Arena One: Slaverunners

“To reach the Seaport, the pier for Governors Island, the buses have to go downtown, have to leave the walled area. The wall starts at 23

Street. South of that, it’s the wasteland. That’s where the Crazies live. Thousands of them. They attack every bus that goes through there. Most don’t even make it. That’s why they send lots of buses at once.”

My heart drops at his words.

“That’s why I’m telling you: leave with me in the morning. At least you’ll be safe. Your siblings are already a lost cause. At least you can survive.”

“I don’t care what the odds are,” I retort, my voice steely and determined. “I don’t care if I die trying. I’m going after my sister.”

“And I’m going after my brother,” Ben adds. I’m surprised by his determination, too.

Logan shakes his head.

“Suit yourself. You guys are on your own. I’m taking that boat at dawn and I’ll be long gone.”

“You’ll do what you have to do,” I say, with disgust. “Just like you always have.”

He sneers back at me, and I can see I’ve really hurt him. He turns away abruptly, crosses to the far side of the room, leans against the wall, and sits, sulking. He checks and cleans his pistol, not looking at me again, as if I no longer exist.

His sitting reminds me of the pain in my calf, of how exhausted I am. I go to the far wall, as far away from him as I can get, lean back against it, and sit, too. Ben comes over and sits beside me, his knees almost touching mine, but not quite. It feels good to have him there. He understands.

I can’t believe we are both sitting here right now, alive. I never would have imagined this. I was sure we were being marched off to our deaths earlier, and now I feel as if I’m being given a second chance at life.

I think of my sister, and Ben’s brother – and suddenly it strikes me that we will have to part ways, go to different parts of the city. The thought of it disturbs me. I look over and study him, as he sits there with his head down. He’s just not cut out to be a fighter. He won’t survive on his own. And somehow, I feel responsible.

“Come with me,” I suddenly say. “It will be safer that way. We’ll go downtown together, find my sister, and then find a way out of here.”

He shakes his head.

“I can’t leave my brother,” he says.

“Stop and think about it,” I say. “How will you ever find him? He’s crosstown somewhere, hundreds of feet below ground, in a mine. And if you do find him, how will you get out of there? At least we know where my sister is. At least we have a chance.”

“How will you get out after you find her?” he asks.

It is a good question, one for which I have no response.

I simply shake my head. “I’ll find a way,” I say.

“So will I,” he answers. But I can detect the uncertainty in this voice, as if he already knows that he won’t.

“Please, Ben,” I plead. “Come with me. We’ll get Bree and make it out of this. We’ll survive together.”

“I can say the same thing,” he says. “I can ask you to come with me. Why is your sister more important than my brother?”

It is a good point. He loves his brother as much as I love my sister. And I understand. There’s nothing I can say to that. The reality hits me that we will part ways at dawn. And I will probably never see him again.

“OK,” I say. “But promise me one thing, will you?”

He looks at me.

“When you’re done, head to the East River, make your way down to the pier at the South Street Seaport. Be there at dawn. I’ll be there. I’ll find a way. Meet me there, and we’ll find a way to make it out together.” I look at him. “Promise me,” I command.

He studies me, and I can see him thinking.

“What makes you so sure you’ll even make it downtown, to the Seaport?” he asks. “Past all the Crazies?”

“If I don’t,” I say, “that means I’m dead. And I don’t plan on dying. Not after everything I’ve been through. Not while Bree’s alive.”

I can hear the determination in my own voice, and I barely recognize it – it sounds as if a stranger is speaking through me.

“That’s our meeting place,” I insist. “Be there. Promise me.”

Finally, he nods.

“Okay,” he says. “Fine. If I’m alive, I’ll be there. At dawn. But if I’m not, that means I’m dead. And don’t wait for me. Do you promise? I don’t want you waiting for me,” he insists. “Promise me.”

Finally, I say, “I promise.”

He reaches out his frail hand towards me. I slowly take it in mine.

We sit there, holding hands, our fingers intertwined, and I realize it is the first time I’ve held his hand – really held his hand. The skin is so soft, and it feels good to hold it. Despite myself, I feel small butterflies.

We sit there, our backs to the wall, beside each other in the dim room, holding hands for I don’t know how long. We both look away, neither of us saying a word, each lost in our own world. But our hands never part, and as I sit there, falling asleep, I can’t help but wonder if this is the last time I’ll see him alive.

Twenty Three

I open my eyes as a rough hand shoves my shoulder.

“LET’S GO!” comes an urgent whisper.

I open my eyes with a jolt, disoriented, unsure if I’m awake or asleep. I look all around, trying to get my bearings, and see grey, pre-dawn daylight filtering in through the window. Daybreak. I’ve fallen asleep sitting on the floor, my head resting on Ben’s shoulder. Logan wakes him roughly, too.

I jump into action, scurrying to my feet. As I do, the pain in my calf is excruciating, exploding in my leg.

“We’re losing time!” Logan snaps. “Move! Both of you! I’m leaving. If you want to follow me out, now’s your chance!”

Logan hurries to the door and leans his ear against it. I feel a rush of adrenaline as I cross the room, Ben now awake and beside me, and take a position behind Logan. We listen. All seems quiet outside. There are no more footsteps, no shouts or jeers…nothing. I wonder how many hours have passed. It sounds like everyone has disappeared.

Logan seems satisfied, too. Holding his gun in one hand, he slowly reaches out with his free hand, unlocks the door, and checks to see if we’re ready. He gently pulls open the door.

Logan cautiously steps outside, rounds the corner sharply, ready to shoot.

He gestures for us to follow, and I come out and I see the corridors are empty.

“Move!” he whispers frantically.

He runs down the corridor and I run behind him for all I’m worth. Every step is a small explosion of pain in my calf. I can’t help looking down at it, and as I do, I wish I hadn’t: it’s now swelled up to the size of a baseball. It’s also bright red, and I worry it’s infected. All my other muscles ache, too, from my ribs to my shoulder to my face – but it’s my calf that concerns me most. The others are just injuries; but if my calf is infected, I’ll need medicine. And fast.