by Morgan Rice
The rest of us hardly fare much better. We are all so beaten and broken and bruised and exhausted, not to mention, filled with dread for what might come tomorrow. Flo was right: they do up the stakes each day. I can’t imagine how they can possibly up them again tomorrow. I feel certain that tomorrow will be our last day.
A buzzer sounds, the ceiling opens, and this time they lower twelve baskets, these overflowing with food and goodies. While yesterday we all jumped up for them, now, we all look at each other, all too broken to jump up and get them.
Eventually, we struggle to our feet and march across the room. My legs feel like a thousand pounds each as I pick up my two baskets, along with Logan’s, and the others pick up theirs. We bring them back to the fire.
I am thrilled to see it is filled with goodies, foods, snacks and candies of all kinds. I can’t believe that the slaverunners have managed to find and keep such an abundance of good food in this day and age, with the rest of the world starving. The thought of it makes me sick: they have so much while others have so little.
While yesterday I devoured my food, today I move more slowly, as do the others. A part of me has lost my appetite. I open one candy bar and take a bite; it is delicious, and I revel in the sugar rush. But I don’t have the excitement of the day before.
I unwrap Logan’s candy bar and put it in his mouth, trying to get him to take a bite. But he won’t. I feel his forehead, how hot his fever has become, and grow increasingly worried. I wish there was something I could do.
“ Logan,” I say softly. “You have to eat. Please.”
Eyes closed, he shakes his head in agony. Eventually, he opens his eyes just a bit, just enough to look into mine.
He just stares at me, his eyes into mine, for what feels like the longest time. He doesn’t say anything, but in that stare, I feel him say things. Thank you. I love you. I’m sorry.
I want to say those things back to him, but I feel embarrassed, especially with others so close. I feel torn. On the one hand, I do have genuine feelings for Ben. Yet, I also have feelings for Logan, especially now, as I feel him leaving. I want to spend time with Ben, but I need to spend time with Logan.
I curl up beside Logan, hold his head in my lap, and gently brush his hair away, off his clammy forehead. I decide I need to distract him, to tell him a story.
“ Once, when I was young, before the war, my dad took me hunting,” I begin. I figure this is a story that Logan would like.
He perks up the slightest bit and I know he’s interested. Encouraged, I continue.
“ He gave me this huge, oversized rifle, and I was terrified to use it. We walked for hours, deep into the woods, looking all day for anything to kill. I really didn’t want to be there. But I wanted to make him happy.
“ Around sunset, I noticed this weird look in his eyes, a look I had never seen before. It was something like confusion. Maybe fear. He was always so confident, so in control, I didn’t understand what was happening. That look, to me, was scarier than anything.
“ I asked him what was wrong, and he finally admitted he was lost. He didn’t know the way back. Now we were deep into the woods, and it was getting dark. I was terrified. I asked him what we were going to do. He said we were going to find a tree, go to sleep, and in the morning, find our way out.
“ That terrified me more than anything, and I started to cry. He yelled at me, told me to be tough, that things could be worse. After a while I stopped crying and sat down next to him, against the tree. We sat there like that, silent, both of us against the same tree, all night long.
“ The crazy thing was, he didn’t say another word to me, all night long. As if he didn’t have a single thing to say to his own daughter.
“ I thought about that night for years, and for so many years I was mad at him. But now, looking back, I’m not mad anymore. Because now I realize that, for him, silence was speech. That was his way of being with me. He was telling me he loved me, in his own way. He just couldn’t use his words.”
I turn and look down at Logan, and he looks up at me, eyes open.
“ In some ways, he reminds me of you,” I say, nervous to say it.
Logan opens his eyes wide with one final effort, and looks up into mine. I see a slight smile at the corner of his lips, and I realize he liked the story.
Logan doesn’t say anything to me either, but he slowly nods, and I can see the love in his eyes. In that moment, I can see he is just like my dad. He is talking to me. Even if he can’t say the words.
It is late into the night, I don’t know how late, and we are all sitting up, except for Logan, awake around the fire. After today’s events, none of us can sleep. We all stare wide-eyed into the flames, each lost in our own world, each of us staring death in the face.
Hours ago, dozens of new recruits were thrown into the room. These new kids keep to themselves, on the far side of the cave, content with the slop dropped down for them. No one tries to come our way, which is just as well, because I don’t know if I’d have the energy left to fight them off. Not that I even care about my food at this point. But I am curious as to why there are so few kids this time.
“ Stragglers,” Flo says. I look over and see she is watching them, too. She has an uncanny way of reading my mind. “It was slim pickings today for the slaverunners. That’s bad news for us.”
“ Why?”
“ They need to keep the games exciting for their crowd. When they don’t have a lot of kids, they have no choice but to pit us directly against each other.”
Instinctively, I feel that she’s right. And it makes my heart drop. I can’t stand the thought of it. I can’t imagine being pitted against Bree, against Charlie, against Ben, against Flo. Against Logan. It is too cruel to even imagine.
“ Well we found a way to stick together through all this,” I say. “I think we can find a way tomorrow, too.”
Flo shrugs. “I’m not so sure,” she says.
