Morgan Rice - Arena Two

“You remember what dad said? About that town? In Canada?”

Immediately, I am on high alert, and sit up straighter. Logan and Ben and Bree do, too. I am shocked. Is this town for real? Or is it just a persistent rumor?

“Charlie,” I say. “What did you just say?”

He turns and looks at me, unsure. “About Canada?”“

“How do you know about it?” I ask. “Is it true?”

“No, of course it’s not,” Flo snaps.

“Yes it is!” Charlie insists.

“It was just another one of dad’s fantasies,” Flo says.

“No it wasn’t!” Charlie says. “He knew it. He was there. He wasn’t lying. All we have to do is get up the river. To Canada. We can find it. I know we can. He said it was by the river.”

Charlie seems so certain, and his story does seem to line up with Logan’s. It makes me wonder if maybe that town really does exist.

Flo shakes her head.

“Like I said,” she says, “you can either live in fantasy or reality. And you can die in either, too.”

I think about that.

“Well if we’re going to die either way, why not live in fantasy?” I ask her.

She locks eyes with mine, and I can feel the coldness in her eyes, and it goes right into me, like a winter breeze. I force myself to look away, seeing death in those eyes, and knowing that, soon, it’s coming for me, too.

I lay awake in the darkness, late into the night, Bree curled up in my arms, Logan beside me, Ben on the other side. Sitting next to Bree is Charlie, and their heads rest on each other’s. A few feet apart is Flo. Everyone is asleep, except for me. And Flo. Her eyes are wide open, staring into the dying flames of the fire. Cold, hard, unflinching. I see that being awake is her natural habit of being. A warrior to her last breath, always on edge.

Me, I want to sleep, but I can’t, because my mind won’t stop racing. I keep trying to think about tomorrow, about what it will be like. If only I could be prepared, it might go better. But Flo doesn’t seem to want to tell me any more and I have to just appreciate what she’s already told me. I turn her words over and over in my mind. Don’t go for the bridges. Stay away from the edges … I don’t know what it all means.

I’m determined to survive. I’m determined for Bree to survive, Ben, Logan. I look over at him, and he seems more relaxed than before, and I have a good feeling that the medicine helped. I won’t know until the morning.

At least it is warm in here, and we have been fed. Ironically, the slaverunners catching us probably saved our lives. I know that another day in the wilderness and we would have been dead for sure. Ironically, they’ve given us life. At least for now.

I look at Bree, curled up in my arms. I want so badly to protect her, to shield her from all this, to force the slaverunners to keep her out of it. But I know it’s useless. I rack my brain, thinking of what I can do. But I keep reaching dead ends.

I sit there for hours and hours, knowing I should sleep, knowing that I need rest for tomorrow. But I can’t. I try as hard as I can, and a few times, I feel my eyes getting heavy, my chin nodding – but then I immediately lapse into fast, troubled dreams, of dad, yelling at mom. And I wake quickly, on guard, finding nothing but blackness and silence.

As I stare into the blackness, I could swear I see my dad’s face, becoming more vivid, staring back at me. It is hard and firm, as it used to get when he was trying to make me tough.

“Brooke, you’re a soldier,” he says. “Just like your dad. A Marine. You may not wear the uniform, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have a Marine’s heart. A Marine’s valor. It means you don’t give up. And if you die, you die. But you die like a Marine.”

It is as if I feel him right here, with me, in the room. In some strange way, it’s comforting. I feel less alone. For the first time in years, I miss him. I really miss him.

I hear you, dad , I say back in my head. And I love you.

I open my eyes to the sound of groaning metal. A steel door creaks open, light floods the room, and I realize I’ve fallen asleep. I jump to my feet, awake, alert, ready to fight.

I stand there and see that Flo is already on her feet, fists clenched, looking at our new guests. There, at the entrance, are dozens of slaverunners, wearing their face masks and each carrying a black uniform in their arms. They march into the room, and as they do, the dozens of kids slowly get to their feet in every direction. They all know what’s coming. The time has come.

A loud buzzer sounds, and whoever’s left sleeping gets to their feet. One slaverunner marches up to each kid, and several of them approach us. One marches right up to me, and shoves into my hands a black bundle of clothing. I look down at it, surprised.

“Your uniform,” Charlie explains.

Flo, standing a few feet away, says, “Put it on. Over your clothes. If you don’t, they’ll beat you down.”

I hold mine up, wondering how one size fits all, then realize it is made of a flexible, spandex-like material. It is supposed to be tight.

They’ve handed me a set of pants, and a jacket. It is all black, and tight, except for the jacket, which is thickly padded, like a military uniform. he jacket has is a bright-yellow X across it. Like a target. This does not bode well. At least it will keep me warm.

I reach down and slide the pants on over my boots, over my pants, then put the shirt and jacket on and zip it up. Mine is tight and snug, and actually feels good. The thick padding hugs me, and I feel like a warrior going into battle. All around me, all the other kids put them on, too. The whole room, dressed in tight black uniforms with yellow Xs across our chests. We are all walking targets.

I make sure Bree does the same, and help Logan into his. I’m thrilled to see that Logan is better; the medicine worked. His skin color has returned, his eyes are bright, and he is able to get on his own feet. He hobbles, but not as badly.

“Whatever you gave me worked,” he says to me. “Thank you.”

“Thank Flo,” I say. “I didn’t do much.”

“Thank you, Flo,” he says to her.

She turns and looks at him, unsmiling.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Flo says. “You’ll be dead soon enough.”

Just like Flo. Refusing to drop her edge, even for a second.

A slaverunner gets behind me and prods me hard in the small of my back, making me stumble forward. All of us are prodded, and we begin to march for the exit. Finally, we are leaving this place. A part of me hopes I never return.

Bree, Ben, Logan, Charlie and Flo march beside me in the winding subway tunnels. The six of us make our way with the dozens of other kids through the cold and dark tunnels, our footsteps echoing. I feel like I am marching helplessly towards my fate. I wish there was something I could do. Anything. I need to think of a strategy, some sort of plan. I don’t want Bree separated for me. Or Ben. Or Logan.

“Once we get out there, we should act like a team,” I say to everyone, including Charlie and Flo. “Stick together. No matter what. If anyone attacks us, we can watch each other’s backs. Bree, do you hear me? I want you close to me. By my side, no matter what.”

Bree looks up and nods, and I can see the fear in her eyes.

“That won’t last,” Flo says. “You’ll see, once you’re out there. It won’t work. It’s every man for himself. I’m not watching after you guys. I’m watching after myself. And Charlie.”

Her eyes and jaw harden, defiant. I don’t know what to say.

“Does that mean we’re enemies?” I ask her.

“I like you,” she says. “All of you. But I’m out to win. To survive. Not for you to live. Not at my expense. And not at Charlie’s. I don’t want to kill you. And I owe you a favor. So I’ll give you one good piece of advice: stay away from me. Far away.”