He sits there, trembling, for what feels like forever. My sense of apprehension deepens; clearly, my fate is the hands of a maniac.
Finally, he clears his throat.
“Your spirit is strong. Almost like mine. I admire it. It is enough to make me want to kill you quickly, instead of slowly.”
I swallow hard, not liking the sound of this.
“Yes,” he continues, staring. “I can see it in your eyes. A warrior’s spirit. Yes, you are just like me.”
I don’t know what he sees in me, but I pray that I am nothing like this man.
“It is rare to find someone like you. Few have managed to survive out there, all these years. Few have such spirit…. So, instead of executing you now, as you deserve, I am going to reward you. I am going to offer you a great gift. The gift of free will. A choice.
“You can join us. Become one of us. A slaverunner. You will have every luxury you can imagine-more food than you can dream of. You will lead a division of slaverunners. You know your territory well. Those mountains. I can use you, yes. You will lead expeditions, capture all remaining survivors. You will help grow our army. And in return, you will live. And live in luxury.”
He stops, staring me down, as if waiting for a response.
Of course, the thought of this makes me sick. A slaverunner. I can’t think of anything I’d despise more. I open my mouth to respond, but at first my throat is so parched, nothing comes out. I clear my throat.
“And if I refuse?” I ask, the words coming out more softly than I want.
His eyes open wide in surprise.
“Refuse?” he echoes. “Then you will be put to death in the arena. You will die a vicious death, to all of our amusement. That is your other option.”
I think hard, wracking my brain, trying to buy more time. There is no way I will ever accept his proposition- but I need to try to think of a way out.
“And what about my sister?” I ask.
He leans back and smiles.
“If you join us, I will free her. She will be free to return to the wilderness. If you refuse, of course, she will be put to death, too.”
My heart pounds at the thought of it. So, that means that Bree is still alive. Assuming he is telling the truth.
I think hard. If my becoming a slaverunner would save Bree’s life, is that something she’d want me to do? She wouldn’t. Bree would never want to be the one responsible for my kidnapping other young girls and boys, taking their lives away. I would do anything to save her. But I have to draw the line here.
“You will have to put me to death,” I finally respond. “There is no way I would ever be a slaverunner.”
There is a murmur among the crowd, and the leader reaches up and slams his palm on the chair of his arm. The room immediately quiets.
He stands, scowling down at me.
“You
FOURTEEN
I am marched back down the corridor, still handcuffed. As I go, I can’t help but wonder if I made the wrong decision. Not about giving up my life-but about giving up Bree’s. Should I have said yes for her sake?
By refusing, I have effectively given her a death sentence. I feel torn by remorse. But ultimately, I still can’t help but think that Bree would rather die, too, than see innocent people get hurt.
I feel numb as they shove me from behind, back down the corridor from which I came, and wonder what will become of me now. Are they marching me to the arena? What will it be like? And what will become of Bree? Will they really kill her? Have they already killed her? Will they put her into slavery? Or, worst of all, will she be forced to fight in the arena, too?
And then an even worse thought come to mind: might she be forced to fight against me?
We turn the corner and I suddenly see a group of slaverunners marching towards me, leading someone. I can’t believe it. It is Ben. My heart floods with relief. He is alive.
His broken nose is swollen, there are bruises under his eyes, blood drips from his lip, and he looks as if he’s been roughed up. He looks as weak and exhausted as I do. In fact, I hope I don’t look as bad as he. He, too, stumbles down the hall, and I assume they are taking him to see their leader. I assume they will make him the same offer. I wonder what he will decide.
As we walk towards each other, only a few feet away, his head hangs low and he doesn’t even see me coming. He’s either too weak, or too demoralized, to even look up. It appears he has already accepted his fate.
“Ben!” I call out.
He lifts his head, just as our paths cross, and his eyes open wide with hope and excitement. He is clearly shocked to see me. Maybe he’s surprised I’m alive, too.
“Brooke!” he says. “Where are they taking you? Have you seen my brother?”
But before I can respond I am shoved hard from behind, and Ben is shoved, too. A slaverunner reaches over and clamps my mouth with his disgusting, smelly palm, and as I try to call out, my words are muffled.
A door is opened, and I am shoved back into my cell. I go stumbling in, and the door is slammed behind me, the metal reverberating. I spin around and bang on the door, but it’s no use.
“LET ME OUT!” I scream, banging. “LET ME OUT!”
I realize it is no use, but somehow, I can’t stop myself from screaming. I scream at the world, at these slaverunners, at Bree’s absence, at my life-and I don’t stop screaming until I don’t know how much later.
At some point I lose my voice, tire myself out. Finally, I find myself slumped on the floor, against the wall, curled up.
My screams turn to sobs, and eventually, I cry myself to sleep.
Time passes, I don’t know how much, and I drift in and out of sleep. I lie curled up on the metal floor, resting my head in my hands, but it is so uncomfortable, I twist and turn. I have fast, troubled dreams, and force myself to stay awake. My dreams are so disturbing-of Bree being whipped as a slave, of myself being tortured in an arena- that, as exhausted as I am, I’d rather be awake.
I force myself to sit up, and I sit there, staring into the darkness, holding my head in my hands. I will myself to focus of anything that might take me away from this place.
I find myself thinking about life before the war. I am still trying to piece together exactly why Dad left, when he did, and why he never came back for us. Why Bree and I left. Why Mom wouldn’t come with us. Why things changed so much overnight. If there is anything I could have done differently. It is like a puzzle I turn over and over again.
I find myself thinking back, to one day before the war began. The day when everything changed-for the second time.
It was a warm September day, and I was still living in Manhattan with Mom and Bree. Dad had been gone for over a year, and every day we waited for some sign of him. But there was nothing.
And while we all waited, day after day, the war grew worse. One day a blockade was declared; weeks later, they declared a conservation of water; then, food rations. Food lines became the norm. And from there things became even worse, as people grew desperate.
It became more and more dangerous to walk the streets of Manhattan. People started doing anything they could to survive, to find food and water, to hoard medicine. Looting became the norm, and order broke down more each day. I didn’t feel safe anymore. And more importantly, I didn’t feel Bree was safe, either.
My Mom clung to her denial; like most people, she kept insisting things would come back to normal soon.
