Morgan Rice - Arena Two

“Before we settle in,” I say, “we need to know that there’s no one else on the island, waiting to surprise us. We should also scavenge this place, before the storm gets worse, to see if there are any remnants, any supplies we can find, maybe even some kind of medicine. Maybe there are even some animals here we could hunt – maybe we can find dinner.”

“Good idea,” he says. “But you shouldn’t go alone.” He turns and looks at Ben. “I’d go with you, but I can’t. I need to stand guard. I’m not about to leave all of our stuff – and our boat – under Ben’s watch.”

He says it loud enough for Ben to here, but Ben, still out of it, doesn’t react.

“You go,” Logan adds, “and take Ben with you.”

I turn to Ben, expecting him to argue, or be upset. But to my surprise, he doesn’t. He looks like a broken man. He lowers his head.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I’m really sorry I fell asleep.”

I can hear in his voice that he means it. He is so burdened by guilt – guilt for his brother, and now, for what’s happened to Rose. It’s painful to even look at him, and I’d rather go myself. But Logan’s right: I should have company. And having him watch my back is better, I suppose, than nothing.

I turn to Logan.

“This place is not that big. We’ll be back within the hour.”

“If you’re not, I can’t go looking for you,” he says, “without endangering the others.”

“Don’t come looking for me,” I say. “If I’m not back, you know I’m dead. And in that case, take the girls and the boat and move on.”

Logan nods back at me solemnly, and I can see respect in his eyes.

“You’ll be back,” he says.

Ben and I trudge across the barren island, the bow and arrow slung over my shoulder. I’ve never shot a bow and arrow before, and I’ll probably be terrible at it, but I figure if I run across any kind of animal, I’ll figure it out. Having it makes me not feel so bad for stopping for Rupert, if for no other reason than to have this weapon.

As we walk in silence, the snow pouring down all around us, the world is incredibly still. I hear only the sound of the snow crunching beneath our feet, and the distant lapping of the waves. The late afternoon sky is a solid gray. We’ve only been gone for ten minutes, and in that time, the fresh snow has reached my ankles.

I am on guard as we go, one hand on the knife on my belt. We’ve crossed half the length of the island, and still no sign of anything. This island is like a miniature forest, covered in thick trees, no signs of any structures or any people, or even of any recent activity. I’m feeling increasingly safe, increasingly at ease.

In the distance I spot the far tip of the island, and continue to work my way towards it, weaving in and out of clumps of trees. Once we reach it I’ll be much relieved, knowing for sure that there’s no one else here and that we can rest easy tonight. Yet at the same time, if I don’t find any supplies, anything I can salvage, I’ll be disappointed, knowing I’m returning empty-handed to Rose, who is laying there dying.

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.