A/N: Thank you all for reading so far! Gives me that warm and tingly feeling knowing people are actually reading/giving a care.
The Trial Games.
Cisqua somehow has decided it to be in her best interests to trust me wholeheartedly. I feel almost a little guilty knowing that I don't entirely feel the same way as quickly as she has done. It's not that I think she's going to kill me with a knife to the back- it's more that were I to die, she wouldn't take long in the grieving process. She had run pretty quickly when Sparkle had been hit but still had a chance of surviving.
I can't think about this now. I have minutes, possibly seconds before Cisqua decides to execute the plan. I take a deep breath and stare out at the long stretch of field that lies before me. It had taken me more than expected to sleuth my way to the side of the block, where Cisqua and I had agreed would be the best place to run from, and I was starting to worry that it'd take me exponentially longer to run the three hundred metre distance to that tiny speck on the football field.
There were several flaws in our plan that we hadn't been able to work out during our short thirty-minute planning session. The first was that the boys would spot me making my way around the block to make the run and finish me off right away. That potential mistake had been averted somehow, but there was no reason to feel relaxed.
The second was that while I ran- someone would see me and decide they want me dead. That one still worries me, because I know I'm not a fast runner- and I don't have my flimsy lunchbox with me for comfort.
The third was that they'd catch Cisqua making the racket and kill her on the spot. My guilt strikes up again as I realise that, if any of these mistakes have to happen- I'd prefer Cisqua's death to mine.
The final was the worst, and the one that still gnaws away at my head as the little key grows steadily hotter in my sweaty palm. I'm petrified that this one will be the case and the whole plan will fall apart.
The key won't fit in the lock.
That one thought is so terrifying, that I know I can't dwell too long upon it or else I won't be able to make it past the next block- let alone to the football field.
In my line of vision, I can't see any movement on the grounds around me. The morning sky has a deadly tinge of red seeping into the clouds that spread across the sky, which looks too omniscient of the blood being shed below.
I hear a short whistle, and my legs tense themselves automatically. Cisqua had started the ten second count down until she began to make the noise. I look to the sky one last time before focusing my sights on the dingy little shed, taking a deep breath as I ready myself for the run.
The block resonates with the violent sounds of the lunchbox being bashed against the ground repeatedly. The tin clangs and clatters as Cisqua continues to hit it into the hard concrete- trying her best to attract the attention of the boys in the quadrangle. A minute of solid agony passes until I begin to hear the boys, a large group than before- four, maybe all five running into the block.
The second the last footstep disappears, the clanging stops and I lunge forwards. I know it's foolish to use up all your energy on the first few yards, but this wasn't a marathon- it was a dash for life. It was either make it to the shed, or perish on the clean green fields of this school of death.
Suddenly something moves to my left, and I turn my head in the direction to catch a glimpse of what it is, horrified that my time of death is potentially seconds away. I don't stop running, but I see that a very small figure has poked its head from the Canteen to investigate the noise.
Either Tilly or Lola has heard the clanging and has decided it important enough to risk being seen. I look back to the gardening shed, and I feel a little relieved that it isn't Crux or one of the boys following me. The plan is going perfectly, I think excitedly. This couldn't be going any better-
Then the bell rings, and I stop dead in my tracks.
No. No, no, no. My mouth is dry as I stumble around to face the block, which is still devoid of movement. The bell can't have rung just now. Cisqua was hiding, she has no weapons. Those boys have lots of weapons. If anyone had just died now it'd have to have been... no, no, no...
I almost drop the key and fall to my knees. I had thought that I wouldn't care if Cisqua had lost her life, but there's an aching in my heart that feels worse than when I watched Kringle crash to his death. This can't be right, it can't be.
'Maya...' the little voice has come back. 'You have to keep going, you can't give up now that Cisqua's dead... you have to keep going...'
No. My body is shaking, the key cutting into my palm from clenching it so tightly. No I can't, this is wrong- it's so wrong...
'Maya!' the voice scolds. 'If you die, your family, your mother and father- they die too! You have to find Holden; you have to find a way out of here- you have to KEEP GOING'
My teeth clench down on my tongue. I'd never listen to someone in my head, especially not before the games- but this nagging voice had a point, and I needed to keep going to the shed.
