“ Will they put us in the same arena tomorrow?” I ask her.
She continues chewing on her hunk of salami, not looking my way, and doesn’t respond until she’s finished the whole thing. She takes a deep breath, and shakes her head, licking her fingers.
“ It’s always different. They have an infinite variety of arenas.”
“ Do you have any idea what will be next?” Bree asks.
Flo shakes her head.
“ All I know for sure is that tomorrow will be worse. They always up the ante. Always.”
“ Worse?” Bree asks, unbelieving.
I can hardly fathom it myself. How can anything be worse?
Another buzzer sounds, and on the far side of the cave, a steel door opens. I can’t believe the slaverunners would come back for us this quickly. Then I realize: they are not coming for us; they are bringing in fresh competition.
Dozens of kids are shoved into the room, fresh faces. The slaverunners poke and prod them, kicking and shoving them deeper into the room. Soon, the room fills up. The kids looked dazed and confused, probably the same way we looked when we arrived. Our competition for tomorrow.
I feel both relieved and stressed. Relieved, because the pressure won’t be on the six of us to fight each other; stressed, because we now have dozens of new competitors. I notice Flo is staring back at them, summing them up. Her hand rests on her knife, and she is clearly on edge.
Several of the kids look our way; they see our baskets, our food, and perhaps smell it, too. A few of the bigger teenage boys begin to amble their way over to us.
Immediately I stand, as does Flo, ready to face them, to protect what’s ours. They must realize that we are serious, because half way, they pause, as if deliberating.
“ Give us some of your food,” one of the boys, the largest, demands. He is cross-eyed, with a huge nose and thin lips. He must be at least six foot four.
“ Pry it out of my fingers,” Flo answers, her voice steel.
He stands there, uncertain, as he looks at his cohorts. I brace myself, preparing for a fight, but suddenly, another buzzer sounds and the ceiling opens. Buckets of slop come raining down, and all the kids turn and run for it. The new boy sneers at us, and then heads off with the others. But before he does, he points right at Flo and says, “I won’t forget.”
“ I hope you don’t,” Flo says back.
The boy turns to the pit and jockeys with the others for a spot. I notice he is particularly aggressive, throwing others out of his way as he dives face first into the mush.
Slowly, we relax and sit back down. I watch these new kids in wonder. Where do they come from?
“ Does it ever end?” I ask Flo.
She shakes her head.
“ There’s an endless supply of fresh meat out there,” she says. “But don’t worry-it will end soon for us. We’re lucky we made it through today. We won’t be so lucky tomorrow.”
“ There has to be a way out,” I say. “We need a plan. Something.”
“ We can’t continue on like this,” Ben adds. “We’ll be dead.”
“ We can escape,” Charlie pipes up.
“ Charlie, stop it,” Flo snaps.
“ Why stop?” I ask, sticking up for Charlie.
“ He knows a few tunnels,” Flo says. “What good will that do us? There’s a four foot thick steel door between us and getting out of this room. There are a dozen slaverunners outside, all with guns. It’s a waste of energy to think about it.”
She has a point. But at the same time, the thought of going back to the arena gives me a hopeless feeling.
“ What happens if they make us fight each other?” Charlie asks sadly, and looks at Bree.
It is the gorilla in the room.
“ We’re not here to make friends, Charlie,” Flo says. “We are here to survive. You understand me?”
It is a harsh response. But at the same time, I wonder if, deep down, Flo is just trying to convince herself.
I wonder more about Flo and Charlie, where they came from, their background. But she stands and walks away, to a far corner, obviously wanting nothing more to do with the conversation. She is a hard person to know.
I use the opportunity to look over at Logan, and see how he is doing.
“ You all right?” I ask. He doesn’t look good.
He slowly shakes his head. I look down at his leg, which is more swollen than before.
“ Can I look?” I ask.
He hesitates, then nods. I walk over and gently reach down and roll back his pants. I stop as I see the wound. It is worse. Much worse. It reminds me of the early stages of Rose’s wound, turning black at the edges. My heart sinks: the medicine didn’t do much good after all.
“ I know,” he says. He must see my expression. I wish I could hide it, but I can’t. I feel awful.
It is just like Logan, to sum up the entire situation with two words. He knows his hours are numbered. He knows there’s little more we can do. He knows there’s nothing more I can say. I sit beside him.
“ It’s not that bad,” I say, mustering my most confident voice. “You’ll make it through tomorrow. I’m sure of it.”
“ That makes one of us,” he says.
I want to distract him, to take his mind off of all of this. I notice Ben, sitting a few feet away, looking at me, and I feel that he wants to talk to me. But I can’t help feeling that Logan’s days are numbered, and I feel he needs me more.
I lower my voice as I turn to Logan, out of earshot of Ben.
“ Logan?” I ask softly.
He turns and looks at me.
“ You saved my life many times. You made me promise to hang on. I did it, for you. Now will you let me return the favor? Will you hang on? For me?”
He stares at me for a long time.
“ Why do you care so much?” he asks.
His question catches me off guard. I look away, thinking. I search my feelings, and try to figure out the right way to phrase it. I turn and look back to him.
“ Because you mean a lot to me,” I say. “Because I care about you. Because I would be devastated if anything happened to you.”
He looks into my eyes for a long time, as if searching to see if I’m telling the truth. It is easy for me to, because I am. I really do have feelings for Logan, too.
Finally, he nods, satisfied.
“ OK,” he says. “You got tomorrow. I promise you that. But you’ve got to find a way to get us out of here. You’ve got to.”
His words echo in my head, as he closes his eyes and turns away.
You’ve got to.
I awaken to the sound of a loud buzzer, a steel door opening, and the room flooded with light, and realize that I’ve fallen asleep. I was so tired, so physically exhausted, that I must have let my eyes close on me after eating.
Dozens of slaverunners march in and round up everyone. We already wear the uniforms, but they dole them out to the newbies and drag everyone to their feet. Slowly, I get to my feet, my body creaking and groaning in protest. All the others do as well, except Logan. He sits there, in a lot of pain, and I have to help him stand. This doesn’t bode well.
I make sure Bree is by my side as we are marched out of the room, down the now familiar tunnels. As we go I look in every direction for any signs of any escape routes, thinking about what Charlie said. As we pass deeper
