Page 31 of Down to One
“I don’t know what those are, but it looks like a couple of dozen man-sized tarantulas that have been crossed with scorpions.” She’s crossed the line from fear to terror. Her voice is high and tight.
There are so many of the scuttling beasts I can’t count them. Even if we had laser weapons, we’d be hard-pressed to kill all these creatures. We don’t have laser weapons.
“I’d do better with the sword, Blaze, but you would too. Pick. Quick.” We might have a chance if we both had swords, but that club will be slow and ineffective against the monsters. I discarded the Halckon female’s scythe an hour ago. The blade would have fallen off the shaft the first time it encountered anything with more substance than butter.
“Club,” she says. She knows I’ll be able to slay more of them than she will. But she’ll be almost no help with that heavy club.
They’ve surrounded us in a circle, maybe twenty feet from us. They’re chittering in high, squeaking sounds. I doubt we have more than a few seconds to organize. We exchange weapons and put our backs to each other.
“Titan?” her voice is small, like a terrified child. We both know we’re not going to make it out of this alive.
“You’re a fine female, Blaze. Wherever human warriors go after they die, you’ve earned your place there,” I tell her. It’s the highest praise one warrior can give another.
The drones have closed in, not wanting to miss a moment of the action.
“Now would be a great time to let me buy that laser rifle I’ve been wanting,” she shouts to the camera. “Right fucking now! That would be great!”
She hasn’t been a slave long enough to know, truly know down to the marrow of her bones, that help isn’t coming. Slaves like me, who’ve been in servitude for over a decade, we gave up expecting help long ago.
The scratchy chirping of the monsters gets louder, their feet, all six of them, are tapping anxiously in place, ready to attack as soon as they receive some signal. For a moment I wonder if they’re mechanical, sent by the network to kill us before we demand our credits, but Blaze was right. They’d be stupid to kill us when we’re going to make them rich later tonight. These beasts are alive. And deadly.
They launch all at once, coming from 360 degrees. They’re so ugly, their looks alone would strike fear into you. Their two front legs have pincers, their four hind legs scuttle. Thick, bristly spider hair covers their bodies. Their mouths open sideways as the level of their chittering increases.
Dozens of pincers snap as they launch their assault.
“Not much you can do but keep them at bay, Blaze. Hold the club with both hands and swing right to left and back again. I don’t expect you to be able to kill any. Killing one will get your bat stuck in a carcass and leave you open to assault by the others. Just try to keep them from you. I’ll do the killing on my side. If you get into trouble, yell ‘help’ and we’ll rotate to the right.”
And they’re upon us. The noise goes up twenty decibels and is even higher pitched. It’s accompanied by their sideways jaws snapping with menace.
Luckily, the dead Halckon bought or was gifted with a fine sword. Its blade is honed sharp, and the way the weapon is weighted is a thing of beauty. I’m doing pretty much what I told Blaze to do—hacking right to left and back again.
These things are deadly and numerous, but they are not smart. When I kill the biggest, they all stop for a long moment as they regroup. Perhaps they have a hive mind. I have no idea what’s going on, but they’re frozen. Their heads tilt to the side while they communicate with each other.
“I’m moving forward,” I say as I step into their pack and pick off five of them, easily lopping their heads off before they all come back online.
“Help!” she says, and we rotate a half-turn to the right.
It’s like I’m back in the arena during one of the melees they forced me to participate in. There’s a moment when you’re being bombarded by too many enemies. Your mind can’t think. There are too many variables, too many directions and opponents and permutations and possibilities to parse through. I discovered at those moments, the only way to stay alive was to turn off my brain and allow my body to do what it trained for my whole life.
When I pulled my thoughts out of the equation, when I allowed myself to go on autopilot, I was stronger, faster, and more deadly. It’s what I do here.
It’s a dance where I’m the only one who hears the music. I step forward and back. I move to the left and the right. I turn, placing my back to thecrindlesI’m supposed to be fighting so I can kill the deadliest ones attacking Blaze. Then I spin and slash the ones approaching from my side.
Time stands still. Or maybe it moves faster than the speed of light. I’m a blur. My movements are out of my control, almost as if I’m a puppet being directed by a force greater and stronger and smarter than myself.
I’m panting and wet, sweat dripping off every surface when I come back into regular time and find I’m standing amid a pile of quivering, hairy limbs. The death cries of the disgusting creatures still pierce the air. None of them are scuttling, though. I’ve hacked them to bits.
Making sure no more threats exist in front of me, I turn to look for Blaze, certain she’s lying in a pool of her own blood, her head severed from her body by one of their sharp pincers.
She’s doubled over, gasping for breath. Before I help her or hold her or find the courage to see how badly she’s hurt, I survey the carnage, stepping into the pile of severed limbs, ensuring none can live to harm one more hair on her head.
Like a male possessed, I forge into their midst, chopping and slicing and piercing their thoraxes until I’ve ensured each and every heart has quit beating. Then I run to her side, grab her by her upper arms, and peer into her eyes.
She’s covered in blood, dripping with it. But she’s breathing.
“Where, Blaze? Where are you hurt?”
She shakes her head, unable to speak, eyes wide in terror.
