”
He smashes his fist into my ribs. I hiss in pain but don’t cry out.
“It’s only going to get worse. Everybody here wants a piece of you.”
I don’t doubt his words since I can see the others’ excitement whenever they face me in training or see me beaten.
“Thanks for making today so much fun,” he says, then spits at my face.
I wait for him to leave before wiping it off.
When the bell finally rings and announces the end of training, I hurry to wash myself before there’s a line. When I finish, I put on a fresh set of clothes. Most shirts and pants here are either black or gray, but at least we have someone washing them every few days. I should go eat dinner, but I don’t have an appetite, or maybe I’ve been kicked in the stomach too many times for it to work properly.
