Arena One: Slaverunners

He looks at me as if I were a thing of prey, and then, after what feels like forever, he surprises me by slowly breaking into a smile. It is more of a sneer, marred by the huge scar running along his cheek. He begins to laugh, deeper and deeper. It is the coldest sound I’ve ever heard, and it echoes in the dim room. He stares down at me with glistening eyes.

“So, you are the one,” he says finally. He voice is unnaturally gravelly and deep, as if it belongs to a hundred-year-old man.

I stare back, not knowing how to respond.

“You are the one that has wreaked such havoc among my men. You are the one that managed to chase us all the way into the city. Into MY city. New York is mine now. Did you know that?” he asks, his voice suddenly becoming sharp with fury, as his eyes bulge. His arms tremble as he clutches the chair. He looks like he’s just escaped from a mental hospital.

Again, I don’t know how to respond, so I remain silent.

He slowly shakes his head.

“A few others once tried – but no one has ever managed to cross into my city before. Or come all the way down to my home. You knew it would mean certain death. And yet still, you came.” He looks me up and down.

“I like you,” he concludes.

As he stares at me, summing me up, I feel more and more uncomfortable, bracing myself for whatever is to come.

“And look at you,” he continues. “Just a girl. A stupid, young girl. Not even big, or strong. With hardly any weapons to speak of. How can it be that you killed so many of my men?”

He shakes his head.

“It is because you have heart. That is what is valuable in this world. Yes, that is what is valuable.” He suddenly laughs. “Of course, you did not succeed, though. How could you? This is MY city!” he shrieks, his body shaking.

He sits there, trembling, for what feels like forever. My sense of apprehension deepens; clearly, my fate is the hands of a maniac.

Finally, he clears his throat.

“Your spirit is strong. Almost like mine. I admire it. It is enough to make me want to kill you quickly, instead of slowly.”

I swallow hard, not liking the sound of this.

“Yes,” he continues, staring. “I can see it in your eyes. A warrior’s spirit. Yes, you are just like me.”

I don’t know what he sees in me, but I pray that I am nothing like this man.

“It is rare to find someone like you. Few have managed to survive out there, all these years. Few have such spirit… So, instead of executing you now, as you deserve, I am going to reward you. I am going to offer you a great gift. The gift of free will. A choice.

“You can join us. Become one of us. A slaverunner. You will have every luxury you can imagine – more food than you can dream of. You will lead a division of slaverunners. You know your territory well. Those mountains. I can use you, yes. You will lead expeditions, capture all remaining survivors. You will help grow our army. And in return, you will live. And live in luxury.”

He stops, staring me down, as if waiting for a response.

Of course, the thought of this makes me sick. A slaverunner. I can’t think of anything I’d despise more. I open my mouth to respond, but at first my throat is so parched, nothing comes out. I clear my throat.

“And if I refuse?” I ask, the words coming out more softly than I want.

His eyes open wide in surprise.

“Refuse?” he echoes. “Then you will be put to death in the arena. You will die a vicious death, to all of our amusement. That is your other option.”

I think hard, wracking my brain, trying to buy more time. There is no way I will ever accept his proposition – but I need to try to think of a way out.

“And what about my sister?” I ask.

He leans back and smiles.

“If you join us, I will free her. She will be free to return to the wilderness. If you refuse, of course, she will be put to death, too.”

My heart pounds at the thought of it. Bree is still alive. Assuming he is telling the truth.

I think hard. Would Bree want me to become a slaverunner if it meant saving her life? She wouldn’t. Bree would never want to be the one responsible for my kidnapping other young girls and boys, taking their lives away. I would do anything to save her. But I have to draw the line here.

“You will have to put me to death,” I finally respond. “There is no way I would ever be a slaverunner.”

There is a murmur among the crowd, and the leader reaches up and slams his palm on the chair of his arm. The room immediately quiets.

He stands, scowling down at me.

“You will be put to death,” he snarls. “And I will I have a front row seat to watch it.”

Fourteen

I am marched back down the corridor, still handcuffed. As I go, I can’t help but wonder if I made the wrong decision. Not about giving up my life – but about giving up Bree’s. Should I have said yes for her sake?

By refusing, I have effectively given her a death sentence. I feel torn by remorse. But ultimately, I can’t help but think Bree would rather die, too, than see innocent people get hurt.

I feel numb as they shove me from behind, back down the corridor from which I came, and wonder what will become of me now. Are they marching me to the arena? What will it be like? And what will become of Bree? Will they really kill her? Have they already killed her? Will they put her into slavery? Or, worst of all, will she be forced to fight in the arena, too?

And then an even worse thought comes to mind: will she be forced to fight against me?

We turn the corner to find a group of slaverunners marching towards me, leading someone. I can’t believe it. It is Ben. My heart floods with relief. He is alive.

His broken nose is swollen, there are bruises under his eyes, blood drips from his lip, and he looks as if he’s been roughed up. He looks as weak and exhausted as I do. In fact, I hope I don’t look as bad as him. He, too, stumbles down the hall, and I assume they are taking him to see their leader. I assume he will get the same offer. I wonder what he will decide.

As we walk toward each other, only a few feet away, his head hangs low and he doesn’t even see me coming. He’s either too weak, or too demoralized, to even look up. It appears he has already accepted his fate.

“Ben!” I call out.

He lifts his head, just as our paths cross, and his eyes open wide with hope and excitement. He is clearly shocked to see me. Maybe he’s surprised I’m alive, too.

“Brooke!” he says. “Where are they taking you? Have you seen my brother?”

But before I can respond we are both shoved hard from behind. A slaverunner reaches over and clamps my mouth with his disgusting, smelly palm, muffling my words as I try to call out.

A door is opened, and I am pushed back into my cell. I stumble inside and the door is slammed behind me, the metal reverberating. I spin around and bang on the door, but it’s no use.

“Let me out!” I scream, banging. “LET ME OUT!”

I realize it is no use, but somehow, I can’t stop myself from screaming. I scream at the world, at these slaverunners, at Bree’s absence, at my life – and I don’t stop screaming until I don’t know how much later.