FriendorFoe (6 page)

She squatted at his ankles, balanced on her toes. When she stood, a bit of rope dangled in her left hand. She faced him, but the wan lighting hid her expression.

"Come on, Simon. This way." She moved.

He had to scramble to his feet and jog to catch up with her. He glanced around the cave and nodded. Not quite cavernous, maybe, but he'd made a respectable guess. Had Agnes not shown the way, he might have wasted valuable time searching for the tunnel where the light crept in.

She led him directly to it, placed a dainty hand against the stone and ducked into the passage. Simon frowned. She didn't hurry and hadn't offered a single word of explanation. She said nothing, in fact, and Simon's agitation swelled with each pace down the tunnel. He watched her back as she stepped gingerly over the jutting rock and waited for her to speak.

The circle of light came into view, the end of the tunnel gaped out on the ravine, and Agnes still said nothing. Simon stopped walking and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Do you know what my father told me about you?"

"No." Agnes didn't look at him. "Poor Agnes again?" she whispered, but the echo bounced along the tunnel.

"He said you were a good soul and you had a kind heart."

She refused to look at him, but Simon thought he saw a change in the defiant stance, a ripple that softened her outline against the light of day. Her face fixed on the tunnel's end. Only her voice reached him.

"We don't have any time, Simon." She might have meant anything by it.

"Agnes." He stepped closer to her. Every moment alone provided an opportunity to sway her, to swing her away from Spaulding's path. Simon had to try. Her voice held too much sorrow. He couldn't believe her capable of anything truly evil. "Agnes, listen."

She turned to him just as his hand reached out, turned wide, tear-rimmed eyes that sparkled in the light slanting through tunnel. Simon's chest squeezed at the expression on her face. He brushed his fingers along her arm and leaned in closer.

"No." Her hand found his chest first and pushed. "We don't have time, Simon. I'm sorry. We need to finish this thing." She paused.

He heard her swallow.

"For your father."

"You have no intention of winning this race, Agnes. You never did."

"Simon."

"Tell me, Agnes."

"Do you know what your father told
me
?" She turned away and stared out into the ravine. "Do you?"

"No."

"He told me the only power worth having is--"

"The power to control your own actions," he finished for her. "It was one of his favorite sayings."

"Exactly."

"I don't get it."

"Simon, look at me. Your father saved my life. He taught me more about how to live in a few days than, than anyone had ever tried." When she looked back in his direction, the tears won the battle, spilling down across her cheeks. "He was a great man, Simon."

He nodded and thought about kissing her again. She already inched her way further along the passage, however, and he settled on following, grinning, in her wake.

"So." They'd reached the opening. He could see the nets leading back up to the course. The drone of the search and rescue copter hummed overhead. "What's the plan?"

"All right, Simon. This will work out better if you're in the loop."

He nodded. She'd convinced Spaulding to let her take his place. She'd convinced The Spartan to leave them alone in the cave. Whatever Agnes had cooked up, she'd accomplished a mighty task to see it play out her way.

"We have one more obstacle before the homestretch, a series of sand pits and springboards that should be easy enough."

Simon nodded. It sounded like a nice workout. "Right."

"Then, on the homestretch, I sprain my ankle and go down." She squinted at him and pointed a finger toward his chest. "You keep running, no last minute chivalry. By the time I limp across the finish line, you'll have won and Spaulding will have a hard time blaming me. Unlike him, I can fake an injury."

Brilliant and ironic. Their children would be geniuses. "Good. Good plan. And then what?"

She lost him in a flash when she answered, "Then Spaulding and I leave town forever."

The Sacrifice

Agnes scrambled up the net before Simon could catch her. They didn't have time for debate and she'd seen the argument brewing behind his frown. The
accident
had brought out the search party and she gauged they had about three minutes to get out of this ravine and back on course before a rescue descended.

As it was, the bloody helicopter kept buzzing over. She scowled at the flash of orange and hauled her body up along the stone face. The netting twisted in her grasp and she dangled out over the drop for seconds before shifting her body back into a secure position. She glanced down and found Simon at her heels. Twelve more feet before she could haul out onto solid ground and he caught hold of her ankle.

