Arena Two tst-2

by Morgan Rice

  I scour the trees again, looking for any sign of food, of anything. I stop in my tracks, and Ben stops beside me. I stand there, listening, for several seconds. But all I hear is the deep sound of silence. I close my eyes and listen, and can hear the sound of the snowflakes falling, touching my skin, and beyond that, the very light lapping of the river against the shore. I wait sixty seconds. Still nothing. It is as if we are completely alone in a prehistoric universe.

  “ Why are we stopped?” Ben asks.

  I open my eyes and continue walking. We walk in silence for several more minutes, heading towards the tip of the island.

  The more we walk, the more I begin to wonder about Ben. I can’t help wondering what exactly happened to him back there, in Manhattan. What happened to his brother. I wonder if I can get him to open up. It sure seems as if he needs to.

  “ Don’t beat yourself up so much,” I say to him, breaking the silence. “I mean, your falling asleep back there: it could happen to any of us.”

  “ But it didn’t. It happened to me,” he shoots back. “It was my fault. It’s my fault that Rose is hurt.”

  “ Guilt and blame isn’t going to help any of us now,” I say. “Nobody’s blaming you. I’m not.”

  He shrugs, looking forlorn, as we continue to walk in silence.

  “ Do you want to talk about it?” I finally ask, wanting to get it out in the open. “What happened to you in the city? Your brother? It might make you feel better to talk about it.”

  I watch him as we walk. He looks down, as if thinking, then finally shakes his head no.

  I tried. And I respect his privacy. I’m not sure I’d want to talk about it either, if I were in his shoes.

  We reach the far end of the island, the trees opening to an open shore, covered in snow. I walk out to the tip and from here I have a sweeping view of the Hudson, in every direction. It is like a vast sea on all sides of us, huge chunks of ice hardening all around, snow falling down on it. It looks surreal, primordial. As the wind whips me in the face, I feel for a moment as if we’re the only ones left, castaways in a vast sea.

  I scan the shores in every direction, looking for any signs of structures, of motion, movement. But I see none. It is as if the wilderness, without man left to impose upon it, has returned back upon itself.

  As I stand there, on the shore, I notice something on the sand, sticking up through the snow. I take a few steps forward, reach down, and pick it up. It is green and glowing, and as I pick it up, I realize it’s a bottle-a large, glass bottle that must’ve washed up on shore.

  I scour the rest of the shoreline, and see something else, glistening, bobbing in the water, brushing up against the shore. I hurry over and pick it up. It is an old, aluminum can.

  I don’t know what to make of these things-it is hardly the treasure chest I hoped to find. But still, I’m sure we can make some use of them, and it’s at least something to bring them back.

  I take a deep breath and turn around, preparing to head back. This time, I lead us back along the other side of the island, through a different grove of trees, in the hopes of finding something, anything.

  We trudge silently back through the woods, and I feel disappointed that I didn’t find anything of use, yet also relieved that we have the island to ourselves. I begin to let down my guard as I realize that soon I will be back in the warmth of the cave. My hands and feet are becoming more frozen as we walk, and I bunch them and release, trying to circulate the blood. My legs are weary, and I’ll be happy to sit in the cave, and relax by a fire.

  This makes me realize that we’ll need supplies to start a fire. I happily remember the matches and candles I salvaged from dad’s. But I realize we’ll also need kindling-dry branches, pine needles, whatever I can find. I also realize we should bring back pine branches to make the ground more comfortable for everyone.

  “ Look for branches,” I say to Ben. “Dry branches. Small ones. Higher off the ground, not covered in snow. We need kindling. Also look for large branches with soft pine needles, to use on the floor.”

  Ben walks a few feet behind me and doesn’t respond, but I know he’s heard me because he steps up to a tree, and I hear the cracking of a branch.

  I spot a tree myself with a dry branch sticking out from it, and I reach up and snap it off. It’s perfect. With an armful of these, we can have a fire going all night.

