“No one follows the person who comes in last. Would you?”
I don’t know. Not being sure of my answer to that question makes me walk faster. Damone might be right about Enzo. If so, we need to get out of here as quickly as possible—otherwise, we might not have an opportunity to catch up to him.
Tuning out Damone and Will’s sniping, I focus on the terrain around me and notice faded letters on the wall that spell the word rainforest. Farther down I see the word diet followed by leaves, fruits, and several words that are too marked by time to make out. After a few more steps, I spot another word I recognize from a book my mother read to me when I was a child. The book was old and filled with faded pictures and told the story of children who went on a special trip to a place where they could see different kinds of animals. A place with the same name as the word next to me: ZOO.
When my mother read the book to me, I thought the idea of keeping wild animals in cages was mean. Most Five Lakes families don’t own pets, but those who do allow the animals to come and go as they choose. For the most part, the pets stay close to home, but a few, like my friend Daileen’s cat, disappear and never return.
Of course, from what I learned in that children’s book, the animals put into cages at the zoos weren’t domesticated. Wild animals from around the world were plucked from their homes and brought to places like this one. We have our share of wild animals prowling beyond, and sometimes across, the borders of Five Lakes. Some are small and relatively harmless, but there are breeds that can kill with one snap of their jaws. It’s hard to conceive of a time when someone trapped those types of creatures and forced them into cages for entertainment.
Looking around the vast space, I try to imagine what it was like before the Seven Stages of War. Manufactured trees and rocks. Maybe some real ones mixed in. A river flowing around the rim of the rocks providing both a water source and a barrier between whatever animals were kept in here and the freedom of the path on which I now stand. Even if the animals could climb the trees—and the design of this place suggests they could—the trees are far enough back to prevent escape. The animals that lived inside this place were trapped just as Will, Damone, and I are now.
Monkeys, maybe? Or, considering the size of this place, something larger, like chimpanzees. We studied the histories of other countries last year in school. During our studies, we covered the species that were indigenous to various regions prior to the end of the Seven Stages of War. It’s impossible to say which species survived the wars, since earthquakes and windstorms destroyed previous methods of worldwide communication. I had hoped to be one of the mechanical engineers who would reestablish communication through the United Commonwealth and beyond our borders. Now—
“Cia, don’t move.”
Will’s urgent whisper pulls me from my thoughts, and my foot stills. Have I ventured too close to the drop-off? No. The edge of the path is several feet to my right. The ground in front of me looks solid and secure. I turn to ask Will what the problem is, but the words die on my lips as he shakes his head and points up. My eyes follow the line of his finger to the branches of one of the man-made trees hanging to my right. For a moment, I don’t understand. Then I see it. Black eyes. The shimmer of copper and gold scales wrapping around and around the branch all the way to the tree trunk. A red tongue that tastes the air with quick flicks. A snake. At least a foot wide and more than a dozen feet long. And its head is a mere eight feet away from where I currently stand.
The snake’s tongue flicks in my direction, and I hold my breath. Snakes are common in Five Lakes. For some reason, the chemicals that left so many species disfigured or dead didn’t hurt the reptiles. Instead, the chemicals seemed to strengthen them. Scales that were once as vulnerable as human skin are now thicker. Tougher to penetrate. The bites of a number of species, once relatively harmless, are now fatal. Whatever poison transformed their scales also made them venomous. But since Five Lakes is in an area of the country less affected by the biological and nuclear bombs used in the Four Stages of War, the snakes I encountered there were easy to ignore or kill. The one dangling above me is neither.
Scales ripple as the reptile shifts position. The head drops slowly toward me. I fight to keep my feet firmly in place and force myself to think rationally as the snake’s tongue sips the air just two feet from where I stand. My eyes dart to the path ahead. The rocky surface slants upward and is caked with dirt. About twenty feet from where I stand is a door. I shift my eyes back to the snake, which looks alert but calm. My father once mentioned that certain types of snakes are deaf. Also, that some of the larger snakes he encountered on the outskirts of other colonies were known to telegraph their upset or intent to strike by flattening out the ribs in their necks. Since the snake’s eyes are fixed on me and it hasn’t moved, I assume the snake knows I’m standing here and does not feel threatened or hungry. I can only hope that trend continues.
Clutching the flashlight tight in my hand, I take a small step forward while keeping my eyes firmly fixed on the threat. The snake’s tongue flicks again, but the rest of it stays put. Considering that a good sign, I take another step. Then another.