I try to interpret her words, to understand her meaning. Is it a threat? Is she saying she’ll fight us? A part of me feels that she might. She’s a survivor, and she has Charlie to look out for. I can’t put anything past her.
We lapse into silence, all retreat back into our own worlds, our game faces on, as I think about tomorrow. I know that we can’t last another day. I have to come up with a plan. Something. I have to find us a way out of here.
I turn over all possible options in my mind, again and again, until my eyes grow heavy. I think of Charlie’s tunnels, obsessively, feeling that is the key. But I am not thinking clearly, and cannot come up with any answers. The solution is just beyond my grasp.
When the buzzer rings on the morning of the third day, this time, my eyes are already opened. Bleary-eyed, I’ve been awake all night, my mind racing with the possibilities, with ideas of how to get out. The steel door slides open, and in march dozens of slaverunners.
I don’t give them the dignity of dragging me to my feet, and instead stand before they can reach me. I walk over and wake the others, gently pulling Bree and Charlie to their feet. I see that Flo’s awake, too, already standing. Ben gets up with an effort.
The slaverunners are in front of us, and I go to Logan and shake him roughly. It takes him a while to even open his eyes. He does not look good.
“ Get up,” I say.
He shakes his head no. He looks like he’s half-alive.
A slaverunner hurries over and kicks him hard.
“ Let him be!” I scream.
The slaverunner shoves me, and I stumble back into the wall, hard. Flo steps up and punches the slaverunner across the face. I’m shocked, and touched by her sticking up for me.
But she pays the price dearly, backhanded hard by another slaverunner, the sound of his hand slapping her flesh echoing in the room.
She goes to attack, but I step forward and get between them, holding her back.
“ It’s OK, Flo,” I say to her, seeing the violence in her eyes and not wanting her to get hurt. “Let i
t go. Let’s just get him on his feet.”
I reach over with Flo and Ben and we all drag Logan to his feet. It’s like pulling up an old tree. He groans out in pain, and Ben and I each drape an arm around one of his shoulders, helping him hobble. The six of us are then marched out of the room.
As they prod us out of the room, this time we are led down a different tunnel. We’re all led to a huge steel door, and as it opens, to my surprise we enter a brightly-lit room, its walls lined with weapons. Hanging from the wall are swords, bows and arrows, shields, throwing knives, slingshots, spears, and all sorts of other weapons. I can’t understand what’s happening. I think of the damage I can do to the slaverunners with these, and feel as if I’ve walked into a candy store.
“ Choose!” barks a slaverunner.
Suddenly, the dozen or so new kids race through the room, scattering, each bee lining for a weapon.
“ It’s fighting day,” Flo says, and then hurries off to the wall. She goes for a large sword.
I hurry off with Logan and Charlie and Bree, and as we reach the wall, I prop Logan against it and hand him a big shield.
“ If you can’t fight, at least you can defend, right?” I ask him.
He nods weakly.
I grab a long spear and strap it to my back. Then I reach out and grab a long sword as well. While I’m at it, I see a nice throwing knife and grab that and attach it to my belt.
Beside me, Bree has chosen a slingshot. It is a good choice. She was always good with her hand-made slingshot, and this one comes with a bag of small rocks, and she ties it to her belt. Then, of course, she chooses the bow and arrow, which she is just as good at. Charlie chooses a strange medieval weapon: it is a long chain, with a handle on one end, and a metal ball on the other. Ben chooses a long sword, and nothing else.
Flo, holding her sword, turns towards me, and for a moment I feel what it would be like to face her. In some ways it would be like facing a mirror image of myself. It terrifies me.
A buzzer sounds and I look around the room and see the other kids are all well-armed. This doesn’t bode well.
“ Bree, Charlie,” I say. “Whatever happens out there, stay close to me, okay? Don’t go far off. This way I can look out for you.”
“ You don’t need to look after Charlie,” Flo chides. “I will.”
She’s territorial, and already has her game face on.
“ Just trying to help,” I say.
“ Look after your own,” she snaps back to me.
She has drawn a clear line in the sand.
“ Charlie, come over here, with me,” she commands.
Charlie looks back and forth between me and Flo, and seems reluctant to go to her. But slowly, he obeys, and walks over to Flo’s side.
I can’t help but feel as if we are now all adversaries. All fighting for survival.
*
We are marched down tunnel after tunnel for what feels like hours, entirely underground this time, passing red emergency lights every twenty feet. Rats scurry beneath my feet, and in the distance, I hear the muted rumbling of a train passing somewhere. I wonder how many trains passed through here today, how many slaves they are capturing from the countryside, to present to their games. It makes me sick.
I feel the winter wind whipping through, colder today, and I wonder when we will exit outside. Something is different today. This time, there is no end in sight to the tunnels. I don’t understand it. Are today’s games underground?
Logan is growing heavy as Ben and I carry him, and I can feel his life force leaving him. The idea of bringing him to these games, to compete with others, is crazy. He can barely stand.
I try once again to think strategy, to figure out a way we can all survive. But it is hard. We’re surrounded by a dozen armed kids, all set on killing us, and I don’t even know the playing field we’ll be on. Just keeping myself alive will be a challenge, much less keeping the others alive, too. I worry for Bree, more than anyone. I have to find a way to protect her.
