The Best of Us by Robert J. Crane

Author:Robert J. Crane [Crane, Robert J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Google: ieVaDwAAQBAJ
Amazon: B07CP43SMX
Publisher: Ostiagard Press
Published: 2018-06-04T23:00:00+00:00

15

It happened in a blur. With a shout, I pitched over backward. Desperate to grab ahold of something—anything—I had to fight the instinct to let go of my cube—

“Mira!” shouted someone—Manny, I realized later—

And then I hit the platform leading to stairs at the bottom. Heels first—I was at a forty-five-degree angle by then, I reckoned—then the rest of me slammed back onto the six-inch-wide platform .

It terminated abruptly between my shoulder blades, my head overhanging.

I bounced—I snaked my free hand around my side, grabbing for the platform’s edge. An awkward hold—but it kept me rooted to the spot, sprawled out at the bottom of an invisible staircase, my head dangling over the edge.

“Are you okay?” Manny shouted. His voice was shaky.

“Fine,” I said. “Just … wondering how to get up.”

“Sorry,” called Preston Borrick. To the little credit I was willing to afford him, he’d stopped and was peering down at me. Alain hesitated at his side, eyebrows high, forehead lined like an old man’s. He looked torn between wanting to race down to check on me and wanting to stick by his dad’s side—or maybe he was tempted to push forward on his own, a snake pressing its advantage.

“You want to be a bit more careful!” Manny shouted at Preston. “Wouldn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea about you.”

Preston asked, “And what is the wrong idea, exactly?”

“That you’re in the business of shoving eighteen-year-old girls to get what you want.”

“Excuse me? It was an accident!” Preston said, shocked—or putting on a very good show of it.

Manny growled, “‘Accident’ my arse—”

“It’s fine,” I groaned. “I’m okay. Not dead. That’s what matters, right?”

I levered up.

More aches to go with the bruised ankles. Just what I needed when I was on the clock—and, more importantly, no longer in the lead.

“Are you sure—?” Manny began.

“I’m fine.” I drew myself to my feet (awkward enough when you’re in pain, let alone balanced on an invisible tightrope)—then I moved again for the stairs, climbing—

Preston took this as his cue to resume his pursuit of the prize. “Glad you’re okay there, Brand. Alain? Come.” And off he trotted.

My fall had been enough of a show to stop at least some of the Seekers nearby. Others had slowed, momentarily more aware of their mortality—but Saltlick and the vampire-elf girl were powering toward the finish—which was apparently up a vertical ladder. Elfin girl arrived at hers first and began clambering. Saltlick was a few seconds later.

Hard to tell if Preston Borrick, Braden Barclay, or Laura Diggle would be third.

Well, I might give up first place … but if we were winnowed to a smaller collection of Seekers once again, I would not find myself out of it. So, fighting back the pain, I reached the top of the stairs—and broke into a sprint.

The jumps were wider here, the platforms between them shorter. The edge of the one ahead was barely in view of the key’s revealing effect, and only visible in full when I was already airborne.

I leapt, bounded forward a single step, leapt again …

Preston Borrick reached the invisible ladder.

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