only ones tied down, the new kids, thrown down on the floor.
As I watch, several of the other kids race forward towards us, and suddenly start kicking the teenage girl on the ground a few feet away from me. She cries out, as they kick her in every direction. Several kids get down and start rifling through her pockets, looking for whatever scraps they can find.
Just as I’m about to cry out in protest, I feel a kick, hard in my stomach. I look up and see a kid standing over me. I feel others rummaging through my pockets. Then I feel another kick.
I buckle like crazy, trying to break free, but my hands are bound tightly. I manage to swing around and with my free foot, kick one of them hard in the face: a scraggly boy, around 15. I connect hard on his jaw, and he goes down. But I immediately get another kick in my ribs. There are just too many of them.
I look over at Bree, and see, thankfully, that they haven’t reached her yet. But as I watch I see a boy ran up behind her, maybe 11, with sandy brown hair and green eyes. Even in this light, I can’t help noticing that he looks different than the others-noble, intelligent, kind. He is good looking, too, with freckles spread across his face.
So I’m surprised to see him pull out a knife, with that sweet angelic face of his, and aim it right at Bree’s exposed back.
“ BREE!” I scream out desperately.
As I watch, from several feet away, the boy lowers his knife and, to my surprise, slashes the ropes bounding her wrists. He is freeing her.
I feel another kick in my ribs, right before I see Bree yell to him: “Free her!” pointing at me.
The boy slips in between the others, and a moment later, I feel the knife cutting the ropes off my wrists.
That is all I need. A moment later, I jump to my feet and tackle the person in front of me hard, a 17-year-old, skinny boy. I drive him back several feet, and slam him down hard on the ground, knocking the wind out of him. I jump to my feet, spin around, and kick another boy hard in the face, knocking him out.
Then I spin again, like a wild woman, ready to face the others.
But now that I am freed, and have inflicted some damage, the others seem wary of me. Of the dozen or so, only one steps forward to challenge me. A boy, missing an eye, maybe 15, but wide and fat. He scowls as he charges, reaching up with his dirty palm to smack me across the face.
I dodge at the last second, and he goes world whizzing past me. As he does, I lean back and kick him hard in the small of the back. He goes flying forward, face first, and lands on his fat stomach. Not taking any chances, I run up behind him, and kick him hard between the legs while he’s down. He groans in pain, and stops moving.
I turn to face the others, but now, they are afraid. They all back off, starting to dissipate. I see that Logan and Ben are still tied down and I hurry over to them, looking for the boy that freed us. I don’t know who he is, where he went, or why he did it-but now I can’t find him. I stand over them protectively, and the other kids in the room back away.
I realize that these other kids are prisoners, just like us. I can’t understand why they’d welcome us like this.
“ They do this with all the newbies,” comes a voice.
I turn to see the boy standing there, holding the knife.
“ They’re just trying to raid you. To take what they can. And to test you. After all, you’re their competition. They want to show you who’s boss.”
“ Competition?” Bree asks, stepping forward.
I can see by the way she’s staring at this boy that she likes him. And I can see by the way he stares back that he likes her, too. He lowers his knife.
I hurry over to him. “Can I borrow that?” I ask.
He looks at me warily, reluctant to let his weapon go.
I gesture to Ben and Logan, still tied up on the ground. The boy turns, not wanting to give up his knife, and instead hurries over to them himself and cuts their ropes.
Ben quickly gains his feet; he is shaken, but not hurt badly. Logan, though, just turns over. I can see from the pain in his face that is unable to make his feet. His swollen leg looks worse.
It is warmer in here, much warmer than outside. With all the body heat in this room, and all the torches, it must be close to 60 in here. I welcome the reprieve; we need to thaw out. It’s not good for Logan’s leg, though. I can’t help but think of Rose, of how she ended up. I pray to God the same fate does not await Logan. It’s so strange to look at him now, lying there, so helpless-when just days ago he was our beacon of strength, the backbone of our mission.
“ Yes, your competition,” the boy continues, returning to Bree’s side. “Think you’re down here alone?”
“ Where’s here?” I ask. “Where are we?”
“ You’re in the cage, just like all of us. We’re the entertainment now. Tomorrow, the games begin. You’ll be in it, just like the rest of us. We’ll all die together.”
I turn and survey the room, look at all the faces. They’re all kids, teenagers, just like us. They’re all emaciated, survivors, rounded up from the countryside by the slaverunners. Some look sicker than others. Only a few of them are anywhere near fit. I realize with a sinking feeling that we are heading back into another arena, will soon be made to fight to the death. To kill one of the kids in this room.
I only spot one person who seems strong, and I’m surprised to see it’s a girl. About my age, my height-but with a more muscular build than me. In fact, she’s almost built like a bodybuilder. She wears tight, camouflage pants and a tattered green shirt, and for some reason she stands across the room, her back against a wall, and stares right at me with her big black eyes. It is a piercing, intense stare, and I wonder what I’ve done to get on her bad side. She looks like a formidable opponent.
“ Don’t be scared of her,” the boy says, catching my look. “That’s my sister.”
I turn look at the boy, and see no resemblance.
“ She’s just watching out for me.”
I turn and look down at the boy, and remember how he helped us. I’m so grateful.
“ Thank you for saving us,” I say.
He smiles back and shrugs. He is cute, innocent, with his freckles across his nose.
Brooke approaches him. “Yeah, thanks,” she echoes.
He turns and looks at her, and smiles back, seeming to be transfixed by her.
She looks away, and I could swear that I see her cheeks flush.
“ Want to introduce us to your sister?” I ask.
“ Sure,” he says.
There’s a sweetness to this boy, a happy-go-lucky attitude, that surprises me, as if he is unfazed by all of this.
As we turn and follow him, Ben and I dragging Logan. Bree hurries up and walks alongside him.
“ What’s your name?” he asks her.
Bree turns and looks at me, as if for permission, and I nod back.
“ Bree,” she says. “What’s yours?”
“ Charlie,” he says, holding out his hand.
Bree waits a moment, then shakes it.
“ Charlie,” she says. “That’s a funny name.”
“ Why?” he asks.
“ I don’t know, it just is.”
“ My sister is going to be mad,” he says to me, as we get closer. “I’m just warning you. She gets mad when I talk to people. Especially if I help them. She wants us to keep to ourselves.”
We get closer, and she comes into view, standing beneath a torch: she stands against a wall, arms crossed, and with her sleeveless shirt, I can see her huge muscles bulging in her shoulders and arms. She looks like a rock, like part of the wall itself. She’s a humorless person, with a warrior’s face. The opposite of her little brother. He was right: she is scowling.
“ Get over here,” she snaps at Charlie.
He hurries over, and stands at her side, facing us.
“ Your brother saved us,” I say to her. “Thank you.”
“ He should’ve let you die,” she says.
