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The Lost City

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Chapter 5- Firestorm

Another warrior rushed at me from behind, but I dodged his attack. As I turned to face him though, I slipped and winced as I twisted my right ankle. The Scorpion warrior lunged at me again, but I kicked him upside the head with my good leg, and he staggered backwards. I swept my attacker’s feet from underneath him, as Lukas had did when first attacked me. I slit the warrior’s throat to finish the fight. Although I had won the fight I was still frustrated that the slippery floor had nearly cost me my life. Wait, why was the floor slippery, if there no blood on it? Unless there was some other slick substance… “Katie! Light a match and drop it between the floorboards,” I yelled. Katie took out a book of matches and lit one then dropped it on the between the floor boards. Almost instantly the floor became hot, like there were coils of an enormous oven beneath our feet. The Scorpions began to back off, not really sure of what to do.
“Come on, Coyote! I think there was something other than oil down there,” Jessica hollered as she and Katie disappeared through the door. I turned to follow them, when I remembered Scarface. I turned around and was relieved to see Athena, Sarg, and Lisra fighting off our enemy to keep them from hurting our still-breathing leader. He’ll be okay then, I though as I raced through the exit.
We were only mere seconds from getting killed that night. Scarface had just limped behind the rocks and collapsed, when the Scorpion’s ship exploded in a great ball of fire, the heat from it blasting us all backward. I yelped as a burning piece of debris flew through the air and hit me on my shoulder. “No one could’ve survived that,” Athena said solemnly.
“Expect them!” Katie gasped, pointing toward the other pile of rocks. Ace, Lukas, and four other survivors limped on the rocky shoreline.
“You’ll regret this, Wolf Pack!” Ace was shouting. “One day you and the Jagrundi will bow to the Scorpions!”
“Fat chance!” I yelled back among the happy cheers of the Wolf and Jagrundi packs.
When we were all gathered in the kitchen, Soul was prepared to tend to our injuries, which were mostly minor cuts. However, the Wolf Pack couldn’t help but stare at our blood-soaked leader.
“It’s fine,” Scarface reassured us, as our healer tended to his arm. “It’s mostly not my blood.” After hearing that, the Pack relaxed a little.
“Well, as long as no one is seriously hurt, I don’t see why we can’t celebrate the Scorpion’s defeat,” I said as I opened a cupboard that contained drinks.
Since the Lost City has no running water, the only liquid we ever get is from rain, or in the winter, snow. However, the rain we get is flavorless and not very quenching. One month ago though, the Wolf Pack was fortunate enough to stumble upon two unopened cans of soda in a dumpster. Since unopened bottled water is extremely rare, let alone soda, we had been saving the drinks for a very special occasion.
I grabbed the can of Dr. Pepper for myself, and threw the bottle of root beer to Scarface. Since root beer is our leader’s favorite drink, I was shocked when he gave it to Jinx.
“Well, Scarface, as long as you’re sure you want me to have it…,” the healer said as he popped the top off and took an enormous swig. I also opened my soda and gulped it down, letting the sweet, sugary liquid fizz in my mouth, closing my eyes in delight. Suddenly Athena screamed, followed by the sound of glass breaking and a thud a something heavy hit the wooden floor. My eyes snapped open to see Jinx crumpled on the ground, the broken root beer bottle beside him; its contents forming a puddle on the floor. The healer was foaming at the mouth, and his body jerked with spasms.
“What happened?” I asked a wide-eyed Athena.
“Someone poisoned the root beer while we were in battle,” she gasped. Jinx suddenly stopped jerking and laid still, his eyes glassy. The room became deadly quiet.
“And I was going to drink that,” Scarface mumbled.
Sarg bent down and picked up the bottom half of the root beer bottle. “There’s a slip of paper stuck to the bottom,” he announced. The piece of paper, no bigger than an index card, read: Curtsey of the White Fox.
“Well, whoever this White Fox is, they’re going to pay!” Jaguar snarled.
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