Morgan Rice: Arena Three

As we stroll along, the sunlight grows warmer and brighter, and the General explains the history of the place. It seemed to come about through a combination of fate, chance, and a whole lot of luck. There were already a number of military bases peppered along the powerful Richelieu River. Due to its geographical location between New England and New France, the river had been a key pathway in the French and Iroquois Wars in the seventeenth century and, later, the French-English battles of the eighteenth century. Because of its rich military history, those who, like General Reece, opposed the brewing American civil war were drawn to it, and helped turn it into a safe zone for defectors.

The second bit of luck was that the river flowed from the distant Green Mountains bordering Vermont. When the war finally broke out in New York, the mountains sheltered the fort from the winds carrying nuclear radiation. While the rest of the population succumbed to the radiation and disease that resulted in the biovictims, the military personnel hiding out in Fort Noix were protected. At the same time, the good source of clean running water provided them with an abundance of fish, so that when supply routes were blockaded, bridges blown, and villages leveled, the people in the fort survived.

The wars that had raged around these parts had another unlikely outcome. Since most of the local towns were flattened, the surrounding forests had a chance to grow. Soon, a thick barrier of evergreens surrounded Fort Noix, reducing its chances of being found to virtually nil, while providing wood for fires and game for hunting.

Once the sound of bombs stopped and the fort’s residents knew the war was over, they sent out scouts and quickly realized the human race had obliterated itself. After that, they cut themselves off completely and set to work expanding the fort into a town, and building civilization again from the ground up.

By the time General Reece has finished her story, I’m in awe of her. Her calm and military steeliness reminds me of my dad.

As we walk, I can’t help but feel overwhelmed by every little detail. It’s been so long since I’ve seen civilization. It’s like stepping back in time. Better, even. It’s like stepping into a dream come true. The people milling around me look healthy and well cared for. None of them have endured starvation. None of them have had to fight to the death. They’re just normal people like the ones who used to populate the earth. The thought makes a lump form in my throat. Is it possible to start again?

I can tell the others are as overwhelmed as I am. Bree and Charlie stay close together, side by side, looking around with awe. They’re both clearly excited and happy to be in Fort Noix, yet also anxious at the thought of it all potentially being taken away from us.

Ben, on the other hand, seems a little dazed. I can’t blame him. To step out of our brutal world and into this one is beyond disorienting. He walks slowly, almost as though in a trance, and his eyes glance furtively from side to side, trying to take everything in. I realize as he walks that it’s more than just being overwhelmed. It is like how my body could only reveal to me how exhausted it was once I was safe. Ben’s mind, I’m sure, is revealing to him just how much he’s been through: the death of his brother, fighting in the arena, every near-death experience. I can almost see that his mind is preoccupied with thoughts as he sifts through his memories. I have seen people suffer from post-traumatic stress, and his face bears the same look as they’d had. I can’t help but hope that his appearance doesn’t hamper our chances of being accepted here.

Soon, we’re off the main street and walking down some smaller, winding roads that lead through the forests. This time, it’s Charlie who starts hanging back, trudging a little way behind the rest of us. I drop my pace and draw up beside him.

“What’s wrong?”

He looks at me with terrified eyes.

“What if this is a trap?” he says under his breath. “What if they’re taking us to another arena?”

His question makes me wonder whether I’m being too trusting. I think back to the man who stole our supplies when we were on the run from the slaverunners. I’d trusted him and I’d been wrong. But this time it’s different. There’s no way Logan would have directed us toward danger.

I put my arm around Charlie’s shoulder.

“We’re safe now,” I explain. “You don’t have to be scared anymore.”

But as we go, the canopy thickens above us, blocking out the daylight and making dark shadows crowd in around us. Something about walking this long, dark path reminds me of the arenas, of walking those corridors knowing that a horrible, painful death was all that awaited me. I can feel my heart begin to hammer in my chest.

The sky gets darker and darker as we go. Bree must notice something is wrong, because she snuggles into me.

“You’re sweating,” she says.

“I am?”

I touch my brow and find that I’ve broken out in a cold sweat.

“Are you okay?” Bree adds.

But her voice sounds strange, distorted, like it’s coming from far, far away.

Suddenly, there’s a hand on my arm, and I scream as I see Rose’s black, wizened hand latching onto my arm. I lash out, pushing her away, scratching at her hand with my fingernails.

Then all at once the panic is gone. I come back to the present and realize that it wasn’t Rose’s hand on me at all. It was Ben’s. He’s cradling it against his chest, and deep scratches run along it. He looks at me with an expression of pure anguish while Penelope yap-yap-yaps her distress. The soldiers around us politely avert their gazes.

I look down at Bree and Charlie, my heart hammering.

“I’m sorry,” I stammer. “I thought… I just…”

But my words disappear.

“Maybe we should take you back to the hospital,” Ben suggests in a soft, persuasive voice.

“I’m fine,” I say, sternly, frowning at their worried expressions. “I thought I saw something is all. It’s no big deal. Come on.”

I stroll ahead, leading the pack, trying to gain back some sense of myself. I’m not the sort of person who crumbles in the face of adversity and I’m not about to become the sort who is haunted by the past.

Yet as I continue to walk, I’m not so sure I can leave the past behind.

We turn a bend, and I see it: the short, squat building that must contain the Commander’s office. I brace myself, heart pounding, as we walk.

The outcome of this meeting, I know, will determine if we live or die.

The Commander’s building is buzzing with life. Military personnel march quickly by, while others sit around conference tables looking at blueprints, discussing in loud, confident voices the benefits of building a new granary store or extending the wing of the hospital. It feels like a real unit, a team with a purpose, and it feels good.

And it makes me all the more nervous that we won’t be allowed to stay.

As we pass along the corridors, I see a sprawling gymnasium, people training with weapons, firing bows and arrows, sparring and wrestling. There are even little kids being trained how to fight. The people of Fort Noix are clearly preparing themselves for any kind of eventuality.

Finally, we’re led into the Commander’s office. A charismatic man in his forties, he stands and greets us each cordially by name, clearly already having been briefed. Unlike the General, he doesn’t have a Canadian accent; in fact, he surprises me with a strong South Carolina twang, which tells me he’s one of the defectors from the American side of the opposition.

He turns to me last.

“And you must be Brooke Moore.” He cups his hand around mine and shakes, and the warmth from his skin seeps into mine. “I must say I’m impressed by your experiences. General Reece has filled me in on all you’ve endured. I know it’s been hard on you. We don’t know much about the outside world. We keep to ourselves here. Slaverunners, arenas—that’s a whole different world to what we’re used to. What I’ve been told about you is really truly incredible. I’m humbled to meet you all.”