The Battle Begins (19 page)

41

M
ARCUS'S FAMILY ALMOST NEVER ALL ATE TOGETHER,
since Pete lived in his own place and Bruce didn't feel he could unwind after a hard day's work if he had to worry about conversation between bites. This was a special occasion, though: Pete had brought a lady.

Not just any lady, either.
The
Joni Juniper, superstar match announcer. Helping to heal Unnaturals was great and all, but no wonder Pete kept his job at NuFormz.

“Well, I know Marcus here is certainly excited to
meet you,” his mom said. “He's one of your biggest fans.”

“Mom!” Marcus protested, almost choking on his food.

Bruce loved an opportunity to pile on more embarrassment. “He's had a crush on you for way longer than Peter, right, Marky?”

Marcus could feel his face flushing pink near the temples as the embarrassment lingered.

Fortunately, Joni was as gracious as she was at the matches. “Thank you,” she demurred with a warm smile, her teeth blindingly white against her dark skin. As usual, she knew just what to say. “We certainly appreciate Moniacs in this industry. They keep us all in business, don't they?”

A short while ago, Marcus would've been giddy just to see her face on his warp screen. It was ironic that she was sitting ethereally across from him at their dining table now that his feelings about the Unnaturals were so different.

“I'm not a Moniac,” Marcus corrected her.

It came out more defensive and bratty than he'd planned. Joni laughed easily, but Marcus sensed her discomfort.

“Oh! My mistake . . .”

“I mean, I was.” He backpedaled. He needed her on
his side, not thinking he was some jerky kid. “I just don't think the matches are right anymore because they're so violent.”

“Really?” Bruce raised an eyebrow. “That's news to me.” He definitely looked suspicious. Marcus had consistently begged for warp tickets as his only request for holidays, birthdays, and any other time he could squeeze a promise out of his parents.

“I don't know how you do it, Joni,” Marcus's mom said with a shake of her head. “Sitting through all those virtual fights.”

“Umm, it's difficult sometimes,” Joni admitted without correcting her. “But I saw enough dogfights in the alleys growing up to know that it's just the circle of life.”

Marcus looked at Joni, disappointed. That was a cheap, rehearsed answer if he'd ever heard one.

“Were you raised here in Lion's Head?” Marcus's mom asked.

“My parents live at ground level,” Joni answered with a nod.

“Oh?” Marcus's mom raised an eyebrow, and Marcus could practically see the wheels in her mind turning, calculating the risks of exposure, wondering if Joni had anything that was contagious.

“But recently, I was able to move into my own apartment.” Joni flashed one of her winning smiles, and Marcus's mom relaxed.

“It's where I was hoping to move, in the 110s,” Pete added, and now their mom looked absolutely alarmed.

“Seems like a fancy girl like you would want to aim higher,” Bruce said to Joni. “The 100s are practically ground level these days.”

“I like seeing what's going on at the baseline.” Joni twirled a forkful of noodles and gave Bruce a tight-lipped smile. “I find it more interesting than having your head in the clouds.”

There was a weird tension in the room that Marcus didn't quite understand, and no one quite wanted to acknowledge.

“If you really want to know what's going on, you need to get out of the hologram box and onto the actual field,” he suggested, trying to steer the conversation back to the Unnaturals.

“It's funny you say that.” Joni leaned forward over the table as if letting them in on a secret. “I actually first got into the industry by cataloguing biogenetic breakthroughs and misreported stats. I wanted to be a journalist.”

Bingo!

“Maybe you could do an investigative piece about Mega Media!” Marcus suggested.

Pete's laugh was nervous as he tried to diffuse the conversation.

“Marcus, what are you talking about? Joni and I both work for Mega Media. You know that.”

Marcus ignored his brother and went right on chatting with Joni. “Like, about how the Unnaturals are real?”

Bruce glanced at Pete, and usually Pete would look away, but this time he stared right back at Bruce. Marcus could almost see the air wiggling from the heat of his brother's anger.

“I . . . did know that.” Joni's tone was still upbeat, but it was more careful. “I think a lot of people are aware of the reality of the business.”

“Well, a lot of other people are blind to what's going on, like I was. But you can show them.” He pleaded with her. “They'll listen to you.”

Joni looked at her plate.

“Marcus, drop it,” Pete warned, glaring at his brother from across the table. “Everyone is doing the best they can, okay?”

“All right. As long as everyone is doing the best they
can,” Marcus said, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “As long as you're doing the best you can.”

