Red Denver: A Prelude to REHO (The Hegemon Wars) (3 page)

“Fight! Fight!”

Then Reho heard a voice behind him and turned to find two teens jabbing each other in the side. One of them, sporting a thin mustache and deep, dark eyes, held the possessions taken from Reho at Red Hall. The other had a face filled with pimples, dirty brown hair, and a smile as wide as the Canyon. Neither was big enough to possibly be any help behind the arena.

“You have to excuse my idiot friend here,” the one with the mustache said. “He usually just stays in the concession stands on the other side of the arena. But he’s seen you win every gasoline race. I’m Jester, and my friend here is Siek.”

Reho nodded.

“I bet you’re wondering why we’re here,” Jester said, shifting Reho’s heavy items in his hands. Reho’s OldWorld rifle was strapped to the boy’s back.
Who would give these kids weapons?

Reho nodded again as two additional enforcers approached the boys, but didn’t interrupt their conversation.

Siek gleamed with excitement and moved closer to Reho. He wondered if he was going to try and touch him. The other one continued.

“Well, Soapy sent us to let you choose one item for the fight. I did hear him say he took the shells out of your rifle, so you probably wouldn’t want to choose that one.”

Reho watched the guards move in closer. Siek reached out to touch his AIM The chains restrained him, so if the boy wanted to touch it, he could. There was nothing he could do but ignore the awkward kid. Besides, he was not the killer Soapy, the judge and, soon, the announcer would make him out to be. Reho looked at his belongings. Only one would be useful in the arena.

“Leave me the knife. And I want you to go back to Soapy and deliver a message for me.” The boys stared at him, wide-eyed, taken aback by his harsh tone.

“Yeah?” Jester asked.

“Tell Soapy that when this is over, I’m going to cut his face off with that knife,” Reho said, “and drag his body out into the Blastlands to rot in the radiation.” He left it at that, his icy words hanging in the frigid air. Both boys remained silent.
Now I am the killer they want me to be.

One of the enforcers took the knife and sent the boys on their way.
Apparently that message just made everything much worse.

Then a scream tore through the air, that high-pitched squeal that had haunted him since his arrest. Reho watched as a monolithic metal container hovered in the sky and lowered onto the arena floor.

Its rectangular body landed where Nordic had entered the arena. Whatever it was, it was intended for him.

***

Welcome, Welcome, Welcome!

Oh, have we got a treat for our patrons. As the air becomes ice-cold, only the blood spilled in the arena will warm us tonight!

The crowd repeated its usual cheers.

You know him from the gasolines. Many have placed bets on him. Many have become rich off his name, and many have lost everything because of his racing. So tonight, we have Reho! Red Denver’s own Red Killer!

With chains still on, several of the arena enforcers escorted Reho to center stage. He looked at the massive container to his right then at the crowd.
Red
Denver’s own Red Killer.
He understood that Soapy had taken every precaution to make sure he would not leave the arena alive. Whatever was caged in that container, it wasn’t human.

For the first time since season two, we have for you: man versus beast!

Come on Red Rocks! Let me hear you scream!

He looked toward Ship Rock. He could see the platform and make out Soapy against the light of the moon.

Many of you knew Soapy’s most beloved employee, Blackwell Denver, a man whose family has been part of this community for three generations. His wife and children are here tonight, abandoned and left to defend for themselves because of one man. His family is here tonight looking for justice.

The crowd erupted.

So, Soapy’s Enterprise and Exchange has spared no expense by purchasing one of the few domesticated warbeasts. Some of you are old enough to remember when the Hegemons unleashed dozens of these, sending them to tear through Red Denver. That was nearly three decades ago. Now we shall see one bring justice instead of chaos to Red Denver!

Two spotlights highlighted the enforcers as they approached the container.

