ARENA THREE

(BOOK #3 OF
THE SURVIVAL TRILOGY)

MORGAN RICE

Morgan Rice

Morgan
Rice is the #1 bestselling and USA Today bestselling author of the epic fantasy
series THE SORCERER’S RING, comprising seventeen books; of the #1 bestselling
series THE VAMPIRE JOURNALS, comprising twelve books; of the #1 bestselling
series THE SURVIVAL TRILOGY, a post-apocalyptic thriller comprising two books
(and counting); of the epic fantasy series KINGS AND SORCERERS, comprising six
books; and of the new epic fantasy series OF CROWNS AND GLORY. Morgan’s books
are available in audio and print editions, and translations are available in
over 25 languages.

TURNED (Book #1 in the Vampire
Journals), ARENA
1 (Book #1 of the Survival Trilogy), A QUEST OF HEROES (Book #1 in the Sorcerer’s Ring)
and RISE OF THE DRAGONS (Kings and Sorcerers—Book #1)
are each available as a free download on Amazon!

Morgan
loves to hear from you, so please feel free to visit www.morganricebooks.com to join the email list, receive
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Select Acclaim for Morgan Rice

“Shades
of THE HUNGER GAMES permeate a story centered around two courageous teens
determined to buck all odds in an effort to regain their loved ones. But the
true strength in any story lies not so much in its setting and events as in how
the characters come across, come alive, and handle their lives--and it's here
that ARENA ONE begins to diverge from the predictable and enters the more
compelling realms of believability and strength….ARENA ONE builds a believable,
involving world and is recommended….for those who enjoy dystopian novels,
powerful female characters, and stories of uncommon courage.”

--Midwest
Book Review

D.
Donovan, eBook Reviewer

"I
will admit, before ARENA ONE, I had never read anything post-apocalyptic
before. I never thought it would be something I would enjoy….Well, I was very
pleasantly surprised at how addicting this book was. ARENA ONE was one of those
books that you read late into the night until your eyes start to cross because
you don't want to put it down….It is no secret that I love strong heroines in
the books I read….Brooke was tough, strong, un-relentless, and while there is
romance in the book, Brooke wasn't ruled by that....I would highly recommend
ARENA ONE.”

--Dallas
Examiner

Books by Morgan Rice

THE WAY OF STEEL

ONLY THE WORTHY (Book #1)

OF CROWNS AND GLORY

SLAVE, WARRIOR, QUEEN (Book #1)

KINGS AND SORCERERS

RISE OF THE DRAGONS (Book #1)

RISE OF THE VALIANT (Book #2)

THE WEIGHT OF HONOR (Book #3)

A FORGE OF VALOR (Book #4)

A REALM OF SHADOWS (Book #5)

NIGHT OF THE BOLD (Book #6)

THE SORCERER’S RING

A QUEST OF HEROES (Book #1)

A MARCH OF KINGS (Book #2)

A FATE OF DRAGONS (Book #3)

A CRY OF HONOR (Book #4)

A VOW OF GLORY (Book #5)

A CHARGE OF VALOR (Book #6)

A RITE OF SWORDS (Book #7)

A GRANT OF ARMS (Book #8)

A SKY OF SPELLS (Book #9)

A SEA OF SHIELDS (Book #10)

A REIGN OF STEEL (Book #11)

A LAND OF FIRE (Book #12)

A RULE OF QUEENS (Book #13)

AN OATH OF BROTHERS (Book #14)

A DREAM OF MORTALS (Book #15)

A JOUST OF KNIGHTS (Book #16)

THE GIFT OF BATTLE (Book #17)

THE SURVIVAL TRILOGY

ARENA ONE: SLAVERSUNNERS (Book
#1)

ARENA TWO (Book #2)

ARENA THREE (Book #3)

VAMPIRE, FALLEN

BEFORE DAWN (Book #1)

THE VAMPIRE JOURNALS

TURNED (Book #1)

LOVED (Book #2)

BETRAYED (Book #3)

DESTINED (Book #4)

DESIRED (Book #5)

BETROTHED (Book #6)

VOWED (Book #7)

FOUND (Book #8)

RESURRECTED (Book #9)

CRAVED (Book #10)

FATED (Book #11)

OBSESSED (Book #12)

Download Morgan Rice books now!

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Copyright
© 2016 by Morgan Rice

All
rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no
part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any
form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the
prior permission of the author.

This
ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be
re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book
with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If
you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for
your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for
respecting the hard work of this author.

This
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places,
events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are
used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is
entirely coincidental.

Jacket
image Copyright  Olivv., used under license from Shutterstock.com.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

EPILOGUE

PART
ONE

CHAPTER ONE

I thrash against the struggling current, lungs bursting,
desperate for air. I try to propel myself to the surface, kicking furiously,
treading for sunlight. I don’t know where I am or how I got here—but I know I
can’t breathe, and I can’t last much longer.

With one last kick I finally manage to break the surface. I
gasp, gulping the air, never having felt so dead—and so alive.

As I bob in a fast-moving river, I catch a glimpse of someone
standing on the bank, looking down at me. Before a wave crashes over my head, I
realize: my dad. He’s alive.

And he’s watching me.

His face is hard, though, too hard. No warmth is there—not
that he was ever warm to begin with.

I push up to the surface again, fighting the power of the
current.

“Dad!” I shout, fighting against the raging current. “Dad,
help me!”

I’m overwhelmed with joy to see him, but there’s no emotion
on his face at all. Finally, he locks his jaw.

“You can do better than that, soldier,” he barks. “I want to
see you fight!”

My heart constricts. I look around me, disoriented, and it’s
then that I see them: rows of spectators behind him. Biovictims with melted,
tumorous faces. They are braying for blood.

I recoil in horror as the crowd begins to chant.

“Fight! Fight! Fight!”

I suddenly realize: I’m in another arena, its floor made up
of water. It’s as if I’m in a giant fish bowl, with all the spectators high up
on bleachers, all chanting for my death.

My fighting instinct kicks in and I tread with all I have,
trying to stay above the surface. I scream soundlessly, no noise coming from my
mouth at all.

I suddenly feel an icy hand on my ankle beneath the surface,
trying to drag me down.

I look down and am stunned to see, beneath the clear waters,
a face I’d never thought I’d see again.

Logan.

He’s alive. How can it be?

He holds onto my ankle with a viselike grip. His eyes are
locked onto mine, boring into me as he pulls me deeper into the water, down
into the depths.

“Fight!” my dad screams.

The crowd joins in, and as I am dragged down, I can hear their
chants beneath the water, like a tribal drum pounding in my skull.

Panicking, I kick and writhe, trying to get away from the nightmare
that is unfolding before my eyes. The water makes everything seem to move in
slow motion, and I look down at Logan, his hand latched to my ankle and his
sorrowful gaze still fixed on me. He looks at me forlornly, as though realizing
that to hold onto me would be to kill me.

“I love you,” he says, his voice etched with pain.

Then he lets go, drifting away, and quickly disappears into
the black depths.

I scream so loud it wakes me up. I sit bolt upright, my heart
thudding so fast in my chest it feels like it could burst. I’m trembling all
over. I touch my body all over as though checking that it’s real. My skin is
clammy to the touch, and I’m drenched in a cold sweat.

Reeling from the horror of the dream, I wait a long while for
my heartbeat to slow. It’s only then that I realize I have no idea where I am.
I listen, immediately on guard, trying desperately to remember, and hear a soft
beeping noise in the background. I smell the stench of antiseptic in the air.

I look around me and discover that I’m in some kind of
hospital. Dawn is breaking, casting a pale red light on the clean walls, and as
I look around I see I am lying in a bed, a blanket over me and a pillow beneath
my head. I feel a tug on my arm and look down to see an IV, while a machine to
my left beeps in time to my heartbeat.

The entire scene seems unbelievable, a place so quiet, so
clean, so civilized. I feel as if I’ve gone back in time to the world before
the war. I can’t help but think I’m having another dream, and half expect it to
turn into another soul-crushing nightmare.

Cautiously, I get out of bed, surprised to find my legs
sturdy beneath me. I rub the puncture wound on my leg, from the snake bite I
got in Arena 1, now mostly healed. So this is real.

The IV is attached to a metal stand with wheels. I hold on to
it and pull it toward the window with me. I open the blinds, and as they inch
up, I take in the sight and gasp.

There, sprawled out before me, lies a perfectly preserved town. It
looks impossibly pristine, untouched by the war. All the buildings are intact,
their clean windows shining. There are no bombed out buildings, no rusting,
abandoned hulls of cars.

Then
my heart quickens as I see that there are people milling about, leaving
buildings that look like homes, heading down paved streets toward fields and
farmyards. They look carefree, clean, well fed, well dressed. I even see one
smile.

I blink several times, wondering if I am dreaming.

I am not.

A rush of hope hits me as I think of the rumored town in Canada, the one Charlie and Logan both believed existed. Have we made it here?

It’s then that I think of the others. I realize I am
completely alone in this hospital room. I spin around and of course see no sign
of Charlie or Ben, no sign of Bree.

Fear takes hold of me. I rush to the door and find it locked.
Panicking, I wonder if I’m a prisoner. Whoever put me here decided to lock me
in, which doesn’t bode well.

Just as I’m rattling the handle and pounding frantically
against the door, it swings open, and I stagger back as a small group of people enter.

They
wear strange uniforms, and there’s something militaristic about the way they
move as they swarm into my room with a brutal sort of efficiency.

“General
Reece,” a woman says, introducing herself as she raises her hand up in a
salute. I notice her Canadian accent. “And you are?” she demands.

“Brooke,”
I say. “Brooke Moore___.” My voice sounds startled and breathless, weaker than
I would have liked.

