Titans (27 page)

We make it to Cyclone Track a half hour before the race begins. I throw on my silks, breeches, and riding boots, and hug my best friend. Magnolia doesn’t give me a long speech to inspire confidence. She simply smiles and says, “Remember: You’re here. You made it. Love you madly.” Lottie nudges Magnolia, and after giving me a small wave, she guides my best friend to watch from the crowd. I like to think she’ll stand by my father instead of Hart, but he went home after repairing Padlock’s part, saying that I didn’t need him.

I was too proud to admit that I did.

Barney slaps me on the back, grins, and follows Lottie and Magnolia outside. I guess the time for talking is over. There’s only one thing left to do tonight.

I run my hands over Padlock’s side, and the horse bends his head in greeting. “I don’t know what I’ll do if I don’t win tonight,” I say to him. “My family stills needs money to keep the house. And Magnolia’s family does too. My father … he’s better, sort of. But what happens when Monday rolls around and he goes on another bad interview? What happens when that final notice on our house arrives? My parents will fight. Dani will run. And Zara will look to me because I failed to fix things like I promised.” I hug my horse close. “I need this, Padlock. And you deserve it.”

My horse jerks back and looks at me intently. My brow furrows watching him study me that way. It’s like he’s peering into my soul. Like he’s trying to tell me something important, but can’t say it aloud. His determined stance soothes me, tells me he’ll catch me if I fall. And his eyes seem to say only:
Trust me
.

I open my mouth to tell my horse how much he means to me, but Rags chooses that moment to make an appearance. My trainer fidgets, shifting his weight back and forth, and I know it’s not the race he’s worried about.

“I don’t have the words for this kind of thing,” he says, patting Padlock on the haunches. “But you should know it’s been my honor to be your manager.”

My tongue is thick in my mouth as I try to respond. Unsure of what to say, I come back with, “I hope at the end of this race you still think I was the right person to race your Titan.” I pause. “I hope I make you proud.”

Rags meets my gaze. “You’ve already made me proud, Astrid. Sometimes I’m so proud I could burst.”

I turn away to collect myself, because I have to concentrate.

Because I have to win.

Rags spots me as I swing into my saddle. “Remember what I said about his engine. You’ll have to race smart, not fast. If you push Padlock too hard, the part could disconnect. If that happens, he’ll turn off and you probably won’t be able to get him started again quick enough to get back in the race.”

“I understand,” I say.

Rags nods, and then opens the stall gate. I guide Padlock to the parts check line, flutters tickling my insides. What if she doesn’t let me compete? The part we have isn’t standard issue, and isn’t that what she’s monitoring?

When it’s my turn, Rags nervously licks his lips. The woman pops open Padlock’s engine flap and starts checking off boxes on her sheet. She stops and frowns at us, and my stomach drops to my feet.

Tapping her pencil eraser on Padlock’s belly, she says, “This isn’t standard issue. What is this?”

“It won’t give her an advantage in the race, I assure you,” Rags says firmly.

“Doesn’t matter,” the woman retorts with a yawn in her voice. “No foreign parts.”

My blood surges and my hands curl into fists. This can’t be happening. Rags tells me we can hardly get Padlock to stay running, and now we can’t even race with a handicap?

A man steps into the barn, someone who’s been spying on our check-in. “Let them go ahead, Devon,” Arvin Gambini says, casting his million-dollar smile my way. “We don’t want to hold anyone back.”

“No, you wouldn’t want to do that, would you?” I snap.

Arvin continues to grin as the woman looks from him to me, and shrugs. She closes Padlock’s hatch and waves us forward.

Rags walks beside me as we leave the barn. “I’m not going to question his intentions back there, and neither should you. Mind on the track, okay?”

“Okay,” I reply, but I glance back anyway and catch sight of the tall, dark man watching Arvin Gambini. He narrows his eyes and jots something down on a notepad. Standing next to him is Theo. He doesn’t appear pleased.

I return my attention to the final race. The Titan Derby—a race entitled
Darkness Falls
. I notice the starting gate is empty, and that the crowd is thin for such an important night. I’m about to ask Rags what’s going on when a handler approaches.

“I’ll lead you to the starting point,” a young boy says.

“Where will that be?” Rags demands.

“Can’t say.” The boy reins Padlock and leads the horse behind him. Before we get too far away, he shoots Rags a backward glance. “Special track tonight.”

My gut twists into knots. A special track? The derby track is always special—longer, or packed with harder jams—but never has the media not known some detail beforehand, and as a result, the jockeys and attendees as well.

Rags stands tall as we’re guided away. Right before we’re out of earshot, my trainer yells, “You can do this, Astrid. I can already see the cup in your hands.”

