The Games: Part III

I get to go last and go to door #5. I reach into the blackness, waiting for something to bite, scratch or grab me, but the air is empty. There is nothing in there.

I reach in deeper to only hit the back of the space. I run my hands along the walls, feeling for something, anything really. Then there, at the very bottom near the back, my fingers glaze over something cold and smooth. It's about ten inches long and eight inches wide. It's a notebook. What the hell am I supposed to do with a notebook?

I wonder if I'm allowed to go to the last remaining door when a loud bang sounds from overhead before the ceiling is opening and snakes are raining down on us.

Their bodies thud against the ground as they entangle one another. Grey and brown and black bodies squirming around. I notice several different kinds of rattlers and a couple of Eastern Corals.

The challenge is called avoid the bite and it's probably the best advice they could have given us. Seeing as we're in the middle of The Games, help won't be on it's way anytime soon and a single bite from any of these snakes could bring down a grown man.

The suspended silence, other than the hissing of the snakes at both the contestants and one another, is broken when Buff Guy brings down his monkey wrench and smashes the nearest snake to a bloody pulp. Blood and guts spurt out from the point of impact, splattering the walls, floor and his legs.

I press myself back against the wall, clutching the notebook to my chest as I watch the others hack their way through the pit of snakes at our feet. The monkey wrench comes down, painting the walls in crimson. A spiked bat still has a snake attached to it as it comes down again and again.

Smoke begins to fill the room, stinging my eyes as the Zen Master clicks on the flame thrower burning everything in his path to a black crisp.

The air is thick with charcoal grey plumes, my unrested lungs spasm and I cough, choking on the scent of burning flesh.

We need a window or a door, something or anything to get us out of here or we will all fall prey to the smoke. I didn't drown, thanks to some help, and now I won't die from a snake bite or fumes. That $20,000 will be mine. I just have to find a way to get to it.

My eyes roam around the room, looking for an exit, and I accidentally lock eyes with the street kid. He hasn't joined the carnage. He's twirling on of the knives between his fingers, eyes intently watching me. I swallow hard, salvia scratching it's way down my throat. Does he recognize me? I've grown out my hair and probably lost some weight since I sold him out, but I still look like me, don't I? Enough that he probably does.

As if confirming my thoughts, he nods toward me and all the blood in my body rushes toward my legs. It doesn't matter that the room is filled with murderous intent or killer snakes. I have the sudden desire to put as much space between the two of us as possible before he can begin to skin me.

His eyes drop just for a moment to the notebook in my arms and then flick back up to my face. In all honesty, once I noticed him watching I completely forgot about my useless "weapon." But under his scrutinizing glare, I open the book with shaky hands. I hope the smoke is thick enough that he doesn't notice my trembling fingers. You can't show fear to people like him or they'll eat you alive.

In bold black letters on the first page are five numbers.

9 - 4 - 7 - 3 - 6

I turn the notebook around so he can see it too. His eyes go large before he too starts canvassing the room.

The smoke is beginning to become too thick to see much farther than several feet in front of me, so I run my hands along the walls trying to feel for a lock of something that I can put the code into.

This is slow business as I attempt to dodge snakes and smoldering remains.

A rattler hisses at me, shaking it's tail in warning as I approach. I have nothing but the notebook to arm myself with. I take a step back only to step on a still steaming corpse, the heat rushing up through the bottom of my worn out shoe.

I yelp with pain, lifting my foot. The pain is excruciating as the thin cotton of my sock melts against the arch of my foot. Eyes watering for so many reasons I can't even keep track anymore, I turn back to the rattler that's slithering toward me, fangs protruding from it's gapped mouth when a flash of silver slices through the flames and smoke around me and pins the head of the snake to the wall just a couple inches away.

Looking up, Street Kid matches my gaze for only a moment before pointing to the far side of the room where I can just make out the outline of a glow coming from beneath a door.

"Clear a path!" I choke on the smoke, my voice hoarse and barely audible. "Door!" I wave at the others and frantically point at the other side of the room.

It isn't long before Razor Tooth and Buff Guy are smashing a bloody path of safety to the far side of the room. Street Kid and I take up the center, both of us knowing I will never admit to him how thankful I am that I can guarantee on his accuracy to avoid any attack from the sides. And Zen Master takes up the rear, creating a fire barrier from any of the remaining snakes following.

Once at the door, the others create a halo around me as I bend over the combination lock on the door. Turning my back to them is probably the worst thing I could do right now, but I have no choice. It's the only way to escape.

Sweat beads down my forehead and drips into my eyes as I squint and try to make out the fading numbers. The room is so warm and my head is heavy, but I put in the numbers as quickly as I can, making sure they line up in a neat little line and yank on the lock, but nothing happens.

Distraught, I try again.

And again.

"What's taking so long?" Razor Tooth snarls, looking over her shoulder.

I shake my head, not sure if I can put it into words. They wouldn't give us a faulty combination would they? This has to be the only exit. The trap door that released the snakes is sealed once more and even if it was a viable option, there was no way to get up to the ceiling. The only one who might be able to reach it would be Buff Guy and that's only if he was a really good jumper.

I try the combination again as her eyes bore into my back.

Still nothing.

My clothes had been soaking wet from the first challenge, but the heat in the room dried them to a crisp and now they are damp once more with my own perspiration. Large rings form under my arms and down my back. I'm woozy and waver on my feet.

She notices or is agitated with my failed attempts, either way she snatches the notebook from my sweaty palms and goes to the combination lock. Tries and fails. Just like I did. I want nothing more than to tell her "I told you so" but my tongue feels heavy and fat in my mouth. I try to swallow, but my throat is too tight, too coated with smoke.

As she continues with the lock, I turn to the others and see they too are feeling the fatigue from the heat. Buff Guy doesn't swing as hard or as often. Street Kid's hand shakes before he throws a knife. Even Zen Master's legs shake from the weight of the blow torch and I wonder how much longer they can keep this up when Razor Teeth cries with ecstatic relief and hear the clink of the metal lock falling to our feet.

She pushes the door open and cold air breathes over my back, freezing the droplets of sweat. Practically running backward, I follow her into the cool room, filling my lungs with the clean chilled air. Goose flesh covers the entire surface of my skin as I fall to my knees, the others piling in after me.

Someone slams the door shut. I'm the only one who notices that a snake came through with us and it lunges before I can say anything. Street Kid, the one closes to the closed door, slashes out with a knife but not fast enough as it's fangs sink deep into his arm.

The severed body falls limply to the floor and Zen Master blasts it with a final burst of flame. Horrified, Street Kid peels the head of the snake from his arm, fangs still long and sharp, dripping with salvia, blood, and venom. He drops it to the ground with the most depressing look of acceptance on his face as his fingers hover above the knives at his side. I wonder if he'll end it himself or wait to see how far he can make it before the venom wins.

I stare back at the others with their weapons, wondering where we will go from here when the spiked baseball bat lodges into the side of Zen Master's head, splattering blood as he falls to the ground, head hitting the floor just in front of my feet.

to be continued. . .