Cheers rose up from the other room, where another group was doing the same thing as us. Noah and Patrick must have been with that group, because I didn’t see them.
In the ring, Liam took a swipe at Hunter, which the latter easily avoided.
“Yeah, get it!” the boy with messy curls next to me yelled. He leaned forward as he clapped so I could see the tag on his back. Andrew Dorsey 155.
Hunter dodged Liam twice more before the team leader pinned him to the ground with his claws.
“Next!” Julian called.
I was one of the last people to go. Liam was a bit slower now, wiping his forehead with the back of his hands and nearly poking himself in the eye with a rounded claw.
“Try to tap him on the neck,” Julian called. “Have at it.”
That was the cue to go, and I darted forward, fists raised. Liam knocked my first swing out of the way.
I stepped back, ducking as he tried to swipe at me. This was easier than Bubba’s, which was only slightly comforting. Bubba had crafted his dummies to be like the real thing. This was just a tired guy with some plastic strapped to his fingers.
I ducked again, barely missing the claws.
“Good,” Julian called.
A victorious thrill raced up my spine.
The feeling didn’t last long. Liam faked left, and I didn’t realize it until the claws on his other hand swiped across my neck. I stumbled and landed on my butt. Dead.
“Next!” Julian called.
I shakily got to my feet, ducking my head for fear that the tears pricking my eyes would suddenly spill over. I took my seat as another recruit stepped into the ring.
Dad’s voice rang in my ears—you will DIE—no matter how much I tried to push it out. I didn’t want him to be right. I didn’t want him to be so right that I didn’t even make a team.
I wanted to prove him wrong.
11
I leaned my head against the bus window, slumped in my seat as we made our way back to the hotel. I was replaying training in my head, trying to remember if I’d seen people who were worse than me. There had been a few. I saw one guy fall flat on his face after trying to throw a single punch. The curly-haired guy had knocked several people over while trying to work with a spear.
My stomach growled loudly, and I closed my eyes briefly. The protein bar had somehow made me hungrier. I wasn’t sure I even had the strength to get out of this seat. I lived here now.
Julian stood and faced us as the bus jerked to a stop. “Is there a Clara Pratt on this bus?”
I blinked, surprised, and slowly raised my hand. “Yeah, I’m here.”
“Come with me a sec.”
I stood, ignoring the protests from my body. I gripped the edge of a seat as I stepped into the aisle and took a moment to steady my shaking legs.
I couldn’t think of any good reason why a team leader would want to see me. Were they letting everyone who had been eliminated know tonight? I swallowed down mounting panic as I made my way off the bus.
Julian led me into the hotel, pausing for a moment in the lobby like he wasn’t sure where to go. He headed into one of the meeting rooms, the one where I’d picked up my folder. It was nearly empty now, only the tables and a few empty boxes left.
“So.” Julian pulled out his phone as he turned to face me. “We got an email from your father. He says he did not sign a consent form, and he wants you home right away. And no one answers at the number you gave us.”
My body went cold. I couldn’t feel my feet on the ground anymore. I realized suddenly that the air conditioner was really loud in this room. I could hear it buzzing.
“We’re sort of in a gray area with you guys who are minors,” Julian continued. “The army started letting seventeen-year-olds sign up without parental consent after the first scrab attacks in the States, but we’re not the US military, so . . .” He looked at me sympathetically. “We have a bus to Dallas leaving tomorrow at noon.”
The world tilted and my legs gave out. I crashed to the carpet as a sob escaped my mouth. I was crying. Not pretty, sniffling crying, but choked sobs and tears streaming down my face.
“Hey, it’s OK,” Julian said, his tone alarmed.
I shook my head, because it was not OK, and I did not appreciate him telling me it was. He didn’t know how hard it had been for me to escape. How proud I’d felt for getting out. If I let Dad yank me back now, I’d never get out again. Not in one piece, anyway.
“How long until you’re eighteen?” he asked. He knelt down next to me on the ground. “Maybe you can call him and talk to him?”
I let out a short, angry laugh and lifted my head to meet his gaze. He was obviously startled, maybe by my tear-soaked face, or maybe because I looked like I wanted to murder someone. “I’m not calling him.”
“OK.” I liked how he didn’t try to press the issue. “But I’m going to have to put you on that Dallas bus tomorrow.”
I shook my head. “I’m not getting on that bus.” Even if they wouldn’t let me on a team, I wasn’t getting on that bus. I didn’t care about my growling stomach, or the fact that I had no money and no place to sleep after tonight. I wouldn’t go back.
Uncertainty flickered across Julian’s face. It wasn’t normal for a girl to be this hysterical about the prospect of going home. The wheels were already turning in his head, trying to figure out what I didn’t want to go
