marched out of the room.
As they prod us out of the room, this time we are led down a different tunnel. We’re all led to a huge steel door, and as it opens, to my surprise we enter a brightly-lit room, its walls lined with weapons. Hanging from the wall are swords, bows and arrows, shields, throwing knives, slingshots, spears, and all sorts of other weapons. I can’t understand what’s happening. I think of the damage I can do to the slaverunners with these, and feel as if I’ve walked into a candy store.
“ Choose!” barks a slaverunner.
Suddenly, the dozen or so new kids race through the room, scattering, each bee lining for a weapon.
“ It’s fighting day,” Flo says, and then hurries off to the wall. She goes for a large sword.
I hurry off with Logan and Charlie and Bree, and as we reach the wall, I prop Logan against it and hand him a big shield.
“ If you can’t fight, at least you can defend, right?” I ask him.
He nods weakly.
I grab a long spear and strap it to my back. Then I reach out and grab a long sword as well. While I’m at it, I see a nice throwing knife and grab that and attach it to my belt.
Beside me, Bree has chosen a slingshot. It is a good choice. She was always good with her hand-made slingshot, and this one comes with a bag of small rocks, and she ties it to her belt. Then, of course, she chooses the bow and arrow, which she is just as good at. Charlie chooses a strange medieval weapon: it is a long chain, with a handle on one end, and a metal ball on the other. Ben chooses a long sword, and nothing else.
Flo, holding her sword, turns towards me, and for a moment I feel what it would be like to face her. In some ways it would be like facing a mirror image of myself. It terrifies me.
A buzzer sounds and I look around the room and see the other kids are all well-armed. This doesn’t bode well.
“ Bree, Charlie,” I say. “Whatever happens out there, stay close to me, okay? Don’t go far off. This way I can look out for you.”
“ You don’t need to look after Charlie,” Flo chides. “I will.”
She’s territorial, and already has her game face on.
“ Just trying to help,” I say.
“ Look after your own,” she snaps back to me.
She has drawn a clear line in the sand.
“ Charlie, come over here, with me,” she commands.
Charlie looks back and forth between me and Flo, and seems reluctant to go to her. But slowly, he obeys, and walks over to Flo’s side.
I can’t help but feel as if we are now all adversaries. All fighting for survival.
*
We are marched down tunnel after tunnel for what feels like hours, entirely underground this time, passing red emergency lights every twenty feet. Rats scurry beneath my feet, and in the distance, I hear the muted rumbling of a train passing somewhere. I wonder how many trains passed through here today, how many slaves they are capturing from the countryside, to present to their games. It makes me sick.
I feel the winter wind whipping through, colder today, and I wonder when we will exit outside. Something is different today. This time, there is no end in sight to the tunnels. I don’t understand it. Are today’s games underground?
Logan is growing heavy as Ben and I carry him, and I can feel his life force leaving him. The idea of bringing him to these games, to compete with others, is crazy. He can barely stand.
I try once again to think strategy, to figure out a way we can all survive. But it is hard. We’re surrounded by a dozen armed kids, all set on killing us, and I don’t even know the playing field we’ll be on. Just keeping myself alive will be a challenge, much less keeping the others alive, too. I worry for Bree, more than anyone. I have to find a way to protect her.
A huge steel door retracts, and as it does, the tunnel fills with sunlight. There is the muted roar of a crowd, and we are prodded forward. I raise my eyes against the blinding light, trying to figure out where we are.
As I am shoved outside, the steel door closes behind us, the winter wind hits me in the face and the roar grows louder. I look all around, and see no one. I can’t figure out where it’s coming from. Then the crowd roars again, and I look straight up.
I realize we’re on the floor of a circular canyon, with steep cliffs rising straight up all around us, several hundred feet. At the very top, standing on the edge of the cliffs, behind a railing, are the spectators. They jeer down at us.
The walls rise straight up, for hundreds of feet, and I don’t see how we can ever get out of here. Then I realize: there is no way out this time. I look around and see the dozen kids, armed to the teeth, standing with us on the floor of the crater. They have put us all down here, with no escape, to make us fight to the death. But why down here? Why not up high, on the ground?
I survey this arena, the canyon walls, and have an ominous feeling. I can’t help but feel as if the slaverunners have some trick up their sleeve. I look up and about a hundred feet up, I notice thick ropes, dangling down from the top of the crater. But why do they stop midway? It doesn’t make any sense. How are we supposed to get up there to begin with?
Before I can figure it out, suddenly, a voice booms through the air. The crowd quiets, and I look up and see the leader, staring down, his arms open wide, a smug smile on his face.
“ Brothers and sisters!” he bellows. “I present to you the third and final day of Arena Two!”
The crowd screams out in response. He waits for it to quiet down.
“ Today’s objective is simple. There are eighteen of you down there. You will all kill each other. When there is one person standing, he or she will be the winner!”
The crowd roars at his words.
“ Let the games begin!”
Suddenly, I sense motion all around me. The dozen kids all turn on each other, and on us-and a brawl breaks out.
The crowd roars, loving it.
This arena brings out the worst in the kids. I see vicious expressions on their faces as they charge each other in every direction. I see one girl take her sword and stab a short boy in the back. He falls, stunned, the first casualty. The crowd roars.
I sense motion behind me and turn in time to spot an overweight girl charging me, bringing an axe down for my head. My survival instinct kicks in. At the last second, I swerve out of the way and swing my sword, chopping her ax handle in two. She goes flying past me with her broken handle, and as she does, I kick her hard in the back, sending her flying flat on her face.
The crowd cheers. She gets up with a snarl.
“ I don’t want to hurt you,” I say, trying to talk reason to her. It’s true. I don’t want to kill anyone. I just want to get us all out of here.
But she won’t listen to reason. She seems to think that the way to survive is to kill me.
She pulls a small knife from her waist and charges me, holding it high, screaming. I don’t wait. I take the small throwing knife from my waist, plant one foot, reach back, and throw it at her. As she charges me, just feet away, my knife lodges perfectly in her forehead. Her eyes open wide as she stops cold, and falls flat on her back, dead.
The crowd roars.
But I am caught off guard. Before I can react, another kid charges me from the side, swinging a huge sledgehammer. I dodge it, and it misses by a fraction of an inch. I feel its wind race past me, and realize that in another second, it would’ve crushed my ribs.
This boy is quick and strong, and without pausing, he brings the sledgehammer up around his head, and aims to bring it down on my shoulder. I can’t react fast enough, and realize that in another moment, he will break my arm.
A stone hits him in the side of the temple, and he staggers and falls sideways. I look over and see that Bree has used her slingshot. It was a perfect hit. Once again, she has saved my life.
