key ring in her mouth, lifts it off the hook, and races back with it. She runs and runs, slipping between the bars, the keys in her mouth.
Inside our cell, she drops them in Bree’s palm.
I can’t believe it. It worked. We are all thrilled and delighted. My heart floods with love and appreciation for the dog.
Bree hands me the ring, and it is heavy, filled with keys. I immediately flip through them, reach through the bars, and try each one. On the third one in, it turns with a loud, metallic click, and our cell door opens.
It worked. I can’t believe it worked.
We all hurry out the cell, Bree grabbing Penelope and holding her inside her jacket.
“ Charlie, it’s your turn. Which way?”
Charlie stands there, looking both ways, hesitating. Then, he turns right.
“ This way,” he says, taking off. We follow him, and soon we are all running down the hallways.
Charlie turns left and right, following the emergency lights, down different tunnels, turning again and again. I can barely keep up with him, and can hardly believe how he’s figured all this out.
I am beginning to worry if he knows where he’s going when, after several more turns, he comes to a stop before two yellow emergency lights. He goes to a black part of the wall, reaches out, and raps hard with his knuckles. A hollow sound comes back.
“ This is the door,” he says. “I’ve seen them use it. It goes outside. You ready?”
The four of us crowd around it, then I yank it open.
I can’t believe it. We are outside. He’s found it. Charlie was right.
We are outside the prison complex, at some sort of rear entrance. It is amazing to be out in the open sky again, free.
It is night time, and the sky is filled with thousands of stars. It is a cold winter night, the temperature dropping again, and we are out in the freezing elements. I still wear my uniform, as do the others, and it provides some protection, but barely enough to keep me warm.
Charlie points to the river in the distance. It glistens in the moonlight, and I see slaverunner motor boats, bobbing in the water. It is late, and they look unmanned.
We all break into a sprint, racing across the grass for the river, about a hundred yards away. The ground is iced over, and our footsteps crunch as we run. There are watchtowers all around us, but it is a dark, moonless night, and there are no slaverunners standing guard on this side of the complex.
As we reach the river’s edge, we head for a motorboat. It is a beautiful, new boat, and it sits there, anchored, no one standing guard. Of course, why would they? We are inside an army complex.
“ Let’s go,” I whisper urgently.
We jump into the boat. As we do, Ben immediately pulls the anchor.
My heart is pounding as I search for the key, then find it in the ignition. I make sure everyone is seated, then turn it, bracing myself.
It turns over. I hit the throttle, slow at first. I don’t want to make too much noise until we are beyond the perimeter of the city.
We are moving, and I look all around us as we go, looking for any sign of being followed. But there are none. It must be very late at night, and no one is watching. I look down and see a full tank of gas. I look around and see the tense faces on my fellow passengers.
I want to gun it, but I force myself to go slowly, just a few miles an hour, nearly drifting down the river in the dark night. On my right, in the distance, I can see the outline of the arena, of the stadiums, of all the different competing grounds. In the far distance, I see groups of slaverunners, standing guard. But they are far away, and their backs are to us. No one sees us, here in the river, slipping through. Or if they do, they probably just assume we are one of theirs.
As we get further, the river twists and turns. We are heading north, against the current. As far away from Manhattan as we can get. Towards Canada.
We continue on, twisting and turning, and when we get far enough where I think it’s safe, I hit the throttle. The engine roars and we gain real speed. We are now racing up this nameless river, going who knows where. I don’t care where. As long as it is far, far from here.
I can’t get Logan’s and Flo’s faces out of my mind. I feel they are looking down, watching us. And that they are smiling.
We have made it. We have survived.
T W E N T Y
I drive the boat all night long, standing at the wheel, while the others lie down, sleeping, as our boat bobs up and down on the currents. Every so often I can hear Charlie’s cries, and I have no doubt that he’s thinking of Flo. Bree leans cuddled with her arm around him, his head on her shoulder. The two of them are inseparable, and I think that if it weren’t for Bree, Charlie would be devastated right now.
I stare out at the blackness of the water, its foam racing past us as we go upriver-and all I see is Logan’s face. I see him in the water, drowning, reaching out for me. I see the whirlpool sucking him down. I see him asking for my help, and my being unable to give it. It tears me apart. Every time I close my eyes, I see his.
I feel that he is with me now, more than ever, that he is a part of me. I feel a burning desire to have him really here, with me, by my side. In some ways, it is the same burning ache I feel when I miss my dad. I want him here, too. To see everything I’ve accomplished. To be proud of me. To be a part of it all.
Ben, awake, walks up beside me and looks out at the water with me.
“ I’m sorry about Logan,” he says softly, looking straight ahead.
“ I am, too,” I answer.
“ I can’t believe we made it,” he says. “I was sure we were dead. That was good thinking back there.”
“ We haven’t made it yet,” I caution.
“ But we’ve been driving for hours,” he says. “No one’s following us. They have no idea. They won’t know until morning. And by the time they find out, we’ll be at least a day ahead of them.”
I shrug, thinking back to all the trials we’ve been through, and knowing that means nothing.
“ I’m not worried about them,” I say, thinking about it. “I’m more worried about what lays ahead.”
Ben searched the boat earlier, and found nothing-no food, no supplies, no weapons. We are all starving, exhausted, and freezing cold. And the further north we get, the colder it grows. The river is already freezing up in places. I look down at the gauge, and see we’re burning fuel fast. We can’t keep this up much longer. By sunrise, I estimate, will be completely out of gas, and once again, free-floating, at the mercy of whatever sick predators are out there.
I want to relax, to kick back and think that we found comfort, that everything’s going to be okay. But this time, I feel no security. Only a sense of anguish. Of needing to survive.
In some ways, Logan and Flo are the lucky ones. They’re out of the game. Now, they have no worries.
“ Well, we came this far,” Ben says, “and I’m proud of you.”
He leans in and kisses me on the cheek. It feels good, and I don’t want him to stop, or to go away. But he does. He quickly retreats, and I wonder if we will be close again. Like we were that night.
“ Want me to take the wheel?” he asks.
I shake my head no.
He nods, and goes back to his side of the boat.
As I stand there, staring out at the night, I wonder again how all of this will end. I think about that town, that mythical perfect town, somewhere north, in Canada. I guess that’s why I’m heading North, unconsciously-to fulfill Logan’s dream. To see if it’s all true. I know in my mind that it’s probably not. But I’ve finally learned something: we need to have hope. Without hope, we have nothing.
*
The sun rises, and I crack open my eyes. We are bobbing, free-floating in the water, our boat adrift in the middle of the Hudson. We are all huddled together, under a single thin blanket, lying down under the open sky.