I sprint the last twenty metres towards the shed and take the old, mouldy lock in my left hand as I fit the key in with my right. To my relief, it fits and turns smoothly- almost too smoothly for a usual lock in this condition. As I open the door to the dark recesses within, my world shakes again with another blast of the school alarm.
I have no idea who that could've been, and I know there's no time to dwell upon it. Instead, I step into the darkness of the room and try to adjust my eyes to the lack of light.
At first I see nothing, but slowly I can make out the shapes of a tool board, complete with hanging hammers, packets of nails, chisels, a crowbar, a mallet and a pair of scissors with strangely serrated edges.
Parked inside is a ride on lawn mower, and I can see a shovel propped up beside the entrance door. As I walk around, wondering what it is I should take- knowing that I don't need to bring anything back for Cisqua, another blast of the alarm bell sends my mind further into confusion.
Did the boys kill Cisqua, and then turn on each other? I can't imagine that working, seeing how cowardly Lock, Battler and the other seemed earlier this morning. Then what could possibly be happening to cause so many deaths? Had 'Sin' decided they were worthless and deserved to be killed on the spot?
'Forget about the bells,' my inner voice pleads. 'Weapon, you need a weapon... something you can use to break down doors and defend yourself against the others...'
I start to examine all the tools in this light. A hammer is too weak to break down a door by itself, and a chisel wouldn't do much good either. Taking the crowbar is a thought that capers around my mind for a few moments, until I realise that they're better for opening windows- not doors. Besides, I don't even know how to use it to open a window.
The ride on mower seems more like a novelty than a practical item- so I immediately discard it from the list of options. The shovel might be able to smash windows, but in all honesty I was hoping for something in the form of an axe. I don't have a lot of upper body strength, but with an axe I might be able to make a dent in some doors.
-But there isn't an axe here, and as I scour the length of shed looking for one- I find myself cursing under my breath. A real school would have an axe, piled up amongst these bags of sawdust, hedge clippers and paint tins. Why isn't there an axe? Was there on in the cornucopia that I had missed?
"...just an axe... anything like an axe..." I grit my teeth, pulling open drawers and finding nothing of use. "Please... don't make this have been all for nothing... an axe..."
Something glints from the light outside, and I pause. Turning, I see a little silver parachute fold upon itself as something heavy rests in the dirt beneath it. A mixture of curiosity and terror fills me from within as I kneel down and pinch the soft, silky parachute between my fingers, lifting it from the object beneath.
It's a cleaver. About the size of my thigh, the blade is short and thick, with a serrated edge, hooked end and a dark wooden handle, buckled together with metal and what looks like gold. As I pick it up, strange warmth floods my fingertips, and I find myself holding it in my right hand with such ease it feels almost like an extension of my arm. It almost feels too light to be able to cause real damage.
A little card flutters to the ground, and I pluck it from the dirt with my free hand, curious as to where this gift came from. Squinting in the dark I read;
We're rooting for you Miss Maya!
You'll find Holden with this!
Love,
the Mayans.
I almost want to laugh. I have fans, fans that have called themselves "the Mayans?" How tacky, but strangely affectionate enough to make me forget why I should hate them for enjoying to watch children destroy each other.
-But it's fantastic. The feeling of dread and fear I had felt from the three bell rings has long disappeared into this new surge of confidence that comes from holding this beautiful cleaver. It far outdoes my little toolbox. I drop the card, and turn to the desk I had been searching. I want to test this little one out.
I raise the cleaver above my head and focus hard on the desk. Contorting my face with concentration, my arm tenses as I bring the cleaver swinging down upon the surface with all the force I can muster.
The desk buckles and splinters under the sheer pressure of my strike- and the cleaver sinks inches into the wood. I wrench it free of the wooden desk and feel amazed at my own strength. If I kick this table now, it would surely break in half.
'I can't believe it', I'm shaking with excitement as the voice whispers, as if to itself. 'I have a real chance now... with this cleaver I might actually really be able to survive...'
Now, holding this cleaver- the rational inner voice and I seemed to merge.
-and a new Maya was born.