Authors: Morgan Rice
The train slows as we enter the remnants of a city. It is a vast place, the buildings burnt out, just piles of rubble. The streets are filled with garbage, refuse, and to my surprise: people. Mutants. Biovictims. Their faces are warped and melted, their bodies emaciated. They look crazed, as if an entire mental asylum had let all its prisoners at once. They look as if they’d tear us to pieces if they could. For once, I’m happy that these train doors are bolted shut.
Mobs of them start hobbling towards the train, throwing rocks at us as we go. Some come right up to the door, slamming it with sticks. They are chanting and screaming, and I’m trying to understand what is happening.
As we pass through the city, through block after block, I realize we are being taken somewhere for these peoples’ enjoyment. That we are the sport. The sound of objects striking the car is deafening.
I try to figure out what city we’re in. We’ve been going so far north, for so long, I am guessing we must be far upstate New York. As I look out, at the city outline, I think I recognize what was once Buffalo. I see rivers in the distance, crisscrossing through the city, and am surprised to see several motorboats on them. Slaverunner boats, well-guarded, dozens of soldiers, everywhere.
That tells me something. We are being brought to them. And that can only mean one thing: a new arena.
The banging grows so loud that I fear they will smash our car doors in. At just that moment, our train suddenly dips down, like a roller coaster ride. I feel my stomach plunge. Suddenly, the city goes black. The tracks have descended, have dipped down into a tunnel, beneath the city. Now all I see are the red emergency lights of the tunnel, which we pass every twenty feet or so. Our destination can’t be far.
I roll across the car, beside Bree. I want to make sure she is okay.
“
It’s okay Bree,” I reassure. “Just stay close to me. Do you understand? Whatever happens, just stay close to me.”
She nods back, and I can see she’s trying to be brave, but she’s nodding through silent tears.
Suddenly, the train stops. There comes the sound of our car being unbolted, the lock slid back.
Penelope barks.
“
Go Penelope!” Bree screams.
She looks back at Bree and whines, not wanting to leave.
“
GO! RUN! ESCAPE!” Bree screams fiercely.
Penelope finally listens, and just as the car door is opening, she turns and bolts, jumping out. She goes so fast, she flies under the radar of the slaverunners, disappears beneath the tracks. I hope she runs far from here.
We are not so lucky. Several pair of steel boots step up, into the car, and I look up, and see the faces, through the masks, staring down.
Now, we are at their mercy.
*
A slaverunner walks right for me and takes out a huge knife. I lay there, bound and helpless, and close my eyes, expecting him to stab me. I brace myself. The knife gets closer, and he leans over, and I see the blade coming down. I flinch.
But to my surprise, he doesn’t cut me; instead, he slips the knife between my feet and slices the rope binding my ankles together. All around me, slaverunners are doing the same to the others. They want us to walk. They are taking us somewhere.
I’m hoping they will also free the ropes on my wrist, but I’m not so lucky. A slaverunner grabs me from behind, by the back of my shirt, and pulls me roughly to my feet. It feels good to be standing again, and I rub my ankles together, trying to soothe the rope burn. The ropes are still way too tight my wrist, bounding my shoulders, and while I can walk, I can barely move otherwise.
The slaverunners take the gags out of the other prisoners’ mouths, as well. As soon as they do, a girl a couple years younger than me, cries out, frantic.
“
Where are you taking us!? Where are we going? Where are we?”
A slaverunner reaches out and backhands her hard across the face. She cries out and falls back, crashing into some empty boxes. Another slaverunner yanks her to her feet.
Lesson learned. Don’t talk back.
We are herded off the train, and down onto the floor of the train tunnel. My boots crunch on the gravel. At least it is dry here, no snow. But it is dark, lit only by the emergency bulbs, and it is cold, drafts whipping through the empty tunnels. We are all herded together, and I make sure I stay close to Bree. We are poked and prodded and we begin marching down the tunnel, going deeper into the blackness. I wonder where they are taking us.
