Morgan Rice - Arena Two

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 outside. 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.