“Brooke,”
she repeats, nodding.

I
stand there, stunned, not knowing what is going on.

“Where
am I?” I say.

“Fort Noix,” she replies. “Quebec.”

I
can hardly breathe. It’s true. We really made it.

“How?”
I stammer. “How do you exist?”

General
Reece looks at me expressionlessly.

“We
are defectors from the American and Canadian armies. We left before the war,
because none of us wanted to be a part of it.”

I
can’t help but think bitterly of my dad, of the way he volunteered to join the
war before he was even called. Maybe if he’d been idealistic like General Reece
and the other soldiers here we’d never have gone through everything we did.
Maybe we’d all still be a family.

“We’ve
created a safe society here,” she continued. “We have farms to grow food,
reservoirs for water.”

I
can’t believe it. I sit back on my bed, overwhelmed, feeling relief wash over
me. I’d given up all hope of ever being safe, of ever living a life again where
I wouldn’t need to fight.

But
she isn’t about to give me time to bask in the moment.

“We
have some questions for you, Brooke,” she says. “It’s important that we know
where you heard about us and how you found us. Staying out of sight is paramount
to our survival. Do you understand?”

I
take a deep breath. Where do I even begin?

I
recount my story for the General and her troops, beginning with the Catskills,
the house Bree and I shared on the mountains, before going into the trauma of
the slaverunners. I tell her about escaping Arena 1, about rescuing the girls
who’d been taken to become sex slaves. She watches me with a grim expression as
my story unfolds, our capture and ordeal in Arena 2. The only thing I leave out
is Logan. It’s too painful to even say his name.

“Where
are my friends?” I demand when I’m finished. “My sister? Are they okay?”

She
nods.

“They’re
all fine. All recovering. We had to speak to each of you in turn, separately. I
hope you understand why.”

I
nod. I do. They had to make sure our stories corroborated, that we’re genuine
and not slaverunner spies. Suspicion is the only thing that keeps you alive.

“Can
I see them?” I ask.

She
puts her hands behind her back, a position I remember my dad adopting all the
time. It was called “at ease” even though it doesn’t look remotely relaxed.

“You
can,” she says in her clipped, emotionless voice. “But before I take you to
them I need you to pledge to never speak about what you see here to anyone.
Absolute secrecy is the only way Fort Noix can survive.”

I
nod.

“I
will,” I say.

“Good,”
she replies. “I must say I admire your bravery. Everything you’ve been through.
Your survival instinct.”

I
can’t help but feel a swell of pride. Even though my dad will never be able to
see me and tell me he is proud of my achievements, hearing this from the
General feels almost as good.

“So
I’m not a prisoner?” I say.

The
General shakes her head and opens the door for me. “You’re free to go.”

In
my thin hospital gown, I begin to take small steps down the corridor. General
Reece and her soldiers escort me, one wheeling the IV on my behalf.

Just
a few rooms down, the corridor opens up into a small dormitory. The first
person I see is Charlie, cross-legged upon a bed reading a book. He looks up,
and the second he realizes, his eyes fill with relief.

“Brooke,”
he says, discarding his book, standing from the bed and coming toward me.

Movement
from the other side of the dormitory catches my eye. Ben emerges into the
brightening dawn light. Tears glitter in his eyes. Beside him, I see the small
figure of Bree, with Penelope, her one-eyed Chihuahua, in her arms.

Bree
begins sobbing with joy.

I
can’t help myself. Tears spring into my eyes at the sight of them all.

The
four of us fall into an embrace. We made it. We really made it. After
everything we’ve been through, it’s finally all over.

As
I cling to Charlie, Bree, and Ben, I let my tears consume me, shedding them
cathartically, realizing this is the first time I’ve cried since the war began.
We’ve all got a lot of healing to do. For the first time, I think we’re going
to get the chance to mourn.

Because
we may have made it, but the others didn’t. Rose. Flo. Logan. Our tears aren’t
just from relief, but grief. Grief and guilt.

I
realize then that the horrible nightmare I had last night is just the
beginning. All of us have tortured, traumatized minds; all of us have endured
more than anyone should ever have to. In some ways, our journey hasn’t ended.

It’s
only just begun.

CHAPTER TWO

Our
embrace is interrupted by a gentle tap on my shoulder, and I pull back from the
others and turn to look behind me. General Reece is standing there stiffly. Her
expression reveals to me that our outpouring of emotion has made her feel
awkward. My dad was the same—he was always teaching me not to cry, to hold
everything in.

“Now
you’re all back together,” she says, “I’ll need to escort you to the Commander.
It’s up to him to make the final decision.”

“The
final decision about what?” I ask, confused.

Emotionlessly,
as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world, the General says: “To
decide if you can stay.”

My
stomach twists at her words, at the sudden realization that we might be forced
back out. I’d been an idiot to assume our staying at Fort Noix was automatic.
Of course we wouldn’t be accepted just like that.

Ben’s
hand reaches for my arm and squeezes and I realize he must be thinking the same
thing. Likewise, Bree grabs the fabric of my gown, twisting it anxiously into
her fist, while Charlie stares at me with wide, terrified eyes. Penelope whines
with anguish. None of us want to go back out there. None of us can leave this
place now that we’ve seen it. Even the thought of it is too cruel.

A
nurse, tending to someone on the far side of the dorm, looks over and scowls at
General Reece.

“My
patients are still weak,” she said, glancing at my IV line. “They need to be
allowed to rest for a few days. Sending them back out there like this would be
a death sentence.”

It
would be a death sentence in any state,
I think.

Almost
as soon as she says it, I become immediately aware of all the aches and pains
in my body. The adrenaline of finding myself alive and safe, of being reunited
with my friends and sister, has been the only thing carrying me this far; being
reminded of everything my body has gone through brings the pain flooding back.

“Then
they will die,” General Reece replies firmly, matter-of-factly. “The decision
lies with the Commander. I follow the Commander’s orders. You follow mine.”

The
nurse looks away, immediately obedient, and the General, without another word,
turns on her heel and marches out.

We
all look at each other anxiously and then, prodded by the soldiers, we follow
the General, flanked by her equally obedient soldiers.

It’s
difficult to walk down the corridor. There are aches in muscles I never knew I
had, and my bones seem to creak and grind as I walk. Sharp pains race through
my neck and spine, making me wince. Moreover, I’m absolutely famished. Yet I
don’t feel able to ask for food, worried that it may sway General Reece or the Commander,
make them think that we’re demanding or spoiled. If we want to survive, we need
to give off the best impression we possibly can.

Ben
keeps glancing at me with a worried expression, and I can see his anxiety, his
fear that we might be expelled from Fort Noix and left to fend for ourselves
all over again. I share his fear. I’m not sure any of us would survive that
again. It’s as if I’d been bracing myself all these years, steeling myself to
survive this world, knowing that no other option existed. But now, seeing all
this, seeing what is possible, the thought of going back to it is just too
much.

We
reach the end of the corridor, and as General Reece pushes open the two double
doors, morning light floods in so bright I have to blink.

As
my eyes adjust to the brightness, Fort Noix appears before me. It’s a fully
functioning town, filled with people and buildings, military trucks, bustle,
noise, and laughter. Laughter. I can’t even remember the last time I
heard that. I can hardly believe my eyes.

It
is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

The
General’s voice breaks through my reverie.

“This
way.”

We’re
led along a sidewalk, past groups of kids around Charlie and Bree’s age playing
in the streets.

“We
don’t have many children at Fort Noix,” the General tells us. “The ones that
are here are educated until the age of fourteen. Then we sort them according to
their abilities and assign them work.”

Bree
looks at the children with longing eyes: the prospect of four years of school
is beyond tempting for her. Nestled in her arms, Penelope immediately reads the
change in Bree’s emotion and licks her face.

“What
kind of work?” Charlie asks, curiously.

“All
forms of labor are needed to keep this fort operational. We have farmers,
fishermen, hunters, builders, tailors, and then we have more administrative
duties, like assigning rations, taking registers, and the like. We have
professionals, too: teachers, soldiers, doctors, and nurses.”

As
we’re led through the town, I find myself more and more impressed by what I
see. Fort Noix runs on solar power. All the buildings are only one story high,
so as not to be visible from afar or attract any attention. Most of them have grass
on their roofs—something the General explains is for both insulation and
camouflage—and tree branches covering them.

As
we stroll along, the sunlight grows warmer and brighter, and the General
explains the history of the place. It seemed to come about through a
combination of fate, chance, and a whole lot of luck. There were already a
number of military bases peppered along the powerful Richelieu River. Due to
its geographical location between New England and New France, the river had
been a key pathway in the French and Iroquois Wars in the seventeenth century
and, later, the French-English battles of the eighteenth century__. Because of
its rich military history, those who, like General Reece, opposed the brewing
American civil war were drawn to it, and helped turn it into a safe zone for
defectors.

The
second bit of luck was that the river flowed from the distant Green Mountains
bordering Vermont. When the war finally broke out in New York, the mountains
sheltered the fort from the winds carrying nuclear radiation. While the rest of
the population succumbed to the radiation and disease that resulted in the
biovictims, the military personnel hiding out in Fort Noix were protected. At
the same time, the good source of clean running water provided them with an
abundance of fish, so that when supply routes were blockaded, bridges blown,
and villages leveled, the people in the fort survived.

The
wars that had raged around these parts had another unlikely outcome. Since most
of the local towns were flattened, the surrounding forests had a chance to
grow. Soon, a thick barrier of evergreens surrounded Fort Noix, reducing its
chances of being found to virtually nil, while providing wood for fires and
game for hunting.

