Shay Savage - Bastian’s Storm

I would be with her again. I had to be. I wouldn’t let her down ever again.

I opened my eyes and continued to watch the crowd. After a while, Landon returned from wherever he had been.

“Heard something interesting,” he said as he sat beside me. He waved one of the servers over to our table and ordered another scotch.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Moretti and Arden talking,” Landon said. “Arden actually sounds a little concerned.”

“Huh,” I responded. “Even punching him in the face didn’t get a rise out of him.”

“Well, apparently the arctic mitts and gloves do get a rise out of him.”

“What do you mean?”

“They’re fucking with his aim,” Landon said. “He was primarily concerned about equipment malfunction in the beginning. It’s possible for the primer in the rounds to have problems firing under extreme cold. What he hadn’t considered was how many layers you have to wear up here just to keep from getting instant frostbite. The thicker clothing is interfering with mounting his rifle to his shoulder. He has to keep adjusting his rifle to hit his target. His gloves or parka shift a little, and his aim is off again. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s a little pissed off about it.”

“You said that could happen.” I remembered his words during training when we had been going over all the supplies I would need.

“I did,” he said with a nod. “Arden didn’t think of it before they arrived up here yesterday. He must be living somewhere far north from the way he was talking, but not this far north.”

“No one lives up here.”

“Exactly,” Landon agreed. “He didn’t consider how much it might impact his accuracy.”

“That’s a point in my favor.”

“A big point.”

“Did you catch anything from any of the other players?”

“Dytalov is nervous,” Landon said. “He hasn’t done this for a while, and I can see how uneasy he is. Tyrone as well, though I think that’s because this is only his fourth tournament and all the others have been held indoors. He’s definitely uncomfortable in the cold.”

“I’m not worried about either of them,” I said dismissively. “I’m pretty sure I could kill them in my sleep.”

Landon agreed with a nod.

“I’m pretty sure Hunter and Reaper have been fucking each other,” he said. “That should provide some entertainment during the games.”

“Yeah, that’s inadvisable,” I said with a snort.

“You should know.”

“It never affected me.”

“It came close.” Landon leaned back in his chair and took a sip of his drink.

“You always said ‘close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades,’” I reminded him.

“And you said you’d never let another girl get close to you,” Landon retorted.

“Raine’s different.” I turned a little away from him, wanting to shut the conversation down, but Landon wasn’t having any of that.

“You’re different around her,” he said. “Not like you were with Jillian. I’ve never seen you quite like this.”

I looked back at his face.

“Is that a good thing?”

“Not sure yet,” Landon replied. “Are you going to let it interfere with your focus?”

“She is my focus.”

“Then that could be a problem.”

“No,” I said, “it won’t. In fact, it’s the reason I’m going to win.”

* * *

Six in the morning.

I’d been up and dressed in my gear for an hour, trying to keep myself close enough to the door not to overheat and start sweating. The only thing worse than the cold in this environment was being wet; the combination was deadly. I had four layers of warmth on my body, including the Kevlar vest and a double layer of gloves and mittens for my hands. A canteen of water was looped to my side. The many pockets in my parka held everything I needed—macadamia nuts, pats of butter, tubes of food that could be easily ripped oven without removing my hand coverings, and three long pieces of piano wire—my only weapons.

Inside my left breast pocket was the picture Alex drew of the three of us.

The other contestants milled around in the same area, eyeing each other. Erik Dytalov and Tyrone Chimes looked nervously at me as they met my stare. Hunter and Reaper stood at opposite ends of the doorway, glaring at one another.

Arden stood quietly and stoically with his eyes focused on the airfield. The long sniper rifle responsible for his infamy was strapped across his back, and a shorter assault rifle rested between his arm and body. He was the epitome of calm.

Outside, six helicopters rested on the runway near the planes. Landon was talking to the pilot who would take me from Resolute to Buckingham Island, but the wind was too loud for me to overhear anything he was saying. After a few minutes, he waved me over, and I joined him next to the aircraft.

“You set?” he asked.

“Ready,” I said. “Anything change since last night?”

“No—all’s clear.”

“Good.”

The helicopter’s engines roared, and the blades began to spin. Landon adjusted the camera attached to the goggles across my eyes and made sure it was transmitting properly. Once he was satisfied with it, he shook my hand as he leaned close to me.

“This is it,” he said. “Now you go fuck those guys up.”

I nodded and turned away without another word. The wind was burning my cheeks, and I pulled the loose-fitting mask around my face as I climbed aboard the helicopter.

We rose into the air and above the ice floes.

The scene would probably have been considered beautiful under other circumstances. Even though it was insanely cold, the sky was clear and the sun was peering out over the horizon. Everything below us was white, grey, and a thousand shades of blue.

The helicopter veered to one side and began to descend close to the ice floes near the bottom of the mountain. Chunks of ice floated in the open water near the island’s edge, and the wind blew snow into the air all around us as we neared the surface.

“Ready?” the pilot called out over the noise. “I can’t actually set down here, so you’re going to have to jump!”

“Got it!” I called back.

The helicopter descended, and I held onto the bar near the open door. As the pilot maneuvered the aircraft close to the ground and hovered, he gave me a thumbs up sign, and I jumped to the white surface below.

