Paul, Nia, Paul, Nia. He’s been lying to me. He’s caught up in something to do with Doctor Gregory. She’s gone.
I should have said something different to her at the station. I should have told her that I can’t believe I ever got to kiss her. But I didn’t say anything right. And now she’ll find some other guy. She’ll change her mind, because that’s what people do. They change their minds, they don’t call. They wait a few days so they don’t look too keen. When there’s an obstacle they give up too easily. They wonder why someone would ever be interested in them. The memories that once seemed so certain fade and become more like fantasies or dreams.
Ahead lie the dark buildings of Orphanville. The night is cloudy, with no illumination from the moon, and the towers are darker than I’ve ever seen them.
The velodrome is further away than I thought.
I pass the bridge where we met the three pirates and I run until the towers pass silently. I finally spot a smudge of light in the distance. As I draw closer to the velodrome, my eyes sharpen and my ears sharpen; everything moves into clear focus.
The velodrome fits into the basin of a man-made hill the shape of a small volcano. Light bleeds from the lip. Something, some sense or instinct, prickles the back of my neck. I reach the top of the hill and look down. Two trucks are parked near the centre of the bowl, with floodlights running off their batteries. The lights are focused on a huge cage. When I see what’s inside, I understand why the pirate called this the dog place.
fourteen
There are about forty people
in the velodrome, most of them gathered around the cage, cheering and yelling. Their excitement is palpable. Off to the side is a set of decrepit bleachers with a handful of people lingering on the steps.
I pass two Locals scuffling in the dust. One has the other on the ground in a headlock. He sees me, and pauses to give me a grin and a thumbs-up.
The cage is a big cube, about twice my height. I grab onto the wire and press my face close. My nostrils flood with the scent of sweat and adrenaline.
There are two men fighting inside, throwing themselves wildly at each other. And now that I’m closer I cansee I wasn’t wrong. They’re people like me. Once or twice I’ve glimpsed others around Shyness, but not for a while. The sight used to scare me. Now I’m interested.
The taller man wears only a tatty pair of shorts. His body is covered with hair so dense it should really be called fur. Bare feet dancing, he circles the other guy with his fists up near his face. I watch his eyes, and it gives me a shiver. He’s taller than me, heftier, and more animal. Recent howl aside, I am not this guy. I couldn’t become this guy.
The other fighter looks more regular. An athletic guy in a tracksuit, except for the fact that his fingers end in sharp, curving claws, and his shaved head is tattooed all over with blue lines. He swipes with a lightning paw. The tall man falls to the dirt, clutching his shoulder, and the small crowd explodes into cheers. My fingers twitch at my side.
An umpire lying face-down on the wire roof above the fighters counts down as the clawed guy pins the other down. The umpire calls it, and the clawed guy leaps to his feet, arms held up victory. The tall man rolls over and spits blood onto the dust.
The guy standing next to me swears, rips up a piece of paper and stamps on it. He catches me staring.
‘Fifty bucks, down the drain.’
Next to the cage, standing on a tall lifesaver’s chair, an old man in a gaudy checked suit calls into a megaphone.‘Victory to Talon! Next up, Pussycat Battle!’
The men clear out of the cage, and two more fighters enter. I blink. They’re girls like none I’ve ever seen.
One is short and wiry, with two black buns on either side of her head. She wears tight black leather, trailing a tail behind her. I try to see where the tail joins her body, but she weaves restlessly, making it
I should have said something different to her at the station. I should have told her that I can’t believe I ever got to kiss her. But I didn’t say anything right. And now she’ll find some other guy. She’ll change her mind, because that’s what people do. They change their minds, they don’t call. They wait a few days so they don’t look too keen. When there’s an obstacle they give up too easily. They wonder why someone would ever be interested in them. The memories that once seemed so certain fade and become more like fantasies or dreams.
Ahead lie the dark buildings of Orphanville. The night is cloudy, with no illumination from the moon, and the towers are darker than I’ve ever seen them.
The velodrome is further away than I thought.
I pass the bridge where we met the three pirates and I run until the towers pass silently. I finally spot a smudge of light in the distance. As I draw closer to the velodrome, my eyes sharpen and my ears sharpen; everything moves into clear focus.
The velodrome fits into the basin of a man-made hill the shape of a small volcano. Light bleeds from the lip. Something, some sense or instinct, prickles the back of my neck. I reach the top of the hill and look down. Two trucks are parked near the centre of the bowl, with floodlights running off their batteries. The lights are focused on a huge cage. When I see what’s inside, I understand why the pirate called this the dog place.
fourteen
There are about forty people
in the velodrome, most of them gathered around the cage, cheering and yelling. Their excitement is palpable. Off to the side is a set of decrepit bleachers with a handful of people lingering on the steps.
I pass two Locals scuffling in the dust. One has the other on the ground in a headlock. He sees me, and pauses to give me a grin and a thumbs-up.
The cage is a big cube, about twice my height. I grab onto the wire and press my face close. My nostrils flood with the scent of sweat and adrenaline.
There are two men fighting inside, throwing themselves wildly at each other. And now that I’m closer I cansee I wasn’t wrong. They’re people like me. Once or twice I’ve glimpsed others around Shyness, but not for a while. The sight used to scare me. Now I’m interested.
The taller man wears only a tatty pair of shorts. His body is covered with hair so dense it should really be called fur. Bare feet dancing, he circles the other guy with his fists up near his face. I watch his eyes, and it gives me a shiver. He’s taller than me, heftier, and more animal. Recent howl aside, I am not this guy. I couldn’t become this guy.
The other fighter looks more regular. An athletic guy in a tracksuit, except for the fact that his fingers end in sharp, curving claws, and his shaved head is tattooed all over with blue lines. He swipes with a lightning paw. The tall man falls to the dirt, clutching his shoulder, and the small crowd explodes into cheers. My fingers twitch at my side.
An umpire lying face-down on the wire roof above the fighters counts down as the clawed guy pins the other down. The umpire calls it, and the clawed guy leaps to his feet, arms held up victory. The tall man rolls over and spits blood onto the dust.
The guy standing next to me swears, rips up a piece of paper and stamps on it. He catches me staring.
‘Fifty bucks, down the drain.’
Next to the cage, standing on a tall lifesaver’s chair, an old man in a gaudy checked suit calls into a megaphone.‘Victory to Talon! Next up, Pussycat Battle!’
The men clear out of the cage, and two more fighters enter. I blink. They’re girls like none I’ve ever seen.
One is short and wiry, with two black buns on either side of her head. She wears tight black leather, trailing a tail behind her. I try to see where the tail joins her body, but she weaves restlessly, making it
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