Page 51 of Wild Child
Dust?
"Eager beaver?" Kimball asked, but it was acerbic at best.
The behemoth glared through slitted eyes. Kimball's false smile dropped. He cleared his throat and looked away. Not far from him, Steve growled in his throat, but the recipient wasn't clear. Kimball avoided him as well by canting to the side, giving Steve a shoulder.
The other two smaller men separated, each standing near—but not too close to—one of the behemoths. With any luck, they'd forget I was here, and I could sneak away. Devin was within the ring of firelight, which meant I couldn't pull him to safety, slap him awake, and get us both out of here without being detected. My mind ran back through my plan uneasily, but I shoved the reservations aside when Kimball raised two hands.
"Then let us begin! Gentleman, welcome to the second Survivor Club fight."
He reached into his pack to extract a plastic bag filled with what appeared to be two stocky bricks of something pink. A powder, perhaps? Night had started to fall, making the flickering shadows from the bonfire erratic and sketchy. Everyone in the camp became a bit more fidgety when the bag appeared. Kimball gestured to it with his free hand.
"Behold, a stash of pixie dust, given by your generous Creator. Creator shall, of course, remain nameless and faceless, as always. But know they are watching."
Kimball motioned around with a sweep of his arm, and I had an inkling that whatever unfolded next would be broadcast somewhere with a video camera. Through a live feed, perhaps? No, it was unlikely they could get a video feed to work up here. Perhaps the Creator person watched from somewhere nearby with binoculars. Did that mean Kimball had direct contact with this Creator person? If they could speak and this person saw me escape, that would significantly slow my plan to rescue Devin.
"There are two bricks of pixie dust available. One for you and one for your sponsor. You can distribute after the fight however you want," Kimball continued. "Keep in mind that this is the only opportunity for you to gain pixie dust for distribution. The next round of Survival Club will be announced to all sponsors before next quarter."
Already nauseous, my stomach rolled even further as the pieces clicked together. Memories of news clips solidified everything else.
Pixie dustwas the street name of the unknown substance that had been circulating Pineville here and there for the last couple of years. The same drug that had driven three druggies to attack Serafina, a barista at the Frolicking Moose, and almost killed her brother from an overdose. A woman under the influence of pixie dust had once held Dagny at gunpoint.
Kimball must be "sponsoring" Steve in a fight to access the drug. Maybe Steve would be a dealer. Though it was possible Kimball would deal, too. Kimball had apparently brought Steve this far, and Steve would fight for a massive load of the drug. Maybe the only way for him to get it. Then I’d wager they would both get a cut, turn around, and sell it for exorbitant prices. The lack of availability likely made it a gold mine.
And, as for the Creator . . . they must have stayed behind the scenes and watched the mayhem unfold. Made it available only every now and then. Forced brutish men to fight for the right to sell it and drive up demand.
No wonder pixie dust remained so hidden, yet wreaked such havoc.
Hernandez, the local sheriff's deputy and Dagny's husband, had been working tirelessly to find the ringandthe source for months. Whoever the Creator was, they had been distributing it in the bowels of the forest. Probably moved from place to place, I suspected. Had they brought me with theplanto use me as an additional prize? Kimball mentioned I had come at Creator’s request. Did I know them? The thought nearly made me vomit, but I forced myself away from that line of thinking.
No, I had to focus. Details could come later.
But, the more I understood their game, the more my panic grew into a greater fever pitch. Pixie dust was known for turning any user into a freakishly strong brute. Any one of these men would kill us without even thinking about it.
Kimball tossed three small bags to each behemoth as he continued, and I shook out my thoughts.
"You know the rules. Each of you snorts, each of you fights. Free-for-all. There will be one break when the first fighter drops out, and then the final fight between the two remaining men. The man who remains standing at the end is given a brick. The sponsor of the winner gets the other half. Then, it’s game over until next time. The losing fighters and sponsors are not invited back."
The urge to vomit nearly overcame me yet again, but I forced it back with a deep breath.No, I reminded myself.Don't think about it. Do something.
My gaze fell on a bright yellow bottle of lighter fluid discarded not far from the fire, toward the edge of the ring of light.
And suddenly, my plan became a lot more feasible.
Desperate now, I used my fingers to work the piece of glass farther out of my hand. It slashed my palm, and warm, sticky blood touched my skin. I ignored it and turned my focus to working on the ropes. If I didn't, Devin would die.
And he'd never know how I really felt.
14
Devin
My head throbbed.
It pulsed in a slow plod, like a heart trudging along slowly. Unfamiliar voices swam in and out of my mind. In the time that passed between consciousness and comprehension, I didn't move a muscle more than breathing required. I wasn't entirely sure, in all those eternal seconds, whether I had lived or died.
For a terrible twenty breaths, the sands of Afghanistan seemed to surround me. I knew I'd never left. That choking dust and the smell of burning rubber mixed with scorched skin filled my nose. Screams still rent the air, even in my mind. My shoulder throbbed in time with my head, a tandem pain. My ears rang in my head, and somewhere in the blur of it all, I knew I was probably a dead man.
And Ellie still didn't know how I felt.