We are pushed and shoved down tunnel after tunnel, a ragtag group, scores of slaverunners behind and in front of us. I walk with Bree on one side and Logan and Ben on the other. Logan is suffering, I can see, limping badly on his leg, and Ben and I do our best to prop him up between us. The other captives march like sheep, not even trying to resist.
We turn a bend, and stop before a stone wall. Before it is a single torch, and beneath that, I can barely make out the outline of a steel door. A slaverunner steps forward, unlocks it, and yanks it open.
I’m kicked hard in the small of my back and go flying, with the rest of the group, tumbling into the room. I land hard on the ground, rolling in the dusty, dirty floor, then hear the steel door slammed behind me.
But my hands are bound so tightly behind my back, it is hard for me to get leverage to get back on my feet. I lie there, beside Bree and Logan and the others, and look up, trying to figure out where we are.
We are in a huge, cavernous room, the walls lit by torches, high up. It is like a large cave. The first thing I notice is the noise. And the second is movement.
I look up, blinking dust out of my eyes, and see dozens of people swarming about the room. Kids. We are the only ones tied down, the new kids, thrown down on the floor.
As I watch, several of the other kids race forward towards us, and suddenly start kicking the teenage girl on the ground a few feet away from me. She cries out, as they kick her in every direction. Several kids get down and start rifling through her pockets, looking for whatever scraps they can find.
Just as I’m about to cry out in protest, I feel a kick, hard in my stomach. I look up and see a kid standing over me. I feel others rummaging through my pockets. Then I feel another kick.
I buckle like crazy, trying to break free, but my hands are bound tightly. I manage to swing around and with my free foot, kick one of them hard in the face: a scraggly boy, around 15. I connect hard on his jaw, and he goes down. But I immediately get another kick in my ribs. There are just too many of them.
I look over at Bree, and see, thankfully, that they haven’t reached her yet. But as I watch I see a boy ran up behind her, maybe 11, with sandy brown hair and green eyes. Even in this light, I can’t help noticing that he looks different than the others—noble, intelligent, kind. He is good looking, too, with freckles spread across his face.
So I’m surprised to see him pull out a knife, with that sweet angelic face of his, and aim it right at Bree’s exposed back.
“
BREE!” I scream out desperately.
As I watch, from several feet away, the boy lowers his knife and, to my surprise, slashes the ropes bounding her wrists. He is freeing her.
I feel another kick in my ribs, right before I see Bree yell to him: “Free her!” pointing at me.
The boy slips in between the others, and a moment later, I feel the knife cutting the ropes off my wrists.
That is all I need. A moment later, I jump to my feet and tackle the person in front of me hard, a 17-year-old, skinny boy. I drive him back several feet, and slam him down hard on the ground, knocking the wind out of him. I jump to my feet, spin around, and kick another boy hard in the face, knocking him out.
Then I spin again, like a wild woman, ready to face the others.
But now that I am freed, and have inflicted some damage, the others seem wary of me. Of the dozen or so, only one steps forward to challenge me. A boy, missing an eye, maybe 15, but wide and fat. He scowls as he charges, reaching up with his dirty palm to smack me across the face.
I dodge at the last second, and he goes world whizzing past me. As he does, I lean back and kick him hard in the small of the back. He goes flying forward, face first, and lands on his fat stomach. Not taking any chances, I run up behind him, and kick him hard between the legs while he’s down. He groans in pain, and stops moving.
I turn to face the others, but now, they are afraid. They all back off, starting to dissipate. I see that Logan and Ben are still tied down and I hurry over to them, looking for the boy that freed us. I don’t know who he is, where he went, or why he did it—but now I can’t find him. I stand over them protectively, and the other kids in the room back away.
I realize that these other kids are prisoners, just like us. I can’t understand why they’d welcome us like this.
“
They do this with all the newbies,” comes a voice.
I turn to see the boy standing there, holding the knife.
“
They’re just trying to raid you. To take what they can. And to test you. After all, you’re their competition. They want to show you who’s boss.”
“
Competition?” Bree asks, stepping forward.
I can see by the way she’s staring at this boy that she likes him. And I can see by the way he stares back that he likes her, too. He lowers his knife.
