Authors: Morgan Rice
Bree, Ben, Logan, Charlie and Flo march beside me in the winding subway tunnels. The six of us make our way with the dozens of other kids through the cold and dark tunnels, our footsteps echoing. I feel like I am marching helplessly towards my fate. I wish there was something I could do. Anything. I need to think of a strategy, some sort of plan. I don’t want Bree separated for me. Or Ben. Or Logan.
“
Once we get out there, we should act like a team,” I say to everyone, including Charlie and Flo. “Stick together. No matter what. If anyone attacks us, we can watch each other’s backs. Bree, do you hear me? I want you close to me. By my side, no matter what.”
Bree looks up and nods, and I can see the fear in her eyes.
“
That won’t last,” Flo says. “You’ll see, once you’re out there. It won’t work. It’s every man for himself. I’m not watching after you guys. I’m watching after myself. And Charlie.”
Her eyes and jaw harden, defiant. I don’t know what to say.
“
Does that mean we’re enemies?” I ask her.
“
I like you,” she says. “All of you. But I’m out to win. To survive. Not for you to live. Not at my expense. And not at Charlie’s. I don’t want to kill you. And I owe you a favor. So I’ll give you one good piece of advice: stay away from me. Far away.”
We turn the corner, and before us, the tunnel floods with sunlight. An exit to outdoors. A cold wind slaps me in the face, and I hear the muted shouts of a mob.
I am shoved hard one last time and we all go stumbling out of the train tunnel, into the outdoors. I squint at the blinding light, and the cold stings my face. Still, it is good to be outside, to be out of that dark tunnel, and to have fresh air.
My senses are assaulted by so many things at once. The air is filled with the cheers and screams of what seems like thousands of people. I pry open my eyes and see we are on a wide, dirt road, and on either side, behind a fence guarded by slaverunners, stand hundreds of mob members, biovictims, jeering at us. They are dressed in rags, and their faces are mutilated. Mutants, grotesque people. They raise their fists and snarl, and the excitement in the air is palpable.
My heart is pounding in anticipation as we go. The slaverunners poke and prod, and one jabs me hard in my ribs with the butt of his gun. It is cold out, but not as cold as the day before. In fact, it is quite warm for a winter day. I’m thrilled to see that the snow has virtually melted, and at least my uniform is keeping me warm. I feel snug and secure in it, sheltered from the elements, and its hard plastic padding makes me feel invincible. I feel like wheeling around and cracking the slaverunner hard across the face, stealing his gun, mowing them down, and making a run for it.
But I know if I do that, Bree, Ben, Logan and the others won’t get far. I look around and see dozens of slaverunners trained on us, their guns at their hips. It would be a massacre.
We clear a small hill, and as we stand at the top, the vista is spread out before me. I see, in the distance, the arena to which we are being lead.
My heart stops at the daunting site: thousands of crowd members are spread out around a huge, circular canyon, cliffs dropping off hundreds of feet. The canyon is spanned by four rope bridges, spaced out evenly in the circle, and all leading to a small, circular piece of land in the canyon’s center. This round, circular stretch of land, maybe a hundred yards wide, is connected to the mainland only by the four rope bridges. Otherwise, there is a steep plummet off the edge.
The spectators cheer wildly at the site of us coming over the hill.
My throat goes dry as I realize where they’re taking us. They’re going to prod us over a bridge, onto that circular piece of land in the middle. Once we’re on it, there’ll be no way off without crossing one of those four bridges back to the mainland. The drop-off is hundreds of feet deep. It is like a vast canyon, except with a large piece of land in its center.
This doesn’t bode well. We will all be stuck together on that small landmass and forced to fight each other to the death, or fight each other to cross one of the bridges to get back to the mainland. Otherwise, there is no way out.
It is a cruel set up for an arena. All your opponents have to do is push you off the edge, and you’re dead. It leaves no room for error. None at all. And I don’t like heights.
Not to mention, no one’s given us any weapons. What is it they’ll expect us to do: fight to the death with our bare hands?
I gulp, worrying for Bree, for Logan, for Ben, even for Charlie. I’m not worried for Flo. Somehow, I feel she’s invincible.
