The Battle Begins (21 page)

46

M
ARCUS AND
L
EESA STOOD OUTSIDE THE
H
URT
D
OOR,
waiting for Antonio.

They had taken the beach path to get to the outside of the Dome, climbing over slippery rocks and through prickly brush. They'd walked all around the circular stadium, and they were both sunburned and coughing when Marcus finally spotted the big red door—unguarded, out of the way, and with only one lock.

They would open it to free the animals as soon as
Antonio arrived with the transport truck. But the minutes were ticking by—inside, they could hear the cheers suggesting the match was under way.

Where was he?

Unlike Marcus, Leesa didn't have a gas mask, and her throat felt scratchy. She knew it wasn't safe to stay out here for much longer. Leesa jabbed the letters on her screen, texting Antonio for what felt like the millionth time.

Antonio, please answer. Are you coming? What about the plan? What about the animals?

What she didn't type, but thought, anyway:
What about me?

Finally, her pocket vibrated with a response.

Too late.

What was that supposed to mean? Leesa started to ask why, but before she finished typing, another text appeared from Antonio. Leesa stared at it and felt the blood rushing in her ears.

“What does it say?” Marcus pulled the mask down to ask. He must've seen the panic on her face.

Leesa turned the tablet to show him what Antonio had written.

Can't get the truck. They're already using it for scouting. All new mutants coming tomorrow.

“All new mutants?” Marcus scrunched up his already-pink face. “But it's still the middle of the season. Unless . . .”

He thought of the last bit of the headline:
special surprise
.

“Another Mash-up. Another slaughter,” Leesa guessed miserably. “Give me the keys,” she said, holding her hand out. “It's now or never.”

But they couldn't seem to get the red door open. With dozens of keys on Pete's key ring and nothing identifying one from the other, every key seemed to be the wrong key.

“Let me try.” Marcus shifted the giant key ring to select another one. Without the use of his left arm, it was an awkward maneuver, but he thought he might have more luck than Leesa. Nope.

“Don't force it. That one's rusted!” Leesa said impatiently. “We have to be almost at the end of the ring.”

Marcus jiggled the ring, trying to get the last key unstuck, and the metal pieces clinged and clanged together noisily, the cacophony echoing their frustration.

“Those are for the individual cages. You need a different key.”

Marcus froze and turned around.

“Pete,” he said. It was all over now that they'd been caught, and Marcus had never imagined it could be so hard to look at his big brother. “I'm sorry. For what I said to Bruce. For getting you fired. For stealing your keys . . .” It felt like there was a clenched fist sitting inside his chest, and Marcus was afraid he was going to break down in front of Leesa. “I just wanted to make things better.”

Pete shook his head and squeezed Marcus's shoulder. “No, you did the right thing. I'm the one who should be sorry. Some role model I am, when my kid brother can't even count on me to do what's right. When I saw you'd taken the keys, I wished I'd had the guts to do it. Now I can. Joni gave me these. She quit, too.”

Pete pulled out a red key for the red door and slid it into the single lock. Then they heard a click, and their eyes grew wide.

“Got it.” Pete grinned. “Ready?”

The two kids nodded, even though neither of them was quite sure what to expect. Together they pushed open the door, slow and sneaky, so they wouldn't be seen.

Not that there was a chance anyone would have noticed them. Inside, the most beloved mutant was fighting the most hated one, and everyone in the stands was on their feet, screaming. It seemed even more deafening
than usual. Out of habit, Leesa looked up for Joni Juniper, who usually kept the crowd in check during the key parts of the match, but she was truly gone.

They didn't call the eagle-dog toward the door immediately; they needed to wait for a time when it was certain he could make it out. Leesa tried to make sense of what was going on in the ring. The fight was between the Invincible and the Underdog, but she felt like she was watching another match entirely—one from over a year ago, featuring Pookie the Poisonous.

“By the way,” Marcus's brother said from behind them, “when I went to the Underdog's cell earlier, I found this. Did you leave it here before, Marcus?”

He pulled a book out of his back pocket, and Leesa's eyes lit up. “That's mine!” she squealed, snatching the cherished possession out of his hands. There was a small piece of web caught on the cover, and when Leesa touched the intricate thread, the silvery strands stuck to her fingers.

Pookie. He was alive.

Leesa looked back to the match, and as she watched the eagle-dog, really watched him, she was unable to shake a strong sense of déjà vu. When the Invincible swiped his claw low—a blow that might've gutted another fighter—the Underdog bent all four knees at
once and pushed up into an impressive jump, aided by the sudden snap of his wings. Every time the eagle-dog flipped in the air, every time he jumped to block a strike, even the way he moved reminded her of Pookie.