They removed the bolts and let the metal front slam to the ground. A fearful gasp spread through the stadium. The chill of the night pierced Reho to the core as the bonds on his legs and hands were unlocked, his chains removed. He watched as the enforcer placed his knife on the ground several feet away, then walk from the stage. Behind him, as the last enforcer left, the gate closed.

He hadn’t noticed it before, but a blue wave of electricity washed across the arena’s fence. Perhaps it hadn’t been activated until now. They seemed more afraid of what lurked in the container then they had of the sword-wielding Nordic.

It was pitch black inside the container. There was no movement, no sound. A bright spotlight illuminated Reho.

Others were focused on his knife and on Ship Rock. The intercom crackled. This time it wasn’t the voice of the Red Rocks announcer but one much more familiar.

Reho of Virginia Bloc 4E!

Reho looked up. Soapy stood, the spotlight bathing him in a holy glow. The crowd waited, eager to see the drama unfold.
Reho from the East. Cursed. A coward run out of his own community for the death of an opponent in a gasoline race. Tell me, Reho. Was winning so important that you let Dink die?

He clenched his fist and forced himself not to lunge for his knife. He felt the familiar anger return, burning through his veins. He had been younger then, more reckless, and some lessons were learned the hard way. The image resonated in his head, filled his mind. The tunnel had been open to both Dink and Reho, the last two racers in Virginia Bloc’s 4E Annual Gasoline Race, its dark entrance a quarter mile ahead; their gasolines passed 120 miles per hour. Both battled to enter the single-lane tunnel.

His natural ability to outmaneuver had inadvertently caused Dink’s gasoline to lose control. It rolled ahead and lodged between Reho and the mouth of the tunnel. As it exploded, Reho drove through the flames, tearing into the gasoline and its driver. He could still see Dink’s body burning as it crashed against his windshield. He had won the race, but its consequences had cost him his home and a life in Virginia Bloc.

Your sins follow you, Reho. You think you can run. You think you can trust those you love the most. But everyone has a price. Especially when they discover their former lover is a murderer.

A fourth spotlight illuminated a girl in the crowd.
Jena
. Reho reached out, but there was nothing to hold on to. His head pounded as images of Dink tangled with his memories of Jena: lying together in his bed, their naked bodies entwined as they shared their darkest secrets. It was on one of those nights that he had told her about Dink. About everything. She had a past, too. Running away from Ascension Bloc, she had left behind the man her family had forced her to marry.

She was a few years younger than him and desperately wanted Red Denver to be that safe haven she desired—and for him to provide the stability and happiness she hadn’t found in her home community. They’d been wild about each other. She told him it was his eyes that made the difference, made her say yes to his dinner invitation. She felt safe with him; her fears evaporated when she looked into his soft, honey-brown eyes. Looking at him was like opening a window to her soul. But he lacked the one thing she’d needed more than physical passion and protection. Jena needed someone who could be satisfied with a simple life in Red Denver.

He chased the adrenaline of the gasolines. She had accepted his abilities and differences. She understood him as much as anyone ever had. But the thought of losing him later prevented her from loving him now. Jena left . . . and Reho chose to stand by and watch her go. He then focused all his time into becoming the best gasoline racer on this side of the Blastlands.

Your past always finds you. This man must be stopped here today. By all means! And the only way to ensure that is to unleash our worst nightmare. We say these captured warbeasts are domesticated, but it's a lie.

The crowd gasped then chanted.
Warbeast! Warbeast! Warbeast!

The beast is just as much a killer as this man you bet your money on, a man who kills anyone who stands in his way. Men like Blackwell. But no fear, Red Rocks! We do offer some protection from this warbeast. The fence you see has over 100,000 volts running through it. And this remote controls the warbeast.

The crowd cheered then quickly quieted as Soapy continued, the remote held high.

We control when it attacks. And we control who it attacks.

Soapy activated the controller. The holding-container shook, followed by the familiar scream. The spectators covered their ears as they roared in approval. He searched the crowd for a glimpse of Jena. He spotted her—elbowing her way through the crowd as she tried to leave the arena.

