Page 150 of Galaxy Games Four-Book Box Set (Galaxy Games)

150

Willow Takes Charge

W illow

“First things first. We’re going on a hunt.”

I take them with me as we explore the area. It was never a barn. It’s a garage. There are stalls for cars. Dozens of them.

As I pick through the one next to me, I show the guys exactly what we’re looking for.

Anything metal, nuts, bolts, even metal scraps, I say.

We’re looking for food? Braveheart asks.

Food? Oh… nuts.

No food. You’re looking for metal of any size.

The way I see things going down, we’re going to need every piece of metal we can lay our hands on. I imagine we might start dismantling the building for nuts and bolts. I hope we don’t have to go that far.

You’re also looking for any smelly fluids. If you find some, come get me immediately and I’ll tell you what to do with it. Also, we’re looking for glass containers.

I shake my head, knowing that’s going to be a longshot, and I think we’re really going to need them.

And material. Fabric.

So basically anything that isn’t nailed down ? Braveheart asks, then amends. Even the nails?

You got it. Metal, fabric, smelly liquid, and glass containers. Hurry. I couldn’t be the only one who wants this stuff.

Luckily, our coveralls have an overabundance of pockets which I’d thought had no discernable use in the planet’s blazing heat. Now that we’ve split up, I hurry through the stalls, looking for anything on my shopping list.

An hour later, all ten teams have chosen their vehicles which are in their stalls. I hear squabbling over at the area TGN has set up with spray paint.

They had to assume none of us would know a thing about antique internal combustion engines, so they set up a spray paint station to keep the contestants and viewers amused.

Meanwhile, my guys took me seriously. They’ve each come back twice to our stall and unloaded pounds of metal screws, nuts, and bolts. They found a goldmine of old tools. They thought they were just following directions and bringing me metal and had no idea the wrenches and screwdrivers would make me swoon.

When I go foraging again, it’s as if the heavens open up and the angels sing when I find a pile of small bottles covered in orange sand in the corner. They remind me of those uber-expensive Orangina bottles my aunt Sophia was so fond of. These are small pear-shaped bottles, maybe five inches tall. Some of them even have their metal lids intact. Finding them makes me almost as excited as all the orgasms I received last night. Almost.

Someone hundreds of years ago had a little drinking problem. Oh well, their loss is our gain.

When I bump into the guys and they tell me they’ve combed through all the empty stalls, I ask them to search outside.

Use your feet to drag through the sand. See if you can find any hidden treasures. Before you do that, grab a couple cans of spray paint. We’re going to have to look busy while we do the real work on the sly.

Any minute now you can tell us what we’re doing, Braveheart gripes.

Sorry. Time is of the essence. I want to collect all this stuff before anyone else can think of it. And unless they forbid us, I’m sorry to tell you we’re going to be sleeping in here tonight.

Valor’s third eye flickers angry red for the swiftest moment while Braveheart’s inner beast escapes long enough to growl.

Gritting my teeth for them to see, I tell them, We’re going to live to get to the finish line, guys. To do that, we’re not giving anyone the opportunity to tamper with our stuff. Even the network.

Ten minutes later, after finding several more pounds of nuts, bolts, and other pieces of metal now weighing down my pockets, Braveheart calls me.

Willow? You said stinky liquid. I’m not sure what I’m looking for, so in case this is alien piss, I’m calling you to inspect it.

How chivalrous, I say as I unerringly follow my purple guy’s mind signal.

He’s up front, between the building and where the cars were lined up this morning.

I’m surprised I didn’t see it earlier. A gas pump. I press the handle and gasoline flows out of the nozzle. Even luckier? Nearby is what appears to be a gallon can.

I feel like Snidely Whiplash or some other cartoon villain, but I contain my impulse to twirl my imaginary mustache in glee as my nefarious plan comes together.