Pete said he cared about animals, that he wanted to help them, he'd even snuck Marcus in to see them, but he wouldn't even back Marcus up at the dinner table! How would he ever stand for something bigger? All because he was afraid of Bruce the Brutal.

“You're the worst of all, Bruce,” Marcus said. He gripped his silverware tightly and glared down the table at their stepdad. “You're the one in charge of the team that's altering them!”

“I'm a scientist, you know that,” Bruce said evenly. “We lost so many creatures to extinction, and now we're finally able to bring back parts of them that were lost when they died out.”

“How honorable,” Marcus practically spat. “To save lost species in order to whip them and whistle at them and make them kill on demand.”

“Marcus . . . ,” Pete warned.

Marcus knew he should check himself, but he couldn't stop, and his voice was shaking with emotion. “To keep them in what used to be prison cells and never let them see the sun.”

“Come on!” Pete interrupted. But it was too late. Bruce was already wheeling on Marcus's brother.

“You took him to the NuFormz facility, Peter?”

“Bruce, I can explain,” Pete said, putting his hands up.

“You took an eleven-year-old boy into an enclosed area with a high concentration of the world's deadliest creatures. You really think you can explain that? That's the last straw. You can work out the week, but then I'd better see your resignation on my desk.”

Pete's jaw tightened in frustration. “Thanks a lot.” He looked at Marcus like he'd betrayed him, and Marcus dropped his eyes. “Come on, Joni. We should go.”

She nodded, her dark curls bouncing softly, and grabbed her coat. “Thank you all for a lovely meal,” she said brightly, the network personality working hard to overcome the stress in her eyes as she looked around the table.

“Wait,” Marcus shouted, knocking over his glass of powdered milk as he shot to his feet. He knew he should stop, but he needed to explain and to make them see. “You saw what happened with the Fearless, Pete,” Marcus despaired. “If no one does anything, the Invincible is going to bury the eagle-dog at the next match.” His voice cracked, and he wiped his eyes, too angry to be embarrassed.

Pete held Marcus's eyes for a moment and then looked at Joni, but neither of them answered. Pete took
Joni's arm and walked out, closing the door quietly behind him, and for a moment, there was just the sound of milk dripping onto the floor. Then, acting like nothing had happened, Bruce very calmly went back to eating his dinner.

All Marcus could focus on was the sound of the knife scraping across his plate.

Marcus's mom watched him chew for a minute and then suggested gently, “Is there something you can do, Bruce, hon? Maybe get this dog out of there for him, at least? Marcus never had pets when he was little, and we're tight on space, but we could probably fit—”

Bruce scoffed, almost choking on his food. “I'm afraid I don't have that kind of power.”

Was he serious?

“You have a ton of power!”

Bruce held his temper, as usual, and spoke to Marcus like he was a five-year-old. “We're doing important work, Marky. Some sacrifices have to be made. You'll understand that better after a few days—you're grounded.”

Trembling, Marcus stomped off to his room. He took out the Blink, knowing he should do any virtual surfing while he still had access. He needed to text Leesa.

After the match, she'd found Marcus on the simulink network and contacted him to see if he had some
book she'd lost—she thought she might've dropped it in the training center when they'd first met. He hadn't seen the book, but they'd been texting ever since. Buoyed by Leesa's small act of defiance, they wanted to help more Unnaturals, or stop the matches completely.

Stepdad in denial. Brother's too chicken. We're on our own.

Seconds later, he received a response to his text, and seeing Leesa's words made him feel light-headed.

Time to put the plan in motion. Meet me at Greenplains Bridge. Saturday. 3:00 p.m.

42

“S
HOULD WE START AGAIN FROM THE BEGINNING?”
C
ASTOR
asked when Pookie arrived, retrieving the book from its usual spot hidden under his mat. Pookie was obsessed with the story and insisted on reading part of it every night before training. They had now finished the text a second time, but Castor waved the book in his mouth suggestively, hoping that Pookie would be eager enough to read it that he wouldn't want to discuss certain other things. . . .

But Pookie wasn't scuttling around the cell like he usually did and there was none of the characteristic playfulness on his face. Instead, his legs were flexed stiffly, and his black, beady eyes bore into Castor.

“You broke our contract,” the mini said finally, his white whiskers quivering. “You were never supposed to speak of me.”

Castor ducked his head apologetically. “I know, but—”

“You betrayed me!” Pookie snapped, and lifted his first four striped legs off the ground so that he stood tall and fierce, with his red fangs prominent.

It was the first time Castor had seen Pookie in an aggressive pose, and he cowered as if he'd been whipped. With his tail tucked low, he crawled toward Pookie submissively.

