Morgan Rice - Arena Two

He then raises it up high, and I see that he’s taking aim: he’s about to plunge it into Charlie’s back.

Without thinking, I leap into action. I tackle the kid, a second before he stabs him. I drive him down hard to the ground, and the knife goes flying. I spin him over, planting his face in the ground, and twist his arm behind his back, all the way, nearly breaking it. He screams out in pain.

Charlie, beside me, looks down and realizes what I’ve done.

I look over at the floor, for his knife, and am surprised to see it’s already gone. I look up, and see Flo standing there, holding it.

“Let him go,” she says, coldly.

I lift my knee off the kid’s back, and back away. This is her fight now.

Flo grabs the kid by the back of his head, and without hesitating, reaches the knife around and slashes his throat, quick and clean, muscles rippling in her arms and shoulders. The kid hardly has time to scream, as blood pours out of his neck. He dies.

Flo stands erect, looking all around her to see if anyone will challenge her. Nobody does; they quickly turn back to eating. I see the remorseless look in her eye, and finally realize she is a natural, trained killer.

Flo takes two steps forward, and puts the knife back into Charlie’s sheath firmly. She grabs him by the shoulders and looks him in the eye.

“Never leave yourself exposed again. Do you hear me?”

Charlie nods back, dazed.

Flo turns and looks at me. Slowly, her scowl subsides.

“You saved Charlie’s life,” she states.

I shrug. “I just reacted.”

She looks me up and down, nodding, as if with a new respect.

“I owe you one,” she says. “And that’s not something I take lightly. Follow me. All of you. Leave the food. I’ve got plenty.”

I turn and look at Ben and Bree, who look back quizzically; we all follow her.

I grab one more handful of slop for Logan, and hurry over to him. I reach out and put one in his mouth. “Chew,” I say.

He chews. Then Ben and I lean down, pick him up, and begin to drag him across the cave, to Flo’s corner.

Flo and Charlie have set up camp in the far corner of the cave. We follow her to the farthest reaches of it, twisting and turning, until we reach it. I’m impressed by their setup. I guess this is what Flo gets for being the victor. It is a large section of the cave, surrounded by stone on three sides so her back is guarded from every direction. She has a nice fire going, and a large chest filled with slop.

Bree walks over to Charlie, and he to her, and I can see that they’re happy to be reunited. They each take a handful of slop and chew.

“It’s not as bad as it seems,” Charlie says. “You get used to it.”

“I think it’s awful,” Bree says. “But I’m so hungry, I would eat anything.”

“I remember once, when the world was good, I had a stack of pancakes,” Charlie says. “Five of them, with butter and maple syrup and whipped cream. Oh my God. It was the best thing I ever had. Can you imagine eating that?”

“Charlie, stop,” Flo reprimands. “That’s not helpful.”

“It’s ok,” Bree defends him. “I actually like it. I haven’t thought of pancakes in forever.”

“Living in fantasy is how you get yourself killed,” Flo snaps.

I think about that. On the one hand she’s right. But on the other hand, what’s so great about reality? Isn’t fantasy all we have left?

We set Logan down beside Flo’s fire, and as we do, she looks at his leg.

“I have medicine,” she says.

My heart leaps as I look at her.

“Spoils to the victor. When you win, they give you a box of stuff. Food, mostly. But some meds, too. Basic stuff. They want you in shape for the next round. I’ve got some syringes with stuff in them. I’m guessing it’s for wounds, for healing. Maybe penicillin, or something like it.”

“Please,” I say. “I would give anything.”

She reaches into her chest and pulls out a fresh, unwrapped syringe and throws it to me. I tear it open, examine the clear liquid. I hope it’s what he needs.

I hurry over to Logan, kneel by his side, look at him. He is sweating.

“You want me to try?” I ask. “I don’t know what’s in it.”

“Do it,” he says, weakly. “I have nothing to lose.”

I lean over and insert the needle as gently as I can into his leg and inject the serum. He winces.

“They gave me some treats, too,” she adds. “Does someone like marshmallows?” she asks, looking at Bree.

Bree looks up at her, eyes open wide.

“You’re joking,” she says.

“She’s not,” Charlie says. “She’s really got them. She must really like you. She hasn’t even given one to me. She said she was waiting for a special night.”

“This is it,” Flo says. “Tomorrow, they begin. This could be our last night.”

“I don’t understand,” Bree says to Charlie. “If you have food here, why were you in the pit, fighting for slop with the others?”

“Flo wants me to fend for myself,” he answers. “She says it makes me stronger.”

Flo reaches into her bag, takes out a handful of fat marshmallows, and puts one into each of our open hands. She hands out sticks, and we place them on the sticks and roast them over the fire.

The smell of roasting marshmallows makes me salivate. I pull mine out, nearly black, and chew slowly, savoring each bite. It fills my every pore. I would eat a thousand more if I could.

My thoughts drift to tomorrow, the arena. My stomach drops, as I wonder what’s in store for us.

“Tell us what it’s like,” I say to Flo, who sits opposite the fire, chewing. “The arena.”

Flo is silent a long time; finally, she shakes her head.

“Tomorrow, they’ll come for us early,” she says. “Be ready. The first day of fighting, it’s not what it seems. It’s more about survival than fighting. You won’t understand until you see it for yourself. But there are ways to live, and ways to die. I’ll give you some good advice. Don’t go for the bridges. And stay away from the edges. Don’t try to escape. That’s the mistake most people make. They want to escape. Stay calm. Don’t think about fighting, or winning. Think about surviving. Just remember: things are not what they seem.”

I’m grateful for her advice, but as I try to take it all in, I find it confusing and overwhelming. Her advice is too ambiguous; I’m not really sure what she’s talking about.

“I don’t really understand,” I say.

“You can’t,” she says. “But once you’re there, you will.”

“I’m going to escape,” Charlie says, as he sits beside Bree, roasting her marshmallow for her, and chews his. The site makes me think of summer campfires, when we would lie under the stars for hours, when everything was safe.

“What do you mean, escape?” I ask.

“I’m going to find a way out of here. The train tunnels. I saw, coming in, where they go. When they first brought me here, I slipped out. I ran for a while before I got caught. I saw where they lead. There’s a back exit. Outside the city. I saw their boats. I know how to get there.”

My heart leaps at the possibility.

“Stop talking nonsense,” Flo snaps at him harshly.

Charlie’s face falls, and there is a tense silence.

“I’m just trying to tell them – ” Charlie begins.

“I’ve heard enough of your stories,” Flo said. “It’s ridiculous. You can’t escape here. Even if you made it out, they’d hunt you down and kill you in two seconds. That’s a sure death. Fighting in the arena, at least it gives you a chance. And where would you go anyway? You think there’s some great world out there waiting to be found?”

Charlie looks down to the floor, disappointed; but then he looks back up, eyes filled with hope.