Morgan Rice - Arena Two

“Where are we going?” Bree asks, finally shattering the silence.

I’m wondering the same thing myself. All I know is that we are heading north, to some remote town in Canada that probably doesn’t even exist. With each step, I feel more and more the futility, the impossibility, of our mission. We are slowing down with each step, too, and I’m seriously doubting if we will even survive to nightfall.

“I don’t know,” I answer Bree, truthfully.

I look for shelter as we go, but see none. Nothing but endless trees and train tracks, and the frozen river to our side. No sign of any towns at this point, no boats, no old houses – nothing. We are in the midst of a vast stretch of wilderness, and we walk and walk. With every minute, it’s getting colder, harder, and my legs ache even more.

“Stop,” Logan says.

Ben and I stop and turn and look at him. He is groaning in pain, his face drawn, too pale. He looks like a walking corpse.

“I can’t go on anymore,” he says. “Leave me here. You’ll be faster without me. I’m not going to make it anyway.”

“We’re not going to leave you,” I say.

Logan pulls his arms off of our shoulders, and suddenly collapses down to the ground. He lies there, not moving.

“I can’t go on,” he says, lying there.

We all exchange a worried look.

“Leave me,” he says. “I’m serious.”

I don’t know what to do. I know that I can’t leave him. But if he refuses to walk, I can’t force him to.

I realize he’s right: we’re not getting anywhere. He is slowing us down. But at the same time, I don’t care. I think back, remember when he helped me. He wouldn’t let me die, for any reason. And I’m not about to let him die. Especially since he hurt himself saving Bree’s life.

“We can stand here all day if you want,” I say down to him. “We’re not leaving you. If you can’t walk, we’ll make camp here.”

Logan weakly shakes his head, too tired to argue back.

As I stand there, listening to the wind howl, feeling colder than I ever have, trying to figure out what to do, suddenly, I hear a noise.

Ben and Bree must hear it, too, because at the same time, we all turn and look at the horizon.

I stand there and watch the horizon, and wonder if my ears are playing tricks on me. First, there is a low rumbling, like the sound of an engine. At first I wonder if it’s a slaverunner boat, racing up the Hudson somehow, despite the ice, coming to get us. But then I realize the engine sounds different. Like some kind of vehicle. Maybe a truck.

I look all around, and see no signs of a road. Yet somehow, the sound is getting stronger, closer. I even begin to feel the ground tremor beneath me.

“A train!” Bree yells, excited.

The second she says it, I realize she’s right. I can’t believe it. I have no idea how it’s possible. A train? Running? I haven’t seen a running train in years. But then again, I’ve never been on this side of the river.

But a train to where? From where? Operated by whom? It doesn’t seem possible.

Sure enough, as I continue to look, there, on the horizon, there begins to appear a large, rusted, freight train, moving right towards us, on the tracks. It chugs along, moving slowly, kicking up huge clouds of exhaust.

I realize this could be what we need. It could be a godsend. If we can get on that train somehow, maybe it will be heated – or if not heated, maybe at least protected from the elements. Whatever it is, it has to be warmer than being out here. And we could get on it, and rest, and wherever it’s going, it is, at least, heading north. And who knows? Maybe it’s actually going some place civilized?

We have no choice. Here we’ll freeze to death.

“Logan, you have to get up!” I yell at him. “There’s a train coming! We have to catch it!”

“No,” he moans.

Ben jumps into action: he reaches down, and with all his might, he picks Logan up. He grabs him by his shoulders and drags him to his feet, Logan moaning. I come over and help, and we manage to get him up.

Logan opens his eyes and looks at me.

“Logan, please,” I say. “You saved me once. Let me save you. Let us save you. Please. Survive. We don’t want to be without you.”

Logan’s eyes open for a moment, then he nods, relenting.

We stand to the side, as the train comes towards us. Luckily, it’s going slow, probably about five miles an hour. My guess is that they’re conserving gas.

But it’s perfect for our purposes. It will give us a chance to actually jump on it, and to get Logan on board.

We wait as it passes, watching, and I see that it is about twenty cars long. The cares are made of an old, weathered wood, and some of the doors are open, revealing empty cars. I wonder again what its purpose is.

We get into position, and I drag Logan close to the tracks.

“Logan, you have to help us,” I say. “When we get close, Ben will jump up and open the door. He’ll pull you up and I’ll push. Bree, when Ben jumps up, you jump up with him and get inside. Everybody ready?”

We all turn, as the next car comes.

“NOW!” I scream.

Ben jumps up into the car, turns and reaches out a hand. Beside me, Bree jumps up with Penelope, easily getting into the car. I shove and push Logan with all I have, and Logan does his best to make one last effort, as he grabs Ben’s hand and pulls himself. Ben, to his credit, yanks Logan with all that he has. I gave him one final shove, and he goes head first into the car. His legs are sticking out, but he’s in.

The car has gone past me, so I race to catch up. My legs are moving slowly, stiffer than I thought, and I slip. The train is getting farther away.

“Brooke!” Bree screams out.

I regain my footing, and force myself to run faster, the cold air cutting my lungs.

My dad’s voice rings in my head.

Come on soldier. Come on!

I run through the pain bursting through my frozen limbs, breathing hard. I run faster than the train, catch up to the car, then reach out and grab Ben’s hand. I step up on the iron latch, and he yanks me in. I go tumbling into the train car.

I sit up, look around, and can hardly believe it. We are in. We made. All four of us. Penelope barks.

I burst into laughter, victorious laughter. It is contagious, and we all sit there, laughing. We have made it. We are out of the cold, and we are moving.

It is much warmer in here, compared to the bitter cold outside. This is the break we needed, what we needed to de-thaw. To rest. Even better, it gives us a vantage point from which to view the countryside as we go, allowing us to look out for any towns – or anything – as we pass.

“We made it,” I say.

I look down and see Logan smiling, lying on the floor. Bree and Ben sit close by.

“The question is, to where?” Ben asks. “Where is this train going?”

It is the same question I’m wondering myself.

“Wherever it is,” Ben says, “it can’t be good. I’m guessing that the only people organized enough to run a train must be slaverunners.”

“It could be some sort of government or military unit,” I say. “Maybe even that town in Canada Logan was talking about.”

But even as I say it, I know it’s unlikely. I know that Ben is probably right.

“And what if it’s not?” he asks.

“The way I see it, it gets us out of the cold and gives us a vantage point to scout the countryside. If we pass any towns, any shelters, any structures, any boats – anything good – we can always just jump. Being stranded in the wilderness wasn’t exactly helping us.”

Ben shrugs, unconvinced.

“It’s risky,” he says. “We don’t know who’s running this. Or what’s waiting for us.”