Arena One: Slaverunners

I pull her back and take her hand. “Let’s go,” I say, preparing to run.

“Wait!” Bree yells, stopping.

I stop and turn.

“We have to bring Rose, too!” Bree says.

The girl beside Bree looks up at us, so hopeless, so lost. It is odd, but she actually resembles Bree; with her long black hair and large brown eyes, the two of them could pass for sisters.

“Bree, I’m sorry, but we can’t. We don’t have time and – ”

“Rose is my friend!” Bree yells. “We can’t just leave her. We can’t!”

I look at Rose, and my heart wells up at the sight. I look at Logan who looks back disapprovingly – but with a look that says it’s my call.

Bringing Rose will slow us down. And it will be another mouth to feed. But Bree, for the first time in her life, is insistent – and standing here will only slow us down. Not to mention, Rose seems so sweet, and reminds me so much of Bree, and I can see how close they already are. And it is the right thing to do.

Against my better judgment, I say, “Okay.”

I run over to the unconscious girl, still tied to the bed, and use my knife to cut all four pieces of rope. Her hands and feet relax, plop down on the bed. She is still unconscious, and I can’t tell if she’s sick, drugged or dead. But I can’t deal with that now. At least now, she’s free.

The four of us burst out of the room, only to meet two guards charging us, reaching for their guns. I react quickly, shooting one in the head, while Logan shoots the other. The girls scream at the gunshots.

I grab Bree’s hand and Logan grabs Rose’s and we sprint down the stairs, taking them two at a time. A moment later we burst out of the house, into the blinding snow. Guards charge us from across the yard, and I only hope we can find a way off this island before we are completely overrun.

Thirty Two

I look around frantically, trying to figure some way out of here. I scan for vehicles, but don’t see any. Then I turn around completely, and find myself scanning the water, the shoreline. And that’s when I see it: right behind the Governor’s mansion, tied up to a solitary pier is a small, luxury powerboat. I’m sure it is reserved for the privileged few who use this island as their playground.

“There!” I say, pointing.

Logan sees it, too, and we sprint for the shoreline.

We run right up to the beautiful, shining motorboat, big enough to hold six people. It bobs wildly in the rough water and looks powerful, like a thing of luxury. I have a feeling that this boat was used by that fat, naked man. All the more vindication.

It is bobbing so wildly, I don’t want to risk Bree and Rose trying to board themselves, so I lift Bree in, while Logan takes care of Rose.

“Cut the rope!” Logan says, pointing.

A thick rope tethers the boat to a wooden pole, so I run over to it, extract my knife, and cut it. I run back to the boat where Logan is already standing inside, grasping the pier to keep it from floating away. He reaches out a hand and helps me down into it. I check over my shoulder and see a dozen slaverunners charging us. They are only twenty yards away, and closing in fast.

“I got them,” Logan says. “Take the wheel.”

I hurry over to the driver’s seat. Luckily, I’ve driven boats all my life. Logan shoves us off and takes a position at the back of the boat, kneeling and firing at the oncoming soldiers. They duck for cover, and it slows them down.

I look down, and my heart drops to see there are no keys in the ignition. I check the dash, then check the front seats frantically, my heart pounding. What will we do if they aren’t here?

I look over my shoulder and see the slaverunners are closer now, barely ten yards away.

“DRIVE!” Logan screams, over the sound of his gunfire.

I get an idea and check the glove compartment, hoping. My heart soars to find them. I insert the key into the ignition, turn it, and the engine roars to life. Black exhaust comes billowing out, and the gas gauge pops all the way. A full tank.

I hit the throttle and am jerked backwards as the boat takes off. I can hear the bodies falling behind me, and I look back to find that Bree, Rose and Logan were all knocked over by the torque, too. I guess I gunned it too hard – luckily, no one fell overboard.

We are also lucky because the slaverunners are at the shore’s edge, just ten feet away. I pulled out just in time. They fire back at us, and because everyone hit the deck, their bullets whiz over our heads. One of the bullets grazes the wood paneling, and another takes out my side view mirror.

“STAY DOWN!” Logan screams to the girls.

He takes a knee at the rear, pops up, and fires back. In the rearview I see him take out several of them.

I keep gunning it, pushing the engine with all it has, and within moments, we’re far away from the island. Fifty yards, then a hundred, then two hundred… Soon, we are safely out of range of their bullets. The slaverunners stand on shore helplessly, now just dots on the horizon, watching us tear away.

I can’t believe it. We are free.

* * *

As we pull away, deeper and deeper into the river, I know I should stay in the middle of the waterway, far from either shore, and head upriver, getting as far from the city as I can. But something inside stops me. Thoughts of Ben come rushing back, and I can’t let him go so easily. What if somehow he’s made it down to the Seaport? What if he was late?

I just can’t let it go. If by some chance he is there, I can’t just abandon him. I have to see. I have to know.

So instead of turning upriver, I point the boat straight for the opposite shore – back towards the Seaport. Within moments the Manhattan shoreline rushes at us, getting closer and closer. My heart pounds at the potential danger that could be waiting – any number of armed slaverunners waiting on shore to fire on us.

Logan realizes I’m going the wrong way, and suddenly comes running up beside me, frantic.

“Where are you going!?” he screams. “You’re heading back to the city!”

“I have to see something,” I say, “before we go.”

“See what!?”

“Ben,” I answer. “He might be there.”

Logan scowls.

“That’s crazy!” he says. “You’re bringing us right back into the hornet’s nest. You’re endangering us all! He had his chance. He wasn’t there!”

“I have to check,” I yell back. I am determined, and nothing will stop me. I realize that, in some ways, I’m just like my Mom.

Logan turns and sulks away, and I can feel how disapproving he is. I don’t blame him. But I have to do this. I know that if it was Ben, he’d come back and check for me, too.

Within moments the Seaport comes into view. We get closer, 300 yards…200…and then, as we reach a hundred yards out, I swear I spot someone, standing alone on the end of the pier. He’s looking out at the water, and my heart leaps.

It is Ben.

I can hardly believe it. He’s really there. He’s alive. He stands there, in the snow, up to his thighs, shivering. My heart drops to realize he is alone. That can only mean one thing: his brother didn’t make it.

We are close now, maybe twenty yards out, close enough that I can see the lines of sorrow etched into Ben’s face. In the distance, I see a caravan of slaverunner vehicles racing through the snow, heading right for the pier. There isn’t much time.