Reho hadn’t seen her for almost a year. Their time together had been brief. One particular night they’d spent together haunted him. He had awakened from a terrifying nightmare of a man in a bright city who guarded a door to what looked like a tall office building from the OldWorld. Reho could never see his face, but his hands stood out, despite the blinding light. His fingers were long and sharp like claws. He was dressed in a black suit. Reho could always make out the tag on his suit, a triangular symbol with an eye and a single name under it: Jimmy. The nightmare had only occurred a few times, but that particular night he’d been with Jena.

Jena had been full of compassion and concern, so he had shared the dream and much more. He’d told her about Dink, his home community, his years in the Blastlands, his time east near OldWorld Los Angeles, and north around the Great Lakes. Somehow Soapy had known they’d been together. Now it didn’t matter. Their lives were on two different paths. And for Reho, his primary concern was whatever lurked—hidden and waiting— in the container across the stage.

The spotlights shut off one by one. He quickly grabbed his knife as the remaining spotlight went out. The arena lights came on, illuminating the stage with an eerie blue glow. He could see the electricity as it sparked along the fence. Nothing moved in the container.

The temperature had dropped. He activated his AIM: it was 7 degrees Fahrenheit. There was no escaping the arena. Killing whatever waited for him was the next step, his only choice.

A thick, icy fog blew from inside the container. He tightened his grip on his knife’s handle.

The spotlights were gone. Now it was just Reho and the beast that Soapy controlled from atop Ship Rock.

He saw its eyes first. Two luminous green spheres moved closer to the opening of the container. The cheering crowd and screeching instruments faded into the background as Reho focused on the task at hand.

As if on cue, the creature launched out of the container and landed several feet from the electric fence. It hissed at the crowd, which shrunk back, suddenly wary.

Surprised by its size, Reho got his first look at one of the genetic creations of the Hegemons. The alien invaders had created these beastly soldiers for one purpose: to kill humans. It was certainly large enough for the task.

Tales of these genetic mutations were often on the lips of adventurers and wanderers who traveled throughout Usona, but few had actually seen one. The beastly killer was twice the size of the cows they raised in Virginia Bloc. Its skin was black and shiny like the whales he had seen in picture books as a child. The creature’s head was tagged. He recognized the embedded metal as a Colorado license plate from the OldWorld. The plate read: SO-7APY3. The numbers clearly marked the warbeast as Soapy’s property.

The creature crouched and moved closer to the cheering crowd, distracted by their noise and movement. The beast reared back and launched itself toward the fence as panicked spectators on the first few row pushed their way into the upper rows. The warbeast hit the fence.

Thousands of sparks lit the cold night sky. The warbeast shrieked and backed away. It thrashed and struck its tail at the fence like a giant whip. Then its attention was on Reho.

Reho could see diamond-shaped burn marks on the beast’s tail, courtesy of the electrified fence. Its skin was tough. He wondered how hard it was going to be to get his blade into its side. He stared into its glowing eyes and moved back as the beast headed in his direction. It bared its teeth, revealing what looked like dozens of genetically designed razor blades.

Both Reho and the creature were momentarily distracted as the large crane returned and lifted the container out of the arena. The beast jumped at its swinging cage, hitting its side and falling back to the ground.

Reho moved back and positioned himself in the center of the arena.

The beast returned its attention to Reho. For a moment he thought of the old man, how he’d stood motionless in the face of his opponent. Reho calmed his body.
Always let your opponent strike first
.

The beast leapt, its mouth open, teeth flashing their intent. He evaded the attack. As the beast passed, its tailed whipped across Reho’s chest, launching him into the air. As he landed on his side, the jolt sent his knife skidding across the arena. It sparked as it hit the fence. The beast circled in front of him. He knew he had no chance without his knife. He waited for the beast to strike again.