Page 8 of Fifth
A fresh group of men crossed the yard. Their faces were clean and slightly off for humans. Their boots were new. The guns they carried weren’t standard Earth issue. Locus noted the way the leader of the newcomers held his weapon at an angle that spared the wrist and let the elbow absorb the first kick. Off-world stance. The man kept his voice low. The head slaver leaned in, listening hard and nodding.
“Hunters from the third trial,” Locussaid.
“How can you tell?” she whispered.
“They move like men who believe they are last.”
The woman with the ledger added more columns.
Hours thinned. The yard stank of burnt fuel and too many bodies. Atrumpet made from a length of steel pipe sounded once, and the hunters peeled off to sleep in their trucks. Thewoman with the ledger packed her pages into a tin and locked it in a case. The headman counted the chips again, smiling into the case as if it were a mirror showing only good futures.
Hannah’s body softened in increments against his side. Sleep tried to take her and failed. Tried again and failed. He caught each staggered attempt, caught the thread of vigilance that kept dragging her back. She didn’t want to fall asleep here. He understood. He pressed his palm to the small of her back and slowed his breathing to a steady rhythm, strong as a march. She matched him. After a long time, sleep took her, as though it had always intended to and had only been waiting for his rhythm to guide her under.
He didn’t sleep. He mapped the yard again. He mapped the cage, the lock, the hinge. He marked the two stones under the right front corner that left a narrow space where small fingers might reach if the steel ever failed. He mapped the gate archway, the line of wire above it, the small black switch box bolted to the side that hummed at a frequency no human wouldhear.
He let himself think then, just once, of his brothers. He saw fire flash on steel where First had stood as a wall between his mate and death, as if his body had been made for that purpose alone. He saw Second stare down a riot and not blink until the woman he had chosen breathed behind him. He saw Third step into a storm built by a scientist who thought himself a god and walk out with a human woman clinging to life against his chest. He saw Fourth vanish into a forest and reappear with a woman who had tasted his blood and changed the direction of hislife.
He looked down at the human under his arm. The line of her throat was at once stubborn and delicate. Her hair had fallen forward across her shoulders, brushing his skin in a whisper both tender and unsettling. His blood moved faster than itshould have. He didn’t understand all of the reasons—perhaps the strange pull of her scent, the tilt of her chin, the way her nearness unsettled him. But he understood enough.
“You will live,” he said into the quiet. He had not meant to speak aloud, yet the words didn’t seem out of place.
Hannah stirred, then settled again. He kept his arm around her and let the warmth of his body promise what his words had. Outside, adog barked in its sleep. Agenerator clicked. Aman snored in a truck bed and rolled, making the boards creak.
Before the first line of pale light touched the far wall of the yard, the headman returned with two guards. He looked fresh. Men like that always looked fresh when they sent other bodies into dark places. He banged the butt of his rifle against thebars.
“Rise and shine,” he said. “The worms want breakfast.”
Hannah jolted upright. Locus rose with her, smooth and fast, setting himself between her and the door. The lock turned. The door swungopen.
“Hands out,” a guard ordered.
Locus looked at the cuffs and then at the gate archway leading into the preserve. “No,” he said. “We run on your rule. Survive. We do not run with steel on our wrists.”
“You do as we say.” The guard’s voice carried brittle authority, sharp with the need to mask uncertainty, daring him to resist.
“No. You sell victory. You cannot sell it if you bind the contestants and the dogs eat them ten steps in.” He folded his arms. “Do not insult your buyers. They will not return.”
The headman hesitated one beat, waving the guard aside. Then he nodded as if it had been his decision all along. “Fine. Nocuffs. You want a moment to say goodbye to your lady. Make it short.”
“Open the other cages,” someone shouted, eager to drag more bodies into the trial. “See how many he can save.”
Metal clanged as locks rattled, and harsh laughter rolled across the yard. The man with the bucket of chips jogged toward the gate archway and banged a stick against a bell. The hunters rolled out from their trucks and rubbed sleep from their eyes. The dogs woke like a single animal and set their feet. The woman with the ledger appeared again, pen already moving.
A guard threw a bundle through the barred cage door. Two canteens. Asmall knife with a broken tip. Acoil of thin twine. The man grinned. “A gift, Tarzan,” he said. “For the first traps. You will need more than your pretty fists.”
“My name is Locus.”
He caught the canteens and handed one to Hannah. He slid the knife into the waistband of his loincloth and looped the twine around his wrist. He looked at the man until the grin faded and the man lookedaway.
Hannah stood very straight. She set the strap of the canteen across her chest. Her hands shook once, then steadied. She looked him over, quick and clean, as though measuring his stamina, weighing if he could be enough to see her through what lay ahead. Her eyes methis.
“You still think we get out?” she asked, disbelief edging her tone, testing whether he understood the full significance of what waited beyond thegate.
“I do not think. Idecide,” he said, iron certain. “We get out.”
“You sound very sure.” Her eyes searched his face, hungry for cracks, but his expression held steady.
“I am.” His grip on the canteen strap was unyielding, his stance rooted as though nothing could movehim.
