Torn (27 page)

“Just a few questions before you go in,” the woman said. He flexed his palms a few times, trying hard to relax his facial features so he didn't appear tense. Under his white hoodie, his T-shirt was drenched in sweat.

“Birth date.”

“October tenth,” he said, praying he was remembering correctly.

“Street address?”

“One Halsey,” he said, and the woman jerked upward, examining his face.

“Imperfect,” she stated.

Cole froze. For a second, he thought she meant his answer was incorrect. Then he realized she was just identifying him, and adrenaline rushed through him, causing a curious mixture of relief and indignation. “Is that part of the verification, or are you just curious?” Cole's voice was hard. The woman rolled her eyes and motioned him into the other room.

“You're clear. Just go in.”

Cole nodded and accepted a towel from the woman's assistant. The woman had already turned to the next contestant, eager to be rid of Cole.

“Thanks,” he said to the girl with the towel, pushing past the waiting crowds, which stood four or five people deep, into the prep room.

“Good luck,” she called after him. He nodded in thanks. He would need it. It was official: he was
in.

 

 

Cole stripped down to athletic shorts and had just begun to tape his wrists, his hands shaking more than a little bit, when a burly Prior approached him. The guy was wearing a name tag identifying him as one of the judges, and for a second Cole's heart stopped. He was sure he'd be caught, and he tensed, ready to bolt.

“Relax,” the guy said, reading his expression. “You've still got prep time. Just wanted to let you know you have a visitor.”

“Prep time,” Cole said. “Right.”

The guy raised an eyebrow. “So, can I show her in?”

“Yeah.” Cole's voice caught, his relief threatening his composure. For a brief second he found himself hoping wildly, irrationally, that the “her” in question would be Davis.

Instead, Mari walked in, and Cole tried not to feel disappointed. It was brave of her to come; the journey, crossing in from the Slants, was treacherous for Cole, who'd done it a million times by now, but for someone who had never done it and didn't have clearance … it could be disastrous.

“You shouldn't be here,” he said, standing. He looked over his shoulder to see if anyone else noticed, but the other competitors in the room were consumed by preparations for the games.

“Is that any way to greet a lady?” she asked, offering him a small grin. “Anyway, they think I'm competing. Imps are allowed to compete, remember? Or are you having another identity crisis?”

Cole smiled, feeling the return of his affection for her.

“I don't like the way you left with no explanation,” Mari continued.

“Mari, I—” He'd meant to tell her he was sorry. But she held up a finger to quiet him.

“I came here because I have a few things to say,” she informed him. “I'm not interested in hearing you ‘mansplain' the situation to me. We've become friends. It took a while. I understand you now. You know that. You're strong, brave, loyal. But sometimes you act like a real dick. I put everything I had into your training, and I deserve better if I'm going to let you be my friend.”

She was right. “I'm an idiot,” he said. She raised an eyebrow, nodding in agreement. “Thank you for being so honest. I'll probably still be an idiot occasionally, as that seems to be my way. But,” he continued, “I'll have you know that I'm not a complete numbskull. There's no way I could have gotten here without you.”

“You bet your ass you couldn't,” she said with a smirk, her eyes lighting up in mischief.

“So I'll be a better friend,” he told her. “And I can't wait to give you half my winnings—because I fully plan to win.”

Fifteen minutes later, Cole was poised on a swimmer's block with a half dozen other swimmers, ready to jump into the cool water in front of him. He tried to ignore the crowd in the arena, which was packed to capacity. He'd heard the arena seated one thousand. He breathed, focusing on the task before him. The pool was manufactured by top Prior engineers to simulate open water, and the competitors had been warned in advance that it would behave as natural water might—whatever that meant. The water itself certainly wasn't clear. It was murky and choppy, splashing him gently as he stared into its surface. Cole felt ready for release.

