Casted

Chapter 9

" Zion?" I breathed his name into the pale dawn air. It billowed like smoke.

The chunks of coal that stared back at me melted into oil. A series of emotions flashed through his eyes. I watched them all like movie clips- recognition, concern, suspicion, until he finally settled on doubtfulness. I assumed the same sentiment.

"Harper," he countered, awkwardly shuffling off of me. I swear his voice was so cold it made me shiver. I thought he might offer me his hand to help me up, but he didn't, so I clambered to my feet and rubbed my back grudgingly.

"Why'd you have to tackle me?" I asked. "A simple 'hello' would have been just as effective." I paused, examining a new tear in the sleeve of my parka. "And wouldn't have caused as much collateral damage."

He sniffed disdainfully. "Lucky there wasn't more."

Ouch. I glanced at him nervously. How hostile can you get?  I reached down and picked my backpack up off the ground, brushing chucks of snow from it and hoping my bread hadn't been squished in all the tussling.

"The bombs hit you bad?" I asked.

"That's not really your concern, is it?"

Usually it's very counterproductive when people answer questions with questions, but in this particular situation, he seemed to get his point across.

After a pause, I added, "You do realize we're not meant to fight each other, right?"

"Do you realize that the more people left in this competition, the more fears there are trying to kill us?"

He was good at this. Possibly better at it than I was. And that was saying a lot because I'm the queen of sidestepping around question and not giving away any information. I sighed almost inaudibly, just enough for my breath to hang in a silver cloud in front of my face. I looked Zion up and down. He did the same to me. With his tall, stocky figure and oak-colored everything, he could have been mistaken for a tree.

For the first time my eyes fell on a pair of objects around his calves, just above the cuff of his boot. I squinted through the pale light to see them. Two silver handled throwing knives peeked out from them, and I realized with a start they were a set of sheaths. Our eyes met, and Zion looked down at the knives like he'd forgotten they were there, then back up at me. Was that satisfaction curling the corner of his lip? Did it please him that the weapons he carried unnerved me?

I felt myself taking a step back. "This can go one of three ways," I said. "You can kill me and take my resources, we can go our separate ways and pretend we never crossed paths..." He took a pace forward. I felt instantly threatened, but I had nothing to defend myself with. "... or we can help each other and possibly both survive."

Another step towards me. Another away from him.

"Those are all very tempting options," he replied levelly. His eyes stabbed at me. His hand reached down and slid one of the knives from the sheath, twirling it silently. I held my breath, transfixed on the gleaming blade that could slice the life right out of me.

He could do it.

Suddenly, with one swift flick of his wrist, the knife was shooting through the air towards me. I didn't even have time to flinch. My nerves spiked into pinpricks bursting through my skin. But there was no pain, no gush of blood from my throat like you would expect. All there was, was a sound- the buzzing of the air as the blade whizzed past my ear. It struck a tree behind me with a dull thud. A squeal pierced the air, and as much as I could have screamed at the moment, it didn't come from me. I turned shakily, scarcely daring to breath. The knife pinned the tail of a scrawny squirrel to the tree, leaving the rodent dangling there, flailing helplessly.