I laugh to myself, touched by his unbreakable confidence. But as I’m led farther and farther from my manager—down, down into the blackness—my laughter falls away.

We’re beneath the ground in some sort of mine shaft. I don’t believe the engineers created the shaft itself, but they must have created the downward slope we took to arrive here. I remember my history teacher once referring to Detroit as the City of Salt because of its elaborate mining system beneath our buildings and streets and rumbling, spit-and-vinegar vehicles.

There’s no crowd to be seen. No cameramen or photographers. There are only four Titans prancing next to one another, and a few minutes later, there is Arvin Gambini. The man is followed by the reporter and his brother, who don’t seem to enjoy being underground.

I sidle up next to the other Titans and take my place behind a yellow line. Batter, Skeet, and Penelope look at me and scowl. They are competitors tonight, but where Padlock and I are concerned, they are united. I dismiss their looks of disapproval and instead study my surroundings, the chalk line drawn crudely along the ground and the lightbulbs hanging five feet apart and stretching into the cavern.

“Welcome to the Titan Derby, my friends,” Arvin booms. “This year, we will not be announcing the exact race length. Rest assured your fans will see the race from the use of small cameras mounted throughout the track. I wish you the best of luck. Please wait for the starting flag to fall before beginning.” Arvin picks up a flag from the ground, and the hairs on the back of my neck rise. This doesn’t feel right. It’s too dangerous down here. How would the medics get to us if something tragic happened? And what about the mine itself? How long has it lain dormant? Could the ceiling cave in?

The Titans push closer, and one by one their eyes blaze to life. I touch Padlock’s small black button and, thank goodness, his racing engine kicks on, his ruby irises burning along the walls and ceiling and floor. With all four Titans’ eyes glowing red, it looks as though we’ll charge through the gates of hell when that flag drops.

“Arvin,” Theo says, his voice holding a note of hesitation.

But it doesn’t matter.

Arvin only smiles.

And lets the flag fall.

There’s no time to think. No time to strategize. We’re off, the sound of Arvin’s mad laughter filling the space behind us as Titan hooves beat the ground. I notice almost immediately white dashes chalked into the ground, much like the marks on a road. We follow the marks instinctually, Batter taking the lead, and Penelope falling into place behind him.

Our first jam comes after only a few seconds. A swinging lightbulb overhead casts an eerie glow onto our obstacle—rolling balls sliding back and forth along the ground. They span from one side of the wall to the other, and go on for twenty feet. I don’t know what’s inside them, and I don’t have time to care.

I drive Padlock down the middle, only a fraction behind my competitors. As always, I search for a pattern to the dark metal balls. There must be a way to predict the time it takes them to roll between the two panels placed low on the ground. But as my mind spins through the possibilities, and Padlock grows closer, the light shuts off.

Penelope releases a scream as we’re thrown into total darkness. In the distance is another light, but it’s evident we’ll have to pass this jam blindly. I clench my jaw and push onward, but slow Padlock when something explodes, throwing flames into the air.

“What the—?” Batter yells.

Another fireball detonates, and Skeet hollers.

I understand at once what’s happening. The balls detonate when they hit the Titans’ legs. This time, I don’t try to find a solution, because quite frankly, I don’t believe there is one. While other jockeys stand still, attempting to solve the problem, I rush forward.

The first ball hits Padlock’s hooves and fire burns up his leg, almost searing my injured ankle. I jerk my legs up and cross them in Padlock’s saddle. My Titan is made of steel, and so there’s no danger of him burning unless the heat is over a thousand degrees Fahrenheit, in which case the heat would be too great to survive at all. That means these fireballs are here only to slow us down, but I won’t let that happen. Not when there’s this much at stake.

Four more balls explode beneath Padlock’s belly, and it isn’t until we’ve passed the jam that I wonder about my horse’s engine. His steel body is intact, but what about the fragile part connected to his engine? Has that overheated?

I don’t have time to ponder more over this, because before I know it, we’re closing in on the second jam.

In the light’s reappearance, I’m able to see that I’m in third place. Batter is gaining on me, while Penelope and Skeet race a few yards ahead. I try not to dwell on this, for the track could go on for miles, and any jam could put me in a different position.

Scanning the walls, I notice orange nozzles hung at sporadic intervals. A silver box sits to one side—no telling what it holds. Penelope and Skeet race toward the jam, but right as they reach the perimeter, the lights switch off once again.

The sound of hooves moving reaches my ears, and a moment later a gust of fire shoots from the walls. Skeet screams, and in the fire’s glow I see her pull her horse to the right and out of harm’s way. But as soon as she reaches the other side, another flame shooter kicks on. As she navigates through, I notice the fire forms a zigzag pattern. So with sweat forming at my temples, I close my eyes and punch him through the labyrinth of fire.

