more relaxed than before, and I have a good feeling that the medicine helped. I won’t know until the morning.
At least it is warm in here, and we have been fed. Ironically, the slaverunners catching us probably saved our lives. I know that another day in the wilderness and we would have been dead for sure. Ironically, they’ve given us life. At least for now.
I look at Bree, curled up in my arms. I want so badly to protect her, to shield her from all this, to force the slaverunners to keep her out of it. But I know it’s useless. I rack my brain, thinking of what I can do. But I keep reaching dead ends.
I sit there for hours and hours, knowing I should sleep, knowing that I need rest for tomorrow. But I can’t. I try as hard as I can, and a few times, I feel my eyes getting heavy, my chin nodding-but then I immediately lapse into fast, troubled dreams, of dad, yelling at mom. And I wake quickly, on guard, finding nothing but blackness and silence.
As I stare into the blackness, I could swear I see my dad’s face, becoming more vivid, staring back at me. It is hard and firm, as it used to get when he was trying to make me tough.
“ Brooke, you’re a soldier,” he says. “Just like your dad. A Marine. You may not wear the uniform, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have a Marine’s heart. A Marine’s valor. It means you don’t give up. And if you die, you die. But you die like a Marine.”
It is as if I feel him right here, with me, in the room. In some strange way, it’s comforting. I feel less alone. For the first time in years, I miss him. I really miss him.
I hear you, dad, I say back in my head. And I love you.
F I F T E E N
I open my eyes to the sound of groaning metal. A steel door creaks open, light floods the room, and I realize I’ve fallen asleep. I jump to my feet, awake, alert, ready to fight.
I stand there and see that Flo is already on her feet, fists clenched, looking at our new guests. There, at the entrance, are dozens of slaverunners, wearing their face masks and each carrying a black uniform in their arms. They march into the room, and as they do, the dozens of kids slowly get to their feet in every direction. They all know what’s coming. The time has come.
A loud buzzer sounds, and whoever’s left sleeping gets to their feet. One slaverunner marches up to each kid, and several of them approach us. One marches right up to me, and shoves into my hands a black bundle of clothing. I look down at it, surprised.
“ Your uniform,” Charlie explains.
Flo, standing a few feet away, says, “Put it on. Over your clothes. If you don’t, they’ll beat you down.”
I hold mine up, wondering how one size fits all, then realize it is made of a flexible, spandex-like material. It is supposed to be tight.
They’ve handed me a set of pants, and a jacket. It is all black, and tight, except for the jacket, which is thickly padded, like a military uniform. he jacket has is a bright-yellow X across it. Like a target. This does not bode well. At least it will keep me warm.
I reach down and slide the pants on over my boots, over my pants, then put the shirt and jacket on and zip it up. Mine is tight and snug, and actually feels good. The thick padding hugs me, and I feel like a warrior going into battle. All around me, all the other kids put them on, too. The whole room, dressed in tight black uniforms with yellow Xs across our chests. We are all walking targets.
I make sure Bree does the same, and help Logan into his. I’m thrilled to see that Logan is better; the medicine worked. His skin color has returned, his eyes are bright, and he is able to get on his own feet. He hobbles, but not as badly.
“ Whatever you gave me worked,” he says to me. “Thank you.”
“ Thank Flo,” I say. “I didn’t do much.”
“ Thank you, Flo,” he says to her.
She turns and looks at him, unsmiling.
“ Don’t thank me yet,” Flo says. “You’ll be dead soon enough.”
Just like Flo. Refusing to drop her edge, even for a second.
A slaverunner gets behind me and prods me hard in the small of my back, making me stumble forward. All of us are prodded, and we begin to march for the exit. Finally, we are leaving this place. A part of me hopes I never return.
Bree, Ben, Logan, Charlie and Flo march beside me in the winding subway tunnels. The six of us make our way with the dozens of other kids through the cold and dark tunnels, our footsteps echoing. I feel like I am marching helplessly towards my fate. I wish there was something I could do. Anything. I need to think of a strategy, some sort of plan. I don’t want Bree separated for me. Or Ben. Or Logan.
“ Once we get out there, we should act like a team,” I say to everyone, including Charlie and Flo. “Stick together. No matter what. If anyone attacks us, we can watch each other’s backs. Bree, do you hear me? I want you close to me. By my side, no matter what.”
Bree looks up and nods, and I can see the fear in her eyes.
“ That won’t last,” Flo says. “You’ll see, once you’re out there. It won’t work. It’s every man for himself. I’m not watching after you guys. I’m watching after myself. And Charlie.”
Her eyes and jaw harden, defiant. I don’t know what to say.
“ Does that mean we’re enemies?” I ask her.
“ I like you,” she says. “All of you. But I’m out to win. To survive. Not for you to live. Not at my expense. And not at Charlie’s. I don’t want to kill you. And I owe you a favor. So I’ll give you one good piece of advice: stay away from me. Far away.”
We turn the corner, and before us, the tunnel floods with sunlight. An exit to outdoors. A cold wind slaps me in the face, and I hear the muted shouts of a mob.
I am shoved hard one last time and we all go stumbling out of the train tunnel, into the outdoors. I squint at the blinding light, and the cold stings my face. Still, it is good to be outside, to be out of that dark tunnel, and to have fresh air.
My senses are assaulted by so many things at once. The air is filled with the cheers and screams of what seems like thousands of people. I pry open my eyes and see we are on a wide, dirt road, and on either side, behind a fence guarded by slaverunners, stand hundreds of mob members, biovictims, jeering at us. They are dressed in rags, and their faces are mutilated. Mutants, grotesque people. They raise their fists and snarl, and the excitement in the air is palpable.
My heart is pounding in anticipation as we go. The slaverunners poke and prod, and one jabs me hard in my ribs with the butt of his gun. It is cold out, but not as cold as the day before. In fact, it is quite warm for a winter day. I’m thrilled to see that the snow has virtually melted, and at least my uniform is keeping me warm. I feel snug and secure in it, sheltered from the elements, and its hard plastic padding makes me feel invincible. I feel like wheeling around and cracking the slaverunner hard across the face, stealing his gun, mowing them down, and making a run for it.
But I know if I do that, Bree, Ben, Logan and the others won’t get far. I look around and see dozens of slaverunners trained on us, their guns at their hips. It would be a massacre.
We clear a small hill, and as we stand at the top, the vista is spread out before me. I see, in the distance, the arena to which we are being lead.
My heart stops at the daunting site: thousands of crowd members are spread out around a huge, circular canyon, cliffs dropping off hundreds of feet. The canyon is spanned by four rope bridges, spaced out evenly in the circle, and all leading to a small, circular piece of land in the canyon’s center. This round, circular stretch of land, maybe a hundred yards wide, is connected to the mainland only by the four rope bridges. Otherwise, there is a steep plummet off the edge.
The spectators cheer wildly at the site of us coming over the hill.
My throat goes dry as I realize where they’re taking us. They’re going to prod us over a bridge, onto that circular piece of land in the middle. Once we’re on it, there’ll be no way off without crossing one of those four
