Morgan Rice - Arena Two

“We should go now,” he says, getting the snow out with both hands, wasting no time.

“I want to leave, too,” Bree says. “I hate this place. I never want to come back here.”

“Go where exactly?” Ben asks. I’m surprised. It’s the first time he’s asked about any of our plans, or shown any concern.

“What do you care?” Logan snaps. “You haven’t said anything before.”

“Well, I’m saying something now,” Ben says. I can feel the tension between them.

“We’re heading north,” Logan answers. “Like we always have. To Canada.”

“There are four of us here,” Ben says. “And I don’t want to go to Canada.”

Logan looks at him, dumbfounded. I am shocked, too.

“Like you said, there are four of us,” Logan says. “That means majority rules. I want to leave, and so does Bree. That’s two of us. Brooke?” he asks, looking at me.

Actually, now that he asks me, I’m not so sure. A part of me feels that we have a good thing going on this little island. It’s hard to get to, hard to be ambushed. We have a cave, shelter from the wind and elements. A part of me wonders if we can live here. It would be boring, but safe, protected. When we run out of food, we could take the boat to shore and hunt. Capture food, bring it back here. And maybe we could farm something here in the summer. And fish.

I take a deep breath, not wanting to cause a rift.

“I don’t know what’s out there,” I say. “It might be safer to continue north. But it might be more dangerous. Personally, I think it might be safest to just stay here. I don’t see why we should be in such a rush to leave. I don’t see how the slaverunners can find us here. If you’re worried about their spotting the boat, we can drag it ashore, hide it in the trees. I think it can get a lot worse for us out there. I vote we stay put.”

Logan looks blindsided.

“That’s ridiculous,” he says. “We’ll be out of food in days. Maybe we can find more, maybe survive here a few weeks. Then what? The slaverunners are still after us. And this is just a measly strip of land. What if there’s a city out there? A real city, that has everything we need to live forever?”

“We have everything we need right here,” I say. “Food. Shelter. Safety. What more do we need?”

Logan shakes his head. “Like I said, majority rules. I vote to leave. So does Bree. You vote to stay. Ben?”

“I vote to leave, too,” Ben says.

I’m surprised by this.

Logan smiles. “There you have it,” Logan says. “We’re leaving.”

“But I vote to head south,” Ben adds.

“South?” Logan asks. “You crazy?”

“I want to go back to my old house,” Ben says. “In the mountains. I want to wait there for my little brother. He might come back.”

My heart falls to hear this. Poor Ben, clinging to his fantasy.

“There’s no way we’re going back there,” Logan says. “You had your chance. You should’ve said something before.”

“Do what you want,” Ben says. “I’m going back home.”

The four us stand there, at a standstill. There is no majority vote here. All of us are torn, all wanting something else, none giving an inch.

Suddenly, a cracking noise pierces the air. A tree branch falls right near us, and it takes me a moment to figure it out. The noise comes again, and another branch falls, and that’s when I realize: it was a gunshot. We are being fired upon.

Another shot, and a bullet flies right past me and hits the ground, only a few feet from where I stand.

“TAKE COVER!” Logan screams.

We all run back to the cave, as another shot rings out, chipping a branch a foot above my head.

We make it back to cave and stand huddle inside, looking at each other, shocked.

“What the hell is it?” I ask.

“A sniper,” Logan says. “Somewhere on shore. It’s not coming from the island – the angle is too steep. He must’ve been waiting for us.” Logan turns and looks at me. “You still want to stay here?”

He has a point. But I don’t care about who was right or wrong now; I just want to get us all out of here, quickly and safely.

“So now what?” I ask.

“I only have a few shots left in my pistol,” Logan says. “There’s no way I’d hit him. He’s too far. That’s a long-distance rifle. He’s got us pinned here.”

Ben crosses the cave, grabs the bow and arrows. He wears a new expression – tough, fearless – one I haven’t seen before.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

But he just struts out of the cave without hesitating, into the open.

“Ben!” I yell. “Don’t! You’ll get killed!”

But Ben keeps walking, and as he does, another gunshot rings out, missing him by a few inches.

Ben keeps walking, doesn’t even flinch. It is unbelievable. He struts with his chin up, determined, walking right out through the trees, towards the direction of the gunfire. It is as if he is suicidal.

And then it occurs to me: maybe he is suicidal. Maybe he feels so overwhelmed with guilt about his brother, that a part of him wants to die.

I hurry to the mouth of the cave, as we all do, and stand there, watching.

“He’s going to get himself killed,” I say.

“That’s his choice,” Logan says.

Ben walks through the trees, gunfire hailing down all around him, barely missing him in the tree cover. He reaches the shore, and stands there, out in the open. Gun fire hits the sand near him, just missing.

As if he has all the time in the world, Ben slowly removes the bow from his shoulder, takes out an arrow, and studies the far shoreline. On the horizon, on the other side of the Hudson, high up on a cliff, there is a lone gunman, aiming down with his rifle. The stock of his rifle glistens in the sunlight.

More shots ring out, but Ben doesn’t flinch. He stands there, boldly. I wonder if this is courage, or suicide. Or both.

Ben places a single arrow on the bow, pulls it back, and takes aim. He holds it there for several seconds, waiting, aiming. Another gunshot rings out, missing him, but he doesn’t flinch.

And then, finally, he lets go the arrow.

I see the arrow sail through the air, high across the Hudson, a good hundred yards. It is a thing of beauty. I’m amazed.

I’m even more amazed to watch as it finds its target: it lodges right into the chest of the lone gunman. After a moment, he falls face down, dead.

I look over at Ben in shock.

Ben walks back to us. He stands at the mouth of the cave, holding his bow and arrow, and we stand there, staring back at him. No more gunshots hail down. It wasn’t the slaverunners. It must’ve been a lone, crazed gunman. A survivor.

Ben stares back at us wordlessly, and for the first time I can see the warrior in his eyes, a whole different Ben than I’ve seen before. I can also sense that a part of him had indeed wanted to die, had wanted the gunman to kill him, had wanted to join his brother. But he didn’t get his wish.

At the same time, it seems like the episode was cathartic, like it exorcised something within him. Some sort of guilt about his brother or Rose. As if he faced death, and now he’s ready to live again.

“I’m ready to leave,” he says. “Let’s go north.”

The four of us sit silently in the boat, each lost in our own world, as our boat continues up the Hudson. Logan is steering, and we have been driving for hours, winding our way slowly upriver, avoiding chunks of separating ice. We all keep our eyes peeled forward; none of us dare look back.

We all left behind too much back there. Since the shooting, Ben doesn’t talk about going home. I have nothing more to say, either. Obviously, it wasn’t safe to stay there, after all. That shooter may have been a stray – or there may be more where he came from.