It was only about six feet to the ground, and I tucked and rolled easily against the icy surface. It was somewhat jarring, but I at least managed to get back on my feet without injuring myself. I checked my compass, looked out over the rocky ground leading up to Mount Windsor, the only real landmark on the island, and took off at a quick pace.

Game on.

Looking up into the sky, I saw the other five helicopters rise into the air and head back north to the airfield. I mentally marked the positions beneath them as they departed, noted the closest one to my location, and headed that way.

I didn’t know which helicopter held which fighter, but it didn’t matter much to me. Everyone would be heading to the peak of the mountain—the place with the highest and most desirable vantage point. I intended to come up from behind.

Let’s do this.

My body and mind were ready. At least for now, I knew exactly what I was doing.

Gauging the area between the closest helicopter drop-off and the most logical way up the mountain from that point, I made a beeline directly across the lower face of Mount Windsor until I found what I was looking for—slight depressions in the snow. Even with the wind quickly covering the impressions, I could see the outline of footprints. They were smaller than mine, and I guessed they belonged to either Erik or Reaper. I gazed up the mountainside, but I couldn’t see anyone.

Looping one of the pieces of piano wire around my gloved and mittened fingers, I adjusted my goggles and followed the tracks silently as the frozen wind whipped around my face, keeping close to the tall ridge on my left. It didn’t take long to catch up to the owner of the footprints, and even less effort to actually locate her. Reaper wasn’t exactly stealthy about her battles.

I could hear loud scuffling and grunting as I approached. Staying crouched, I maneuvered myself off to the side to get a good view of what was going on without being seen. As I got close enough to see through my goggles, I witnessed Tyrone swinging in a wide arc with a crowbar at Reaper. He towered over her form, but she ducked away from his swing and rolled to the side.

She was quick and agile, moving around him in fast steps as he tried to make contact with her. Tyrone moved from left to right as he swung the crowbar at her, but he missed every time. Reaper danced away, laughing as he missed again.

“You suck!” she called out though Tyrone refused to acknowledge her verbal taunts. He only glared and took a stance in front of her. “You think you’re fighting with your boyfriend? I bet my dick’s bigger than yours!”

I checked behind me and then up higher. I couldn’t see any forms or movement, and I was fairly sure Arden wouldn’t have had enough time to reach the mountain peak to fire down on me just yet. I figured I was still a good two and a half miles from the top, and even with his fancy sniper rifle, I’d still be out of range.

Unless he went for another tactic.

I heard a loud grunt and looked back to see Tyrone take a hit from Reaper’s brass knuckles as she yelled out in glee. Blood spewed over the ice from the bottom of Tyrone’s facemask. A moment later, Reaper was on top of him, pounding her fist into his face. He brought his hands up to her arms, trying to hold her off, but the chick was a lot stronger than she looked. He managed to pull them both into a roll, but she still came out on top.

Her fist slammed into his trachea, and he sat part way up with a jolt. He dropped his hands from her arms and clawed at his collapsed windpipe. Reaper jumped off of him and stood her ground, fists up and ready. Tyrone clutched at his throat, rolled to his hands and knees, and started crawling away from her.

Bad move.

Reaper was on his back in a second, slamming her metal knuckles into the back of his head over and over again until he collapsed with his arms splayed out on the cold ground. She didn’t stop but kept pounding his skull.

“Yeah! Take that, bitch!” Reaper cried out.

Her victory was short-lived.

With all the noise she was making, anyone on the island could have heard her. By now, she’d led everyone to her position. From way off to her right—the farthest point from me—a crossbow bolt flew through the air and slammed into her shoulder.

Enraged, Reaper turned toward the direction of the bolt and ran several feet. She didn’t even bother to try to remove the bolt as she dropped to the ground and rolled. Another bolt whizzed over her head and slammed into the ice a few feet away from me.

Never one to turn down an extra weapon, I grabbed the bolt out of the ice and headed up the ridge to get a better view of the fight. It took a few minutes to reach a place I could scale over—the mountain cliff was sheerer at this location—and I had to be careful about my steps to keep from falling down the outside of the ledge. I wouldn’t fall very far, but the landing would be a rough one. The sounds of the fight were louder here and coming from slightly below me. Harsh voices and the sound of scuffling brought me to the very edge where I looked down and saw Hunter and Reaper hard at it.

I settled back a bit, lodging myself partially between two rocks for protection from above and from the sides. If Hunter or Reaper looked up, they would have been able to spot me, but they were far too intent on killing each other. My vantage point allowed me to look directly down at the battle. As soon as one of them killed the other, I could jump in and finish it before the winner had a chance to recover.

“Why don’t you just put that down and let me give ya a little of what you got last night?” Reaper danced around, her eyes wide open and wild.

“I figure once you’re a piece of meat in the fucking dirt,” Hunter snapped back, “I can fuck you in whatever hole still works!”

I could see the handgun shoved into a holster at his side, but he never went for it. As I looked closer, I realized why.

His right hand was completely exposed. I could see his crossbow lying a few feet away, broken in several pieces with the bolts scattered across the ground, and a lone glove lying near it. Without something covering his skin, the metal on the gun would instantly freeze to his hand if he touched it. Even if he won this battle, his fingers would be frostbitten before he could retrieve the glove. He must have removed his gloves to improve his aim with the crossbow.