Once
the sound of bombs stopped and the fort’s residents knew the war was over, they
sent out scouts and quickly realized the human race had obliterated itself.
After that, they cut themselves off completely and set to work expanding the
fort into a town, and building civilization again from the ground up.

By
the time General Reece has finished her story, I’m in awe of her. Her calm and
military steeliness reminds me of my dad.

As
we walk, I can’t help but feel overwhelmed by every little detail. It’s been so
long since I’ve seen civilization. It’s like stepping back in time. Better,
even. It’s like stepping into a dream come true. The people milling around me
look healthy and well cared for. None of them have endured starvation. None of
them have had to fight to the death. They’re just normal people like the ones
who used to populate the earth. The thought makes a lump form in my throat. Is
it possible to start again?

I
can tell the others are as overwhelmed as I am. Bree and Charlie stay close
together, side by side, looking around with awe. They’re both clearly excited
and happy to be in Fort Noix, yet also anxious at the thought of it all potentially
being taken away from us.

Ben,
on the other hand, seems a little dazed. I can’t blame him. To step out of our
brutal world and into this one is beyond disorienting. He walks slowly, almost
as though in a trance, and his eyes glance furtively from side to side, trying
to take everything in. I realize as he walks that it’s more than just being
overwhelmed. It is like how my body could only reveal to me how exhausted it
was once I was safe. Ben’s mind, I’m sure, is revealing to him just how much he’s
been through: the death of his brother, fighting in the arena, every near-death
experience. I can almost see that his mind is preoccupied with thoughts as he sifts
through his memories. I have seen people suffer from post-traumatic stress, and
his face bears the same look as they’d had. I can’t help but hope that his
appearance doesn’t hamper our chances of being accepted here.

Soon,
we’re off the main street and walking down some smaller, winding roads that
lead through the forests. This time, it’s Charlie who starts hanging back,
trudging a little way behind the rest of us. I drop my pace and draw up beside
him.

“What’s
wrong?”

He
looks at me with terrified eyes.

“What
if this is a trap?” he says under his breath. “What if they’re taking us to
another arena?”

His
question makes me wonder whether I’m being too trusting. I think back to the
man who stole our supplies when we were on the run from the slaverunners. I’d
trusted him and I’d been wrong. But this time it’s different. There’s no way
Logan would have directed us toward danger.

I
put my arm around Charlie’s shoulder.

“We’re
safe now,” I explain. “You don’t have to be scared anymore.”

But
as we go, the canopy thickens above us, blocking out the daylight and making
dark shadows crowd in around us. Something about walking this long, dark path
reminds me of the arenas, of walking those corridors knowing that a horrible,
painful death was all that awaited me. I can feel my heart begin to hammer in
my chest.

The
sky gets darker and darker as we go. Bree must notice something is wrong,
because she snuggles into me.

“You’re
sweating,” she says.

“I
am?”

I
touch my brow and find that I’ve broken out in a cold sweat.

“Are
you okay?” Bree adds.

But
her voice sounds strange, distorted, like it’s coming from far, far away.

Suddenly,
there’s a hand on my arm, and I scream as I see Rose’s black, wizened hand
latching onto my arm. I lash out, pushing her away, scratching at her hand with
my fingernails.

Then
all at once the panic is gone. I come back to the present and realize that it
wasn’t Rose’s hand on me at all. It was Ben’s. He’s cradling it against his
chest, and deep scratches run along it. He looks at me with an expression of
pure anguish while Penelope yap-yap-yaps her distress. The soldiers around us
politely avert their gazes.

I
look down at Bree and Charlie, my heart hammering.

“I’m
sorry,” I stammer. “I thought… I just…”

But
my words disappear.

“Maybe
we should take you back to the hospital,” Ben suggests in a soft, persuasive
voice.

“I’m
fine,” I say, sternly, frowning at their worried expressions. “I thought I saw
something is all. It’s no big deal. Come on.”

I
stroll ahead, leading the pack, trying to gain back some sense of myself. I’m
not the sort of person who crumbles in the face of adversity and I’m not about
to become the sort who is haunted by the past.

Yet
as I continue to walk, I’m not so sure I can leave the past behind.

We
turn a bend, and I see it: the short, squat building that must contain the
Commander’s office. I brace myself, heart pounding, as we walk.

The
outcome of this meeting, I know, will determine if we live or die.

CHAPTER THREE

The
Commander’s building is buzzing with life. Military personnel march quickly by,
while others sit around conference tables looking at blueprints, discussing in
loud, confident voices the benefits of building a new granary store or
extending the wing of the hospital. It feels like a real unit, a team with a
purpose, and it feels good.

And
it makes me all the more nervous that we won’t be allowed to stay.

As
we pass along the corridors, I see a sprawling gymnasium, people training with
weapons, firing bows and arrows, sparring and wrestling. There are even little
kids being trained how to fight. The people of Fort Noix are clearly preparing
themselves for any kind of eventuality.

Finally,
we’re led into the Commander’s office. A charismatic man in his forties, he
stands and greets us each cordially by name, clearly already having been
briefed. Unlike the General, he doesn’t have a Canadian accent; in fact, he
surprises me with a strong South Carolina twang, which tells me he’s one of the
defectors from the American side of the opposition.

He
turns to me last.

“And
you must be Brooke Moore.” He cups his hand around mine and shakes, and the
warmth from his skin seeps into mine. “I must say I’m impressed by your experiences.
General Reece has filled me in on all you’ve endured. I know it’s been hard on
you. We don’t know much about the outside world. We keep to ourselves here.
Slaverunners, arenas—that’s a whole different world to what we’re used to. What
I’ve been told about you is really truly incredible. I’m humbled to meet you
all.”

Finally,
he drops my hand.

“I’m
amazed by what you’ve done here,” I say to the Commander. “I’ve dreamt of a place
like this ever since the war. But I never dared dream it was true.”

Ben
nods in agreement, while Bree and Charlie seem completely entranced by the
Commander, both gazing at him with wide eyes.

“I
understand,” he says. “On some days it’s hard for me to take in, too.”

He
takes a deep breath. Unlike General Reece, who is a bit on the bristly side,
the Commander is warm and pleasant, which keeps me hopeful.

But
now that the formalities are over, his tone changes, darkens. He gestures for
us all to sit. We sit in our chairs, stiff-backed like kids in a principal’s
office. He looks us over as he speaks. I can feel that he’s judging each of us,
summing us up.

“I
have a very serious decision to make,” he begins. “Regarding whether you can
stay at Fort Noix.”

I
nod solemnly as my hands twist in my lap.

“We’ve
taken in outsiders before,” he continues, “particularly children, but we don’t
do so as a matter of course. We’ve been tricked in the past by kids your age.”

“We’re
not working for anyone,” I say, quickly. “We’re not spies or anything like
that.”

He
looks at me skeptically.

“Then
tell me about the boat.”

It
takes me a moment to understand, and then I realize: when we’d been rescued, we’d
been traveling in a stolen slaverunner vessel. I realize that they must think
we’re part of some kind of organization.

“We
stole it,” I reply. “We used it to escape from Arena Two.”

The
Commander regards me with suspicious eyes, like he doesn’t believe that we
could have escaped from an arena.

“Did
anyone follow you?” he asks. “If you escaped an arena and stole a boat from
slaverunners, surely they’d be pursuing you?”

I
think back to the time on the island in the Hudson, of the relentless game of
cat and mouse we played with the slaverunners. But we’d managed to get away.

“There
aren’t,” I say, confidently. “You have my word.”

He
frowns.

“I
need more than your word, Brooke,” the Commander contests. “The entire town
would be in danger if someone had followed you.”

“The
only proof I have is that I’ve been lying asleep in a hospital bed for days and
no one’s come yet.”

The
Commander narrows his eyes, but my words seem to sink in. He folds his hands on
top of the table.

“I’d
like to know, in that case, why we should take you in. Why should we house you?
Feed you?”

“Because
it’s the right thing to do,” I say. “How else will we rebuild our civilization?
At some point we need to start taking care of each other again.”

My
words seem to anger him.

“This
is not a hotel,” he snaps. “There are no free meals here. Everyone chips in. If
we let you stay you’ll be expected to work. Fort Noix is only for people who
can contribute. Only for the tough. There is a graveyard out there filled with
those who couldn’t hack it here. No one here rests on their laurels. Fort Noix
is not just about surviving—we are training an army of survivors.”

I
can feel my fighting instinct kick in. I pull my hands into fists and thump
them on the table. “We can contribute. We’re not just weak children
looking for someone to take care of them. We’ve fought in arenas. We’ve killed
men, animals, and monsters. We have rescued people, kids. We are good people.
Strong people.”

“People
who are used to doing things their own way,” he contests. “How can I expect you
to alter to a life under military command? Rules keep us alive. Order is the
only thing stopping us from perishing like the others. We have a hierarchy. A
system. How will you hack being told what to do after so many years running wild?”

I
take a deep breath.

“Our
father was in the military,” I say. “Bree and I know exactly what it’s like.”

He
pauses, then eyes me with dark, beady eyes.

“Your
father was in the military?”

“Yes,”
I reply sternly, a little out of breath from my outpouring of anger.

The
Commander frowns, then shuffles some papers on his desk as though looking for
something. I see that it’s a list of our names. He taps mine over and over with
his fingertip then looks up and frowns.

“Moore,”
he says, saying my surname. Then he lights up.

“He’s
not Laurence Moore?”

At
the sound of my father’s name, my heart seems to stop beating entirely.

“Yes,”
Bree and I cry at the same time.

“Do
you know him?” I add, my voice sounding desperate and frantic.

He
leans back and now looks at us with a whole new respect, as if meeting us for
the first time.

“I
know of him,” he says, nodding with clear surprise.