  Just as I’m walking to another tree, suddenly, I hear a twig snap. Ben stands right beside me, so I know he didn’t do it. My heart stops. We are being watched.

  S E V E N

  I spin around, in the direction of the snap, and I see motion. I freeze, my throat dry, as I realize what it is.

  I can’t believe it. There, in plain sight, not even twenty yards away, are two deer. They stop and lift their heads and stare right at me.

  My heart is pounding with excitement. This would be enough food to feed us all for days. I can’t believe our luck.

  Without thinking, I grab my knife, step forward and hurl it, remembering the last time this worked.

  But this time, my hands are too cold, and I miss. They take off, sprinting away.

  I quickly pull the bow off my back, place an arrow between my fingers, and fire at the fleeing deer. But I’m even more clumsy with the bow, and the arrow lodges into a tree, nowhere near the deer.

  “ Dammit!” I yell out. This is a small island, but they’re too fast. Without a gun, which I would never fire for fear of drawing attention, and without professional traps, I don’t see how we could ever catch them.

  Suddenly, Ben steps forward, takes the bow from my hand, and one arrow. He takes three steps forward in front of me, holds the bow expertly, strings the arrow, holds out his chest, and then bides his time, following the deer, which now must be a good fifty yards away and bounding off. They are also zigzagging in and out between trees. It’s an impossible shot.

  Ben releases, and the arrow goes flying through the air.

  And then, to my amazement, there is the distant sound of arrow piercing flesh. I’m completely shocked, as I watch one deer fall.

  I turn and look at Ben, my mouth hanging open. He stands there, not moving, and slowly lowers the bow. He looks sad, as if he regrets what he’s done.

  “ You didn’t tell me,” I say in a hushed tone, “that you’re an expert shot.”

  He turns and shrugs, as he hands back the bow.

  “ You didn’t ask,” he says nonchalantly.

  Ben turns and walks off, in the direction of the deer. I stand there, too frozen in surprise to know what to say.

  I follow him, still trying to comprehend what just happened. I had no idea that Ben had any skills-much less, hunting skills. That was an unbelievable, one-of-a-kind shot. I had written him off, but now I realize how valuable Ben is. And as I watch him walk with a new bounce to his step, I realize that this episode did something to him. It seems like maybe it helped snap him out of it, give him a sense of pride, of purpose. For the first time, I feel as if he’s back with us, finally present, as a member of the team.

  We both reach the deer, and stand over it. It lies on its side, blood oozing out into the snow, its legs still quivering. It was a perfect shot, right to its neck.

  After several seconds, it stops quivering, dead.

  Ben reaches down, slings the animal over his shoulder. He turns, and together we walk back to the cave. As we go, I grab kindling, dry branches everywhere, filling my arms. Then I grab wide pine branches, gathering what will be a huge blanket and pillow for Rose.

  My heart fills with optimism. The skies grow darker and the snow stronger and the wind whips at full force, but I don’t care. We have shelter-real shelter-with fresh food for all, and wood for fire. For once, I feel things are going our way.

  Finally, a sense of peace has settled over us. We all sit huddled together, deep inside the cave, spread out around a roaring fire. It turned out that the matches I salvaged from dad’s house were invaluable, as was the kindling I brought in from ou
tside. It all helped to get the fire going, and once it started, we all took turns going outside, finding small logs that were as dry as possible, and throwing them on the ever-growing fire. dad’s tools even came in handy, as I used the hammer and screwdriver to chip off the wet bark, get rid of all the wet layers and get the wood as dry as possible. Now the fire is roaring, giving us all the desperately needed warmth we’ve been craving for days.

  As I sit there, holding my hands out before it, rubbing my palms, I slowly feel my limbs begin to relax. I didn’t realize how tense they were, how frozen up I was. I feel like I’m de-thawing, getting back to myself again. It’s amazing how warm it’s becoming in here. With the roaring fire and the shelter from the wind and snow, it’s almost like being inside.