The suspense builds as we are marched closer, and the crowd roars louder. As we get within feet of it, approach one of the bridges, a narrow rope bridge only a few feet wide, I can see over the edge. The drop-off is dizzying, at least a hundred feet. One slip will mean instant death.
“
Brooke, I’m scared,” Bree says beside me. She is looking out over the edge, and I grab her by the shoulder and pull her close.
“
Don’t look,” I say. “Just follow me. Stay close. You’ll be okay.”
A slaverunner prods me hard in the back, making me stumble, and this time, I’ve had enough: my reflexes kick in and I wheel around and shove him back. Immediately, another slaverunner steps up and backhands me hard across the face, then a third one shoves me again. I get the picture. I stop resisting, and continue forward with the others.
“
You’re wasting your energy,” Flo chides.
She’s right. I need to focus. I continue with the others, like sheep, as they prod us all onto one of the rope bridges. It sags and sways as they do, and I find myself grabbing on to the rope railing.
The crowd cheers as we all step foot on the bridge, herded towards the land mass in the center. I try not to look over the edge as the rope swings; it feels too flimsy to hold us. I reach down and hold Bree’s hand, and she dutifully holds my hand and the railing. Logan is limping, and Ben, behind me, to his credit, helps prop him. It is big of him to overcome his jealousy to help him. It’s strange: only a few days ago, those two were rivals. Now, they are helping each other.
Behind us, Flo walks, so stable that she doesn’t even need to hold the railing. She reaches out with one hand and grabs the back of Charlie’s shirt, by the neck, guiding him. She reminds me of a wolf, holding a pup in its mouth. Her game face is on, wearing a steely look of death, and I fear for anyone who gets in her way.
I step onto the land mass with relief, happy to be off the flimsy bridge. We are all herded towards the center of it. It is wider here than I thought, spanning about fifty yards at its widest. But dozens and dozens of kids are herded onto it, and soon it gets crowded. Everyone naturally flocks towards the center, as far away from the edges as they can get. The slaverunners, finished, turn and march across the bridge, back to the mainland. As they do, the crowd cheers again. Now we are alone out here.
We all stand here, dozens of us, huddled together in the center of this land mass, all nervous, unsure what to do.
Just as I’m wondering what will happen next, the crowd quiets. A path parts in the mob, and a group of slaverunners comes forward, bearing on their shoulders a huge, golden throne, borne by rods. On the throne sits a single man, with long hair, falling down to his shoulders. A long scar runs from the corner of his lip to his chin, making him look like he’s scowling. He stands and holds out his arms: he is huge, muscular, wearing a sleeveless vest, even in this cold. He looks like a mountain. I can’t tell his ethnicity: maybe a cross between Native American and Hispanic. He’s one of the fiercest looking men I’ve ever seen.
As he stands, the thousands of mutants fall silent. It is obvious that he is the leader.
“
Brothers and sisters, I present to you our newest batch of contestants!” he bellows out in his low voice.
The crowd goes crazy. They stand before a metal railing, waist high, at the edge of the canyon, and bang on it. A loud noise rises up, and I see that each of them holds a rock, which they bang on the metal.
The leader holds up his arms again, and the crowd quiets.
“
There are two ways to victory, contestants,” he says to us. “One is to make it back to the mainland. If you can cross a bridge and come back here, you will be safe forever. The other, of course, is to be the last one standing.”
The crowd roars.
The kids around me all turn, looking at the bridges or summing each other up, jittery. It is like being in a corral of horses before a storm.
The leader throws his arms wide one last time:
“
Let the death games begin!”
The crowd, screaming, bangs its rocks on the rail.
I run through in my mind Flo’s words.
Stay away from the bridges. Stay close to the center. Nothing is what it seems.
Now I have a better idea of what she’s saying. But is it true advice? Or was she just lying to me to have an advantage?
Before I can figure it out, before I can strategize, suddenly, all hell breaks loose.
I feel something hard hit me on the side of my arm, and I wheel around to see that the hundreds of spectators are throwing rocks at us. Luckily, they’re far enough away that most of them miss. But a lot of rocks are landing close, and a second rock hits my leg. It hurts like hell.
