I look over and see Flo lying face first on the ground, holding Charlie down. Before I can figure out why, another rock whizzes by my head, and I turn and realize the crowd has circled around, found a place that is in closer range. Now, tons of rocks hurl by us.
“ Get down!” I scream at the others.
Bree is slow to react, so I reach out and grab her and pull her down in the dirt. It is lucky timing: a rock whizzes by where her head was moments ago. Logan grabs Ben and pulls him down, saving him, too, from a large rock aimed at his head.
I look up and see that one of the mercenary kids, having just hurled another kid off the cliff, turns and sets his sights on us, in the center. He charges, and I see he has his sights set on Bree.
I don’t wait. Even though rocks are whizzing overhead, I grab a large rock, stand, and charge him. I want to meet him mid-charge, before he gets anywhere near Bree. We charge each other, head on, and he swings his rock right for my face. I duck, and at the same time, smash my rock into his gut.
He drops to his knees and I smash his nose, breaking it. He collapses.
I feel footsteps charging me from behind, and realize, too late, that I left my back exposed. I turn just in time to see another one charging me and about to bring a rock down on the back of my head. I can’t react in time.
Suddenly, I hear a whizzing noise, and just as I prepare for the blow, instead I see the boy fall beside me. I look over and see Bree standing there, and realize she has thrown a rock with perfect aim, and hit him square in the head. It was a hell of a throw, and she saved my life. I’m impressed.
I run back over to Bree and hit the ground beside her.
The spectators cheer and scream, as they continue to throw rocks our way. Their scream morphs into an excited roar, and I look up and see the first group of kids has reached one of the bridges. A dozen of them stampede one of the rope bridges, all charging at once. They run across it single file. Soon they are halfway across, the bridge swaying wildly.
At the midway point, one of them gets the idea to attack the others; he grabs one kid from behind and throws him off the bridge. He plunges to his death, screaming. The bully grabs another one and tries to throw him- but this kid grabs the edge of the railing as he goes over, then reaches up and grabs the bully’s ankle and yanks him off with him. Together, the two of them go plunging down, screaming, to their deaths.
The dozen or so kids left on the bridge continue to run across it, getting close to the other side, to freedom. The spectators throw rocks like crazy, now aiming at them. One kid gets hit so hard that he loses his balance and falls plunging off the bridge.
But the others are making good time, and it looks like they’re going to make it. I can’t believe it was that easy. Was Flo wrong? Should we have went with them?
Then, everything changes. The crowd parts way as a group of slaverunners marches up, holding torches. Without hesitating, they hurry forward and set the rope bridge on fire. They then hurl the torches to the far side of the bridge, setting it on fire from both sides.
In moments, the rope bridge, destabilized, on fire from all directions, swings erratically. It is horrific. There is nowhere for these kids to go. Flames rise in both directions, and some of the kids are already on fire themselves. They scream and yell, trying to get the fire out, running over each other. But it is useless.
One of them jumps off the bridge, choosing suicide. Others try to put out the flames, but suddenly, the bridge collapses. The 10 or so of them left go plunging, all in flames, all screeching, down to their deaths.
The crowd cheers like crazy.
Flo was right. Her advice saved our lives.
I look over at the other three bridges, and now I wonder. A dozen kids are already charging onto one of the other bridges. They race onto it, stumbling over themselves, seeing who can get there quick enough.
But as they are halfway across, something goes horribly wrong. The ground is slipping away where the bridge was attached to the landmass. Roots and dirt go crumbling, then suddenly, one of the two ropes snaps.
The bridge swings wildly side to side and the kids all screech as they try to hold on. A few of them fall off.
Then, the other rope snaps. The bridge, attached only by the far side, goes swinging wildly, heading towards the cliff wall. Whichever kids manage to hang on go flying at full speed, smacking right into the wall. It is a horrific sound of breaking bone.
They drop like flies, plunging to their deaths, no one left.
All that remains of the bridge is a long line of rope, attached at the far end, going straight down the cliff. The crowd roars.
I look over at the other two bridges and wonder what could be in store. As I watch, a dozen kids race onto it, running at full speed, trying to cross. But they have just witnessed what happened on the other two bridges, and now they’re not so sure-they hesitate, stopping halfway, debating whether to go back. Some of them rush forward, stampeding the others, while others try to run back.
On the mainland, suddenly, the crowd parts and two slaverunners step forward with huge machetes. They raise them high, the crowd egging them on, and the kids on the bridge open their eyes wide in fear. They turn and try to make it back.
But it’s too late: the slaverunners bring down their machetes, cut the ropes. The bridge plummets and swings. All the kids go hurling and screaming, plunging to their deaths as the rope smashes into the rock wall of the land mass.
I turn away from the grisly sight. Aside from our small group, huddled on the floor in the center of the land mass, I look around and see there are now only about fifty of us left. The others lie on the ground, too, some covering their heads, all doing our best to avoid the hurling rocks. We all look over at the remaining bridge. It is our only way out. But it looks too good to be true. None of us seem to want to try. It is just another cruel trick? Do they want to see us all dead? Is there really no other way out?
The crowd cheers, and I see a huge, satisfied smile on the face of their leader. I wish I could kill them all.
“ Is that bridge a trick?” I ask Flo, who’s lying a few feet away from me.
“ What do you think?” she snaps back, cynical.
Of course, I know the answer myself. It can’t be that easy. Or could it? Maybe it’s some sort of sick reverse psychology.
Apparently, several of the other kids have the same idea. They suddenly jump to their feet and race for the final bridge. There must be ten of them, brave souls. They race for it at full speed, one of them tackling the other from behind as they go, apparently still thinking that killing each other off is the way to go. Another punches the other, and one throws another off the cliff.
The others continue to run, hit the bridge single file, and I’m shocked as I see them race across it easily, making good time. There’s nothing wrong with this bridge, and I’m kicking myself now. It looks like they will make it. They were the brave ones, the ones willing to risk when others weren’t-and they are being rewarded for it.
Then, everything goes wrong. The kids are only feet away from the mainland, when they all stop. I can’t understand why; they stand there, frozen, as if glued to the bridge.
As I look closely, as I hear their screams, I realize what has happened: thousands of small blades popped up from the bridge, through their feet, through their hands on the railings. The kids are pierced with knives, blood gushing from them as they are literally stuck to the bridge. I am so grateful we didn’t go for it.
I swallow hard, and look around. There are only about forty of us left. All the bridges are gone, and the crowd is screaming like crazy.
“Kill! Kill!” the crowd chants at us.
I look at our opponents, and they look back. At the same time, it seems to dawn on everybody that the only way left is to kill each other.
A wild look starts to come on the faces of the survivors, as I see them getting ready, grabbing rocks, preparing to fight. Then, it happens. Seemingly all at once, the forty or so kids jump to their feet, and charge each other. The crowd goes wild.
I jump to my feet, sheltering Bree, as kids charge and hand-to-hand fighting erupts all around us. I watch Flo step up, take a rock, and smash a boy in the face right before he can hit Charlie. Then Charlie reaches down, grabs a rock, and chucks it at a tall boy racing towards Flo. It is a perfect strike, right between the legs, and the boy drops to his knees, groaning. In the distance, I see a boy pick up a girl over his head, race towards the edge, and