Hearing
his tone of respect as he talks about my father makes me feel a surge of pride.
It’s no surprise to me that people looked up to him.

I
realize then that the Commander’s mood is shifting. Coming face to face with
the orphaned children of an old acquaintance must have stirred some kind of
sympathy inside of him.

“You
can all stay,” he says.

I
clasp Bree’s hand with relief and let out the breath I’d been holding. Ben and
Charlie audibly sigh their relief. But before we even have a chance to smile at
one another, the Commander says something else, something that makes my heart
clench.

“But
the dog has to go.”

Bree
gasps.

“No!”
she cries.

She
wraps her arms more tightly around Penelope. Sensing she’s become the subject
of attention, the little Chihuahua wriggles in Bree’s arms.

“No
one stays at Fort Noix who cannot contribute,” the Commander says. “That goes
for animals as well. We have guard dogs, sheep dogs, and horses on the farms,
but your little pet is useless to us. She absolutely cannot stay.”

Bree
dissolves into tears.

“Penelope
isn’t just a pet. She’s the smartest animal in the world. She saved our life!”

I
put my arm around Bree and pull her close into my side.

“Please,”
I say to the Commander, impassioned. “We’re so grateful to you for letting us
stay, but don’t make us give up Penelope. We’ve already lost so much. Our home.
Our parents. Our friends. Please don’t make us give up our dog too.”

Charlie
looks at the Commander with concern in his eyes. He’s trying to read the
situation, to work out whether this is going to escalate into a fight like it
always did back in the holding cells of Arena 2.

Finally,
the Commander sighs.

“It
can stay,” he relents. “For now.”

Bree
turns her tear-stained eyes up to him. “She can?”

The
Commander nods stiffly.

“Thank
you,” she whispers, gratefully.

Though
the Commander’s face remains emotionless, I can tell he’s moved by our plight.

“Now,”
he says quickly, standing, “General Reece will assign you quarters and take you
to them.”

We
all stand too. The Commander clamps a hand down on Bree’s shoulder and begins
steering her to the door. Then all at once we’re shoved out into the corridor.

We
stand there, shell-shocked, hardly comprehending what just happened.

“We
got in,” I state, blinking.

Ben
nods, looking equally taken aback. “Yes. We did.”

“This
is home now?” Bree asks.

I
squeeze her close into me. “It’s home.”

*

We
follow General Reece outside past rows of small brick buildings, one story
high, covered in branches to camouflage them.

“Males
and females are separated,” the General explains. “Ben, Charlie, you’ll be
staying here.” She points at one of the brick buildings covered in thick ivy. “Brooke,
Bree, you’ll be across the street.”

Ben
frowns. “Don’t people live with their families?”

The
General stiffens a little. “None of us have families,” she says, a hint of
emotion in her voice for the first time. “When you desert the military, you don’t
get a chance to bring your husband, kids, or parents with you.”

I
feel a pang of sympathy in my gut. My dad wasn’t the only person who deserted
his family for a cause he believed in. And I wasn’t the only person to abandon
their mother.

“But
hasn’t anyone formed a family since?” Ben asks, pressing her further, as though
oblivious to her emotional pain. “I thought you said you began repopulating.”

“There
are no families at the moment. Not yet, anyway. The community has to be
controlled and stabilized to ensure we have enough food, space, and resources.
We can’t have people breeding whenever they want to. It must be regulated.”

“Breeding?”
Ben says under his breath. “That’s a funny way of putting it.”

The
General purses her lips. “I understand that you have questions about how things
work here, and I appreciate it may seem unusual to you from the outside. But
Fort Noix has survived because of the rules we’ve put in place, because of our
order. Our citizens understand and respect that.”

“And
so do we,” I add, quickly. I turn and put an arm around my sister. “Come on,
Bree, let’s get inside. I’m looking forward to meeting our new housemates.”

The
General nods. “They’ll show you the ropes from here on out. Follow them to
lunch when it’s time.”

She
gives us a salute, then walks away, taking her soldiers with her.

*

A
cheerful American woman named Neena shows us around our new home. She’s the “mother”
of the house, which consists, she tells us, of a group of teenage girls and
young women. She explains that the rest of our housemates are out working and
that we’ll meet them in the evening.

“Give
you time to settle in,” she says, smiling kindly. “A house full of twenty women
can get a little much at times.”

She
shows us into a small, simple room with bunk beds.

“You
two will need to share a room,” she says. “It’s not exactly a five-star resort.”

I
smile.

“It’s
perfect,” I say, walking into the room.

Once
again, I’m overwhelmed by the sensation of peace and safety. I can’t remember
the last time I stood in a room that smelled clean, that had been dusted and
polished and vacuumed. Light streams through the window, making the room look
even more welcoming.

For
the first time in a long time, I feel safe.

Penelope
likes it, too. She runs around happily in circles, jumping on the beds, wagging
her tail and barking.

“I
must say it’s so exciting to have a dog in the house,” Neena says. “The other
girls are just going to love her.”

Bree
grins from ear to ear, every inch the proud owner.

“She’s
so smart for a dog,” she says. “She saved our life once, when—”

I
grab Bree’s arm and squeeze it to quiet her. For some reason, I don’t want what
we’ve been through spoken about within our new home. I want it to be a new
beginning for us, one free from the past. More than anything, I don’t want
anyone to know about the arenas if they don’t have to. I’ve killed people. It
will change the way they look at me, make them more cautious, and I don’t know
if I can cope with that right now.

Bree
seems to understand what I’m trying to silently communicate. She lets her story
disappear into the ether, and Neena doesn’t seem to notice.

“There
are things for you on the bed,” she says. “Not much, just a few bits to tide
you over.”

On
each of our beds are neatly folded clothes. They’re made from the same dark
material that General Reece and her army were wearing. The fabric is rough; I
figure it must be home-grown cotton, colored by naturally made dyes and
stitched into a uniform by the tailors she’d told us about.

“Do
you girls want to wash before lunch?” Neena asks.

I
nod and Neena takes me to the small bathroom that serves all twenty of the
house’s residents, before leaving me be. It’s basic and the water is cold, but
it feels amazing to be clean again.

When
Bree comes back into our room after her own shower, she starts laughing.

“You
look funny,” she says to me.

I’ve
changed into the stiff uniform that was left for me. Tendrils of hair hang over
my shoulders, making wet patches in the fabric.

“It’s
itchy,” I say, wriggling uncomfortably.

“Clean,
though,” Bree replies, running her fingertips against the fabric of her own
uniform. “And new.”

I
know what she means. It’s been years since we had anything that was ours,
that wasn’t stolen or found or recycled. These are our clothes, never before
worn. For the first time in a long time, we have possessions.

Along
with the new clothes, we are also given towels, shoes, nightwear, a pencil, a
pad of paper, a watch, a flashlight, a whistle, and a penknife. It’s like a
little welcome package. From what I’ve learned about the place so far, the
contents seem very Fort Noix.

Neena
leads us out of the house and along the street, and after a short stroll we
come to a larger building. I look up. It has the air of a town hall, yet
simple, anonymous.

We
go inside and immediately the smell of food hits me. I start to salivate, while
Bree’s eyes widen. The room is filled with tables, most taken up by farm
workers, recognizable from their muddy clothes and sun-blushed skin.

“There’s
Ben and Charlie,” Bree says, pointing to a table.

I
notice that both of them have plates piled high with food, and both are gorging
themselves.

Neena
must notice the look of want on my face because she smiles and says, “Go sit
with them. I’ll bring you over some food.”

We
thank her and go to sit with Charlie and Ben on a bench filled with farm
workers. Everyone nods politely to us as we take seats. For a community that
doesn’t usually take in outsiders, they seem pretty accepting about the sudden
appearance of four bedraggled, half-starved kids and a one-eyed Chihuahua.

“Someone’s
feeling more at home,” I say to Ben as he rams another mouthful of food into
his mouth.

But
that same haunted look has returned to his eyes. He may be clean on the
outside, but his mind appears to be polluted by the things he’s been through.
And though he’s eating, he’s doing so mechanically. Not in the same way Charlie
does, as though he’s relishing every single bite. Ben eats as though he can’t
even taste the food. What’s more, he doesn’t say a word as we take our places
beside him, almost as though he hasn’t noticed we’re there. I can’t help but
worry for him. I’ve heard about people going through terrible ordeals only to
then fall apart as soon as they reach safety. I pray that Ben won’t be one of
them.

I’m
distracted when Neena returns with two plates of food, one for Bree and one for
me, heaped with garlic-buttered chicken with roast potatoes and some kind of
spicy zucchini and tomato side dish. I can’t remember the last time I saw food
that looked like this. It looks like something you could order in a restaurant.

I
can’t hold myself back. I begin wolfing it down, making my taste buds come to
life. It’s absolutely delicious. For so many years I subsisted on the plainest
of foods, the tiniest of portions, and trained myself not to want more. Now,
finally, I can let myself go.

Bree
is a little more restrained. She gives a generous portion of chicken to
Penelope before seeing to herself. I feel a little embarrassed by the way I
devour my food as if my life depends on it, but table manners aren’t exactly my
priority right now.

Down
the table, across from us, I can’t help noticing a boy who looks a little older
than me, feeding strips of meat to a pit bull terrier. The boy looks exactly
like the type who’d own a pit bull. His head is shaved, and he has dark
eyebrows, brooding eyes, and a cocky smile.

“Who’s
this?” he asks Bree, nodding at the Chihuahua.

“Penelope,”
she says. “And yours?”

“Jack,”
the boy says, rubbing the dog’s neck playfully.

“I
thought animals weren’t allowed here,” I say.

His
eyes meet mine, smoldering, intense.