  As I glance outside, at the mouth of the cave, I see that it is dark. The storm has gotten worse, much worse, and continues to fall heavily, silently, ominously piling up outside the cave, now nearly a foot high. The wind whistles, and occasionally, a particularly strong gust sends a few flakes into the cave. But mostly, we are well sheltered. This place is a godsend. I don’t know how we would have survived otherwise.

  Logan sits by himself, at the mouth of the cave, looking out at the storm, watching the darkening sky, and mostly keeping his eyes fixed on the boat. I went over and checked on it myself a few times. Always it was the same: bobbing wildly in the stormy water, but tied securely, as sheltered as it could be from the storm. The boat’s not going anywhere. There’s no one in sight as far as the eye could see. And with the wind and snow raging, and the boat hidden on two sides, I don’t see who would even see it. I think Logan’s being paranoid. But if it makes him feel better to sit there and watch it, so be it. Eventually he’ll have to come back to the fire and warm himself up.

  Beside me, leaning over the fire, is Ben. He’s impressed me with his skills: to my surprise, he took my hunting knife and went to work on the deer, and in minutes, he had it expertly skinned. Then he cut it into perfect chunks, knowing exactly which parts to dispose of. Then he cut the meat into five big portions, impaled each on a sharpened stick, and propped them over the roaring flames. He turns the meat every so often, and the smell of it has been filling my senses for an hour, making my stomach growl. It smells delicious and I’m salivating at the thought of eating a real meal.

  I look over again at Rose. I brought her close to the fire, beneath a thick bed of pine needles, and I can see she’s still sleeping an uneasy sleep, her brow furrowed. I changed her bandage again a few hours ago, and as I did, I recoiled at its color. Worse, her wound was badly inflamed, spreading up her arm in both directions, and was starting to smell. It has turned gangrene. I don’t like how quickly her bandages are still soaking up blood.

  Rose looks delirious. I give her a sleeping pill every few hours, but I don’t know how much longer that’s going to work. I don’t know what else to do for her. I feel so helpless.

  What she really needs is medicine. Specialized medicine. And I have no idea where to even begin to look. Even if somehow I could brave this weather and take the boat out into the blizzard with whatever fuel we have left, even if I could somehow find a town somewhere, it’s not like we’d find a working pharmacy. I know it would be a lost cause-and only endanger the rest of us.

  So I do the best I can to just keep her comfortable, and pray for the best. I come over, reach down, and slowly untie her latest bandage, filled with blood.

  Rose groans in pain as I take it off. Once again, I curse that crazy who bit her.

  I leave the bandage off, letting the wound air out, and go to mouth of the cave, and grab a handful of snow as I have done several times. I come back with it and kneel beside her and place it on Rose’s wound. She winces and groans as I do. I’m hoping the snow will have a cleansing, cooling effect. I take a fresh bandage, dried by the fire, and delicately wrap it around her wound.

  Rose opens her eyes and looks up at me. They are so small and afraid.

  “ Thank you,” she says.

  My heart breaks at the sound of her voice. She is so sweet, so courageous. If I were her age, I doubt I would be half as brave. Any other girl would be screaming and wailing.

  I lean down and kiss her forehead and am alarmed to feel how clammy it is. My heart is breaking into a million pieces; I know this cannot end well. I don’t see how it possibly can.

  I want to scream at the world, at the injustice of it all. It’s not fair. For such a sweet and beautiful and amazing girl like this to be taken away from us. I’m at a loss for words, and do my best to hold back tears and appear strong for her.

  “ You’re going to be fine,” I say, summoning the most confident voice I can.

  She smiles weakly, as if seeing right through me. It makes me think of something someone once told me: the dying are granted the gift to see through all of our lies.

  Bree, sitting on Rose’s other side, reaches over and strokes back her hair. Bree looks more tormented than Rose; I’ve never seen her so upset, my entire life. It is almost as if she’s the one who has been injured.

  Penelope leans on Rose’s chest and licks her face from time to time.

  “ Will you eat something?” I ask Rose.

  “ I can try,” she says weakly. “But I’m not very hungry.”

