Downburst (15 page)

Soon we enter the forest, and a log, about three feet off the ground, blocks our path. Most of the girls hurdle the obstacle effortlessly—Tornado, who is just ahead of me, somersaults over it—while I swerve slightly off-course to jump over the lowest part.

My small detour forces me to lose ground to two other racers, but I plot a diagonal course through the trees and cut them off again, shooting ahead.
Oh, it feels good to run.
My legs are pumping so quickly, I can’t even feel the rocks underfoot. I pass one and then two girls. Dodge a branch. Leap over a bush. The rush is incredible. The forest scent fills my lungs. I could do this forever.

Whack!
Something hard bashes into my lower back, and I stumble forward and crash onto the ground. Gasping for breath, I look up … and see Diva. She sneers as she runs by me, a large staff in her hands. I lurch to my feet, muttering my strongest expletives.

But just as I’ve stood up, another girl rushes past and shoves me down hard. I fall back on the ground, stunned. Diva, I can understand, but what did I ever do to this girl? Sitting up cautiously, I gawk at the scene around me. All of the runners are hitting and smacking each other. Some of them have branches, like Diva. Others are using blunted tomahawks. A few are whirling what I hope are fake
kiipooyaqs.
And some are just throwing punches with their bare fists.

Where did they get weapons?
No one had any of these at the starting line, I’m sure of it. I stand up and quickly survey the forest. Then, in the leaves above my head, I notice a bunch of red feathers hanging from a twig. I follow the feathers up and see a large wooden paddle resting in a branch, six inches above me.

A wild shriek makes me look back down. A girl has broken a stick off a tree and is charging toward me. Without stopping to think, I jump up and tug on the feathers. The paddle falls, and I grab it. I leap to the side and swing the paddle at my opponent as she turns to face me, catching her behind her knees. She goes down, and I take off.

I scan the trees ahead and get just a glimpse of Diva’s bleached hair before she’s gone too far for me to see.
Oh no you don’t, sister.
I charge after her, but one look at the frenzy ahead makes me slow down. It’ll take too long to force my way through.

Turning, I plunge into the trees to my left. No one said I
had
to go in a straight line. Under normal circumstances, this would probably cost me the race, but there’s no way those girls will make better time than me with all their shrieking and slapping. Besides, at this point, I don’t care about winning. My only goal is to take down Diva.

I circle back gradually, giving the wildcats a wide berth and catching up to a brunette just ahead of me. I’m moving to pass her when, all of a sudden, she wheels around and attacks me with a javelin. I jump back, barely blocking the blade with my paddle. She pulls it back to strike again, and I take a whack at her legs. She dodges my blow and jabs me in the shoulder. Swearing, I spring to the left and run harder. As I glance up, I see a huge tree in our path and jump even further to the left to avoid it. The girl moves to pursue me. She’s taking aim, so she doesn’t see the tree.
Bam!
She plows right into it.

I keep running as she slams onto her back.
Serves her right.
But now I know that I can’t play nice if I want to catch Diva. So I push down the next girl before she sees me, and I shove another to the side, remembering to look behind me so I don’t fall victim to my own tactics—to watch my back.

I feel like I’m running extra fast, and I wonder if it’s because of the adrenaline pumping through my veins. But then I notice that my body is tilting slightly forward. The ground is steadily sloping down, which means it’ll be an uphill climb on the way back.

Twenty feet in front of me, I see a thin, black podium sticking out of the ground. On top of the stand is a small screen. I run toward it and hold my Quil up to the monitor. After an electronic chime tells me my information has been recorded, I whirl around, ready to charge back.

And then I realize that I haven’t seen Diva, that I didn’t pass her on the way down. Whipping my head from side to side, I see a flash of blonde in the trees to the right. She’s doing what I did—taking a detour to avoid the girls who will be stampeding down the hill.

I make a beeline for the trees. The diagonal approach helps with the hill. I hardly notice the incline. My foot slips on a rock, and I feel a throb in my ankle. But I don’t stop. I can’t lose Diva.