“He’s
a guard dog,” he replies. Then he looks at Bree. “Do you reckon Penelope and
Jack might want to be friends?”

Bree
laughs. “Maybe.”

They
both set their dogs down on the ground. Straightaway the two begin to play,
chasing each other and gently pawing at each other’s face.

Then,
to my surprise, Jack bounds right over to me, leaps into my lap, and plants a
big, slobbery, hot lick across my face.

The
others laugh, while I can’t help laughing myself.

“I
think he likes Brooke more than Penelope,” Bree says with a grin.

“I
think you might be right,” the boy replies, fixing his gaze on me.

I
finally manage to shove Jack off me, and as I wipe his drool from my cheek with
my sleeve, the boy watches on, seemingly amused. He breaks apart a piece of
bread with his strong fingers, and taps one edge into the juices on his plate.

“So,”
he says before taking a bite, “I’m guessing Brooke is your sister.”

“Yes,”
Bree says. “And I’m Bree.”

Even
though his mouth is full, he says, “Ryan,” and slides down the bench and stretches
his hand out and shakes Bree’s.

Then
he offers it to me. I look up. His dark eyes bore into me, making a pit swirl
in my stomach. The sensation reminds me of the first time I saw Logan: not the
warm, slow-building feeling I got with Ben, but an instant, heart-stopping
attraction. I don’t want to touch him, worried that I’ll somehow betray my
attraction.

Immediately,
I feel guilty for having any kind of attraction to him at all. It’s only been a
couple of hours since my dream about Logan. I still miss him.

I
look at Ryan’s outstretched hand suspiciously. I have no choice. He’s not going
to just put it down. I grasp it, hoping I can get the shaking over quickly. I
turn my gaze back down to my meal, hoping he doesn’t notice the blush in my
cheeks.

Ryan’s
gaze stays on me as I eat. I can just about see his crooked smile from the
corner of my eye. He’s looking at me so intensely my heart begins to flutter.

“Your
sister has a healthy appetite,” he says, speaking to Bree but looking at me the
whole time. “And butter on her chin.”

Bree
laughs but I feel self-conscious, my blush deepening.

“I
was just joking,” Ryan says. “No need to look so angry.”

“I’m
not angry,” I reply sharply. “Just trying to eat in peace.”

Ryan
tips his head back and laughs; I’d been trying to get him off my back, but it
seems as though my words have only encouraged him. His dark eyes twinkle.

“So
you’re the one from the arena,” he says.

I
swallow hard. “Who told you?”

Then
I notice Charlie looking guilty beside me. He must have already spilled the
beans about our ordeal. So much for a fresh start.

I
don’t say anything.

“I’m
not judging you,” Ryan says. “Actually, I’m impressed.”

At
these words, Ben looks over. He’d been in his own world this whole time,
seemingly lost in his own thoughts, but now he’s suddenly alert, a flash of
jealousy in his eyes as he looks over at us.

“Have
you just come back from the fields like the others?” I ask Ryan, trying to
steer the conversation toward safe territory.

Ryan
smiles to himself, as though pleased to finally have my attention. “Actually, I’ve
been on guard duty this morning.”

“Really?”
I ask, genuinely interested. “How does that work?”

Ryan
stretches out in his chair, making himself comfortable, as he begins his
explanation.

“A
group patrols the outer borders at all times, while a second group patrols
inside, making sure everyone’s keeping to the rules. And to make sure no one
gets too power crazy, we take it in turns, in a rotation. Everyone has to do
it, even the kids. I mean, you won’t have to do it for a while since you’re
recuperating, but—”

“I
want to,” I say suddenly, interrupting him.

The
idea of sitting around doing nothing fills me with horror. If I sit around
idle, my mind might start playing tricks on me again. I’ll see Rose and Flo. I’ll
see Logan. I don’t know if my heavy heart could cope with seeing him again.

“Well,
you will eventually—” Ryan begins.

“Now,”
I say, firmly. “Can I come on your shift with you?”

Ryan
gives me a curious look, and I can see his eyes are filled with intrigue and
respect.

“I’ll
see if General Reece is okay with me having a tagalong.”

“Make
that two,” Ben says suddenly.

I
look over at Ben, and for the first time since we got here, he seems to be
fully lucid.

“You
sure you’re up for it?” I ask.

He
nods, sternly. “If you think you’re well enough to patrol, then I definitely
am.”

Ryan
nods, looking equally as impressed by Ben as he did by me. But I’m not entirely
convinced Ben is well enough to come. He looks haggard, his eyes rimmed with
dark shadows, and I can’t help but suspect that he only wants to come along
because he doesn’t want to leave me alone with Ryan.

And
it’s then that I wonder: what have I just gotten myself into?

CHAPTER FOUR

Ryan leads Ben and me across the length of Fort Noix, heading
for the arsenal, and as we go, I feel satiated for the first time in months. My
stomach is almost uncomfortably heavy. It feels good. It also feels good to be
heading to guard duty, to have a mission, a purpose, and something to take my
mind off everything. Without it, I think I might go crazy.

We pass plenty of people, all as clean and well fed as Ryan
is; none have radiation scars or melted flesh from nuclear fallout. None are
missing limbs or teeth or dragging a deformed leg behind them as they walk. I
haven’t seen so many healthy-looking humans in one place since before the war.
It’s almost disconcerting.

Ryan walks beside me but Ben lingers a few steps behind.
There’s an undeniably tense atmosphere, one I attempt to ignore by focusing all
my attention on Jack the pit bull, who has been tagging closely at my heels as
if I’m his master rather than Ryan.

“He’s taken a shine to you,” Ryan says with a chuckle.

Ben’s head immediately snaps up. He frowns. I can’t help but
wonder why Ben insisted on coming with us. I don’t want him lingering around me
like a dark storm cloud, casting suspicious glances in my direction. We’re on
the same team, we always have been, and I don’t like seeing him like this. It
reminds me too much of the way he acted with Logan; jealous, wanting more from
me than I am able to give.

At least Ryan doesn’t seem to pick up on the tension. He
strolls confidently across the compound, like someone who has never seen real
death or destruction. Not like Ben and me, whose very steps seem to reveal our
past torments.

“Here we go,” Ryan says with an air of pride as he hauls open
a huge steel door.

A cloud of dust swirls into the air, obscuring my vision. As
it settles, I get my first glimpse of the treasures inside the arsenal. My
mouth drops open as I step inside and take in the sight of pistols and sniper
rifles, automatic crossbows and AK47s. I feel like a kid in a candy shop.

As I scan the walls, something catches my eye. A shotgun. It
reminds me of the antique one Dad used to have displayed behind glass at home.
I go over to it and pick it up.

“Are you sure you want to take that thing?” Ryan asks, as I
test the weight of it in my hands. “Something smaller would be better for your
stature.”

In a matter of seconds, I lock and load the shotgun, before
hitching it on my shoulder in firing position. I go through the motions
expertly; thanks to Dad, I’m at ease with a shotgun.

“I think this one will suit me just fine,” I say.

Ryan’s eyes widen with surprise. He seems impressed by my
knowledge of the weapons and I can’t help but feel a surge of pride.

Ben narrows his eyes and grabs his own weapon, a rifle.

“So you guys have used guns before?” Ryan asks.

“Of course,” Ben replies, a little too harshly.

I think back to the first time I met Ben, when we were
speeding through the frozen wastelands chasing after the slaverunners who had
kidnapped our siblings. He’d been useless with the gun, and had even dropped it
at one point.

“Ben’s more of a bow and arrow kind of guy,” I say, gently
mocking him, trying to coax him into the conversation.

Ben frowns, clearly not taking the joke well. Ben’s always
been sensitive, but he’s clearly feeling more sensitive than usual. I remind
myself to be more careful with him. I don’t want him to think I’m making a joke
at his expense or that I’m letting Ryan’s jovial attitude rub off on me.

“No problem,” Ryan says. “We have plenty of bows and arrows
if you’d prefer.”

“I’m fine with this,” Ben answers tersely.

Ryan shrugs, once again seemingly oblivious to the building
tension in the air.

I then notice a wall display of knives. I go over and see the
same kind of knife my dad had when I was a kid, with a military insignia
brandished into the handle. A wave of nostalgia washes over me.

I touch my fingertips to the cool metal blade. “Can I take
this too?”

“Of course,” Ryan replies, suddenly coming up very closely
behind me. “Take what you want.”

I can feel the warmth radiating from his body as I snatch up
the knife, holding the weight of it in my hand. It feels like mine, like it was
always supposed to be in my grasp. Then I dart out of Ryan’s shadow, stashing
the knife at my hip as I go. I load up with the gun on one shoulder, and a bow
and arrow slung across my back.

Ryan whistles as he takes in the sight of me.

“Ready for duty,” he says, giving me a light-hearted salute.

I can’t help but smile to myself. I feel every inch a guard
and I’m practically itching to get out there, to learn the ropes and prove to
the Commander that I deserve my place here.

Ben, on the other hand, is fumbling around and getting
frustrated with a twisted strap. Ryan goes over to help him. As he tightens his
straps, I can’t help but think that Ben looks like a lost, vulnerable child
being dressed by his parent on their first day at school.

We head out of the arsenal and my stomach swirls with
anticipation as I catch sight of the group of ten other guards up ahead that we’ll
be patrolling with. They’ve congregated by one of the huge iron barbed-wire-topped
gates. A few dogs mill around, pawing tufts of grass at the base of the fence,
sniffing the air, cocking their heads at every noise. It occurs to me that they’ve
all been trained to help with patrolling and to offer protection against
attacks. The Commander was right when he said everyone at Fort Noix has a job
to do—even the animals. I’m grateful again that he conceded to keep Penelope,
and I hope she gets a chance to prove that despite being the size of a cat and
having only one eye, she’s the smartest dog he’ll ever meet.

