Arena One: Slaverunners

“But why?” I press. “Why are you doing this?”

He walks away, checking the lock on the door again. Then, his back to us, he murmurs, “Because I want out of here, too.”

I stand quietly, Ben on one side of me and the soldier on the other. I listen to the stampede of footsteps just outside the door, racing down the hall. The screaming and hollering seem to go on forever, as the angry mob sounds as if it’s alternately looking for us and beating each other up. I’ve opened Pandora’s box: it’s total mayhem outside that door. I pray no one else thinks to check in the recess of the wall – or if they do, that the lock holds.

My fear springs to life, as I hear a jiggling on the doorknob. The soldier slowly reaches out his gun, aims it at the door, and leans back. He hold it steady, leveling it at the door.

I stand there, trembling, sweat pouring down my back even though it’s cold in here. Whoever is out there keeps fiddling with the knob. If it opens, we’re finished. We might kill the first one, but the gunshot would alert the others, and the entire mob would find us. I hold my breath for what seems like forever, and finally the fiddling stops. I hear him turn and run away.

I breathe a sigh of relief. It was probably just a passerby, looking for shelter.

Slowly, the soldier relaxes, too. He lowers and holsters his gun.

“Who are you?” I ask, speaking in hushed tones for fear of being heard.

“Name’s Logan,” he says, not offering his hand.

“I’m Brooke and this is – ” I begin, but he cuts me off.

“I know,” he says, curtly. “All contestants are announced.”

Of course.

“You still haven’t answered my question,” I press. “I didn’t ask your name. I asked who you are.”

He looks back at me coldly, defiant.

“I’m one of them,” he says reluctantly. “Or, at least, I used to be.”

“A slaverunner?” Ben asks, his voice rising in surprise and disgust.

Logan shakes his head.

“No. A gamekeeper. I stood guard in the arena. I never went on slaverunning missions.”

“But that still puts you on their side,” I snap, and can hear the judgment in my voice. I know I should give him a break – after all, he just saved our lives. But still, I think of those people who took Bree, and it’s hard to feel any sympathy.

He shrugs. “Like I said, not anymore.”

I glare back at him.

“You don’t understand,” he says, by way of explanation. “Here, there are no options. Either you join them or you die. It’s that simple. I had no choice.”

“I would have chosen to die,” I say, defiantly.

He looks at me and in the dim light I see the intensity in his green eyes. I can’t help noticing, despite myself, how gorgeous they are. There is a nobility to him, a chivalrous quality I’ve never seen.

“Would you?” he asks. He looks me over. “Maybe you would,” he says finally. “Maybe you’re a better person than I. But I did what I had to in order to survive.”

He paces, crossing to the far side of the room.

“But like I said, none of that matters now,” he continues. “The past is the past. I’m getting out.”

I realize how judgmental I’m being and I feel bad. Maybe he’s right. Maybe if I was still living here, in the city, I would have joined them, too. I don’t know what pressures he was under.

“So what now?” I say. “You’re leaving them? Defecting?”

“I’m escaping,” he says. “I’ve had enough. Watching you fight – it did something to me. You had such spirit. I knew this was my moment, that I had to leave, even if I die trying.”

I hear the sincerity in his voice and know he speaks the truth. I’m surprised to hear that I’ve inspired him. I wasn’t trying to inspire anyone – just to stay alive. And I am grateful for his help.

But based on the number of feet I hear charging outside the door, it sounds like a lost cause anyway. I don’t see how we can ever get out of here.

“I know where there’s a boat,” he continues, as if reading my mind. “It’s docked on the west side, at 42

. It’s a small motor boat. They use it to patrol the Hudson. But the first patrol doesn’t leave until after dawn. If I get there at dawn, before them, I can steal it. Take it upriver.”

“To where?” I ask.

He looks back at me blankly.

“Where would you go?” I press.

He shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t care. Anywhere but here. As far as the river will take me, I guess.”

“You think you can survive the mountains?” Ben suddenly asks. I can hear an edge to his voice, something unfamiliar, something I haven’t heard before. If I didn’t know better, it sounds to me like possessiveness. Like jealousy.

Suddenly, my face flushes as I realize: Ben has feelings for me. He’s jealous of Logan.

Logan turns and stares Ben down coldly. “You managed to,” he says. “Why couldn’t I?”

“I’d hardly call what I did surviving,” Ben says. “It was more like a slow death.”

“It beats being here,” Logan says. “Besides, I’m not a defeatist. I’ll find a way to survive. I got weapons and ammo, and a few days’ food. That’s all I need. I’ll do whatever I have to.”

“I’m not a defeatist,” Ben retorts, annoyed.

Logan just shrugs.

“The boat’s meant for two,” he says, looking away from Ben, to me. It is clear from his gaze he only wants me to come. I wonder if he likes me, or if it’s just a guy thing, just plain old competition and jealousy for the sake of it. Logan must see the determination in my stare, because he adds, “But I guess, if it has to, it can hold three.”

He paces.

“I’ll help you guys escape. At dawn, you’ll follow me. We’ll take the boat up the Hudson. I’ll drop you back at your homes, wherever they are, then I’ll continue on my way.”

“I’m not going anywhere without Bree,” I say, firmly.

Logan turns and looks at me.