Morgan Rice: Arena Two

Logan doesn’t say anything to me either, but he slowly nods, and I can see the love in his eyes. In that moment, I can see he is just like my dad. He is talking to me. Even if he can’t say the words.

It is late into the night, I don’t know how late, and we are all sitting up, except for Logan, awake around the fire. After today’s events, none of us can sleep. We all stare wide-eyed into the flames, each lost in our own world, each of us staring death in the face.

Hours ago, dozens of new recruits were thrown into the room. These new kids keep to themselves, on the far side of the cave, content with the slop dropped down for them. No one tries to come our way, which is just as well, because I don’t know if I’d have the energy left to fight them off. Not that I even care about my food at this point. But I am curious as to why there are so few kids this time.

“Stragglers,” Flo says. I look over and see she is watching them, too. She has an uncanny way of reading my mind. “It was slim pickings today for the slaverunners. That’s bad news for us.”

“Why?”

“They need to keep the games exciting for their crowd. When they don’t have a lot of kids, they have no choice but to pit us directly against each other.”

Instinctively, I feel that she’s right. And it makes my heart drop. I can’t stand the thought of it. I can’t imagine being pitted against Bree, against Charlie, against Ben, against Flo. Against Logan. It is too cruel to even imagine.

“Well we found a way to stick together through all this,” I say. “I think we can find a way tomorrow, too.”

Flo shrugs. “I’m not so sure,” she says.

I try to interpret her words, to understand her meaning. Is it a threat? Is she saying she’ll fight us? A part of me feels that she might. She’s a survivor, and she has Charlie to look out for. I can’t put anything past her.

We lapse into silence, all retreat back into our own worlds, our game faces on, as I think about tomorrow. I know that we can’t last another day. I have to come up with a plan. Something. I have to find us a way out of here.

I turn over all possible options in my mind, again and again, until my eyes grow heavy. I think of Charlie’s tunnels, obsessively, feeling that is the key. But I am not thinking clearly, and cannot come up with any answers. The solution is just beyond my grasp.

When the buzzer rings on the morning of the third day, this time, my eyes are already opened. Bleary-eyed, I’ve been awake all night, my mind racing with the possibilities, with ideas of how to get out. The steel door slides open, and in march dozens of slaverunners.

I don’t give them the dignity of dragging me to my feet, and instead stand before they can reach me. I walk over and wake the others, gently pulling Bree and Charlie to their feet. I see that Flo’s awake, too, already standing. Ben gets up with an effort.

The slaverunners are in front of us, and I go to Logan and shake him roughly. It takes him a while to even open his eyes. He does not look good.

“Get up,” I say.

He shakes his head no. He looks like he’s half-alive.

A slaverunner hurries over and kicks him hard.

“Let him be!” I scream.

The slaverunner shoves me, and I stumble back into the wall, hard. Flo steps up and punches the slaverunner across the face. I’m shocked, and touched by her sticking up for me.

But she pays the price dearly, backhanded hard by another slaverunner, the sound of his hand slapping her flesh echoing in the room.

She goes to attack, but I step forward and get between them, holding her back.

“It’s OK, Flo,” I say to her, seeing the violence in her eyes and not wanting her to get hurt. “Let it go. Let’s just get him on his feet.”

I reach over with Flo and Ben and we all drag Logan to his feet. It’s like pulling up an old tree. He groans out in pain, and Ben and I each drape an arm around one of his shoulders, helping him hobble. The six of us are then marched out of the room.

As they prod us out of the room, this time we are led down a different tunnel. We’re all led to a huge steel door, and as it opens, to my surprise we enter a brightly-lit room, its walls lined with weapons. Hanging from the wall are swords, bows and arrows, shields, throwing knives, slingshots, spears, and all sorts of other weapons. I can’t understand what’s happening. I think of the damage I can do to the slaverunners with these, and feel as if I’ve walked into a candy store.

“Choose!” barks a slaverunner.

Suddenly, the dozen or so new kids race through the room, scattering, each bee lining for a weapon.

“It’s fighting day,” Flo says, and then hurries off to the wall. She goes for a large sword.

I hurry off with Logan and Charlie and Bree, and as we reach the wall, I prop Logan against it and hand him a big shield.

“If you can’t fight, at least you can defend, right?” I ask him.

He nods weakly.

I grab a long spear and strap it to my back. Then I reach out and grab a long sword as well. While I’m at it, I see a nice throwing knife and grab that and attach it to my belt.

Beside me, Bree has chosen a slingshot. It is a good choice. She was always good with her hand-made slingshot, and this one comes with a bag of small rocks, and she ties it to her belt. Then, of course, she chooses the bow and arrow, which she is just as good at. Charlie chooses a strange medieval weapon: it is a long chain, with a handle on one end, and a metal ball on the other. Ben chooses a long sword, and nothing else.

Flo, holding her sword, turns towards me, and for a moment I feel what it would be like to face her. In some ways it would be like facing a mirror image of myself. It terrifies me.

A buzzer sounds and I look around the room and see the other kids are all well-armed. This doesn’t bode well.

“Bree, Charlie,” I say. “Whatever happens out there, stay close to me, okay? Don’t go far off. This way I can look out for you.”

“You don’t need to look after Charlie,” Flo chides. “I will.”

She’s territorial, and already has her game face on.

“Just trying to help,” I say.

“Look after your own,” she snaps back to me.

She has drawn a clear line in the sand.

“Charlie, come over here, with me,” she commands.

Charlie looks back and forth between me and Flo, and seems reluctant to go to her. But slowly, he obeys, and walks over to Flo’s side.

I can’t help but feel as if we are now all adversaries. All fighting for survival.

We are marched down tunnel after tunnel for what feels like hours, entirely underground this time, passing red emergency lights every twenty feet. Rats scurry beneath my feet, and in the distance, I hear the muted rumbling of a train passing somewhere. I wonder how many trains passed through here today, how many slaves they are capturing from the countryside, to present to their games. It makes me sick.

I feel the winter wind whipping through, colder today, and I wonder when we will exit outside. Something is different today. This time, there is no end in sight to the tunnels. I don’t understand it. Are today’s games underground?

Logan is growing heavy as Ben and I carry him, and I can feel his life force leaving him. The idea of bringing him to these games, to compete with others, is crazy. He can barely stand.

I try once again to think strategy, to figure out a way we can all survive. But it is hard. We’re surrounded by a dozen armed kids, all set on killing us, and I don’t even know the playing field we’ll be on. Just keeping myself alive will be a challenge, much less keeping the others alive, too. I worry for Bree, more than anyone. I have to find a way to protect her.