Without my eyesight, I can’t properly predict where the next gas spout lies, only that my best bet is to keep weaving left and then right. When we reach the other side, I notice I’m side by side with Penelope, Skeet still in the lead. Batter has fallen back again, but I know he’s close behind.

The lightbulbs reappear as we shoot onward, following the uneven terrain up and down and around corners. When the ground takes on a strange appearance, I know we’ve reached the third jam.

I do my best to make out what it is. But then the lights snuff out.

And Padlock and I fall forward.

We plunge downward and stick in place. What should make a splash instead makes a spongy, goopy sound. Unsure of what to do, I attempt to navigate Padlock forward with the gas bar and joysticks, but something about the substance he’s swimming in confuses his system. When the sound of three other Titans wading through the tacky liquid reaches me, my pulse picks up its pace.

I push Padlock’s gas bar farther and hear an unmistakable grinding noise. Remembering Padlock’s delicate engine, I ease off the bar and think. Pushing him harder is no use. In fact, I think we’re wading in circles. I don’t know how to get him to swim straight, but I have to figure it out.

I rack my brain until finally, I have it. The answer isn’t in the control panel. It’s not even in the saddle at all.

Quietly, I dismount. My heart sledgehammers in my chest when I slide into the muddy mass. My arms and legs feel as though they weigh a thousand pounds, and I can hardly keep my head above the surface no matter how hard I kick. But when I grab on to Padlock’s neck, I’m able to calm myself enough to strategize.

Putting my hands on either side of Padlock’s muzzle, I move backward, in the direction of where I believe the wall lies. With the gas bar still engaged, my Titan follows. I release a sigh of relief, because I wasn’t sure whether the Titan would swim along with me without my palms on the joysticks.

When I reach the wall, I feel my way along and guide my horse. He’s strong enough to power through the substance, and with me showing the way, we’re quickly making it to what I hope is the other side. Eventually, my feet touch the bottom and excitement rushes through me in waves.

I limp backward out of the substance, putting most of my weight on my good ankle, until Padlock is far enough out that I can remount him. I push his gas bar back into a racing speed, and we’re off. When the lights flip on, I glance around. Not a single Titan races ahead of us. Somehow, someway—we’ve taken first.

I revel in this realization for all of sixty seconds—Padlock and me flying through the shadowy tunnel—until we’re slammed from behind. My Titan stumbles to the right as Batter pulls to my left, a sneer spread across his ruby-cheeked face.

“You’re going to fall again, trash,” he yells.

His words echo through the tunnel, and when I listen hard enough, I also hear the sounds of Penelope and Skeet closing our lead. I don’t respond to Batter’s taunts, only navigate Padlock toward a tight turn and prepare to take it. Batter cuts me off, though, his Titan slamming into mine a second time. Sparks fly as their steel bodies grind against each other.

Padlock slams his head into Batter’s Titan and the two of them collide into the opposite wall from the impact. Despite my nerves, I release a laugh, because I certainly didn’t make Padlock do that. More and more, my Titan is working on his own. I’m not sure if it’s the EvoBox that makes him do such things, but I don’t chastise him for it one bit.

Soon, our four horses are growling toward the fourth jam.

Water shoots down from ceiling sprinklers. The temporary lights illuminate a wall of water so dense I can’t see through to the other side. It pounds the earth with such force that bits of rock dance at its feet. Batter bangs into me once again and takes the lead. But the moment he hits the water, he screams in pain. The intensity of the stream must be like getting hit with a fireman’s hose.

I ease off Padlock’s gas bar, and instead lean on his brake. Then, without slowing to a complete stop or hesitating, I swing my legs over the side and leap off, leaving the gas bar engaged. My ankle screams when I come down on it, but I bite down and tell myself the injury doesn’t exist. Then I curl myself under Padlock’s stomach, his steel body protecting me, and the two of us head straight through the destructive water jets. When we appear on the other side, the lights flicking back on, I see that Padlock’s steel has tiny pockmarks in it from the jets—and that Skeet is in the lead. What’s more, there’s a good fifty feet between her and us. So I pull myself back into my saddle and bear down.

I don’t manage to catch up to Skeet, but I do get close. Already, purple bruises blossom on the back of her neck. She must have ridden straight through the engineered waterfall without stopping. My focus turns from beating out Batter, to beating Skeet, the girl who’s deaf to pain.

Skeet pummels forward, turning around each bend with her uncle’s legacy for speed, but I stay with her, hoof for hoof. The two of us sail through the tunnel like two characters in a video game, the cling-clang of our steel horses the rat-tat of an arcade parlor.

Skeet begins to slow at last, and I wonder if her Titan has malfunctioned. But no, I see what’s stopped her now. It’s the fifth jam, lying straight ahead.

Just looking at it sends a chill down my spine.