“Part one in the extended triathlon is the open water swim,” the announcer intoned over the arena loudspeakers. “Each competitor who fails to reach the finish line will be eliminated from future events. Last one standing is the winner, folks! And our competitors have been warned that they'll face certain … surprises.” The crowd roared and booed as one.

Cole stared at the lapping water, forcing everything from his mind but the goal: the finish line. He had to stay mentally strong. Adrenaline surged through his body, and when the judge blew the whistle, he jumped in and swam with a great tide of energy, primed to destroy his opponents.

By lap three, though, his energy started to wane, and each stroke required more effort. He pushed on, fighting through the pain of it, and pushed back his growing desperation as he watched two other swimmers—well behind when they started—push in front of him. Panic welled up in his chest—for the first time, it seemed entirely possible that he might lose. Still, even thinking that was a kind of defeat, so he forced it away and pushed forward, his lungs burning.

When the water started teeming around him, Cole at first thought it was natural tides caused by the swimmers next to him. But as it pushed against him and gained more force, he realized: the pool had been designed to take on a life of its own, its currents resembling a river. At first he panicked further, flailing among the powerful currents as he felt himself being dragged down and pushed aside by the waves. He looked up, gasping for breath and halting his forward momentum altogether. The scene around him was chaos: the other swimmers were being tossed around like debris at the mercy of the currents. They were no better off than he was. In fact, they looked worse—completely at a loss about how to handle the simulated experience of navigating the rhythms of a natural body of water.

It occurred to him that ninety percent of the contestants were used to man-made water, had only trained in sterile environments. He was likely the only one who had had river experience.
He had the advantage.

Channeling all of his experience swimming with Mari in the river behind her house, Cole took several deep breaths and channeled everything he knew about moving with, and not against, the current. He fell into an easy rhythm that complemented the rhythm of the water, and he swam that way, outpacing most of the others, who were still struggling to understand the water's patterns. Cole pulled ahead of the two guys who had passed him only moments before. He was closing in on the lead, with only a few swimmers ahead of him now.

As Cole swam, small tentacles reached from the bottom, simulating pond reeds. They rose toward him, angling toward his legs. What kind of “surprises” had they meant? Could this be something live and potentially poisonous? There wasn't time to consider it. The tentacles rose higher and higher, as if they could grow to infinite heights. With a renewed surge of confidence, Cole easily dodged them, shaking them off deftly as they wrapped their slimy fingers around his ankles and calves. He navigated the ever-dimming water like a pro.

Opening his eyes to peer under the water's surface, he noticed that the pool was completing its transformation to pond even as he moved. Very little light filtered down to its depths, and some of the other swimmers—who were likely unable to comfortably open their eyes underwater, never having done it before—were no longer swimming in a straight line. Cole watched as bodies collided and people struggled through waves and in and out of weeds—but he stayed his course. He was nearly in the lead and just a half mile or so from the finish line when he noticed the frantic flailing of the swimmer next to him.

Cole looked back as he swam, waiting for the swimmer to shake off whatever he was fighting and regain control of the situation. But his movements grew more panicked, and he drew in long, hacking gulps of water. Cole halted, then turned back. The guy looked like he was in serious trouble. Cole could go on and finish the race … but no one else seemed capable of helping the other swimmer. As the guy sputtered and coughed and swallowed another long gulp of water, Cole made up his mind.

With a heavy heart, he swam over to the drowning swimmer, giving up his lead. He locked his arms under the swimmer's arms and pulled him onto his back.

“Stop struggling,” he shouted at the guy. “Just relax, I'm going to drag you in.” In his panic, the guy's eyes were glassy, and he seemed not to register Cole's instructions. He fought against Cole, threatening to bring them both down. Desperate, Cole lifted a palm and slapped the guy across the face, stunning him into silence. Then he swam him over to the end of the massive tank, hauling them both out of the water and handing him off to one of the waiting coaches. In the stands, the crowd went wild. Cole couldn't tell whether they cheering for him or heckling him … but he didn't care. It was over. Cole watched as a rogue wave tumbled through the tank, plowing over several swimmers in its path. He stood at the side, unaffected.