In moments, I’m barreling through the bushes after her. I can just make out the sheen of her hair, forty feet or so ahead. That’s a lot of ground to cover, but I won’t give up. I’m not going to let her beat me. I throw my paddle to the side. It’s slowing me down.

I fly through the trees. I don’t care about bushes or pine boughs; I smash through them. I don’t feel the stab in my ankle or the burn in my chest, don’t pause to pick up the staffs and tomahawks hidden in the trees. I don’t even look behind me.
The only thing I see is that blonde ponytail.

And then I’m only fifteen feet away. Ten. Five. She hears me coming and looks over her shoulder, and I almost stumble. It’s not Diva. It’s Tornado. I scan the forest past her.
There she is
. Maybe twenty feet ahead.

But what do I do about Tornado? I recall her viciousness in the Aerie. If I try to fight her, I won’t stand a chance.

“Not. After. You,” I pant, holding up my hands as she wheels to face me. “Her.” I point at Diva. “Please … it’s personal.”

She studies me carefully, lowers the knife she’s drawn. Then she nods. “I’ll help.” I don’t have time to decide if she’s tricking me or not, so I nod in turn and continue running. She keeps pace beside me. We bound over logs, slip between trees, and Diva grows steadily closer.

But I’m feeling the hill now. My thighs are blazing, my breath comes out in punctured gasps, and the back of my throat is like sandpaper. It’s only the diminishing gap between me and my goal that keeps me going. Only a few more feet …

A punch on my arm makes me leap to the side, fists raised, but Tornado is just trying to get my attention. She holds up a length of rope and extends one of the ends to me, tilting her head toward Diva. I grasp my end tightly. I was right not to mess with her.

Tornado counts to three on her free hand. On three, we burst forward, running even faster than before. Diva looks over her shoulder, but it’s too late. We catch the rope under her knees and flip her onto her back. She slams onto the ground and lies still.

“
Taitai
!
” I yell as I run past.

I hand the rope back to Tornado. “Go ahead,” I wheeze. I have no desire to compete with her, and she did me a good turn.

“Thanks,” she huffs.

I fall back a few paces and let her take the lead. Then I glance back at Diva. She’s still not moving.

I keep running, focusing on Tornado’s swinging ponytail, feeling the deep, deep throbbing in my legs. The sweat dripping behind my knees, the fire in my lungs, the tension in my gut. It’s suddenly too much, and I stagger forward.

But then we break out of the trees, and there’s the stretch of flat ground and, beyond that, the finish line. I see the crowd standing up, cheering, and then I see why. There are only two girls in front of us, and they’re not very far away.

Tornado switches into turbo and charges for the nearer of the two girls. I feel that familiar buzz in my blood. The end is so close.

A hard yank on my ponytail sends me shrieking backward. Pain squeezes my vision, and I skid onto my rear. When I open my eyes, the first thing I see is Diva’s livid face. The next is her foot. I roll to the side, and she misses my head. I grab her leg with both hands and jerk it forward. She trips over me, sprawling in the dirt, but she kicks at me again and nails my stomach. I gasp, choking for breath, while she jumps up and darts after Tornado.

I scramble to my feet. Ahead, Tornado has immobilized her target and is racing toward the last girl—and the finish line. Diva is close behind. I charge after them, the wind buffeting my loose hair. When I’m about twenty yards away, Diva leaps for Tornado.

Tornado must have heard her, because she whirls around just before Diva knocks her to the ground. She keeps a firm grip on her opponent’s hair, and the two of them tumble across the dirt.

Suddenly, Tornado yelps and releases her hold as Diva springs away from her and dashes toward the finish line, vying for second place. But Tornado jumps up a second later, sprinting hard, blood seeping from her arm.

I tear down the track behind them, the wind at my back urging me onward. The end is close. Fifteen yards. Ten. Suddenly, I hear shoes hammering the dirt, catch the sound of heavy breathing. I risk a look over my shoulder and see a girl behind me, raising a paddle.
My
paddle—I see the red feathers.

