Girl Apocalypse

Betting Men

I don’t know how long it is that we’re trapped in the dark room. It seems like hours, days even. There’s nothing but the three of us and the soft chugging of the air ship as it sways beneath our feet. None of us are very inclined to talk. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, we hear footsteps ring out down the hall. I brace myself, waiting for someone to come through the door, wishing I still had my knife with me. After a moment the door creaks open to reveal a group of men in rumpled suites. They stare in at us. Some of them look jolly, like they’re having a good time, and others have grim faces on. I don’t recognize any of them as my captors. So this is a new set of bad guys…

            The one in front, a tall chap with an unruly mustache, strides forward and crosses his arms. His eyes scan us, businesslike. Like he’s assessing which race horse to bet on.

            “Right,” he says gruffly, “listen up, street scum. Listen well. What I’m about to tell you will make or break you. If you listen, you may actually survive.” He looks at me with sharp brown eyes and I give him my best “drop dead” glower right back.

            “You three have been specially chosen for a special kind of competition.”

            Well isn’t that special, is what I want to say, but I don’t. I just press my lips into a thin line and frown at him. What exactly is he talking about?

            He continues, “You’re about to get off this ship. Right below where we drop you, you’ll find a bag. Collect it, it's very important. There will be plenty of things down there that want to kill you.”

            Beside me I feel Gus stiffen. I can’t help it, I blurt out, “why?”

            The man quirks an eyebrow at me, but he answers, “because there are rich men with lots of money betting on you, dear. The only winner is the one who comes out alive. You three have been chosen for your street skills. We’ve been watching you. You’re fast,” here he looks at Ellie, “and tough,” he blinks at me, “and smart,” his gaze hovers on Gus, “you were hand picked by my employer. A very wealthy man.”

            “Well aren’t we honored,” I snarl, “to be chosen for some sick death race. What kind of…”

            He cuts me off sharply, “you’d do well to listen! You’re survival depends on it! Your street ilk will try to kill you, if the desert thirst doesn’t get to you first.” He tries for a winning smile, "just think of yourselves as Gladiators! The Romans were playing this sort of game long before we were, it's an ancient concept. You should be honoured."

            Ellie’s voice trembles, “the desert…”

            One of the men in the crowd yells, “that’s if the ridgebacks don’t get you!”

            There’s a rumble of laughter from the group, and I can feel all the little hairs on the back of my neck going up. All the outrageous tales I’ve heard about the vicious, man-eating ridgeback are popping back up now. How they’re tall as church steeples. How they have twin sets of razor-like teeth. How their drool is so acidic that it burns human flesh and helps them digest bones. “They aren’t real,” I stammer, “I mean, they’re exaggerations, tall tales.”

            “Oh aye,” one of the men shouts, “They’re very tall indeed!”

            More laughter, and I can feel goose bumps crawling up both arms. Gus’ voice is defensive, “those things are only on the Canary Islands. They’re not in England!”