Arena 3. Morgan Rice
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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.
CHAPTER THREE
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.”
Finally, he drops my hand.
“I’m amazed by what you’ve done here,” I say to the Commander. “I’ve dreamt of a place like this ever since the war. But I never dared dream it was true.”
Ben nods in agreement, while Bree and Charlie seem completely entranced by the Commander, both gazing at him with wide eyes.
“I understand,” he says. “On some days it’s hard for me to take in, too.”
He takes a deep breath. Unlike General Reece, who is a bit on the bristly side, the Commander is warm and pleasant, which keeps me hopeful.
But now that the formalities are over, his tone changes, darkens. He gestures for us all to sit. We sit in our chairs, stiff-backed like kids in a principal’s office. He looks us over as he speaks. I can feel that he’s judging each of us, summing us up.
“I have a very serious decision to make,” he begins. “Regarding whether you can stay at Fort Noix.”
I nod solemnly as my hands twist in my lap.
“We’ve taken in outsiders before,” he continues, “particularly children, but we don’t do so as a matter of course. We’ve been tricked in the past by kids your age.”
“We’re not working for anyone,” I say, quickly. “We’re not spies or anything like that.”
He looks at me skeptically.
“Then tell me about the boat.”
It takes me a moment to understand, and then I realize: when we’d been rescued, we’d been traveling in a stolen slaverunner vessel. I realize that they must think we’re part of some kind of organization.
“We stole it,” I reply. “We used it to escape from Arena Two.”
The Commander regards me with suspicious eyes, like he doesn’t believe that we could have escaped from an arena.
“Did anyone follow you?” he asks. “If you escaped an arena and stole a boat from slaverunners, surely they’d be pursuing you?”
I think back to the time on the island in the Hudson, of the relentless game of cat and mouse we played with the slaverunners. But we’d managed to get away.
“There aren’t,” I say, confidently. “You have my word.”
He frowns.
“I need more than your word, Brooke,” the Commander contests. “The entire town would be in danger if someone had followed you.”
“The only proof I have is that I’ve been lying asleep in a hospital bed for days and no one’s come yet.”
The