Retribution by Michael Robertson

Author:Michael Robertson [Robertson, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-12-31T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

“Where are you taking me?” They’d bound Spike’s hands so tightly, the cord cut into his wrists. The hood over his head reeked of dust. The motes embedded in the fabric made it hard to breathe. Panic at being led blind also wound his chest tight. When he and Matilda were younger, she’d persuaded him to put his faith in her by falling back into her arms. They must have been ten at the time. It seemed like a good idea. She dropped him. Since then he’d struggled with exercises of trust.

The strong grip on his right shoulder must have belonged to a team leader or guard. They said nothing as they either shoved or dragged him, depending on where they wanted him to go. The muddy ground squelched beneath their steps, and he heard the sound of the crowd in the arena. The tight entranceway condensed the cheers, screams, and abuse. All of it swirled into a dizzying wall of noise, and it felt like his brain would burst.

Even over the sound of the spectators, as Spike entered the ring, he heard the gates to the arena being closed and bolted. Sweating, his throat dry, he fought to pull dusty air into his lungs. What the hell were they planning on doing to them?

It had been muddy on the way over, but now inside the arena, Spike walked over sludge, his feet twisting with every step while the hungry ground tried to steal his boots. His head spun and his ears rang as he followed the direction of his guide.

After what felt like a lifetime, Spike’s leader clapped their other hand on his shoulder, turned him slightly, and backed him into a wall he assumed to be the one running around the arena’s perimeter. Now closer to the crowd, their noise gained definition and he heard what some of them had to say. It ran from encouragement to death threats. Neither was helpful, so he shut them out again.

The loud and prolonged toot of Sarge’s horn both silenced the crowd and made Spike jump. His ears rang as much with the absence of noise as they had when it had been full volume. His pulse quickened as he listened to his own breaths in the confined space of his hood.

The loud hailer did such an effective job of projecting Sarge’s voice, Spike wondered if they heard it in Edin. Despite the distance between them, he imagined his mum straining her ears across the miles separating them. “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls—if that’s even necessary; whoever brings their kids to something like this needs their heads checked.”

The crowd remained almost silent, only a small section laughing at the poor gag.

“Today’s trial is quite simple. Last cadet standing wins.”

Spike’s stomach clenched. What were they about to do to them?

“You get knocked down and you’re out. Guards!”

The strong grip left Spike’s shoulders and grabbed the top of his thick hood.

“In three,” Sarge said, “two … one!”

A rush of light hit Spike almost as hard as the sound in the tunnel had.

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