Morgan Rice - Arena Two

On the mainland, suddenly, the crowd parts and two slaverunners step forward with huge machetes. They raise them high, the crowd egging them on, and the kids on the bridge open their eyes wide in fear. They turn and try to make it back.

But it’s too late: the slaverunners bring down their machetes, cut the ropes. The bridge plummets and swings. All the kids go hurling and screaming, plunging to their deaths as the rope smashes into the rock wall of the land mass.

I turn away from the grisly sight. Aside from our small group, huddled on the floor in the center of the land mass, I look around and see there are now only about fifty of us left. The others lie on the ground, too, some covering their heads, all doing our best to avoid the hurling rocks. We all look over at the remaining bridge. It is our only way out. But it looks too good to be true. None of us seem to want to try. It is just another cruel trick? Do they want to see us all dead? Is there really no other way out?

The crowd cheers, and I see a huge, satisfied smile on the face of their leader. I wish I could kill them all.

“Is that bridge a trick?” I ask Flo, who’s lying a few feet away from me.

“What do you think?” she snaps back, cynical.

Of course, I know the answer myself. It can’t be that easy. Or could it? Maybe it’s some sort of sick reverse psychology.

Apparently, several of the other kids have the same idea. They suddenly jump to their feet and race for the final bridge. There must be ten of them, brave souls. They race for it at full speed, one of them tackling the other from behind as they go, apparently still thinking that killing each other off is the way to go. Another punches the other, and one throws another off the cliff.

The others continue to run, hit the bridge single file, and I’m shocked as I see them race across it easily, making good time. There’s nothing wrong with this bridge, and I’m kicking myself now. It looks like they will make it. They were the brave ones, the ones willing to risk when others weren’t – and they are being rewarded for it.

Then, everything goes wrong. The kids are only feet away from the mainland, when they all stop. I can’t understand why; they stand there, frozen, as if glued to the bridge.

As I look closely, as I hear their screams, I realize what has happened: thousands of small blades popped up from the bridge, through their feet, through their hands on the railings. The kids are pierced with knives, blood gushing from them as they are literally stuck to the bridge. I am so grateful we didn’t go for it.

I swallow hard, and look around. There are only about forty of us left. All the bridges are gone, and the crowd is screaming like crazy.

“KILL! KILL!” the crowd chants at us.

I look at our opponents, and they look back. At the same time, it seems to dawn on everybody that the only way left is to kill each other.

A wild look starts to come on the faces of the survivors, as I see them getting ready, grabbing rocks, preparing to fight. Then, it happens. Seemingly all at once, the forty or so kids jump to their feet, and charge each other. The crowd goes wild.

I jump to my feet, sheltering Bree, as kids charge and hand-to-hand fighting erupts all around us. I watch Flo step up, take a rock, and smash a boy in the face right before he can hit Charlie. Then Charlie reaches down, grabs a rock, and chucks it at a tall boy racing towards Flo. It is a perfect strike, right between the legs, and the boy drops to his knees, groaning. In the distance, I see a boy pick up a girl over his head, race towards the edge, and hurl her off the cliff. She goes down screaming.

The crowd is screaming like wild.

I suddenly feel someone approaching me from behind, and I turn and spot it just in time. A large boy charges and jumps up on my back. But I bend over as he does, and in one smooth motion, flip him. He lands flat on his back, the wind knocked out of him. I step up and kick him hard once in the face, knocking him out.

I see Ben tackled hard from behind, driven to the ground; Logan, beside him, reaches around and elbows the attacker in the back of the head, knocking him off Ben.

But then Logan himself is kicked, right in the ribs, and he keels over. A second boy jumps on Logan, pinning him down.

Bree picks up a huge rock and brings it down on the back of Logan’s attacker. He rolls off of him. I’m surprised by Bree’s fierceness.

Logan rolls onto his back. He breaks free of his second attacker, knees him in the gut, and throws him off. He then manages to reach around and grab him in a chokehold, choking him until he passes out.

Dozens more of kids are fighting all around us, and many more are racing our way. Rocks are still hurling through the air, and a rock from a spectator hits a kid hard in the temple, knocking him out. The crowd screams like wild.

I realize quickly that this is a no-win proposition. We can’t survive long like this. Soon, we’ll all be dead. There has to be another way out. There has to be. There has to be a way to reach the mainland without killing each other.

I look again at the four downed bridges, studying them – and suddenly, I see a pattern. Two of them – the way they collapsed. One was severed from our side, the rope still attached at the mainland, and one was severed from the mainland, the rope still attached to our land mass. The rope dangles straight down, like a ladder down to hell. I get an idea.

“FOLLOW ME!” I scream to the others. “I see a way out!”

“What are you talking about?” Flo screams.

But there is no time to explain. I grab Bree and sprint for one of the downed bridges. Logan hobbles behind me, Ben helping him, and Flo reluctantly prods Charlie, and they follow me, too.

“You better know what you’re doing,” Flo warns.

The six of us race towards one of the collapsed bridges, dodging flying rocks and other kids. Luckily, the kids are preoccupied with each other – but I do get hit hard by a rock, in my hip. It hurts like hell.

As I reach the precipice I hit the ground and slide my body right to the edge. I look straight down, and see the two ropes, dangling straight down, all the way to the bottom of the canyon, a good hundred feet below. Heights. I hate heights. But I take a deep breath and force myself to look. They cut the ropes on the mainland, but they are still holding here. I test them, yanking hard. They don’t give.

I look over, to the far side of the canyon, and look at the other destroyed bridge. The ropes gave way on our end, but not on the far side. We could climb down her and climb on up on the other side.

I turn and see that some of the other kids notice us and head our direction. Rocks whiz by my head and I know we have to act quickly.

Flo looks over the edge, too, seeing what I’m thinking.

“So, we can climb down,” she says. “Then what? That doesn’t get us out.”

“They had to design this arena with a way out,” I say. “Otherwise it wouldn’t be a game. Don’t you see? It’s all a game to them. We just have to figure out how to break the code. This whole place was designed with a way to get to the other side. These two bridges, they collapse in two different directions. There’s a reason. It left a way out. We can climb down this rope, and climb up the other.”

“That’s crazy,” Flo says. “What if they cut the rope on our way up?”

“Or what if one of the kids cuts it on our way down?” Ben asks.

“That’s the chance we have to take,” I say. “I don’t think they will. The other kids want a way out, too. And the gamemakers – don’t you see? They want survivors. They want to prolong this. We are their entertainment.”

The other kids are charging, getting closer know. They know something is up.