The longer Leesa watched, the more surreal it got, because she realized the eagle-dog didn't just have a vague similarity to Pookie's style; he was using the exact same choreography. The same moves in the same order that Pookie had used when he'd fought the Invincible himself. And just like Pookie had learned that day, the eagle-dog was slowly figuring out that you couldn't beat a foe like this one with a backflip or a well-timed jump.

Leesa saw a flash of blue and yellow in her peripheral vision, and she turned to see an angry parrot flapping toward them.

“Alert, alert!” the bird squawked. “Security breach!”

“Perryyyy,” Pete groaned. He swiped his arms, grasping for it, but the bird kept dodging him.

“ALERT!” the bird bellowed, beating its wings in Pete's face.

“He's going to blow our cover,” Marcus said anxiously as people started to turn toward them and stare.

“It's me he wants.” Pete sighed. “I'll lead him to the holding room. Joni's waiting for me there anyway—she wanted to help however she could. You guys get this
show on the road. We've got your back.”

The bird followed Pete, just like he said it would, and Marcus and Leesa looked at each other and took a deep breath.

“HEY!” they yelled, beckoning. “Over here! Underdog! The door is open!”

But they hadn't thought of the fact that the stadium would be way too loud for the competitors to hear them. Or that they'd be way too engrossed in a life-or-death match to be paying much attention to the crowd.

The Invincible might not be able to fly, but he had more strength, more energy, and more stamina than any other creature. The eagle-dog had tried to tire out the scorpion-tiger with his air attacks, but now that he was forced back to the ground, he had an immediate disadvantage.

The Underdog was panting, and his wing muscles were fatigued.

Meanwhile, the Invincible was just getting started.

Despite his exhaustion, the eagle-dog started to run. But a dog's stride was no match for a tiger's long, loping steps. And though the Underdog was good at weaving and dodging, his quick-footed turns were useless against the Invincible's unpredictable scorpion scuttle over the smooth terrain.

They zigzagged back and forth across the arena, and whenever the Underdog got close to being pinned against the wall, he'd have to take sudden flight. It didn't take long until each flap of his exhausted wings looked strenuous, and his body bobbed heavily in the air.

Finally, he lost control of flight completely, and the Underdog collapsed face-first on the floor of the arena. Still he did not want to give up, and he pulled his body forward with his front paws, his muscles sticky with sand. His wings dragged after him, limp and useless.

The Invincible stalked behind the Underdog, just a big cat ready to pounce now, and Leesa covered her mouth with one hand, trying not to scream, and Marcus clutched her other hand tightly.

After everything they'd done, was it really going to end like this?

The shadow of the Invincible's stinger hung over the Underdog now, but there was another shadow in the sand, and it got larger and more distinct as the form neared the ground on a gossamer thread. A bulbous shape, eight long legs.

“It's him!” Leesa shouted, clutching her book to her chest. If anyone could help the eagle-dog defeat the Invincible, it was the one creature who'd ever stood a chance against him: Pookie.

47

L
ARINGO WHIRLED AWAY FROM
C
ASTOR WHEN HE HEARD
the noise behind him, and when he saw Pookie in fighting stance, with his four front legs raised in the air and his prominent fangs exposed, every hair on the tiger's body seemed to ruffle up, and Castor could smell the stink of fear on him—the Invincible was afraid.

Afraid of Pookie.

“You can't win if Master's decided you should lose,” Laringo insisted. The big cat bent over Castor, so close
that Castor could see each of his whiskers, and smell the food on his breath—fresh meat.

“Maybe Eva Eris isn't a good master,” Pookie called, diverting Laringo's attention. “Maybe it's time we let someone else decide. Maybe you should decide for yourself. Where is that tiger cub you once were, Laringo? Where is the beast he wanted to be?”

“Dead, like everyone else.” Laringo narrowed his eyes. “Like you. Like your flying friend here. All dead.”

He swung his tail to strike, but Pookie wouldn't give him the chance. He used his agile spider legs to spring into the air and landed softly, just outside the big cat's reach. But then Laringo shot after him, a blur of white speed, and it was only Pookie's erratic maneuvering on those eight legs that saved him.

Laringo's tail was stabbing down all around Pookie now, coming dangerously close to hitting him. Instead of running from it, Pookie jumped right at the scorpion tail, dancing up the segments while avoiding the deadly stinger.

