Champion (Legend 3)

The bullet misses Day by a couple of feet. He stumbles in his rush, throwing an arm briefly over his head out of instinct, but picks himself up and continues doggedly on. My heart thuds frantically against my chest. Faster. I take a flying leap from one roof to the next. Down below, I see Day nearing Eden. Then he’s there, he’s reached him, he’s skidding to a halt next to Eden and throwing his arms protectively around his little brother. The dust around them makes them hard to focus on, as if they’re both ghosts in faded colors. My breath comes in shallow gasps as I draw closer to the fallen soldiers. I hope the dust is throwing Commander Jameson’s aim off.

I reach the downed soldier. I grab his gun. One bullet left.

Below, Day picks up Eden, puts one hand protectively against the back of his brother’s head, and then starts staggering back toward the shelter as fast as his broken body will allow him. Commander Jameson takes aim again—I scream in my head and push myself to go faster. All of my adrenaline, every fiber of my attention and concentration, is now focused like an arrow on her. She fires. This time the bullet misses the brothers, but it sparks barely a foot away from Day. He doesn’t even bother to look up. He only clutches Eden tighter, then stumbles onward.

I finally near the roof where she is. I leap onto it, landing on its flat concrete surface. From here, I can see both the roof I’m on and the street below. Three dozen yards ahead of me, partially obscured by chimneys and vents, Commander Jameson crouches with her back turned to me, her focus on the streets.

She fires again. Down below, I hear a hoarse shriek of pain from a voice I know all too well. All my breath escapes me. I glance quickly to the street to see Day fall to his knees, dropping Eden for a moment. The sounds around me dull.

He’s been shot.

He shudders, then picks himself up again. Hoists Eden into his arms again. Staggers onward. Commander Jameson fires one more time. The bullet makes impact. I hoist the gun in my hands, then point it straight at her. I’m close enough now, close enough to see the ridges of her bulletproof vest lining her back. My hands shake. I have a perfect vantage, a straight shot right at Commander Jameson’s head. She’s getting ready to fire again.

I aim.

As if the world has suddenly slowed to a million frames a second, Commander Jameson spins around. She senses my presence. Her eyes narrow—and then she swivels her gun toward me, taking her focus off Day. Thoughts flash through my mind at the speed of light. I pull my gun’s trigger, firing my last bullet straight at her head.

And I miss.

I never miss.

No time to dwell on this—Commander Jameson has her gun pointed at me, and as my bullet whizzes past her face, I see her smile and fire. I throw myself to the ground, then roll. Something sparks barely an inch from my arm. I dart behind a nearby chimney and press myself as tightly against the wall as I can. Somewhere behind me, the sound of heavy boots approaches. Breathe. Breathe. Our last confrontation flashes through my mind. Why can I face everything in the world except Commander Jameson?

“Come out and play, Little Iparis,” she calls out. When I stay silent, she laughs. “Come out, so you can see your pretty boy bleeding to death on the street.”

She knows exactly how to slice right into my heart. But I grit my teeth and force the image of a bleeding, dying Day out of my head. I don’t have time for this bullshit. What I need to do is disarm her—and at that thought, I look down at my useless gun. Time to play a game of pretend.

She’s silent now. All I can hear is the soft tap of approaching boots, the steady nearing of my brother’s killer. My hands tighten on my gun.

She’s close enough. I shut my eyes for an instant, mutter a quick whisper for good luck—and then whirl out from my hiding place. I point my gun up at Commander Jameson as if I’m about to fire. She does what I hope—she flinches to the side, but this time I’m ready, and I lunge straight for her. I jump, then kick her face as hard as I can. My boots make a satisfying sound on impact. Her head snaps backward. Her grip on her gun loosens, and I take the opportunity to kick it right out of her hands. She collapses onto the roof with a thud—her gun flies off to one side, then falls right off the roof and to the smoke-filled streets below.

I don’t dare stop my momentum. While she’s still down, I swing my elbow at her face in an effort to knock her unconscious. My first blow hits—but my second one doesn’t. Commander Jameson grabs my elbow, snaps her other hand on my wrist like a shackle, and then twists. I flip with it. Pain shoots up my arm as it bends in her grasp. Before she can break it, I twist around and stomp on her arm with the sharp heel of my boot. She winces, but doesn’t let go. I stomp again, harder.

Her grip loosens by a hair, and I finally manage to slip out of her grasp.

She hops to her feet right as I put some distance between us and turn again to face her. We start to circle each other, both of us breathing heavily, my arm still screaming in pain and her face marred by a trickle of blood coming from her temple. I already know I can’t win against her in an all-out brawl. She’s taller and stronger, equipped with years of training that my talents can’t match. My only hope is to catch her by surprise again, to find a way to turn her own force against her. As I continue to circle, waiting and watching for an opening, the world around us fades away. I draw on all my anger, letting it replace my fear and give me strength.

It’s just you and me now. This is the way it was always meant to be, this is the moment I’ve been waiting for since it all began. We’ll face each other at the very end with our bare hands.