Blood Tournament (2018, #1)

Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

"Watch where you're going!" Ibrahim shouted at Johnson who almost tripped over the gnarled roots of a large tree. He slowed down and watched Johnson regain his balance. The patrol officers were getting nearer. He could hear the hiss of their respirators.

"Oh, come on," he said in disgust as he noticed Johnson beginning to limp.

"I think I have a dislocation," he answered, wincing.

"Won't you rather have a dislocation than be hanged upside-down on a stake till the blood is drained from you?" Ibrahim stamped his foot. "The bastards are closing on us!"

Johnson braced himself and tried to keep up with Ibrahim, but he was doing a poor job of it. Ibrahim could see he was hurting. He stopped and looked around. "Wait, let me carry you."

"Thanks." Johnson smiled. Climbing Ibrahim's back, he put his hands around his neck and hooked his legs around his waist.

Ibrahim took steps forward. "Don't grip my neck too tightly!" He shouted. "You're going to strangle me. Do you want to kill me?"

Johnson grinned. "I think I'll wait until you've gotten me to safety."

"Lower your grip. Hold my shoulders."

Johnson adjusted his position and moved his hands from Ibrahim's neck to his shoulders. As soon as he completed the movement, they heard a loud whirling noise and a machine-oriented voice made them freeze.

"You are in a restricted area. Maintain your positions."

"They've caught us," Johnson whispered in panic. Ibrahim did not move. "They've caught us, Ibrahim," Johnson repeated. "Run!"

Ibrahim bounded through the forest like a crazy animal with Johnson on his back juggling from side to side. At once the hissing sounds from the patrol officers followed. There was a blinding flash of light and, to their left, half the section of that part of the forest went up in blue flame. As the accompanying smoke began to clear off, Johnson threw a glance backwards and a cold panic gripped his heart- that part of the forest was gone, trees and all. All that was left as the smoke cleared off was a large area of barren land and the mixed smell of burning wood and leaves. He could see the officers now. There were about three of them and as they ran, he was continually dazzled by the sunlight reflection on their helmets and metal skins. Like robots. Unlike robots, they could run and they took over the ground at quite a pace.

His uncle had told him they were first made during the war. Volunteers, they were called. After the second invasion when the second attack on earth was launched, the governments had realised they were fighting a losing battle. Their soldiers were nothing but messes of flesh and bones, while the invaders were a tougher lot - metal skeletons beneath a skin tougher than the hide of a rhinoceros - impossible to pierce. The United States government had called on citizens of every country to volunteer themselves for the production of a superhuman army with which to combat the invaders who seemed to have the greater advantage. The president had called it a necessary sacrifice; their duty to humanity. An army to save the world. Promises were made. Riches and honour assured. There were millions of volunteers from all over the world. Many people wanted in not only because of the promise of wealth after the war, but also because they felt becoming a superhuman was the only way they could preserve their lives. Records were taken, all of which were lost during the war. The people were taken into laboratories, their bodies surgically modified, their memories erased and their minds reprogrammed. They had only one assignation. It wasn't 'win the war'; it was 'obey the government.'

A lot of them were eliminated in the war, on whose favour it ended, Johnson wasn't sure. He wasn't even sure about anything anyway. All he knew was what his uncle told him and that wasn't enough to lay an anchor to. But at least he trusts him. At a period like it was, when finding someone trustworthy was a problem, he couldn't risk mistrusting him.

The war ended and a New World was proclaimed, along with a New Government. Following the order of the New Government, they were taken, along with the rest of the clan, from his grandma's village where they had sought refuge, and sent to Western Region V. The remaining superhumans were retained in New World either as security personnels or as patrol officers depending on where they are.

By this time, the gap between them had widened. The patrol officers were really fast but Johnson and Ibrahim were at an advantage; they knew the forest. They were familiar with its many winding, confusing pathways. It was another home for them - a much better one. They had hideouts everywhere and in one of those hideouts few hundred metres ahead, Alex and Mercy were waiting for them.

After several turns, they soon lost sight of the officers. Ibrahim slowed his pace but he didn't stop. He was panting heavily and the dry grasses crunched under his boots.

"Don't stomp too heavily or they'll spot our position," Johnson advised, throwing a glance back where they've come.

"What purpose do you think you're serving on my back? Wings?" Ibrahim retorted. "Get down!" He shook Johnson off his back and dropped to the ground at the same time.

"Thanks," Johnson muttered and limped around for awhile, then he moved over to a couple of felled trees. Ibrahim leaned his back over the stump of a felled tree, stretched and groaned. "Wallahi you weigh a ton."

Johnson said nothing. He balanced himself on one of the felled trees and looked around the forest. There were many of such trees scattered throughout the forest. It looked as if a project had begun in the forest several years ago and, for some reason, had gone uncompleted.

"We'd better start moving," Johnson said. "They'll be worried about us."

Check back next week for Chapter 2.