Morgan Rice: Arena One: Slaverunners

He looks at me with intensity, through red eyes, then slowly looks away. He turns, and I wonder if he’s going to respond at all.

A long silence follows. The wind whistles through the empty windows, the snowflakes land on the floor. My eyes grow heavy and I’m beginning to fall back asleep, drifting in and out of consciousness. And the last thing I hear, before my eyes close for good, are his words. They are so faint and soft that I’m not even sure if he really says it, or if I just dream it:

“Because you remind me of someone.”

I fall in and out of sleep for the next few hours, partly dreaming and partly flashing back. During one of my episodes, I finally remember what happened on that day we left the city. As much as I’d like to forget, it all comes flooding back to me.

When I found Bree in that alley, surrounded by those boys, and threw the Molotov cocktail – there was a small explosion, and then shrieks filled the air. I managed to hit their ringleader, and the boy lit up in a ball of fire. He ran about, frantic, as the others tried to put him out.

I didn’t wait. In the chaos, I ran right past the flaming boy and right for Bree. I grabbed her hand and we ran away from them, through the back alleys. They chased us, but we knew those back streets better than anyone. We cut through buildings, in and out of hidden doors, over dumpsters, through fences. Within a few blocks, we’d thoroughly lost them and made it back to the safety of our apartment building.

It was the last straw. I was determined to leave the city right then and there. It was no longer safe – and if Mom couldn’t see that, then we’d have to leave without her.

We burst into our apartment, and I ran straight to Mom’s room. She was sitting there, in her favorite chair, staring out the window, as she always did, waiting for Dad to return.

“We’re leaving,” I said, determined. “It’s too dangerous here now. Bree was almost killed. Look at her. She’s hysterical.”

Mom looked at Bree, then back to me, not saying a word.

“He’s not coming back,” I said. “Face it. He’s dead.”

Mom reached back and smacked me. I was stunned. I still remember the sting of it.

“Don’t you ever say that,” she snapped.

I narrowed my eyes, furious that she’d dare hit me. It is a hit I will never forgive her for.

“Fine,” I seethed back to her. “You can live in your fantasy as long as you like. If you don’t want to come, you don’t have to. But we’re leaving. I’m heading to the mountains, and I’m taking Bree.”

She snorted back derisively. “That’s ridiculous. The bridges are blocked.”

“I’ll take a boat,” I answer, prepared. “I know someone who will take us. He’s got a speedboat and he’ll take us up the Hudson.”

“And how can you afford that?” she asked me coldly.

I hesitated, feeling guilty. “I traded my gold watch.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “You mean Dad’s gold watch,” she snapped.

“He gave it to me,” I corrected. “And I’m sure he’d want to see me put it to good use.”

She looked away from me in disgust, staring back out the window.

“Don’t you get it?” I continued. “In a few more weeks, this city will be destroyed. It’s not safe here anymore. This is our last chance to get out.”

“And how’s your father going to feel when he comes home and finds us all gone? When he discovers that we have all abandoned him?”

I stared at Mom, incredulous. She was really lost in her fantasy.

“He left us,” I spat. “He volunteered for this stupid war. No one asked him to go. He’s not coming back. And this is exactly what he’d want us to do. He’d want us to survive. Not sit around some stupid apartment waiting to die.”

Mom slowly turned and looked at me with her cold, steely-gray eyes. She had that awful determination, the same awful determination I have. Sometimes I hate myself for being so much like her. I could see in her eyes, at that moment, that she would never, ever, give in. She had gotten it into her head that waiting was the loyal thing to do. And once she got something into her head, there was no changing it.

But in my view, her loyalty was misplaced. She owed it to us . To her children. Not to a man who was more devoted to fighting than to his family.

“If you want to leave your father, go ahead. I’m not going. When your plans fall through and you don’t make it upriver, you can come back. I’ll be here.”

I didn’t wait a second longer. I grabbed Bree by the hand, turned and strutted with her to the door. Bree was crying, and I knew I had to get out of there quick. I stopped one last time before the door.

“You’re making a mistake,” I called out.

But she didn’t even bother to turn, to say goodbye. And I knew she never would.

I opened the door, then slammed it behind me.

And that was the last I ever saw Mom alive again.

I wake to blinding sunlight. It is as if the world is alive again. Sunlight streams in through the windows all around me, brighter than I’ve ever seen, bouncing off of everything. The wind has stopped. The storm is over. Snow melts off the window ledge, the sound of dripping water echoing all around me. There is a cracking noise, and a huge icicle crashes down onto the floor.

I look around, disoriented, and realize I’m still lying in the same place as last night, Logan’s coat still draped over me. I feel completely rejuvenated.

Suddenly, I remember, and sit up with a shock. Dawn. We had to get up at dawn. The sight of the bright morning light terrifies me, as I look over and see Logan lying there, right beside me, eyes closed. He is fast asleep. My heart stops. We have overslept.

I scramble to my feet, feeling energetic for the first time, and roughly shake his shoulder.

“LOGAN!” I say urgently.

Immediately, his eyes open and he jumps to his feet. He looks around, alert.

“It’s morning!” I plead. “The boat. We’re going to miss it!”

His eyes open wide in surprise as he realizes.

We both jump into action, sprinting for the door. My leg still hurts, but I am pleasantly surprised to find I can actually run on it. I race down the metal staircase, footsteps echoing, right behind Logan. I grip the rusted metal railing, careful to pass over steps that are rotting away.

We reach the ground floor and burst out of the building, into the blinding light of snow. It is a winter wonderland. I wade into the snow up to my thighs, which slows my running, each step a struggle. But I follow Logan’s tracks, and he plows through, making it easier.

The water is up ahead and we are only a block away. To my great relief I see the barge docked at the pier, and can barely see its loading ramp being lifted, as the last of a group of chained girls is led on board. The boat is about to leave.

I run harder, trudging through the snow as fast as I can go. As we reach the pier, still about a hundred yards away from the boat, the ramp is removed. I hear the roar of an engine, and a huge cloud of black exhaust billows from the back of the barge. My heart is pounding.

As we near the end of the pier, I suddenly think of Ben, of our promise to each other – to meet at the pier at dawn. As I run, I scan left and right, looking for any sign of him. But there is nothing. My heart sinks, as I realize that can only mean one thing: he didn’t make it.

We close in on the barge, hardly thirty yards away, when suddenly it begins to move. My heart starts to pound. We’re so close. Not now. Not now !

We are only twenty yards away, but the boat has departed from the pier. It is already about ten feet out into the water.