Jack breaks away from us and rushes up to the other dogs,
barking excitedly. His presence alerts the group to our approach. Heads begin
to turn in our direction, taking in the sight of Ryan leading two strangers
toward them. I can’t help but feel like I’m being scrutinized, sized up, and I
try to calm my racing heart. After all, this is nothing compared to the leering
eyes of the biovictim spectators in the arenas.

Ben doesn’t seem to be faring as well as me, though. As we
get closer to the group, I can see his face becoming paler. He’s not ready for
this at all. Being with strangers, packing weaponry—it’s all too much for him, like
being back in an arena. I don’t get a chance to tell him to turn around and go
home, though, because we’re suddenly at the entrance. Ryan’s clapping people on
the back, reeling out names that fly in one ear and out the other. The only one
that sticks is Molly, because the girl it belongs to has shockingly ginger
hair.

She looks over at me.

“You’re living with Neena, right?” she asks with a friendly
grin. She looks about my age, with bright green eyes and freckles across her
nose.

I nod, a little overwhelmed by all the names and faces.

“Me too,” she replies. “I guess that makes us roomies.”

Roomies. The word seems alien to me, like it’s a term that
belonged to an old, ancient world that I thought had ceased to exist. Not for
the first time since arriving here, a wave of happiness washes over me. I have
a feeling she might become a friend. Friend. A word I had never thought
to use again.

The group begins to move and we follow, sticking close to
Ryan and Molly. We pass through several layers of fencing, guards stationed at
the gates of each one. The amount of security they have here is crazy, but I
understand their need to be so heavy-handed. The only way to keep the people
inside Fort Noix safe is by making it impenetrable to all the monsters lurking
outside.

Between one row of fencing and the next, nestled in the
trees, I see a row of wooden cabins.

“Do you guys stay in those overnight?” I ask Molly.

She shakes her head. “No, people live in them.”

“Really?”

Before Molly has a chance to reply, Ryan speaks up,
practically salivating at the opportunity to impart his wisdom.

“We call them the Forest Dwellers,” he says. “They’re sort of
a part of Fort Noix but not at the same time.”

“Why?” I ask.

“Well, not everyone wants to live by military command. They
want to structure their lives differently. They want to have families, homes,
pets, that sort of thing. You know, the whole men and women being separated
thing isn’t so great for that.” He smiles and wiggles a knowing eyebrow. I
blush and avert my gaze as he continues. “Anyway, they’ve all taken the pledge
to keep the fort secret, so they’re pretty much a part of us really, especially
as they are within our perimeter. They’re just not on the same job rotation
system—and they don’t get rations.”

Just then I notice a barefoot young girl sitting on the
wooden doorstep of one of the cabins. In her lap sits a huge rabbit with light
brown fluffy fur, which she strokes gently. As we pass, she looks up and waves.
I wave back. She must take it as an invitation to come over, because she places
the rabbit on the ground, leaps to her feet, and bounds over. Her patchwork
dress swishes as she skips toward us, and her blond ponytail bobs.

“Oh, here we go,” Molly says under her breath while rolling
her eyes, giving me the distinct impression that she’s not much of a maternal
type.

“Trixie,” Ryan says in a gentle warning tone as she draws up
beside him. “You know you can’t come on patrols with us. It’s far too
dangerous.”

“I just wanted to say hello to the new people,” the little
girl says breezily.

She’s absolutely adorable. I can hardly believe that such a
smiley, carefree child can exist in our brutal world.

“I’m Brooke,” I say to Trixie. “And this is Ben.”

I look around for my companion, realizing he’d been so quiet
I’d completely forgotten about him. The whole time that I’ve been chatting with
Molly and Ryan he’s been silent, just taking it all in. As I look at him now, I
can see how distracted he seems, looking over his shoulder, flinching at every
noise. My worry for him magnifies.

“Do you want to come to my house to play?” Trixie says to me,
breaking through my thoughts.

Her sweetness and innocence warms my heart. She can’t have
seen any of the atrocities of the war, or have the constant terror of being
kidnapped by slaverunners at the back of her mind. She’s carefree, just as a
child ought to be.

“I’d love to,” I say, “but I’m on guard duty. It’s my job to
protect you.”

Trixie beams up at me. “Well then maybe another day,” she
says. “My mom will make you soup if you like. Dad made a Scrabble board out of
wood. Do you like Scrabble? My sister’s better than me at it but it’s still my
favorite game.”

The thought of hanging out with a family playing games and
eating soup seems like a dream come true.

“That sounds like a lot of fun,” I reply, feeling a strange
pang in my stomach as I realize that I haven’t played a game since before the
war, that my childhood, and the lives of many, many others, was cut short by
all the fighting. “Maybe I’ll be able to come back and see you,” I finish.

This seems to placate Trixie. She trots off back to her home,
although not before stroking each one of the guard dogs.

“She’s so cute,” I say to Ryan as I watch her skip away. “I
can’t believe she lives out here with her family. She seems so carefree.”

“She is,” Ryan replies. “That’s part of our job. We’re not
just protecting the fort, we’re protecting everyone we can.”

A strong wave of happiness washes through me, telling me I’m
exactly where I need to be.

Finally we pass through the perimeter fence and head farther
into the woods. It’s colder out in the open and the ground beneath my boots is
frozen, crunching underfoot. The new boots Neena gave me prevent any of the
cold seeping in like my old, worn leather ones used to. The strange uniform is
pretty good at keeping out the cold too.

“So, where is it that you guys are from?” Molly asks Ben and me,
sounding genuinely interested.

She has a soft Canadian accent, which invites me in and tells
me I can trust her. But I’m reticent to tell her about the arenas and
everything we’ve been through. The thought of making a friend, a real friend,
is so tempting. I don’t want to scare her off by revealing my gladiatorial
past. No one wants to make friends with a killer.

“The Catskills,” I reply. “New York.”

Her eyebrows rise with interest. “New York? How did you end
up in Quebec?”

Logan. That’s the real answer. He always believed in this
place and urged us to come here. But I can’t tell Molly that. I can’t even let
his name pass my lips.

“There was a rumor about Fort Noix, about survivors,” I say. “We
thought we’d risk it.”

Ben looks at me inquisitively, silently noting my inability
to utter the name of our dead companion.

This time, Molly’s eyes widen. “You’d better not tell the
Commander that there are rumors about this place. He’s terrified about anyone
finding out about us. I mean you guys are the first outsiders we’ve welcomed in
a long, long time. He seems to think the whole fort will implode if anyone
finds out about our existence.”

“He’s right to think that,” Ben says, a little too abruptly. “You’d
all be in danger if the slaverunners found out about this place.”

Molly gives him curious look, one that seems to suggest that
she’s seen through him, into his soul, and has glimpsed the darkness inside.
But she doesn’t challenge him, and I’m grateful.

The outpost is a little ways away from Trixie’s cabin. It’s a
tall metal structure that stretches far up into the canopy. The climb is at
least thirty feet. Molly enthusiastically begins to scale the ladder, showing
off her strength. But I falter. Because as I stand at the base of it, I get a
sudden flash of memory of the horrible sand dune we had to climb in Arena 2.

“You need help climbing up?” Ryan asks.

I shake my head, dislodging the memory, then grip the rungs.
I’m determined not to be weak, not to let the things I’ve been through in the
past affect me now. I take a breath to steel myself and begin to climb, Ryan
following right behind. My muscles protest but I push through my pain, and
after a few moments I’m at the top.

The effort was worth it. Up here at the top, there’s an
amazing view all around. The mountains look beautiful, with their snow-capped
peaks glittering in the midday sunlight. I let the air stir the hair at the
base of my neck, cooling the sweat from the effort of climbing. I completely
tune out the sound of the rest of the guards clambering into the outpost, and
revel in the tranquility of the moment.

Far in the distance, I can see huge craters in the earth
where the bombs hit. It makes me so sad to think of all of the needless
destruction, all the death and pain, and I wonder if our world really ever can
recover. But then I realize that the craters are overgrown with vegetation, as
though nature is trying to eradicate the disastrous effects our war has had,
trying to heal the scars and gashes our bombs created. The sight gives me hope
for a better future. All at once, a smile bursts across my face.

From the corner of my eye, I can see Ryan watching me
intently. I squirm under his scrutiny and let my smile fade. For some reason, I
don’t want him encroaching on my private moment. When he approaches I don’t
look at him, keeping my gaze steadily ahead.

“I don’t think your friend is enjoying the view as much as
you are,” his voice quips into my ear.

I look behind and see Ben, his gun huddled in his arms,
looking overwhelmed.

“It’s the height,” I say, knowing exactly why Ben is freaking
out, knowing he must have had the same horrible flash of memory as I had. “We
had to climb up a mountain in one of the arenas. It was full of spikes that
bludgeoned kids to death.”

I shut my mouth immediately. I don’t know what came over me,
what made me blab about such a painful secret from my past to Ryan like that.

“Oh,” he says, his mocking smile immediately disappearing. He
looks suddenly serious for the first time since I’ve met him. “Sorry, I didn’t
realize.”

A feeling of intense awkwardness overcomes me.

“You couldn’t have known,” I reply quickly, trying to end the
conversation.

On the other side of the post, Molly takes a seat beside
another guard and pulls out a pack of cards. I’m shocked and a little taken
aback to see her, and the other guards around her, looking so lax. No one seems
to be alert at all. The Commander made it seem as though everyone at Fort Noix
was as serious and militaristic as he is, but here are his guards lazing
around.