  I pull over the sack and pull out a jar of jam and unscrew it. I can smell it from here: it’s cherry. It smells delicious.

  “ Do you like cherry?” I ask her.

  “ My favorite,” she answers.

  I reach in with my finger, take a small scoop, and place it on her lips. She licks it, closes her eyes and smiles. I reach out with another, but she shakes her head no. “I’ve had enough,” she says.

  I hand the jar to Bree, but she shakes her head.

  “ Please, Bree, you need to eat.”

  “ Give mine to Rose,” she says, staring down with sadness.

  I hold out a fingerful to Penelope, and she devours it without hesitating.

  “ It’s ready,” comes a voice.

  I turn and see Ben has removed the pieces of cooked meat off the fire. He holds out the sticks and I take one and pass it to Bree. I take another, and hold it up for Rose. I lean over, hold up her head, and gently bring the food to her lips.

  “ Please Rose,” I say. “You need to have something. This will help you get better.”

  “ I’m not hungry,” she says. “Really.”

  “ Please. For me.”

  I can see she doesn’t want to, but Rose does me a favor and takes a tiny bite from a piece of meat. She chews weakly, looking at me.

  “ You remind me of my mom,” she says.

  My eyes water up and it takes everything in me to hold back my tears.

  “ I loved her,” Rose says.

  “ What happened to her?” I ask. I know I shouldn’t. Whatever the answer is, it won’t be good.

  “ I don’t know,” she answers. “They took me away from her. She tried to save me. But there were too many of them. I never saw her again. Do you think she’s okay?” she asks.

  I try my best to smile.

  “ I think she’s fine,” I lie. “And do you know what else?”

  Rose slowly shakes her head.

  “ I know that if she was here, right now, she would be so proud of you.”

  She smiles.

  I lower the food to her again, but this time, she shakes her head vehemently. “I can’t,” she says. “It hurts so bad,” she says, squinting her eyes in pain.

  I try to think of what else I can do for her. All I can think is to keep her comfortable. Maybe I should give her another sleeping pill.

  I hurry over to the fire and grab the glass bottle with the melted snow in it, now water. I bring it back to Rose. “Drink,” I say, as I slip a pill onto her tongue. She does.

  I sit beside her and stroke her hair. I see her eyes already closing and feel like in a few minutes she’ll be asleep.

  I look over at Bree and see she hasn’t touched her food.

&nb
sp; “ Bree, eat,” I say. “Please.”

  “ You’re not eating,” she says.

  She’s right.

  “ I will if you will,” I say. “We need to. Our not eating won’t help Rose get any better.”

  I reach over to the fire, grab my stick of meat, and take a bite. The meat is tough and plain, but I’m not complaining. It may not be that tasty, but as it fills my mouth, I realize how ravenous I am. I take bite after bite, barely able to slow down. I feel the nutrition spread through my body and can’t remember how long it’s been since I had real, fresh cooked meat.

  Bree’s hunger gets the best of her, too, and she finally eats. After every few bites she stops and peels off a strip for Penelope, who snatches it from her hand. In the past, Bree would giggle; but now, she remains somber.

  Ben sits on the far wall, opposite me, and quietly chews. I see the remaining stick on the fire and look over and see Logan, still sitting guard by the mouth of the cave. I look down and see Rose is asleep beside me, so I get up, grab his stick and walk it over to him.

  “ Come sit by the fire,” I say. “Staring into the dark isn’t going to do anything. No one’s on this island, and no one’s touching the boat. We can barely see two feet in front of our face. Come on. Your not eating and not sleeping isn’t going to help any of us. We need you strong.”

  Reluctantly, he gives in, standing, taking the strip of meat, and following me back to the fire.

  I sit beside Rose and Bree, our feet to the fire, as Logan joins us. He sits and eats.

  We all settle in and sit there for a long while in silence, the only sound the cracking of the wood and the whipping of the wind outside. For the first time in a while, I feel relaxed, as we each sit there, staring into the flames, each lost in our own world. I can’t help but feel as if we are each just waiting to die, each in our own way.