rusted barge. The metal flies at me, and I brace myself for impact.
It is excruciatingly painful as I hit it at full speed, the metal slamming into the side of my head, ribs, and shoulder. The pain and shock of impact is almost enough to make me drop the rope. I slip a few feet, but somehow manage to hang on.
I wrap my feet around it, before I slip all the way down to the water. I cling to it, dangling there, as the barge continues to move, gaining speed. I look over and see that Logan has managed to catch his and hang on, too. He dangles there, a few feet away.
I look down and see the rough waters a few feet below me, churning white as the barge cuts a path across the river. Those are big currents below, especially for a river, strong enough to lift this huge barge up and down.
I look over to my right and see the Statue of Liberty towering over us. Amazingly, it has survived intact. Seeing it, I feel inspired, feel as if maybe I can make it, too.
Luckily, Governors Island is close, barely a minute’s ride. I remember taking ferry rides there with Bree on hot summer days, and how amazed we were that it was so close. Now, I’m so grateful that it is: if it were any further, I don’t know if I’d be able to hang on. The wet rope digs into my freezing hands, making every second a struggle. I suddenly wonder how I will get out of this mess. There is no ladder on the side of the boat, and once we reach the island, there will be no way for me to get out except to drop down off the rope, into the water. Which would surely make me freeze to death.
I detect movement and look over and see that Logan is slowly climbing his way up the rope. He has devised an ingenious method of lifting his knees, clamping the insoles of his feet tightly against the thick rope, then using his legs to pull himself up.
I try it. I raise my knees and clamp my feet into the twine, and am happily surprised to see that my boot catches. I straighten my legs and pull myself up a notch, and am amazed to see it works. I do it again and again, following Logan, and within a minute, the time it takes to reach the island, I’m at the top of the rope. As I reach the top, Logan is there, waiting, hand outstretched. I reach up and grab it, and he pulls me quickly and silently over the edge.
We both crouch down, hiding behind a metal container, and furtively survey the boat. Standing up front, their backs to us, are a group of guards, holding machineguns. They herd a dozen young girls, direct them down a long ramp lowered from the boat. The sight makes me burn with indignation, and makes me want to attack them right now. But I force myself to wait, to stay disciplined. It would give me temporary satisfaction, but then I would never get Bree.
The group starts to move, chains rattling, until they are all off the ramp and on the island. When the boat is emptied, Logan and I nod to each other and silently make our way off the barge, running alongside the edge. We hurry down the ramp, a good deal behind everybody else. Luckily, no one is looking back for us.
In moments, we are on land, and we hurry through the snow and take shelter behind a small structure, hiding out of sight as we watch where the girls are being taken. The slaverunners head towards a large, circular brick structure which looks like a cross between an amphitheater and a prison. There are iron bars all around its perimeter.
We run out, following their trail, hiding behind a tree every twenty yards, running from tree to tree, careful not to be seen. I reach down and feel for my gun, in case I need to use it, and see Logan do the same. They might notice us at any moment, and we have to be ready. It would be a mistake to fire-it would draw too much attention, too soon. But if I need to, I will.
They herd the slaves into the open doorway of the building, and then disappear in the blackness.
We both break into action, running inside after them.
It takes my eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness. To my right, around the bend, a group of slaverunners leads the girls, while to my left, a single slaverunner heads solo down a corridor. Logan and I exchange a knowing glance, and both silently decide to go after the stray slaverunner.
We run silently down the corridor, just yards behind him, waiting for our chance. He reaches a large iron door, pulls out a set of keys, and begins to unlock it. The metal clangs, reverberating in the empty corridors. Before I can react, Logan pulls out a knife, charges the slaverunner, grabs him by the back of his head, and slices his throat in one quick motion. Blood spurts everywhere as he collapses, a lifeless heap on the ground below.
I grab his set of keys, still in the door, turn it, and pull back the heavy iron door. I hold it open and Logan runs in, and I follow.
We are in a cell block, long, narrow, semi-circular, filled with small cells. I run down it, looking left and right, scanning the faces of all the young girls. Their haunted, hollow faces stare back at me, hopeless, desperate. It looks like they’ve been here forever.
My heart is thumping. I look desperately for any sign of my sister. I feel she is close. As I run through, the girls go to their cell doors and stick their hands through. They must realize we’re not slaverunners.
“Please!” one cries. “Help me!”
“LET ME OUT OF HERE!” another cries.
Soon, a chorus of shouts and pleas rises up. It is drawing too much attention, and it worries me. I want to help each one of these girls, but there’s no way I can. Not now. I need to find Bree first.
“Bree!” I scream, desperate.
I increase my pace to a jog, running cell to cell.
“Bree? Can you hear me? It’S me! Brooke! Bree? Are you here!?”
As I race by a cell, a girl reaches out and grabs my arm, pulling me to her.
“I know where she is!” she says.
I stop and stare at her. Her face is as frantic as the others.
“Let me out of here, and I’ll tell you!” she says.
If I set her free, she might draw unwanted attention to us. Then again, she is my best bet.
I look at her cell number, then look down at the keys in my hand and find the number. I unlock it, and the girl comes running out.
“LET ME OUT, TOO!” another girl yells.
“Me too!”
All the girls start streaming.
I grab this girl by the shoulders.
“Where is she!?” I demand.
“She’s in the mansion. They took her this morning.”
“The mansion?” I ask.
“That’s where they take the new girls. To be broken in.”
“Broken in?” I ask, horrified.
“For sex,” she answers. “For the first time.”
My heart plummets at her words.
“Where?” I demand. “WHERE IS IT?”
“Follow me,” she says, and begins to run out.
I am about to follow her out, but suddenly I stop.
“Wait,” I say, grabbing her wrist.
I know I shouldn’t do this. I know I should just run out of here, focus on saving Bree. I know there’s no time, and I know that helping the others can only cause unwanted attention and screw up my plans.
But something inside me, a deep sense of indignation, stirs. I just can’t bring myself to leave them all here like this.
So, against my better judgment, I stop and turn back, running cell to cell. As I reach each one, I find the key and unlock it. One by one, I free all of the girls. They all come running out, hysterical, running every which way. The noise is deafening.
I run back to the first one I freed. Luckily, she is still waiting, with Logan.
She runs out and we follow her, racing down corridor after corridor. Moments later, we burst out into the blinding light of day.
As we run, I can hear the chorus of girls screaming behind us, bursting out to freedom. It will be only moments, I realize with apprehension, until all the soldiers catch onto us. I run faster.
