Morgan Rice - Arena Two

A part of me knows he’s right; but at the same time, I don’t see what choice we have. We just have to ride this train out, see where it takes us.

And hope and pray for the best.

I open my eyes, immediately alert. Something is wrong. I look around and see Bree, Logan, Ben and Penelope, all lying asleep in front of me. Muted afternoon light comes in through the slats in the wood. Everything seems peaceful enough. But I know something is wrong. I can feel it.

And then I realize: we are not moving. The train has stopped.

I try to get my bearings, to remember. I’m sitting exactly where I put myself when I came in, right along the slats of the train door, so I could look out. I remember sitting here and watching the countryside pass, for hours. I looked out on one side, and Ben on the other. We promised to let each other know if we saw anything worth jumping for. But I watched for hours, and saw nothing. There was nothing but wilderness, and desolation. Snow and ice as far as the eye could see. It was a barren wasteland: like crossing the face of the moon.

And then, at some point, I must’ve fallen asleep. So stupid of me. I should’ve stayed awake, on guard. But as I look around, I see the others have all fallen asleep, too. We were just so tired.

And now, we are stopped. I don’t know why. Or where. I look out and see nothing but wilderness.

My heart is pounding, as I wonder what the destination could be. Should I wake everyone? Should we jump out now?

Before I can decide, I hear a noise. At first, it is faint, then it grows more distinct. Approaching us are footsteps in the snow and ice. The crunching gets louder, as several sets of steps approach. I brace myself, wondering who it can be. I have a feeling that whoever it is, it can’t be good.

I look around at the others, my first instinct to protect them. I reach down to my waist, feel my knife, and place my hand on it, ready to use it if I have to.

“Ben,” I hiss.

He doesn’t respond, asleep.

“Ben,” I hiss again.

Finally, he opens his eyes, blinking several times, disoriented.

“We’ve got company.”

Ben sits up, alert. Logan, now awake, too, slides his pistol over to Ben, who takes it.

Suddenly, the train door slides open, light flooding into the car. The light is blinding, and for a moment, I can’t see what’s happening. I kneel to the side, out of sight; luckily, Ben, Logan and Bree are off to the side, too. We all hide in the dark corners, and there is no way that anyone could spot us without looking carefully. My heart is pounding in my chest, as I wonder who it could be.

I hear the muffled cries and groans of several people, and moments later, bodies are hurled across the threshold, into the car. One after the other, bodies land on the floor with a thud, in the car with us. They are bound and gagged, hands tied tightly behind their backs, their feet tied together, and they hit the floor hard, squirming. I realize that someone must be throwing them in.

They are captives. But to whom? And why? And where are they taking them?

I brace myself, wondering if anyone will follow, if I will have to fight.

But the train door slides closed just as quickly, and slams shut with a bang. I hear a new sound, one which makes my heart drop: it is the sound of a heavy metal bolt, being slid into place. And then, I realize: we have just been locked in.

The train starts up again, and we begin to move.

I am overwhelmed with conflicting emotions. A part of me wants to get out immediately, as a kickback reaction, to break open the door. I hate being locked in, anywhere. And now I feel like a prisoner.

But another part of me forces myself to stay calm, to figure out what’s going on. And possibly to wait. After all, there are no good options out there, either.

Ben drops the gun, and I lower my knife. The four of us exchange a wary glance, staring at our new guests.

“Brooke?” Bree calls out nervously.

“It’s okay, Bree,” I say out confidently across the car.

The six captives turn at the sound of our voices; they squirm up, and look over my way. Enough light comes into the slats so that I can make them out. They are our age. Teenagers. Emaciated. They look tired, sickly, freezing. They look like the walking dead. They stare back at me with desperate, hollowed-out eyes. One of them, a girl with stringy brown hair clinging to her face, has managed to get her gag free.

“Please, help me,” she whispers out to me, her voice hoarse. “Please, untie me. I beg you.”

I look over at Ben, and he nods back.

“Don’t do it,” comes a voice.

Logan is sitting up, struggling with his leg. “Don’t untie them.”

“Why?”

“You don’t know them. You don’t know how they’ll react.”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” the girl hisses at Logan.

“I know she won’t hurt me,” he says. “But they might draw attention we don’t need.”

I look between her and Logan, debating. Logan is such a cynic; I don’t share his views. And I can’t help feeling terrible for her.

I hurry to her, and use my knife to cut the ropes behind her wrist. I then cut the ropes tying her feet together. She immediately leans forward and rubs her wrist and ankles, breathing hard, tearing off her gag.

She surveys the train car, looking frenzied, wide-eyed.

“You have to get out while you can,” she says in a rush, frantic. “You don’t understand. You don’t understand what they’ll do to you.”

She looks all around, like a crazy person, as if looking for a way to escape.

“Who is they?” I ask. “Who are you? Where are they bringing you?”

“I have to get out,” she says, jumping to her feet. “I can’t let them take me.”

“Take you where?” I ask, growing increasingly alarmed. She darts her head all around, then suddenly, she stands and sprints across the car.

“Wait!” I scream, worried for what she will do, worried that she will draw attention to us. Logan was right. I shouldn’t have untied her.

But it’s too late. She darts across the car, and runs to the small door that connects the two cars. She tries to pry it open, but it won’t give.

She leans back, and kicks at the wood with her bare feet. She kicks again and again, even though she’s cutting her own feet. Whatever it is she’s running from, she’s truly desperate. She throws her body through the wood and finally shatters it. A gust of freezing air enters the car.

“Stop!” I yell, running to her.

But I can’t get her in time. She jumps in between the cars, and then jumps down, landing barefoot in the snow and ice.

She doesn’t seem to care. I watch her, and she keeps running, sprinting as far away from the train as she can.

Suddenly, the train slams to an abrupt stop, sending me flying across the car and slamming my head into the wall.

I turn and look between the slats, and see her running across the field. Then I see a slaverunner. He steps up, holds out a gun, and fires.

“No!” Bree screams, standing beside me, also watching.

He has shot her in the back, and she lands face first, dead.

The slaverunner turns and stares at our car. I feel as if he’s looking right at me.

“I’m sorry,” Bree says. “I shouldn’t have screamed.”

My heart sinks to see the slaverunner begin to approach our car.

“We have to get out of here,” I say urgently.

“They’re coming!” Bree screams, still watching through the slats. I turn and look: slaverunners. Tons of them. They’re coming right for our car. We’re finished.

I was so stupid. I shouldn’t have freed the girl.

“We have to surrender!” Ben says. “They’ll kill us.”