“Don’t worry,” Ryan says, clocking my expression. “Nothing
ever happens on guard duty. There were attacks at the beginning but these days
it’s calmed down a lot.”

But it’s not enough to placate me. Everyone back at the fort
is relying on these guys to do their job and here they all are sitting around
like it’s a big game. Even the guard dogs are slacking off, play fighting with
one another rather than looking out for intruders. So much for everyone has a
job to do! Only Ben and I seem to be alert to the possibility of lurking
danger.

Just as those thoughts are crossing my mind, I notice
movement coming from the distance. In the area pocked with bomb craters there’s
a patch of trees and shrubbery, and it seems to be rustling.

“Do people live over there?” I say, nudging Ryan.

He peers out where I’m pointing.

“In the bomb craters?” he says. “No way. The radiation levels
are too high.”

Every muscle in my body tenses. “There’s someone there,” I
say.

I bring up my shotgun. The motion alerts Ben. He comes to my
side, poised with his rifle.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Ryan cries. “You guys are getting a bit
trigger happy. I’m sure you’re seeing things. It’s probably just a deer.”

Molly notices the commotion and comes to my side.

“What’s going on, Brooke?” she asks, her expression serious
and intent.

“There are people in the trees,” I say, not looking at her,
my body still positioned to fire, my eyes still locked on the foliage, seeking
out possible danger.

Unlike Ryan, Molly doesn’t contest me. She seems to have
understood me straightaway. She raises her own gun, taking position beside me.

The trees continue to rustle. Then all at once, something
huge and black billows from the foliage. I let off a shot, the noise
splintering the air. It’s only after I’ve fired that I realize my evil predator
was a flock of innocent birds.

The tenseness leaves my body in one go, replaced by
embarrassment. Molly gives me a sheepish look, as if she’s embarrassed on my
behalf by my overreaction. Ryan just grins, amused by the whole thing.

“Told you there was nothing to worry about,” he says,
arrogantly.

But no sooner are the words out of his mouth, than the sounds
of screaming and frantic barking come from behind.

I spin and my heart drops as I see that, just on the other
side of the outpost, near the ladder leading up, a group of crazies are
thundering out of the vegetation. They’re heading right for us.

Ryan’s slow to react. “Breach!” he finally shouts.

Immediately, I fire my gun at them, but my angle is off and I
miss my target. The guards seem stunned, like they were never expecting such a
thing to happen. They take far too long to react. By the time they join me, I’ve
finally managed to hit one of the crazies, and he goes down like a dead weight.

At last, guns begin firing off all over the place. The noise
is so loud I wince. The air becomes thick with smoke from the shots we’re
firing and the smell of sulfur.

The crazies start to drop, but some are getting dangerously
close to our outpost. I adjust my position and begin firing as they ascend. Ben
stands beside me but I realize he isn’t firing his gun at all. His hands are
trembling and sweat is pouring down his face. He’s as white as a ghost.

“Ben!” I cry. “Help me!”

But he’s completely frozen. It’s Ryan who sidles up to me and
helps me take down the group, one by one, while Molly flanks my other side,
firing expertly, too.

Suddenly, I hear a shrill scream from behind and swirl on the
spot. One of the crazies must have taken a different route than the others and
has gotten up the outpost without anyone noticing. It dawns on me that not a
single one of the guards thought to cover us from behind, leaving us completely
exposed.

The crazy’s arm is locked around Molly’s throat and he’s
dragging her back toward the ladder. I watch, horrified, as Jack bounds forward
and locks his jaws around the crazy’s leg. The man roars in pain and loosens
his grip on Molly, leaving just enough for her to run away. But now Jack’s the
source of his hatred. He grabs the pit bull and yanks him off, bringing him
over his head, ready to hurl him off the outpost. The whole world seems to slow
down as I notice the terrified dog’s expression as he hangs helplessly over the
edge of the outpost. The thirty-foot drop will certainly kill him.

Without even thinking, I pull my knife from its sheath and
race across the length of the outpost. With every ounce of strength in my body,
I stab the crazy straight in the heart.

The crazy’s eyes roll back in his head and he falls backward.
I manage to wrench Jack from his grasp before the crazy plummets over the side
of the outpost and hits the ground with a sickening squelch.

My blood-soaked knife clatters to the floor, and then, all at
once, quiet descends. I stand there panting, Jack whimpering in my arms, the
warm blood of the crazy dripping down my face. Slowly, I turn back to face the
other guards.

They’re all looking at me in disbelief, as though they can
hardly comprehend what I just did. I can’t tell if they’re scared of me or in
awe of me, but the main thing is that my secret life as a killer can no longer
be hidden.

I cradle Jack in my arms then slowly approach Ryan. I place
the dog in his arms. His cocky expression has completely gone. His arrogance
seems to have faded, too, leaving behind a stunned and slightly alarmed
expression.

“Thank you,” he says, quietly. But I think what he really
means is, “I get it now.” For the first time he understands what sort of world
we really live in, and what sort of person it has made me.

Everyone else seems too stunned to move. I feel I have no
choice but to take control of the situation.

“We should report back to the Commander,” I say, trying to
hide the tremor in my voice. “That attack wasn’t accidental. It was planned.
That means there might be more to come.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Twilight
is breaking by the time we make it back to the fort. Up ahead I see a group of
guards who must have returned from guard duty before us sitting around a
bonfire, chatting away without a care in the world. They begin whispering when
they notice us trudging wearily toward them.

A
tall, lanky man with a goatee comes up to us.

“What
happened to you lot?” he says, smirking.

“A
breach,” Molly explains.

Immediately,
the man’s expression changes. “What do you mean?”

“We
were attacked,” Ryan adds. “By a group of crazies.”

The
rest of the group begins to take notice of the conversation. They stand up from
their positions around the bonfire and come over, listening intently, looks of
concern on their faces.

“Did
anyone get hurt?” the man with the goatee asks.

Ryan
shakes his head. “Thankfully not. But if it hadn’t been for Brooke, there might
have been fatalities.”

I
shift uncomfortably as everyone’s attention turns to me, the stranger, taking
in the sight of my blood-splattered uniform. But rather than looking scared of
me like the others who’d seen me kill the crazy at the outpost, they look at me
with respect. People start congratulating me, clapping me on the shoulder.
Zeke, the man with the goatee, salutes me.

I
can’t believe it. I’d been so worried about people finding out about me being a
killer and judging me for it, it’s quite a relief for it all to be out in the
open. I can’t remember the last time I felt accepted like this.

“Someone
get this girl a drink!” Zeke says, before adding, “We don’t have liquor, I’m
afraid, so I hope you like mint tea.”

“That
sounds great,” I say, but I’m still in fight-or-flight mode. “But we should report
to the Commander.”

Zeke
shakes his head and rests a hand on my arm. “Don’t. It will just make him more
paranoid.”

“But…”
I begin, but he interrupts me.

“Honestly,”
he says, passing me a mint tea. “The Commander is becoming more and more
isolated. We take in fewer survivors every year. To be honest, I’m surprised he
even let you guys stay. We’ve kicked kids out younger than you before. If he
knows the attack came so soon after you arrived, he’ll probably blame it on
you, saying you led them here. So if I were you, I wouldn’t give him more
reasons to turn people away.”

The
heat from the tea seeps into my skin as his words seep into my mind. It hadn’t
occurred to me that not everyone within Fort Noix would be on board with the
way the Commander chooses to run things. But, like the Forest Dwellers I saw
earlier, it seems as though not everyone is happy with how things work here,
with the Commander’s stance on not taking in outsiders. My gut instinct back
when I’d met him in his office earlier this morning had been revulsion—to not
take in outsiders is the equivalent of sentencing them to death. But then I’d
gotten so caught up in it all, in being a guard, in protecting this precious
place, that I’d let myself forget how cruel that policy really is.

Just
then, I hear a voice calling me from far away.

“Brooke!”

It’s
Bree. I turn and see her running along the path toward me, Charlie just a few
steps behind. Neena walks a little way behind them both with Penelope on a
lead. Some of the girls and women from our house are walking beside her, and
the boys from Ben’s house are also coming toward the bonfire.

Bree
reaches me, flies into my arms, and hugs me tightly. I hold her close.

“What
happened?” she cries, moving out of the embrace. “You were gone for hours. I
was worried.”

I
smile at her reassuringly. “I’m OK.”

“Is
Jack okay?” Bree asks, bending down to stroke the pit bull at Ryan’s feet.

“He’s
fine,” Ryan says to Bree, but his eyes are locked on me. “Thanks to Brooke.”

Over
Bree’s crouched figure, Ryan’s smoldering eyes burn into me. Before, I wasn’t
sure what he thought about me, but now I do. He admires me. My stomach flutters
at the thought.

“Where’s
Ben?” Charlie asks.

Immediately,
I feel guilty for letting myself feel anything toward Ryan at all. I glance
around, searching for Ben. I see him sitting on a bench, alone, beside the
fire. He looks just as lost back at the fort as he did out in the forest.

“There
he is,” I say to Charlie. “Why don’t you go and get him some tea?”

“I’ll
get it,” Ryan says, his intense gaze still fixed on me.

I
falter. “Okay… thanks.”

I
watch, my stomach roiling, as he disappears into the crowd.

Bree
grabs my hand and drags me toward the bonfire. Charlie follows, and the three
of us sit down beside Ben. Despite the danger we’ve just been in, we’re all
still overjoyed to be at Fort Noix. To be warm, clothed, and cared for. To be
amongst allies. But Zeke has planted a seed of doubt in my mind. Is it enough
for just us to be warm, clothed, and cared for? Is it okay to sit on our
laurels when others like us die out in the wilderness at the hands of
slaverunners, biovictims, and crazies?

