Morgan Rice: Arena Two

Another buzzer sounds, and high up, I detect a strange motion in the sand. At first I can’t understand what it is. And when I do, I can’t believe it.

Slithering out of the sand, in every direction, come dozens of brightly colored snakes.

The dozen or so kids higher up try to get out of the way, but it’s too late for them. They try to dodge the snakes, running left and right, but the snakes dig their fangs into them. They scream out in agony, one after the other. The venom works quickly, and several of the kids lie limp; a few of the others impale themselves on spikes as they run.

The good news is that the snakes die on impact as they sink their fangs into the kids; it seems that using up their venom kills them.

The bad news is that there is one, particularly large, snake left.

It slithers its way down the mountain, right towards us.

No , I think. Not a snake. Anything but a snake.

Of course, the snake zeros in on me. I brace myself for the attack, flinching in advance, having nowhere to go.

But Flo leaps out from the side, grabs the snake by its head, and holds it there, squeezing hard with both hands. It squirms like crazy but cannot get out.

“Charlie, your wire!” she yells.

Charlie hurries over, takes a wire with two handles from his pocket and wraps it around the snake’s throat, several times. He squeezes as hard as he can, and Ben hurries over and helps him. Finally, the snake’s head is severed. The rest of its body slithers, uncontrollably down the mountain.

I look around and see that all the other kids are dead. We are the only survivors left. I can hardly believe it.

We grab Logan and we all head together up the mountain. We go single file, carefully following the trail of the dead bodies, other kids who paved the way for us, who already set off all the traps, and within moments, we reach the top, safe.

A buzzer sounds, and the crowd roars.

I can hardly believe it. We have survived.

Back in our cave, at night, we all sit around the fire, completely exhausted. I lean my head back against the wall and close my eyes, and don’t think I can ever open them again. Every bone in my body is aching and hurting. I can’t believe what my body has been through these last two days. If someone told me I could fall asleep and wake up in twenty years, I think I would.

I just want this agony and suffering to end – not just for me, but for all of us. We are fighting for our lives, clinging to life, but a part of me wonders, what for? This will only end in all of us being killed. In some ways, we are just prolonging our agony.

I look around and see the exhausted faces of Bree and Charlie, Ben and Logan – and even Flo. It especially breaks my heart to see Logan, lying there beside me, looking like this. He was hurt the worst today of us all, and while I’ve been trying to staunch his new wound, it’s barely working. He’s lost a lot of blood, and he looks so pale, it’s almost as if he’s dead already. I’ve tried to wake him several times, but he just groans and turns away. My heart sinks, and I fear for him. If he doesn’t get serious medical attention soon, I don’t see how he can survive. Not to mention, it’s just not possible for him to compete in tomorrow’s games. I can’t help but feel as if I’m sitting on a death vigil.

The rest of us hardly fare much better. We are all so beaten and broken and bruised and exhausted, not to mention, filled with dread for what might come tomorrow. Flo was right: they do up the stakes each day. I can’t imagine how they can possibly up them again tomorrow. I feel certain that tomorrow will be our last day.

A buzzer sounds, the ceiling opens, and this time they lower twelve baskets, these overflowing with food and goodies. While yesterday we all jumped up for them, now, we all look at each other, all too broken to jump up and get them.

Eventually, we struggle to our feet and march across the room. My legs feel like a thousand pounds each as I pick up my two baskets, along with Logan’s, and the others pick up theirs. We bring them back to the fire.

I am thrilled to see it is filled with goodies, foods, snacks and candies of all kinds. I can’t believe that the slaverunners have managed to find and keep such an abundance of good food in this day and age, with the rest of the world starving. The thought of it makes me sick: they have so much while others have so little.

While yesterday I devoured my food, today I move more slowly, as do the others. A part of me has lost my appetite. I open one candy bar and take a bite; it is delicious, and I revel in the sugar rush. But I don’t have the excitement of the day before.

I unwrap Logan’s candy bar and put it in his mouth, trying to get him to take a bite. But he won’t. I feel his forehead, how hot his fever has become, and grow increasingly worried. I wish there was something I could do.

“Logan,” I say softly. “You have to eat. Please.”

Eyes closed, he shakes his head in agony. Eventually, he opens his eyes just a bit, just enough to look into mine.

He just stares at me, his eyes into mine, for what feels like the longest time. He doesn’t say anything, but in that stare, I feel him say things. Thank you. I love you. I’m sorry.

I want to say those things back to him, but I feel embarrassed, especially with others so close. I feel torn. On the one hand, I do have genuine feelings for Ben. Yet, I also have feelings for Logan, especially now, as I feel him leaving. I want to spend time with Ben, but I need to spend time with Logan.

I curl up beside Logan, hold his head in my lap, and gently brush his hair away, off his clammy forehead. I decide I need to distract him, to tell him a story.

“Once, when I was young, before the war, my dad took me hunting,” I begin. I figure this is a story that Logan would like.

He perks up the slightest bit and I know he’s interested. Encouraged, I continue.

“He gave me this huge, oversized rifle, and I was terrified to use it. We walked for hours, deep into the woods, looking all day for anything to kill. I really didn’t want to be there. But I wanted to make him happy.

“Around sunset, I noticed this weird look in his eyes, a look I had never seen before. It was something like confusion. Maybe fear. He was always so confident, so in control, I didn’t understand what was happening. That look, to me, was scarier than anything.

“I asked him what was wrong, and he finally admitted he was lost. He didn’t know the way back. Now we were deep into the woods, and it was getting dark. I was terrified. I asked him what we were going to do. He said we were going to find a tree, go to sleep, and in the morning, find our way out.

“That terrified me more than anything, and I started to cry. He yelled at me, told me to be tough, that things could be worse. After a while I stopped crying and sat down next to him, against the tree. We sat there like that, silent, both of us against the same tree, all night long.

“The crazy thing was, he didn’t say another word to me, all night long. As if he didn’t have a single thing to say to his own daughter.

“I thought about that night for years, and for so many years I was mad at him. But now, looking back, I’m not mad anymore. Because now I realize that, for him, silence was speech. That was his way of being with me. He was telling me he loved me, in his own way. He just couldn’t use his words.”

I turn and look down at Logan, and he looks up at me, eyes open.

“In some ways, he reminds me of you,” I say, nervous to say it.

Logan opens his eyes wide with one final effort, and looks up into mine. I see a slight smile at the corner of his lips, and I realize he liked the story.