I hurry over to him. “Can I borrow that?” I ask.
He looks at me warily, reluctant to let his weapon go.
I gesture to Ben and Logan, still tied up on the ground. The boy turns, not wanting to give up his knife, and instead hurries over to them himself and cuts their ropes.
Ben quickly gains his feet; he is shaken, but not hurt badly. Logan, though, just turns over. I can see from the pain in his face that is unable to make his feet. His swollen leg looks worse.
It is warmer in here, much warmer than outside. With all the body heat in this room, and all the torches, it must be close to 60 in here. I welcome the reprieve; we need to thaw out. It’s not good for Logan’s leg, though. I can’t help but think of Rose, of how she ended up. I pray to God the same fate does not await Logan. It’s so strange to look at him now, lying there, so helpless—when just days ago he was our beacon of strength, the backbone of our mission.
“
Yes, your competition,” the boy continues, returning to Bree’s side. “Think you’re down here alone?”
“
Where’s here?” I ask. “Where are we?”
“
You’re in the cage, just like all of us. We’re the entertainment now. Tomorrow, the games begin. You’ll be in it, just like the rest of us. We’ll all die together.”
I turn and survey the room, look at all the faces. They’re all kids, teenagers, just like us. They’re all emaciated, survivors, rounded up from the countryside by the slaverunners. Some look sicker than others. Only a few of them are anywhere near fit. I realize with a sinking feeling that we are heading back into another arena, will soon be made to fight to the death. To kill one of the kids in this room.
I only spot one person who seems strong, and I’m surprised to see it’s a girl. About my age, my height—but with a more muscular build than me. In fact, she’s almost built like a bodybuilder. She wears tight, camouflage pants and a tattered green shirt, and for some reason she stands across the room, her back against a wall, and stares right at me with her big black eyes. It is a piercing, intense stare, and I wonder what I’ve done to get on her bad side. She looks like a formidable opponent.
“
Don’t be scared of her,” the boy says, catching my look. “That’s my sister.”
I turn look at the boy, and see no resemblance.
“
She’s just watching out for me.”
I turn and look down at the boy, and remember how he helped us. I’m so grateful.
“
Thank you for saving us,” I say.
He smiles back and shrugs. He is cute, innocent, with his freckles across his nose.
Brooke approaches him. “Yeah, thanks,” she echoes.
He turns and looks at her, and smiles back, seeming to be transfixed by her.
She looks away, and I could swear that I see her cheeks flush.
“
Want to introduce us to your sister?” I ask.
“
Sure,” he says.
There’s a sweetness to this boy, a happy-go-lucky attitude, that surprises me, as if he is unfazed by all of this.
As we turn and follow him, Ben and I dragging Logan. Bree hurries up and walks alongside him.
“
What’s your name?” he asks her.
Bree turns and looks at me, as if for permission, and I nod back.
“
Bree,” she says. “What’s yours?”
“
Charlie,” he says, holding out his hand.
Bree waits a moment, then shakes it.
“
Charlie,” she says. “That’s a funny name.”
“
Why?” he asks.
“
I don’t know, it just is.”
“
My sister is going to be mad,” he says to me, as we get closer. “I’m just warning you. She gets mad when I talk to people. Especially if I help them. She wants us to keep to ourselves.”
We get closer, and she comes into view, standing beneath a torch: she stands against a wall, arms crossed, and with her sleeveless shirt, I can see her huge muscles bulging in her shoulders and arms. She looks like a rock, like part of the wall itself. She’s a humorless person, with a warrior’s face. The opposite of her little brother. He was right: she is scowling.
“
Get over here,” she snaps at Charlie.
He hurries over, and stands at her side, facing us.
“
Your brother saved us,” I say to her. “Thank you.”
“
He should’ve let you die,” she says.
She scowls back, meaning every word of it.
I am surprised by her response. I’ve never met such a hard person; she’s harder than Logan ever was.
“
We’re not running a charity here. It’s every man for himself. And if I have to kill each one of you in the games, I will,” she says. “Don’t think that you’re getting on my good side.”