was going. I’m sorry,” he says, and sounds genuine.
Ben suddenly marches for the door, his face red.
“Where are you going?” I ask, alarmed.
“To get my brother,” Ben snaps back, not even slowing.
Logan steps up and holds out an arm, blocking Ben’s way. Now that I look at them side by side, I see that Logan towers over Ben, a half a foot taller and twice as broad, with his huge, muscular shoulders. Beside him, Ben seems tiny. They are starkly different looking people, polar opposites: Logan is the all-American jock type, while Ben, thin, unshaven, with his longish hair and soulful eyes, is the sensitive-artist type. They couldn’t be more different. But they each share a strong will, a streak of defiance.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Logan says in his deep, authoritative voice.
Ben looks up at him, scowling.
“You walk out that door,” Logan continues, “and you give us away. Then we’ll all be dead.”
Ben’s shoulders relax, and I can see him relent.
“You want to find your brother,” Logan continues, “you can. But you need to wait till dawn, when we all bust out of here together. Just a few more hours. Then you can go to your death if you want.”
Ben slowly relents, then turns his back and resentfully crosses to our side of the room.
“What about Bree?” I say, my voice steely cold. I am afraid to ask it. But I need to know. “Where did they take her?”
Logan slowly shakes his head, avoiding my gaze.
“WHERE?” I press, stepping forward, my voice venomous. My heart is pounding with terror.
He clears his throat.
“The young girls,” he begins, “the ones who are too young for the arena…they ship them off to slavery,” he says. He looks up at me. “The sex trade.”
My heart rips in two. I want to run out the door, screaming, looking for her anywhere. But I know that would be futile. I need to know more. I feel my face redden, my entire body rise with heat, my fists clench with indignation.
“Where did they take her?” I press, my voice steely cold.
“They ship the sex slaves to Governors Island. They load them on buses and bus them downtown. Then they put them on a boat. The next bus leaves at dawn. Your sister will be on it.”
“Where are these buses?” I demand.
“Across the street,” he says. “34th and 8th. They leave from the old post office.”
Without thinking I march for the door, feeling the horrific pain in my leg as I go. Again, Logan holds out his arm and stops me. It is strong and muscular, like a wall.
“You have to wait, too,” he says. “Until daybreak. It would do you no good to look for her now. She’s not on the bus yet. They keep them underground until loading time, in a cell somewhere. I don’t even know where. I promise you. At dawn, they’ll bring them up and load them. If you want to go after her, that’s when you can do it.”
I stare into his eyes, scrutinizing them, and see the sincerity. Slowly, I relent, breathing deep to control myself.
“But you need to know it’s a lost cause,” he says. “You’ll never bust her out. She’ll be chained to a group of slaves, and these will be chained to an armored bus, and the bus will be flanked by dozens of soldiers and vehicles. You won’t be able to get anywhere near it. You’ll just end up killing yourself. “Not to mention,” he adds, “most of the buses don’t even make it through the wasteland.”
“The wasteland?” I press.
He clears his throat, reluctant.
“To reach the Seaport, the pier for Governors Island, the buses have to go downtown, have to leave the walled area. The wall starts at 23rd Street. South of that, it’s the wasteland. That’s where the crazies live. Thousands of them. They attack every bus that goes through there. Most don’t even make it. That’s why they send lots of buses at once.”
My heart drops at his words.
“That’s why I’m telling you: leave with me in the morning. At least you’ll be safe. Your siblings are already a lost cause. At least
“I don’t care what the odds are,” I retort, my voice steely and determined. “I don’t care if I die trying. I’m going after my sister.”
“And I’m going after my brother,” Ben adds. I’m surprised by his determination, too.
Logan shakes his head.
“Suit yourself. You guys are on your own. I’m taking that boat at dawn and I’ll be long gone.”
“You’ll do what you have to do,” I say, with disgust. “Just like you always have.”
He sneers back at me, and I can see I’ve really hurt him. He turns away abruptly, crosses to the far side of the room, and leans against the wall and sits, sulking. He checks and cleans his pistol, not looking at me again, as if I no longer exist.
His sitting reminds me of the pain in my calf, of how exhausted I am. I go to the far wall, as far away from him as I can get, and lean back against it and sit, too. Ben comes over and sits beside me, his knees almost touching mine, but not quite. It feels good to have him there. I feel as if he understands.
I can’t believe we are both sitting here right now, alive. I never would have imagined this. I was sure we were being marched off to our deaths earlier, and now I feel as if I’m being given a second chance at life.
I think of my sister, and his brother-and suddenly it strikes me that Ben and I will have to part ways, go to different parts of the city. The thought of it disturbs me. I look over and study him, as he sits there with his head down, and I see that he’s just not cut out to be a fighter. He won’t survive on his own. And somehow, I feel responsible.
“Come with me,” I suddenly say. “It will be safer that way. We’ll go downtown together, find my sister, and then find a way out of here.”
He shakes his head.
“I can’t leave my brother,” he says.
“Stop and think about it,” I say. “How will you ever find him? He’s crosstown somewhere, hundreds of feet below ground, in a mine. And if you do find him, how will you get out of there? At least we know where my sister is. At least we have a chance.”
“How will you get out after you find her?” he asks.
It is a good question, one for which I have no response.
I simply shake my head. “I’ll find a way,” I say.
“So will I,” he answers. But I can detect the uncertainty in this voice, as if he already knows that he won’t.
“Please, Ben,” I plead. “Come with me. We’ll get Bree and make it out of this. We’ll survive together.”
“I can say the same thing,” he says. “I can ask you to come with me. Why is your sister more important than my brother?”
It is a good point, one for which I have no response. He’s right. He loves his brother as much as I love my sister. And I understand. There’s nothing I can say to that. The reality hits me that we will part ways at dawn. And I will probably never see him again.
“OK,” I say. “But promise me one thing, will you?”
He looks at me.
“When you’re done, head to the East River, make your way down to the pier at the South Street Seaport. Be there at dawn. I’ll be there. I’ll find a way. Meet me there, and we’ll find a way to make it out together.” I look at him. “Promise me,” I command.
He studies me, and I can see him thinking.
“What makes you so sure you’ll even make it downtown, to the Seaport?” he asks. “Past all the crazies?”
“If I don’t,” I say, “that means I’m dead. And I don’t plan on dying. Not after everything I’ve been through. Not while Bree’s alive.”
I can hear the determination in my own voice, and I barely recognize it-it sounds as if a stranger is speaking
