imagine how they can possibly up them again tomorrow. I feel certain that tomorrow will be our last day.
A buzzer sounds, the ceiling opens, and this time they lower twelve baskets, these overflowing with food and goodies. While yesterday we all jumped up for them, now, we all look at each other, all too broken to jump up and get them.
Eventually, we struggle to our feet and march across the room. My legs feel like a thousand pounds each as I pick up my two baskets, along with Logan’s, and the others pick up theirs. We bring them back to the fire.
I am thrilled to see it is filled with goodies, foods, snacks and candies of all kinds. I can’t believe that the slaverunners have managed to find and keep such an abundance of good food in this day and age, with the rest of the world starving. The thought of it makes me sick: they have so much while others have so little.
While yesterday I devoured my food, today I move more slowly, as do the others. A part of me has lost my appetite. I open one candy bar and take a bite; it is delicious, and I revel in the sugar rush. But I don’t have the excitement of the day before.
I unwrap Logan’s candy bar and put it in his mouth, trying to get him to take a bite. But he won’t. I feel his forehead, how hot his fever has become, and grow increasingly worried. I wish there was something I could do.
“ Logan,” I say softly. “You have to eat. Please.”
Eyes closed, he shakes his head in agony. Eventually, he opens his eyes just a bit, just enough to look into mine.
He just stares at me, his eyes into mine, for what feels like the longest time. He doesn’t say anything, but in that stare, I feel him say things. Thank you. I love you. I’m sorry.
I want to say those things back to him, but I feel embarrassed, especially with others so close. I feel torn. On the one hand, I do have genuine feelings for Ben. Yet, I also have feelings for Logan, especially now, as I feel him leaving. I want to spend time with Ben, but I need to spend time with Logan.
I curl up beside Logan, hold his head in my lap, and gently brush his hair away, off his clammy forehead. I decide I need to distract him, to tell him a story.
“ Once, when I was young, before the war, my dad took me hunting,” I begin. I figure this is a story that Logan would like.
He perks up the slightest bit and I know he’s interested. Encouraged, I continue.
“ He gave me this huge, oversized rifle, and I was terrified to use it. We walked for hours, deep into the woods, looking all day for anything to kill. I really didn’t want to be there. But I wanted to make him happy.
“ Around sunset, I noticed this weird look in his eyes, a look I had never seen before. It was something like confusion. Maybe fear. He was always so confident, so in control, I didn’t understand what was happening. That look, to me, was scarier than anything.
“ I asked him what was wrong, and he finally admitted he was lost. He didn’t know the way back. Now we were deep into the woods, and it was getting dark. I was terrified. I asked him what we were going to do. He said we were going to find a tree, go to sleep, and in the morning, find our way out.
“ That terrified me more than anything, and I started to cry. He yelled at me, told me to be tough, that things could be worse. After a while I stopped crying and sat down next to him, against the tree. We sat there like that, silent, both of us against the same tree, all night long.
“ The crazy thing was, he didn’t say another word to me, all night long. As if he didn’t have a single thing to say to his own daughter.
“ I thought about that night for years, and for so many years I was mad at him. But now, looking back, I’m not mad anymore. Because now I realize that, for him, silence was speech. That was his way of being with me. He was telling me he loved me, in his own way. He just couldn’t use his words.”
I turn and look down at Logan, and he looks up at me, eyes open.
“ In some ways, he reminds me of you,” I say, nervous to say it.
Logan opens his eyes wide with one final effort, and looks up into mine. I see a slight smile at the corner of his lips, and I realize he liked the story.
Logan doesn’t say anything to me either, but he slowly nods, and I can see the love in his eyes. In that moment, I can see he is just like my dad. He is talking to me. Even if he can’t say the words.
It is late into the night, I don’t know how late, and we are all sitting up, except for Logan, awake around the fire. After today’s events, none of us can sleep. We all stare wide-eyed into the flames, each lost in our own world, each of us staring death in the face.
Hours ago, dozens of new recruits were thrown into the room. These new kids keep to themselves, on the far side of the cave, content with the slop dropped down for them. No one tries to come our way, which is just as well, because I don’t know if I’d have the energy left to fight them off. Not that I even care about my food at this point. But I am curious as to why there are so few kids this time.
“ Stragglers,” Flo says. I look over and see she is watching them, too. She has an uncanny way of reading my mind. “It was slim pickings today for the slaverunners. That’s bad news for us.”
“ Why?”
“ They need to keep the games exciting for their crowd. When they don’t have a lot of kids, they have no choice but to pit us directly against each other.”
Instinctively, I feel that she’s right. And it makes my heart drop. I can’t stand the thought of it. I can’t imagine being pitted against Bree, against Charlie, against Ben, against Flo. Against Logan. It is too cruel to even imagine.
“ Well we found a way to stick together through all this,” I say. “I think we can find a way tomorrow, too.”
Flo shrugs. “I’m not so sure,” she says.
I try to interpret her words, to understand her meaning. Is it a threat? Is she saying she’ll fight us? A part of me feels that she might. She’s a survivor, and she has Charlie to look out for. I can’t put anything past her.
We lapse into silence, all retreat back into our own worlds, our game faces on, as I think about tomorrow. I know that we can’t last another day. I have to come up with a plan. Something. I have to find us a way out of here.
I turn over all possible options in my mind, again and again, until my eyes grow heavy. I think of Charlie’s tunnels, obsessively, feeling that is the key. But I am not thinking clearly, and cannot come up with any answers. The solution is just beyond my grasp.
When the buzzer rings on the morning of the third day, this time, my eyes are already opened. Bleary-eyed, I’ve been awake all night, my mind racing with the possibilities, with ideas of how to get out. The steel door slides open, and in march dozens of slaverunners.
I don’t give them the dignity of dragging me to my feet, and instead stand before they can reach me. I walk over and wake the others, gently pulling Bree and Charlie to their feet. I see that Flo’s awake, too, already standing. Ben gets up with an effort.
The slaverunners are in front of us, and I go to Logan and shake him roughly. It takes him a while to even open his eyes. He does not look good.
“ Get up,” I say.
He shakes his head no. He looks like he’s half-alive.
A slaverunner hurries over and kicks him hard.
“ Let him be!” I scream.
The slaverunner shoves me, and I stumble back into the wall, hard. Flo steps up and punches the slaverunner across the face. I’m shocked, and touched by her sticking up for me.
But she pays the price dearly, backhanded hard by another slaverunner, the sound of his hand slapping her flesh echoing in the room.
She goes to attack, but I step forward and get between them, holding her back.
“ It’s OK, Flo,” I say to her, seeing the violence in her eyes and not wanting her to get hurt. “Let it go. Let’s just get him on his feet.”
I reach over with Flo and Ben and we all drag Logan to his feet. It’s like pulling up an old tree. He groans out in pain, and Ben and I each drape an arm around one of his shoulders, helping him hobble. The six of us are then
