Arena One: Slaverunners

We burst into our apartment, and I ran straight to Mom’s room. She was sitting there, in her favorite chair, staring out the window, as she always did, waiting for Dad to return.

“We’re leaving,” I said, determined. “It’s too dangerous here now. Bree was almost killed. Look at her. She’s hysterical.”

Mom looked at Bree, then back to me, not saying a word.

“He’s not coming back,” I said. “Face it. He’s dead.”

Mom reached back and smacked me. I was stunned. I still remember the sting of it.

“Don’t you ever say that,” she snapped.

I narrowed my eyes, furious that she’d dare hit me. It is a hit that I will never forgive her for.

“Fine,” I seethed back to her. “You can live in your fantasy as long as you like. If you don’t want to come, you don’t have to. But we’re leaving. I’m heading to the mountains, and I’m taking Bree.”

She snorted back derisively. “That’s ridiculous. The bridges are blocked.”

“I’ll take a boat,” I answer, prepared. “I know someone who will take us. He’s got a speed boat and he’ll take us up the Hudson.”

“And how can you afford that?” she asked me coldly.

I hesitated, feeling guilty. “I traded my gold watch.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “You mean Dad’s gold watch,” she snapped.

“He gave it to me,” I corrected. “And I’m sure he’d want to see me put it to good use.”

She looked away from me in disgust, staring back out the window.

“Don’t you get it?” I continued. “In a few more weeks, this city will be destroyed. It’s not safe here anymore. This is our last chance to get out.”

“And how’s your father going to feel when he comes home and finds us all gone? When he discovers that we have all abandoned him?”

I stared at Mom, incredulous. She was really lost in her fantasy.

“He left us,” I spat. “He volunteered for this stupid war. No one asked him to go. He’s not coming back. And this is exactly what he’d want us to do. He’d want us to survive. Not to sit around some stupid apartment waiting to die.”

Mom slowly turned and looked at me with her cold, steely-gray eyes. She had that awful determination, that same awful determination that I have. Sometimes I hate myself for being so much like her. I could see in her eyes, at that moment, that she would never, ever, give in. She had gotten it into her head that waiting was the loyal thing to do. And once she got something into her head, there was no changing it.

But in my view, her loyalty was misplaced. She owed her loyalty to us. To her children. Not to a man who was more devoted to fighting than to us.

“If you want to leave your father, go ahead. I’m not going. When your plans fall through, and you don’t make it upriver, you can come back. I’ll be here.”

I didn’t wait a second longer. I grabbed Bree by the hand, turned and strutted with her to the door. Bree was crying, and I knew I had to get out of there quick. I stopped one last time before the door.

“You’re making a mistake,” I called out.

But she didn’t even bother to turn, to say goodbye. And I knew she never would.

I opened the door, then slammed it behind me.

And that was the last I ever saw Mom alive again.

THIRTY

I wake to blinding sunlight. It is as if the world is alive again. Sunlight streams in through the windows all around me, brighter than I’ve ever seen, bouncing off of everything. The wind has stopped. The storm is over. Snow melts off the window ledge, the sound of dripping water echoing all around me. There is a cracking noise, and a huge icicle crashes down onto the floor.

I look around, disoriented, and realize I’m still lying on the floor, in the same place I was last night, Logan’s coat draped over me. I feel completely rejuvenated.

Suddenly, I remember, and sit up with a shock. Dawn. We had to get up at dawn. The site of the bright morning light suddenly terrifies me, as I look over and see Logan lying there, right beside me, eyes closed. He is fast asleep. My heart stops. We have overslept.

I scramble to my feet, feeling energetic for the first time, and roughly shake his shoulder.

“LOGAN!” I say urgently.

Immediately, his eyes open, and he jumps to his feet. He looks around, alert.

“It’s morning!” I plead. “The boat. We’re going to miss it!”

His eyes open wide in surprise as he realizes.

We both jump into action, sprinting for the door. My leg still hurts, but I am pleasantly surprised to realize I can actually run on it. I race down the metal staircase, footsteps echoing, right behind Logan. I grip the rusted metal railing, careful to pass over steps that are rotting away.

We reach the ground floor and burst out of the building, into the blinding light of snow. It is a winter wonderland. I wade into the snow, up to my thighs, and it slows my running, each step a struggle. But I follow Logan’s tracks, and he plows through, making it easier.

I see the water up ahead and realize we are only a block away. To my great relief I see the barge docked at the pier, and can barely see its loading ramp being lifted, as the last of a group of chained girls is led on board. It looks as if the boat is about to leave.

I run harder, trudging through the snow as fast as I can go. As we reach the pier, still about a hundred yards away from the boat, the ramp is removed. I hear the roar of an engine, and a huge cloud of black exhaust exits from the back of the barge. My heart is pounding.

As we near the end of the pier, I suddenly think of Ben, of our promise to each other-to meet at the pier at dawn. As I run, I scan left and right, looking for any sign of him. But there is nothing. My heart sinks, as I realize that can only mean one thing: he didn’t make it.

We close in on the barge, hardly thirty yards away, when suddenly it begins to move. My heart starts to pound. We’re so close. Not now. Not now!

We are only twenty yards away, but the boat has departed from the pier. It is already about ten feet out into the water.

I increase my speed and am now running beside Logan, fighting my way through the thick snow. The barge is now a good fifteen feet off shore, and moving fast. Just too far to jump.

But I continue to sprint, right up to the very edge, and as I do, I suddenly spot thick ropes, dangling from the boat to the pier, slowly dragging off the edge.

The ropes stretch behind it, like a long tail.

“THE ROPES!” I scream.

Logan apparently has the same idea. Neither of us slows-instead, we keep sprinting, and as I reach the end, without thinking, I aim for a rope and leap.

I go flying through the air, hoping, praying. If I miss, it would be a long fall, at least thirty feet, and I would land in icy cold water, with no way back up. The water is so cold and the tides so strong, I’m sure I would die within seconds of impact.

As I fly through the air, reaching for the thick, knotted rope, I wonder if this could be my last moment on earth.

THIRTY-ONE

My heart leaps in my throat as I reach out for the thick, knotted twine. I catch hold of it in the air, clutching onto it for life. Like a pendulum, I swing on it, racing through the air at full speed towards the immense hull of the