Shay Savage - Bastian’s Storm

The food was actually really good. Death row inmates couldn’t have demanded better. It reminded me to give Franks shit for the food in Raine and Alex’s kitchen. He laughed but told me he’d do something about it.

“It’s good to have you back, Sebastian,” he said. “In many ways, I’ve missed you.”

There was way too much potential for double meanings in that statement to give me any feeling of comfort. I wondered how long he’d looked for me after the trial and what made him eventually give up. I considered asking him but figured it was in my best interest to let all of that go for now. I knew in my heart that he would never truly forgive me for trying to bust him, and I knew in my mind that the only way I could ever get out from under him was to end his life.

Get through the tournament first.

Franks moved off to chat with some of the other bosses. I sat back at one of the tables, tipped a couple of oysters down my throat, and watched the people around me. Some came up to talk to me, and I was as polite as I could manage. Eventually, they moved on to harass one of the other players. Hunter and Reaper had moved closer to one another, and though I couldn’t hear their words, their sexual chemistry was evident as they eyed each other. It was obvious they would spend the night together.

Stupid.

Then again, it would be their last opportunity for a tryst. It made me think of last night and Raine’s body underneath mine, and I closed my eyes for a moment. The memory of her scent and the feel of her skin in my hands warmed me.

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.