Where Monsters Hide (The Monster Within 1)

It’s now or never.

I duck under his outstretched arm and dash onto the course.

He shouts after me, but I’m gone, out of his reach. Security follows after me along the outside of the course, ready to pounce at their first opportunity, but their presence only draws more attention to me as I reach the first obstacle.

A series of platforms line the walls of a pool, tilted down towards the water. I snort.

Easy.

Without breaking stride, I leap onto the first one and grab t

he edge with one hand. With the other, I scoop up some water and splash it onto my hot face. I’m not quite dressed for exercise; I’m wearing my good skirt, pantyhose, and a black button-down blouse. It’s far from ideal, but I don’t even have time to pull my hair back to keep it from whipping around my face, let alone change.

I push off the first tilted platform to the next, kicking off one of my wedged boots in the process. It lands with a splash in the water and I pull off its twin and toss it in after the first. I don’t give two shits that I’ll never get them back.

The next platform is a challenge; my pantyhose makes it hard to grip with my feet and I nearly slide off and into the pool. I waste precious seconds tearing a hole for my left foot before hopping to the next platform where I can rip the other foot free.

I clear the rest of the platforms neatly.

Security has nearly caught up with me at the end thanks to my little hang-up. They aren’t the only ones following. Even though there are more recruits coming after me, some of the onlookers have started moving along with me to either side, their eyes trained on me as I throw myself into the mud for the next obstacle.

It’s a classic—army-crawling beneath barbed wire. The wicked barbs catch on my hair more than once, forcing me to tear full locks from my scalp in painful tugs. Head burning and spluttering from inhaled mud, I tear a strip from my already ruined pantyhose and finally tie my hair back from my face as I stumble towards the next task. The gathering crowd has slowed security, and unless I’m mistaken, I catch one of the other recruits purposefully stepping out to block their path under the guise of an untied shoelace.

There’s no time to think on it.

I stand at the edge of another pool carved into the earth. Pillars jut from the center, ascending in height from one end to the other. Ropes are hung from the trees overhead, meant to carry me between the narrow platforms at their tops.

One leap takes me to the first pillar, and I use the momentum to grab the first rope—one I’m barely able to reach with the very tips of my outstretched fingers—and swing myself up and onto the next pillar.

Once I’ve started, it’s harder to stop than to keep going. A single moment of hesitation atop one of the pillars would send me pitching forward with the momentum … so I move as quickly as possible, almost recklessly so. It becomes an easy rhythm; land, grab, swing, land, grab, swing. There are gasps from the trees down below when my foot nearly slips out from under me on the last one, but I manage to grab the next rope and sweep myself forward in the nick of time.

The next obstacle is basically a set of glorified monkey bars. As I jump off the pillar to grab the first bar, I hear a mechanical click—and big slabs of wood shaped like axes swing down from the trees, the first one crossing between me and the next bar. I let out a laugh half-strangled by the strain in my shoulders. Where did they get this idea, an old 80s cartoon?

It’s obvious what I’m supposed to do; wait at each bar for the axe to swing up and out of the way before I launch myself to the next. But that wouldn’t be fast enough. Or fun.

I flex my fingers on the bar, stretching the sore muscles for a moment before I pull myself up, hooking one leg over the bar, and bring myself to crouch on top of it. There’s no time to stop and consider how high up I actually am now. There might be a pool of water far below, but it might not stop me from injuring myself in the fall.

So carefully, I balance on the balls of my feet, and as the axe swings in front of me, I jump. Not past it, but onto it.

The axe lurches and wobbles beneath me, but it’s thick enough for me to stand on and strong enough to carry me with it. I wrap one arm around the pole attaching it to whatever mechanism hides above and bend my knees for balance. It takes me a second to get used to the motion beneath me, but once I do, it’s an easy leap to the next axe over … and then the next again.

I continue on this way, leaping from one axe to the next without having to pause and time my way between swings. In this way, I ignore the monkey bars down below all together. It isn’t until I get to the last axe that I get a good look at the upcoming obstacle—a flat stretch of platform that curves abruptly upward towards a rock-climbing wall. It’s far below me, much too far since I’m technically supposed to be down on the monkey bars.

Once again, I know how I’m supposed to tackle this obstacle. Had I done this right, I would be dropping down from the monkey bars, running up to the curve, and using my momentum to jump up and grab the lip of the platform. But instead, I’m standing on an axe swinging back and forth like some sort of carnival ride.

I still could drop down to the last bar, drop down to the ground and tackle the obstacle like I was meant to. But then … that would slow me down. I eye the platform ahead of me. It’s slightly lower than where I still stand, one arm clutching to the axe swinging beneath me.

How far can I really jump?

I’ve practiced for this. Every waking moment since I found out about my parent’s past, about Saint M, about the school I was destined to be a part of … every moment has been for this. So, I know the answer, even before a smirk flits across my face.

How far can I jump?

Plenty far.

I push off the wooden axe with my bare feet, using every single muscle in my thighs and calves to propel me forward. A neat tuck and roll brings me to a halt on the platform halfway up. My shoulder stings and I have a stich in my side, but I can’t stop now. I’m so close to the finish. I spring up and grab the first handhold, then the next.

I want desperately to look over my shoulder and gauge the reaction of the crowd that’s gathered down below, but I don’t know how much time I’m allowed, and I’ve wasted too much of it already. Shoulders burning, I reach up toward the next handhold.