A huge steel door retracts, and as it does, the tunnel fills with sunlight. There is the muted roar of a crowd, and we are prodded forward. I raise my eyes against the blinding light, trying to figure out where we are.
As I am shoved outside, the steel door closes behind us, the winter wind hits me in the face and the roar grows louder. I look all around, and see no one. I can’t figure out where it’s coming from. Then the crowd roars again, and I look straight up.
I realize we’re on the floor of a circular canyon, with steep cliffs rising straight up all around us, several hundred feet. At the very top, standing on the edge of the cliffs, behind a railing, are the spectators. They jeer down at us.
The walls rise straight up, for hundreds of feet, and I don’t see how we can ever get out of here. Then I realize: there is no way out this time. I look around and see the dozen kids, armed to the teeth, standing with us on the floor of the crater. They have put us all down here, with no escape, to make us fight to the death. But why down here? Why not up high, on the ground?
I survey this arena, the canyon walls, and have an ominous feeling. I can’t help but feel as if the slaverunners have some trick up their sleeve. I look up and about a hundred feet up, I notice thick ropes, dangling down from the top of the crater. But why do they stop midway? It doesn’t make any sense. How are we supposed to get up there to begin with?
Before I can figure it out, suddenly, a voice booms through the air. The crowd quiets, and I look up and see the leader, staring down, his arms open wide, a smug smile on his face.
“ Brothers and sisters!” he bellows. “I present to you the third and final day of Arena Two!”
The crowd screams out in response. He waits for it to quiet down.
“ Today’s objective is simple. There are eighteen of you down there. You will all kill each other. When there is one person standing, he or she will be the winner!”
The crowd roars at his words.
“ Let the games begin!”
Suddenly, I sense motion all around me. The dozen kids all turn on each other, and on us-and a brawl breaks out.
The crowd roars, loving it.
This arena brings out the worst in the kids. I see vicious expressions on their faces as they charge each other in every direction. I see one girl take her sword and stab a short boy in the back. He falls, stunned, the first casualty. The crowd roars.
I sense motion behind me and turn in time to spot an overweight girl charging me, bringing an axe down for my head. My survival instinct kicks in. At the last second, I swerve out of the way and swing my sword, chopping her ax handle in two. She goes flying past me with her broken handle, and as she does, I kick her hard in the back, sending her flying flat on her face.
The crowd cheers. She gets up with a snarl.
“ I don’t want to hurt you,” I say, trying to talk reason to her. It’s true. I don’t want to kill anyone. I just want to get us all out of here.
But she won’t listen to reason. She seems to think that the way to survive is to kill me.
She pulls a small knife from her waist and charges me, holding it high, screaming. I don’t wait. I take the small throwing knife from my waist, plant one foot, reach back, and throw it at her. As she charges me, just feet away, my knife lodges perfectly in her forehead. Her eyes open wide as she stops cold, and falls flat on her back, dead.
The crowd roars.
But I am caught off guard. Before I can react, another kid charges me from the side, swinging a huge sledgehammer. I dodge it, and it misses by a fraction of an inch. I feel its wind race past me, and realize that in another second, it would’ve crushed my ribs.
This boy is quick and strong, and without pausing, he brings the sledgehammer up around his head, and aims to bring it down on my shoulder. I can’t react fast enough, and realize that in another moment, he will break my arm.
A stone hits him in the side of the temple, and he staggers and falls sideways. I look over and see that Bree has used
her slingshot. It was a perfect hit. Once again, she has saved my life.
Before I can process this, once again I’m caught off guard, as three more kids charge right for me. For some reason, they all seem to be targeting me. One of them brings a sword down for my back, and I hear a clanging noise, and turn to see Logan standing there, holding his shield, blocking the below. I am amazed: he has just saved me.
Logan stumbles on his bad leg, but manages to hold onto the shield, and uses it to block several blows. He then swings around and cracks the teenage boy hard across the face, knocking him back. I lunge forward with my sword and stab the boy in the heart, finishing him off. He goes down, and the crowd roars.
Another boy charges me from the side, holding a spear, about to hurl it at me. Before I can react, I feel something whiz by my ear, and see it lodge into his throat. An arrow. He falls, dead, dropping his spear harmlessly before he can hurl it. I look over and see Ben standing there, having just fired.
Another boy grabs me from behind in a chokehold; he has thick forearms, and he squeezes hard. His arms are the worst weapons of all: he’s squeezing the life out of me. He’s also using me as a human shield, so the others can’t help me. I don’t know how I will get out of this one.
Then I feel him stagger, off-balance, and fall. I don’t understand why, but I break out of his grip, gasping for air. I look down and see a metal chain ball wrapped around his ankles, squeezing them together. Charlie has thrown them, tripped him up. I take my sword and plunge it through his heart. The crowd roars.
“ Charlie!” Flo snaps, summoning him back to her side. Busy fighting, she leans back and kicks a girl hard in the chest, then swings her sword and cuts off her head. The crowd roars like crazy.