"Agnes!"

"Let go of me, Simon." She turned her foot to the side and tried to dislodge his grip without sending him tumbling back to the mats.

He grunted and held fast. "We--need--ouch--to discuss this."

"No discussion." Agnes risked a fall and jerked her foot away. "It's already done." She snagged a handful of netting and pulled away. She moved quickly, grabbed each successive cross strand and worked her feet non-stop until she made the top and rolled out of the ravine and onto the sand again.

She lay there for a moment and let her chest swell and fall until the rhythm settled. When Simon's arm snaked into view, clamping onto a square of net and pulling his head and torso into sight, she rolled away and stood. She stomped the feeling back into her legs and looked away down the course.

"Agnes." Simon tried again. He lay near the precipice, one arm still wound in the netting and the other supporting him.

"Just keep running, Simon." She spun on her heel and raced across the short stretch to the first springboard. She could feel the fatigue threatening her pace. Her muscles complained at moving again so soon, but Simon pounded along just a step or two behind. She chalked his tenacity up to an overdeveloped sense of justice.

The wishful little girl wanted to believe it was her--the idea of her leaving--that disturbed him, but adult Agnes shushed the thought even as it formulated. Simon had a hero's sensibility and that, not some competitive flirtation, pushed him to question her plan.

She shook off a wave of disappointment. She'd already made this sacrifice fifteen years ago when her family packed her off upstate. Now she would earn the reward. Today, she'd pay back Mr. Maxwell and save the town. Agnes. Poor Agnes would be today's hero and if only Simon and the mayor knew it, she could live with that. She smiled. Just Simon would have proved sufficient.

Now she heard him breathing alongside her. Their steps matched as they arrived at the pits. She expected him to fall back and give her the lead, but he burst ahead two strides from the pit, slammed off the board and soared across the sand trap before Agnes's feet hit the platform. She pushed off, felt the thrust of the spring and arched out over the obstacle just as he landed.

The pits lay to either side of a narrow path, winding along the last stretch of canyon and covered in a dusting of loose sand. This skittered under foot and provided enough of a hazard to slow the competitors between jumps. The danger lay not in a fall, but in struggling to drag oneself out against the pull and shift of the deep sand.

She jumped the second pit and skidded along the path a few feet before regaining her balance. Simon wobbled along ahead of her, not looking back. Agnes sighed. It was for the best. She'd just about convinced herself he intended to play along when he slipped, waved his arms wildly and vanished over the side of the walkway.

Damn. Agnes clenched her jaw and kept jogging. She neared the spot where he went over, fixed her eyes forward and called softly, "Simon, this isn't going to work." The sand rolled under her feet, but she kept moving. "Simon! Get back up here."

He didn't answer. Agnes slowed to a walk and tried to peek casually into the pit. "Simon?" She hissed his name, "Simon?" She stopped and looked over the side.

He sprawled on his back halfway down the slope. Sand caked his clothing and hair and his eyes didn't open when she called his name again. He didn't even twitch.

Agnes swung her legs over and slid down the wall. "If you're faking, Maxwell." The sand shifted under her feet. "I'm going to kill you."

He lay still when she dug her heels in beside him, didn't flinch as she scrabbled her way to a stop alongside his body. She bit her lower lip and reached a hand to his chest. Maybe he wasn't faking, maybe he was really hurt. Agnes held her breath and pushed the thought away. When his chest moved under her palm, she let out a relieved exhale.

"Simon?" She pushed him and his body rolled under her touch, completely limp. A stab of fear pinched her lungs. She crawled up over him and leaned toward his face. His breath brushed against her cheek. Alive, at least. "Simon, can you hear me?"

Steely arms clamped around her waist. Before she could scream, the sand shifted and Simon had rolled them both over and pinned her beneath him. Agnes caught the flash of his eyes before he was kissing her again. She completely forgot to struggle. His lips moved against hers and her body arched into him. She tried to free her arms, to find his hair with her fingers, but he held her fast. She pressed upward, felt the iron of his chest against her shirt and moaned. His tongue darted over her lips before he pulled back just enough to meet her gaze.