My heart pounds with each agonizingly slow step. Inch by inch, I cross the uneven path, resisting the urge to look behind me in case that movement will make the creature attack. When I reach the door, I turn back. Both the snake and my teammates are exactly where they were when I saw them last. Slowly, I raise my hand and motion for Will to join me. His green eyes shift toward the snake, then back at me, before he takes his first step. The snake’s scales shine in the sunlight as the head drops lower, until it is at the same level as Will’s forehead. Sweat drips down Will’s face as he creeps forward. The snake’s tongue brushes Will’s hair. I hold my breath, but Will doesn’t flinch as he takes his next step. I watch him cross the floor. When he finally reaches my side, I grab his hand and hold it tight in mine. No matter what happened during The Testing, at this moment, I am glad Will is beside me and alive.
I glance back at the snake, which has once again shifted lower. It still appears unbothered by our presence, so I nod at Damone that it is time for him to start walking.
But he doesn’t.
Slowly, trying not to attract the snake’s attention, I raise my hand and beckon him. His eyes are wide as his gaze shifts from the snake to me and Will and back to the snake. Both his hands are clenched at his sides. His face looks ashen. Even from this distance, I can feel the waves of terror emanating from him, and I wonder if the snake can feel them too. If so, Damone is in more danger than either Will or I had been. But I don’t think he knows it. I doubt he has ever seen an animal that could cause him danger, let alone something like this.
Will tries to beckon Damone forward, but it’s no use. Damone has been rendered immobile by fear. A fear that could drive the snake to attack at any moment. Damone has to get out of there now.
“Here,” I whisper as I pull the two bags off my shoulder and shove them and the flashlight into Will’s hands. Before he can ask what I plan to do, I slide my knife out of my pocket, flip open the blade, and step through the doorway back into the cavernous room. While I doubt the blade will do any good against the scales, it’s the only weapon I have. Someone has to help Damone to safety. Will is resourceful, but I am smaller and more agile.
Fear punches through my chest. Still, I force my feet forward. The distance back seems longer. Harder. More terrifying. Both Damone and the snake turn their heads and blink as I approach. One foot in front of the other. The small knife clutched in one hand. The other extended toward Damone, willing him to close the gap between us.
He doesn’t move.
The snake does.
Its body skims around the tree branch. The head undulates. Damone stumbles backward and the snake’s eyes swing toward him. Its red tongue quivers in the air. It is the sound of scales rubbing against tree bark that urges me to run. I spot a foot-long piece of rotting wood on the ground near me and almost lose my balance as I race forward and pick it up. The snake’s eyes don’t shift from its target—Damone.
I come to a stop four feet from the shovel-sized head that is now at the same level as my forearms. One wrong move and the jaws of the snake will reach out. The fangs will clamp down, shooting poison into my bloodstream. My life will be over before I hit the ground.
Damone’s eyes are glazed. His knees locked. He looks ill prepared to do what I plan, but I don’t allow that to stop me. I throw the block of wood at the trunk of the tree near the end of the snake’s tail. The wood clattering against the tree echoes in the cavernous space.
The snake’s head whips toward the sound vibrations. Its body uncoils. The wood skips off the rail and plunges below. Scales scrape against tree bark as the snake lunges toward the rail, and I act. I dart forward, grab Damone’s arm, and pull. Damone stumbles and kicks a rock across the path. The snake changes course, but I don’t. I dig my fingers into Damone’s wrist and half drag, half pull him as I run. Thank goodness the fear that rendered Damone immobile now propels his legs forward. His feet keep pace with mine as they pound the rocky ground. The path narrows near the door. I let Damone streak by me to what I hope will be safety.
That’s when I hear the hiss. If it can be called a hiss. More a growl like the ones the wolves that lurk outside the Five Lakes borders make. The sound tingles down my spine, raises the hair on the back of my neck, and urges me forward. When my feet cross the threshold, I glance back and see a streak of copper and gold moving fast. Black eyes focused on me. Metallic and black scales flared on either side of the snake’s neck, forming what looks like a hood. The mouth opens. A scream rips from my throat as a thick metal door screeches and slams between us.
I double over and try to catch my breath. The rasp of labored breathing and the muted growl from the other side of the door are the only sounds. Finally, a beam of light cuts through the darkness.
“I’m glad the hinges on that door still work,” Will says.
Hysteria bubbles up and out of my lips. “You’re glad?”