Morgan Rice: Arena One: Slaverunners

“What is it?” she asks.

“Chocolate,” I answer.

She looks up as if I’m playing a trick on her.

“Really,” I say.

“But where did you get it?” she asks, uncomprehending. She looks down as if an asteroid has just landed in her hand. I don’t blame her: there are no stores anymore, no people around, and no place within a hundred miles of here where I could conceivably find such a thing.

I smile down at her. “Santa gave it to me, for you. It’s an early Christmas present.”

She wrinkles her brows. “No, really ,” she insists.

I take a deep breath, realizing it’s time to tell her about our new home, about leaving here tomorrow. I try to figure the best way to phrase it. I hope she will be as excited as I am – but with kids, you never know. A part of me worries she might be attached to this place, and not want to leave.

“Bree, I have some big news,” I say, as I lean down and hold her shoulders. “I discovered the most amazing place today, high up. It’s a small, stone cottage, and it’s perfect for us. It’s cozy, and warm, and safe, and it has the most beautiful fireplace, which we can light every night. And best of all, it has all kinds of food right there. Like this chocolate.”

Bree looks back down at the chocolate, studying it, and her eyes open twice as wide as she realizes it’s real. She gently pulls back the wrapper, and smells it. She closes her eyes and smiles, then leans in to take a bite – but suddenly stops herself. She looks up at me in concern.

“What about you?” she asks. “Is there only one bar?”

That’s Bree, always so considerate, even if she’s starving. “You go first,” I say. “It’s okay.”

She pulls the wrapper back, and takes a big bite. Her face, hollowed-out from hunger, crumbles in ecstasy.

“Chew slowly,” I warn. “You don’t want to get a stomach-ache.”

She slows down, savoring each bite. She breaks off a big piece and puts it in my palm. “Your turn,” she says.

I slowly put it into my mouth, taking a small bite, letting it sit on the tip of my tongue. I suck on it, then chew it slowly, savoring every moment. The taste and smell of chocolate fills my senses. It is quite possibly the best thing I’ve ever eaten.

Sasha whines, pushing her nose close to the chocolate, and Bree breaks off a chunk and offers it to her. Sasha snaps it out of her fingers and swallows it in a single gulp. Bree laughs, delighted by her, as always. Then, in an impressive show of self-restraint, Bree wraps up the remaining half of the bar, reaches up, and wisely places it high on the dresser, out of Sasha’s reach. Bree still looks weak, but I can see her spirits starting to return.

“What’s that?” she asks, pointing at my waist.

For a moment I don’t realize what she’s talking about, then I look down and see the teddy bear. In all the excitement, I’d almost forgotten. I reach down and hand it to her.

“I found it in our new home,” I say. “It’s for you.”

Bree’s eyes open wide in excitement as she clutches the bear, wrapping it to her chest and rocking it back and forth.

“I love it!” Bree exclaims, her eyes shining. “When can we move? I can’t wait!”

I am relieved. Before I can respond, Sasha leans in and sticks her nose against Bree’s new teddy bear, sniffing it; Bree rubs it playfully in her face, and Sasha snatches it and runs out the room.

“Hey!” Bree yells, erupting in hysterical laughter as she chases after her.

They both run into the living room, already immersed in a tug-of-war over the bear. I’m not sure who enjoys it more.

I follow them in, cupping the candle carefully so that it doesn’t blow out, and bring it right to my pile of kindling. I set a few of the smaller twigs in the fireplace, then snatch a handful of dry leaves from a basket beside the fireplace. I’m glad I collected these last fall to serve as fire-starters. They work like a charm. I place the dry leaves beneath the twigs, light them, and the flame soon reaches up and licks the wood. I keep feeding leaves into the fireplace, until eventually, the twigs are fully caught. I blow out the candle, saving it for another time.

“We’re having a fire?” Bree yells excitedly.

“Yes,” I say. “Tonight’s a celebration. It’s our last night here.”

“Yay!” Bree screams, jumping up and down, and Sasha barks beside her, joining in the excitement. Bree runs over and grabs some of the kindling, helping me as I place it over the fire. We feed it carefully, allowing space for air, and Bree blows on it, fanning the flames. Once the kindling catches, I place a thicker log on top. I keep stacking bigger logs, until finally, we have a roaring fire.

In moments, the room is alight, and I can already feel the warmth. We stand beside the fire, and I hold out my hands, rubbing them, letting the warmth penetrate my fingers. Slowly, the feeling starts to return. I gradually thaw out from the long day outdoors, and I start to feel myself again.

“What’s that?” Bree asks, pointing across the floor. “It looks like a fish!”

She runs over to it and grabs it, picking it up, and it slips right out of her hands. She laughs, and Sasha, not missing a beat, pounces on it with her paws, sending it sliding across the floor. “Where did you catch it?” Bree yells.

I pick it up before Sasha can do any more damage, open the door, and throw it outside, into the snow, where it will be better preserved and out of harm’s way, before closing the door behind me.

“That was my other surprise,” I say. “We’re going to have dinner tonight!”

Bree runs over and gives me a big hug. Sasha barks, as if understanding. I hug her back.

“I have two more surprises for you,” I announce with a smile. “They’re for dessert. Do you want me to wait till after dinner? Or do you want them now?”

“Now!” she yells, excited.

I smile, excited, too. At least it will hold her over for dinner.

I reach into my pocket and extract the jar of jam. Bree looks at it funny, clearly uncertain, and I unscrew the lid and place it under her nose. “Close your eyes,” I say.

She does. “Now, inhale.”

She breathes deeply, and a smile crosses her face. She opens her eyes.

“It smells like raspberries!” she exclaims.

“It’s jam. Go ahead. Try it.”

Bree reaches in with two fingers, takes a big scoop, and eats it. Her eyes light up.

“Wow,” she says, as she reaches in, takes another big scoop, and holds it up to Sasha, who runs over and without hesitation gulps it down. Bree laughs hysterically, and I tighten the lid and set the jar high on the mantle, away from Sasha.

“Is that also from our new house?” she asks.

I nod, relieved to hear that she already considers it our new home.

“And there is one last surprise,” I say. “But this one I’m going to have to save for dinner.”

I extract the thermos from my belt and place it higher up on the mantle, out of her sight, so she can’t see what it is. I can see her craning her neck, but I hide it well.

“Trust me,” I say. “It’s gonna be good.”

I don’t want the house to stink like fish, so I decide to brave the cold and prepare the salmon outside. I bring my knife and set to work on it, propping it on a tree stump as I kneel down beside it in the snow. I don’t really know what I’m doing, but I know enough to realize you don’t eat the head or the tail. So I begin by slicing these off.

Then I figure we’re not going to eat the fins either, so I chop these off – or the scales, either, so I remove them as best I can. Then I figure it has to be opened to eat it, so I slice what’s left of it clean in half. It reveals a thick, pink inside, filled with lots of small bones. I don’t know what else to do, so I figure it’s ready to cook.