Panic ensues. All around me, the dozens of kids gathered in the center begin to sprint for the bridges. They take off in all four directions, for the four equally spaced bridges around the circle, and I spot Bree begin to run with them. I reach out and grab her.
“
No,” I say. “Stay here.”
I can see on Ben’s face that he wants to run for it, too.
“
But you heard him!” Ben says frantically. “We have to make it to the mainland. We have to beat the others!”
“
No!” I yell back. I look over and see Flo standing still in the center, holding Charlie by the shoulders. I hope she knows what she’s doing.
“
But the rocks!” Logan yells, dodging one that narrowly misses his head.
Before I can respond, suddenly, I’m tackled hard from behind, and find my face planting on the ground.
I spin over to find one of the teenagers on top of me. He holds a rock up high over his head, a large, sharp rock, and begins to bring it down for my face. It is the boy from last night. The one that wanted to sleep with Bree.
He has me pinned down, and I can’t react in time. I flinch, as he brings it down.
Suddenly, right before he kills me, he stops in midair. His eyes open wide, frozen, and he collapses, limp, to the side.
I look over, and see a sharp rock jutting out the back of his neck, blood oozing from it.
I look up, and see Flo standing over him, scowling down.
“
Now we’re even,” she snaps.
I can’t believe it: she has just saved my life.
All around me in the chaos, not only are kids running for the bridges, not only are rocks flying in every direction, but also a group of kids has decided on another strategy: to kill the others.
I see one kid grab another from behind, and hurl him over the edge of the cliff. I hear him scream as he goes flying over, shrieking to his death. This same kid is grabbed from behind by another, and hurled himself. With another shriek, he plummets.
On the far side of the circle, I see another kid attacking others from behind; he kicks one hard in the back and sends him over the edge.
Another kid grabs a rock and smashes another kid in the back of the head. He collapses.
Now I realize that Flo was right. Stay in the center. Far from the edge. It makes sense. But why not run for the bridge?
I look over and see Flo lying face first on the ground, holding Charlie down. Before I can figure out why, another rock whizzes by my head, and I turn and realize the crowd has circled around, found a place that is in closer range. Now, tons of rocks hurl by us.
“
Get down!” I scream at the others.
Bree is slow to react, so I reach out and grab her and pull her down in the dirt. It is lucky timing: a rock whizzes by where her head was moments ago. Logan grabs Ben and pulls him down, saving him, too, from a large rock aimed at his head.
I look up and see that one of the mercenary kids, having just hurled another kid off the cliff, turns and sets his sights on us, in the center. He charges, and I see he has his sights set on Bree.
I don’t wait. Even though rocks are whizzing overhead, I grab a large rock, stand, and charge him. I want to meet him mid-charge, before he gets anywhere near Bree. We charge each other, head on, and he swings his rock right for my face. I duck, and at the same time, smash my rock into his gut.
He drops to his knees and I smash his nose, breaking it. He collapses.
I feel footsteps charging me from behind, and realize, too late, that I left my back exposed. I turn just in time to see another one charging me and about to bring a rock down on the back of my head. I can’t react in time.
Suddenly, I hear a whizzing noise, and just as I prepare for the blow, instead I see the boy fall beside me. I look over and see Bree standing there, and realize she has thrown a rock with perfect aim, and hit him square in the head. It was a hell of a throw, and she saved my life. I’m impressed.
I run back over to Bree and hit the ground beside her.
The spectators cheer and scream, as they continue to throw rocks our way. Their scream morphs into an excited roar, and I look up and see the first group of kids has reached one of the bridges. A dozen of them stampede one of the rope bridges, all charging at once. They run across it single file. Soon they are halfway across, the bridge swaying wildly.
At the midway point, one of them gets the idea to attack the others; he grabs one kid from behind and throws him off the bridge. He plunges to his death, screaming. The bully grabs another one and tries to throw him—but this kid grabs the edge of the railing as he goes over, then reaches up and grabs the bully’s ankle and yanks him off with him. Together, the two of them go plunging down, screaming, to their deaths.