His mentor wasn't using any of the techniques he'd shown him, Castor realized with alarm. Pookie's actions were not focused, or choreographed, or designed for the audience in any way. They were desperate, seeking out any weakness in this indestructible foe.

Laringo couldn't do much with Pookie attached to him, so he whipped his tail around like a lasso, trying to shake off the mutant spider. But Pookie's feet were sticky enough to hang from the ceiling, so they clung tightly to the thick tail.

Still, he couldn't hang on forever. Castor couldn't just lie here. He had to help him.

“I'm coming, Pookie,” he promised, struggling to drag his wounded body up.

Before he got the chance, suddenly, Castor's whole body was on fire.

For a moment, Castor thought he'd been stung before realizing the pain was the power surging through the electric collar at his throat and into his body. Castor's muscles spasmed uncontrollably and his mouth foamed.

Pookie's collar had lit up with power, too, and his shaking body made Laringo's tail clatter.

“Looks like Master's decided,” Laringo purred, and threw his body backward.

Laringo's back hit the ground with a thud, and Castor was sure Pookie was crushed beneath him.

Clearly, so was Laringo, so the scorpion-tiger was wholly unprepared when Pookie came sailing through the air on a thread from above to land on Laringo's chest, burying those red fangs deep inside Laringo's left
shoulder. The cat let out a yowl like nothing Castor had ever heard before, and then his eyes rolled back.

“I told you Pookie would keep you safe,” his tiny teacher said, and scuttled over to where Castor was lying. Castor was still panting from the ordeal, but he wagged his tail in ferocious gratitude. He reached the tip of his wing forward to rest it on Pookie's shoulder.

“How did you . . . ?” Castor started to ask, and Pookie grinned.

Instead of answering, he nodded toward the dark object lying discarded in the sand. It was the shock collar—he'd slipped his skinny neck right through.

“Oldest trick in the book!” The Chihuahua chuckled. “He'll be all right, by the way,” Pookie said, glancing over at the big cat lying immobile in the sand. “I thought about what you said. That you are Castor and not a monster. Pookie isn't a monster, either. I didn't give him enough poison to kill—”

In the next moment, Laringo's eyes snapped open, and his last surge of strength sent his tail snapping like a thick whip, and the full force of it smashed into Pookie before Laringo shuddered to the ground unconcious. The crowd gasped, and before Castor could even tell what was happening, he heard a girl's heartbroken wail slice through the silence of the stadium: “Pookie!”

“No,” Castor whined. “No . . .”

Pookie hadn't been stung, but he was small enough that the blow had crushed him. He lay still, but as Castor curled up in the sand next to his mentor and laid his head against Pookie's chest, he could still hear a faint, strained heartbeat.

“Don't go,” he pleaded. “Just stay with me a little longer.”

Pookie's eyelids fluttered open. When he saw Castor leaning over him, his mouth split into his familiar pointy-toothed grin, but it was only enough to reassure Castor for a moment. The smile turned into a grimace as the old dog started to cough—a wet, rattling rasp that sounded very grave indeed.

“You were right, young pup,” Pookie wheezed. “We should've left when you said. The student has more wisdom than the teacher. Pookie's just an old cowardly fool, isn't he?”

“No!” Castor nosed the white, whiskery sides of his mentor's face with tender respect. “Never. You're the bravest dog I've ever known.”

Pookie, the sky-born mini who loved humans and performing tricks, had saved his life.

“You're the brave one, Castor. That's what I came to tell you. Look.”

His glassy eyes drifted up to rafters, and Castor saw a huge web glittering near the top of the domed roof. In beautiful, elaborate letters, he had woven
CASTOR THE BRAVE
.

“You wove words, like in the book.” Castor smiled.

“I wanted you to see it at the end of the match, when you'd won. . . .” Pookie's breathing was getting shallower now, but his round eyes were fierce, and he spoke with urgency. “But winning is not what makes you brave, pup. Understand? It was in you from the start, and it is in you still. And you must use it to lead your pack out of here.”

“You're my pack, Pookie. Come with us.”

Pookie coughed harder and flecks of red speckled the front of his chest. When he spoke again, his voice was so faint Castor had to bend low to hear his words. “I'm afraid I'm going on a different journey, pup,” he said weakly. “One I must make on my own.”

Castor heard a whistle and turned his head. It wasn't the shrill sound the metal instruments made, though—it was a musical two-note signal, a sound just for Pookie.

“She's here,” his mentor said. His eyes, always so quick and bright, were starting to cloud over, so he closed them. A little smile played across his pointy snout as he sighed, “Leesa came for me.”