"I don't like your plan," he said.

"Simon." She kicked her feet and they slipped another foot toward the pit's bottom. "Listen."

"No, Agnes, you listen." He leaned down and brushed his lips against her mouth briefly, sending another shockwave through them both. "There has to be another way. We can sort this out without sending you away again."

"There is no other way, Simon," her voice cracked. "It's too late to go back now."

"We could tie. You sprain your ankle and I carry you across the finish. Nobody loses."

"Except the town." Agnes shook her head and pressed her eyes shut against the ache in her chest. He would throw this thing, to keep her here. "The town would lose, Simon. We have a chance to get rid of The Spartan, to free the town from my family's madness for good."

"But--"

"No, Simon. We can't. We owe this much to your dad." Just like that, she'd won. She could see it in his eyes.

When he kissed her again, she melted. Simon's touch lit fires all through her body and Agnes wanted to remember every second of it. She needed to remember the softness of his hand at her neck, the taste of his lips, all of it. She'd carry this moment with her when she left for good.

Suddenly the idea lost its appeal. She imagined staying, kissing Simon, feeling like this tomorrow and the next day. His tongue danced against hers and her spine arched in response. Would it be so bad to stay? They could orchestrate a tie. They could work against The Spartan together. Maybe they could control his movements enough. She pushed against Simon's chest hard enough that he slipped away. Control. The only power worth having, Agnes. She sat up and watched him struggle to regain his purchase on the slope.

"Time to finish this, Simon. For your dad." She didn't wait for him. Simon could handle the sand pit. Simon could probably handle anything. Agnes fought her own battle out of the sandy trap and dragged her body back up onto the solid walkway. She pushed against the planks, got to her feet and took off at a run without checking his progress. It was too late to look back now.

* * * *

His whole body burned. He flattened out against the pit's side and practically swam up onto the walkway. Agnes had already vaulted the next pit and the sight of her landing in a crouch, flexing and taking off again, ignited even more fires under his skin. He groaned out loud and stood.

He could still catch her. After the pits, he could catch her on the homestretch and try to reason with her. His feet shifted against the sandy boards and he chuckled. The course designer should have taken into account the soles of Simon's sneakers--made from the same grip-tech material as the bottom of Maximus's high, blue boots.

He stopped playing and dug in, launched the next pit and ran full tilt toward the last one. As he sailed over it, Simon saw Agnes peek over her shoulder. She sped up, entered the final straightaway and put on enough speed that a flash of doubt interrupted his plans. What if she really meant to win?

He tore after her. The canyon walls fell away and they raced full out toward the rickety bleachers in the distance, the rodeo grounds and the finish line. Simon focused on his breathing and cut Agnes's lead in half. He saw her look back again, but this time she winked at him and he knew she meant to do it. His legs churned faster. Ten paces between them and he'd have a second, maybe two, to dissuade her.

Nine paces and she slowed.

He leaned forward, felt the air sweeping by his face and knew she'd never hear him.

At six paces, she screamed.

Simon watched her ankle buckle and winced. Her running shorts hit the ground. She fell to her side in a puff of dust just as he reached her. She stared up at him and shook her head. Keep running, Maxwell. Just keep running.

He'd seen the tears in her eyes. He'd seen the ankle fold when she fell.
Unlike my brother,
she'd said.
I can fake an injury.
Simon clenched his teeth as he passed her. He growled against his instincts, his every nerve pressing him to stop and help her. Fake an injury, my ass, he thought. More like take one for the team.

The ground blurred in front of him, but his feet continued to lift and fall. The rhythm pounded in his ears until the sound of the crowd joined it. He blinked, found himself closing on the outlying fences, on the decaying chutes. The stands across the arena teemed with screaming faces, faces that relied on him to keep the town peaceful, to keep The Spartan at bay.

He hated all of them, just for a second, before he swept across the arena and through the glossy, yellow band of tape that meant he'd won again. It clung to him, dragging to either side, a tie that held him to the town as surely as any real bondage. His fists closed around the strip. Simon paused just short of tearing it.