Cole vaulted off the side and pushed back into the race. There was no way he'd win it now, but he would at least finish with his head held high. Cole fought through the waves, adrenaline infusing each of his movements with intensity. When another wave, stretching nearly six feet above him, threatened the course, he dove underneath, cursing inwardly. They'd designed the pool to resemble some sort of hybrid between lake and ocean, he realized. Which meant all bets were off—literally anything could be up next. When he resurfaced, he saw that several of his opponents had taken the same strategy, only to find themselves entangled in the long, twisting weeds. Cole looked at the course spreading out before him and realized that he was back in it. He glimpsed the edge of the pool—the finish line—which wasn't too far off, if only he could swim with the water and not against it. He dove forward, easily dodging the weeds and reeds that ensnared the others. He moved his body with the current, allowing it to fuel his progress. He stopped fighting against the tides and worked with them in the same way he would if he were back in the river with Mari, training behind her wilderness house.

When Cole hit the tape that designated the finish line, he was caught in his own world. He lifted his head to a stunning onslaught of noise. He felt a coach hoisting him up out of the water, but barely registered it when the same coach slung a gold medal over his neck and lifted his arm high in the air, signifying his victory.

Cole had done it. He had won. He looked around him at the audience's stunned expressions and caught Mari in the front row of the crowd nearest the finish line. Somehow she'd slipped in among the observers. He shook his head at her, laughing to himself; the girl was so small and swift that she could sneak around just about anywhere. She pumped her fist in the air and flashed him a broad smile.

Cole was past the first round. The first round, as Mari had told him, was especially designed to weed out the weakest competitors—but he had done it. Cole let himself be ushered from the arena, the cacophony behind him fading only slightly as he moved into the men's locker room.

“Congratulations,” the coach who'd led him out there said. “Not bad, for an Imp.”

“Not bad for anybody, I'd say,” Cole told him. He wouldn't let anyone detract from this victory.

“We'll see how you do in the triathlon. You've got ten minutes to prep.”

“What? I thought there was a requisite hour break between events.”

“The schedule's been altered,” the judge told him with a smug grin. “We'll see how tough you are with no rest at all.”

Cole tried to contain his fury. He strongly suspected the schedule had been altered for the purpose of putting him at a disadvantage. His race had wrapped up later than the other morning events, he saw from the status boards. He and one other guy were the only Gens entering the triathlon.

When Cole was ready, he followed the signage to the roof of the auditorium and took his place among a good twenty competitors.

“Why are we up here?” he wondered aloud to the girl next to him, who only shrugged. There wasn't any space up there to do any major events, so when the judge blew the whistle and announced the long jump, Cole furrowed his brow.

“We're jumping across that gap,” the girl told him, indicating a wide expanse of air between two buildings.

“You're kidding. We're at least twenty stories up.”

“That's right. Piece of cake. Oh wait, Imps don't go roofing, do you?” the girl said, her face alight with a cruel smile. “Too bad.” Her words cut deep. Cole watched as the first two contestants readied themselves on the roof's edge, preparing to leap.

Roofing.
Cole had forgotten. He had experience with exactly this. It hadn't been easy, but he could do it—he'd done it once before, with Davis. He closed his eyes, imagining Davis there next to him, urging him on. With her there, he could do anything. He breathed in, channeling her presence.

Cole ran for the roof edge, imagining Davis right next to him, laughing with him, telling him to pick up the pace. When he leapt, he cleared the gap by a good distance. He bent to his knees, the fear of having sailed over a death trap finally hitting him. As it turned out, lots of Priors had fallen—there was a net strung up two stories below—but lots had cleared the gap easily. Cole was the only Gen left in the competition … but he hadn't even made it to the top ten competitors. He only had two more events in which to scramble back into the winners' bracket.