“I never meant to,” he said in a soft voice, keeping his eyes on the floor and away from those scary fangs. “Moss was heartbroken thinking you'd died. I just wanted my friends to know we had a chance at freedom. You go anywhere you want in this place, and you don't follow anyone's rules.”

Pookie sighed and dropped his legs back down, the benevolent mentor returning. “Escape was always easy for me but I have not found freedom.” His voice was
wary. “I thought I could help others escape, it's true.” Pookie flexed his spider legs pensively as he started to tell the story. “I convinced both teams to join me—everyone but Moss. I cursed that stubborn bull at the time, but he was right. We barely made it out of the Pit before we were apprehended. And later, in the Mash-up, Moss's obedience was rewarded, and he was spared. I slipped through the cracks as usual. As for everyone else—” Pookie dragged one of his front legs across his own white, furry throat. “Dead, all of them.” The Chihuahua's voice was a high squeak now, on the verge of breaking. “Because they believed in me.”

“No,” Castor said, trying to comfort his friend. “It's not your fault.”

“It is!” Pookie barked, turning away. “And I was a coward and went into hiding. I've managed to avoid capture, slinking around the cells at night, stealing food from Laringo's private pantry. But as a fugitive, I am more trapped than ever.”

“But you can still break out of here. Look.” Castor went to the glass and pointed his nose toward Enza's cell, where part of the fourth door was still being repaired. “You don't have to settle for reading Leesa's book over and over to feel close to her. You can go home.”

Pookie sighed again, and his wrinkled little face
looked older than ever. “No. What home can there be for a mutant? I am not the Pookie that Leesa once knew. I am not soft or small or snuggly. Neither are you, Castor. You're scary to the outside world. Like me, your home is in here.”

“This isn't what I thought you were teaching me.” Castor dipped his tail and his wings in dismay. “I thought you said I was still Castor. Just like you're still Pookie.”

Pookie gently placed one of his legs on Castor's paw. As Castor looked into his mentor's eyes, he realized Pookie's muzzle looked grayer than ever and that the Chihuahua dog looked tired. Pookie guided Castor back into his training position, shutting down any further talk of escape.

“You must learn how to work the system, like we talked about. You're on the verge, young pup!” The encouragement was back in his voice. “Laringo can barely think for himself—he's completely controlled by the mayor—and if you can defeat him, you will be untouchable. You'll have the crowd on your side once and for all. Remember, when you have the fans, you have the Whistlers, including Mayor Eris.”

He crawled up the wall so he was at Castor's eye level. “Now breathe in through your nose,” Pookie directed. “Fill your chest up like a proud warrior. Now rise!”

Castor beat his wings and started to fly around the cell, his panic growing as every turn made it feel smaller and smaller. It was all metal, all locks, all bars. He didn't feel like himself or like a proud warrior or even a good faker. He felt like a trapped animal.

A siren wailed, and red lights flashed.

“Alert! Alert!” the parrot was shrieking from the guard's desk. “Escape on the cell block!”

The animals were being herded to slop so that the guards could check each cell, and among the chaos, Castor instinctively glanced into the cell next to his to check on his friend. Enza wasn't there, of course—she was still recuperating in the care center—but Castor noticed something strange in her cell.

The scaly remnants of a snakeskin lay in a crumpled coil in front of the fourth door.
Deja,
he thought immediately. She must have had the same ability to squeeze under doors like Pookie. Yet unlike his mentor, she wasn't afraid to use it to leave the Dome. She'd been biding her time waiting for her moment. The snake had shed her life in this place and struck out first for a new one.

A green one.

It was a life that should've been his, but now the handlers were too watchful.

In the slop, the other animals were resigned.

“She told us not to trust her,” Jazlyn sighed.

“Enza didn't from the beginning,” Samken pointed out.

“We can still make an escape plan,” Castor said desperately. Despite his talk with Pookie the night before, he couldn't let his hope die. Not yet. “We can still get to the Greenplains. . . .” Even now, he could almost smell the grass.

“The Greenplains is a dream, or it might as well be. It's too late,” Moss huffed. The zebra-bull was agitated and pacing. “It's just like before. We're the ones who will pay for Deja's actions.”

“But I'm supposed to fight Laringo,” Castor whimpered. “If there's no hope for freedom, I don't know what I'm fighting for.”

“That's nonsense.” Moss looked at him sternly, a veteran of lost wars. Still, the bull's chocolate eyes burned into Castor's, insistent. “Every time you enter that Dome, you fight for yourself.”