I spin to the side. She misses, and I hurtle forward. Now we’re neck and neck. My thick, black hair blows into my face, blocking my vision, but I don’t slow down or even brush it away. I must be five yards from the line, maybe less.

The roar from the spectators tells me it’s over. I sweep my hair aside and discover I’ve crossed the finish. But so has the girl.

Panting hard, I look at a monitor where the rankings are displayed, sensors picking up the information from our Quils when we cross the line. I blink and stare at the numbers.

1.
194

2.
88

3.
36

4.
273

I nod. It’s not a medal, but at least she didn’t pass me.

Walking to the side of the track, I sink into a crouch, my heart pummeling the sides of my chest, my lungs heaving. That was by far the craziest race I’ve ever run.

I look back at the course. The girl who used to be in second place is limping across the finish—what did Tornado do to her?—and the other racers are finally emerging from the trees. Our detour really did pay off.

I glance around for Tornado and see her speaking with a medic. Her arm is still gushing blood, the skin torn right off her bicep. I puzzle over the strange shape of the injury, and then it dawns on me. Teeth marks. Diva must have bitten her. No wonder Tornado let her go.

Gradually, my pulse calms down, and I stand back up to watch the others finish the race. All of the girls look terrible. Welts, cuts, swollen eyes.
I probably don’t look much better
, I realize as I touch the bruises on my back and shoulder, massage my ankle. At least I wasn’t caught in the thick of it.

I notice that my shirt is not as sweat-stained as I thought I would be. The fabric must repel moisture. Too bad it can’t do anything for my hair.

When all of the racers have returned, the counselor climbs back on the platform, and we line up. “It has come to my attention,” he announces, “that there was some cheating on the course and that one of the contestants will have to be disqualified.” I look down the line of battered girls and wonder what could possibly constitute cheating in a race like this.

“That makes our third place winner … number two hundred and seventy-three.” I look up. Did he just call my number? Hesitantly, I walk toward the counselor and scan my Quil on the screen in his hand. It beeps in confirmation, and he places a medal around my neck. That means the cheater was one of the girls ahead of me.

As I take my spot on the small dais, he announces the next winner. “Second place goes to number thirty-six.” Tornado walks forward to receive her prize, and I hold my breath. Who was it? Diva or one-ninety-four?

“And our
tooka
is … number one hundred and ninety-four.”

While the girl comes up to receive her medal, I look for Diva. She’s standing at the end of the line, little spasms running down her neck onto her shoulders. Her skin has turned a purplish color, and her eyes are spitting poison. I quickly shift my gaze.

We hold up our medals for the cheering crowd, and I see Lila, standing by Holly, hollering and clapping. My eyes continue to wander until they settle on the next familiar face: Jeremy. He’s sitting beside Damon, applauding politely. The strange expression in his keen eyes makes my skin tingle.

The people in the bleachers are starting to leave, but as I turn away, my eyes lock onto the one person who’s still sitting, and my pulse jumps. His elbows are on his knees, hands clasped together, and he’s staring at me, just like he was at the beginning of the race. The wind brushes the chocolate hair back from his forehead. His green eyes don’t blink. I glance to the side to check if he’s actually looking at Tornado, but she’s no longer there.

“Hooray!” Lila pounces me. “You got a medal.”

I wince as she hits my sore shoulder. “Barely.” I glance back at the bleachers, but he’s slipped away into the crowd.

“I can’t believe that girl cheated,” Lila says.

“What happened?” I ask.

“I heard that she windwalked when she was back in the forest. Someone saw her and reported it.”

That must be how she caught up so fast, after we knocked her down.

“She was off the course, so the cameras didn’t catch it,” Lila continues. “Oh man,
waerehi whawhai
is definitely one of the most exciting events. You were crazy with that paddle. And so fast.”

“You mean you saw everything?” My face turns red. Of course, she did. She probably watched it on her Quil.
That means Jeremy saw everything too. And Rye.

“Almost. Except for that part when the cameras couldn’t find you. You’re a wild woman, Kit.”

“Terrific,” I mutter. So much for a low profile. I avoid making eye contact with the people around us as we return to our
wakemo
.