Ryan
comes back with more mint tea and some chicken soup for us all.

“Do
you want to join us?” I ask him.

I
want to speak to him about the Commander’s isolationist position, about his
hard-line policy on not letting in survivors. But Ryan casts his eyes over at
Ben, and I look over to see that Ben’s watching us, his expression a mixture of
anger and sadness.

“Not
tonight,” Ryan says. “You guys should probably spend some time together.”

So
Ryan’s starting to figure it out, to understand that there’s something between
Ben and me, or at least, that Ben feels something for me. He’s not prepared to
tread on Ben’s toes when he’s in such a fragile state, and I’m grateful for his
thoughtfulness. It seems there’s more to Ryan than meets the eye.

I
nod and watch him take the bench opposite with Molly, whose ginger hair matches
the color of the flames.

The
soup tastes absolutely delicious. The heat from the bowl and the fire, along
with the fresh, healthy food, rejuvenates me. I feel like I’m coming back from
the dead, not just physically but psychologically too. For years I’ve been in battle
mode. For years I’ve felt completely alone. But now I have people around me,
people who will fight beside me. And it’s the greatest feeling in the world.

I
look over at Bree and Charlie laughing happily, as carefree as Trixie had been
when I met her earlier. Finally they’re getting to be children. But Ben is a
different matter altogether. He seems even more withdrawn.

“Ben,”
I say cautiously. “Is everything okay?”

He
looks at me slowly, a little dazed. “It’s just being around all these people,”
he says. “It’s a bit overwhelming.”

I
know it’s more than that, but I don’t want to push him to speak when he doesn’t
want to.

Everyone
finishes their soup.

“I
think you kids should be heading home now,” I say to Bree and Charlie. They
both look exhausted, like they’re fighting to stay awake so they can be part of
the festivities.

Bree
pouts. “Can’t we stay up a little longer?”

I
shake my head.  ”It’s been a long day. Ben will take you home.”

Ben
looks over at me and frowns, like he thinks I’m trying to get rid of him, when
really I just want him to get a good night’s sleep and rejuvenate. But he doesn’t
argue; he just stands, as though hypnotized, and leads Charlie and Bree
back home.

I
watch them go. But as soon as I’m alone, I feel suddenly out of place surrounded
by the other guards, all laughing and joking easily. For me, smiles come
rarely. The past constantly lingers in my mind like a storm cloud, only parting
occasionally to let in a ray of sunshine. None of these people have the same
darkness inside of them. I should be feeling peaceful and happy right now, but
I can’t. I can’t just see the crazy attack as a one-off to be forgotten,
because for me it was just the latest battle in my long, never-ending fight
against the world we live in. And while we won that particular fight, somewhere
in the world, another group of children loses.

Ryan
must notice my change in mood, because he comes over and extends his hand to
me.

“Come
on,” he says.

“Where
are we going?” I reply, looking at his outstretched hand.

“For
a walk.” He beckons, urging me on. “Come on,” he presses.

I
don’t feel like I have much choice but to take his hand and let him guide me to
my feet.

We
walk. It’s pitch black and the stars are twinkling above us as we stroll away
from the light of the fire and out into the compound.

“Brooke,
I know that you think the way the fort works isn’t fair,” he begins.

“What
makes you say that?” I reply. “I understand why it has to work this way. I just
don’t think that it’s enough for me.”

“What
do you mean?” he asks.

I
pause, trying to gather my thoughts in such a way that I can articulate them. “I
mean I have to do more,” I begin, carefully. “I can’t live with myself knowing
others are out there dying. I need to do something. I can’t be part of a place
that doesn’t do more to help people. It would make me a hypocrite.”

“Does
that mean you want to leave?” he asks, frowning.

I
turn my face, unsure myself what I really want. It’s true that I’ve started to
question whether I’ve made the right call by coming here. Can I really sit
back, after everything I’ve witnessed, and live out my life in peace, knowing
that there’s a thousand more Roses out there who need saving, a hundred more
Flos trapped in the arenas, a dozen more Logans who have been forced into
policing a city they loathe? But at the same time, how could I force my friends
and my sister back out into that world? I couldn’t. If I left, I would have to
go alone. And that would mean leaving them behind.

Ryan
gently touches my arm. Warmth radiates from the place where his fingertips
touch me. “I don’t want you to leave, Brooke,” he says. “Will you stay? For me?”

I
move my arm away, a little startled by the contact, by the intensity of what he’s
asking me.

“I
can’t promise that,” I say, not meeting his eye. But I know it’s not enough,
that I owe him more of an explanation. I take a breath then turn to meet his
gaze. “Bree and I survived in the mountains for years. So did Ben and his
brother. There are thousands more kids out there who don’t have anyone to help
them. There are so many more survivors.”

“And
you think it’s our responsibility to be out there looking for them?” he
challenges me.

“Don’t
you?” I say, my tone becoming more heated. “Don’t you think we ought to help
the innocent survivors of the war?”

I
sigh, frustrated by the fact that Ryan and the rest of the people at Fort Noix
have no idea at all what the real world is like now. It’s not their fault that
they’ve been completely protected from it all, but I can’t help but feel the
sting of injustice. That one random crazy attack can shake them to the core
when for me, it’s an everyday occurrence.

Ryan
gives me a steely look. “I understand why you’re angry. And trust me, you’re
not the only one who thinks that way. It’s a controversial topic around here.
But the Commander is an isolationist. It’s what he fundamentally believes. It’s
kept us all alive so far, so why would he ever change it?”

He
sighs when he sees that I’m still frowning.

“We
do what we can, Brooke. We found you, didn’t we? We took you in.”

“That’s
not enough,” I contest. “Four kids and a dog, when there’s thousands out there.
There are girls being kidnapped for the sex trade. There are kids fighting to
the death for the entertainment of others. You’re an army, trained fighters.
You could make a difference.”

His
mouth twists to the side in consternation. I can tell that my words are getting
to him. But at the same time, I know he’s not going to change his mind. And why
would he? Fort Noix is paradise for all who live within it. No one wants to rock
the boat, or risk losing it all. Fighting off a bunch of crazies is one thing—willingly
seeking them out is quite another.

Ryan
lowers his voice and looks around cautiously, as if debating whether to tell me
something.

“There
are people who want to help others outside Fort Noix,” he says. “There’s
actually a group who meet to discuss it.”

“There
is?” I say, relieved to hear that.

He
nods.

“Zeke
and Molly are among them. But you have to keep it quiet. The only way the
Commander can keep the peace is by maintaining everything exactly as it is.”

I
understand the need for secrecy, but I’m intrigued and want to know more.

“So
what’s their plan?” I ask. “What do they propose to do? Bring survivors back to
Fort Noix?”

Ryan
shrugs.

“I
don’t know. They’re not rebelling or anything like that. They’re just trying to
build their numbers in order to persuade the Commander that it’s what people
want. If there’s enough, he might listen.”

“Do
you think that will work?” I add. “Is he the sort of man who can be persuaded?”

He
shrugs.

“It
hasn’t worked so far,” Ryan replies.

I
think about my meeting with the Commander earlier in the day. He’d been hard-line
about us not joining Fort Noix, but I’d managed to convince him to change his
mind. About Penelope too. There’s leeway in him, definitely.

“I’d
like to meet them,” I say, “the others who want to search for survivors.”

Ryan
nods. “I’ll take you to a meeting,” he says. “If it’s a way to get you to stay.”
He suddenly shoves his hands into his pockets and looks shy.

“Thanks,”
I reply, grateful for the darkness that is hiding my blush.

“Brooke,”
he says hurriedly, “I know it’s early but…I wanted to ask you if maybe one day
you’d want to go on a date with me? I mean, I know ‘date’ isn’t really the
right word for it anymore, but I just mean, well…you know what I mean.”

His
voice drops as he speaks and his gaze falls to my lips. I realize he’s thinking
about kissing me.

I
want to say yes to a date, want to consent to a kiss, but something inside is
holding me back. It’s the shadow of Logan in my mind. It’s the echo of Ben’s
kiss on my lips. And it’s the horror of everything I’ve been through.

Ryan
must sense my hesitation because he starts to rub his neck awkwardly. “Sorry,
bad timing on my part, right? I mean we almost all died today and here I am
asking you on a date.”

“I’d
love to,” I interrupt him with a hurried whisper. “But I can’t. Not now. Not
yet.”

“Because
of what you went through in the arenas?” he asks.

I
glance away, feeling suddenly uncomfortable and embarrassed.

“I
have to figure out how to live in this new world first,” I say. “I’ve spent so
long fighting, I don’t know who I am anymore. Do you understand?”

He
looks a little hurt, but nods all the same.

Just
then, I feel something cold land on my nose. It feels like rain, but softer. I
look up and see that it’s starting to snow.

“Winter
comes early in Quebec,” Ryan explains.

I
keep gazing up, watching the snowflakes fall. I feel happy and content,
grateful to be alive and well fed. But I also feel like staying at Fort Noix
forever just won’t be possible.

Out
of the corner of my eye I can see Ryan watching me, studying me, trying to work
me out.

“Will
you at least stay for the winter?” Ryan says. “After everything you’ve been
through, you deserve that much, don’t you? It’s not selfish to want to
recuperate and rest. And you can help far more people in the spring. You don’t
know what our winters are like here.”

I
don’t answer, but keep looking up at the falling snow, reflecting the twinkling
starlight. I don’t want to promise Ryan anything I won’t be able to give.

“If
you won’t stay for me,” he adds, quietly, “stay for Ben.”

Finally,
my head snaps over to look at Ryan. “What do you mean?” I challenge him.

“I’ve
seen guys like that before,” Ryan says. “I’m worried he might have PTSD.”

I
nod. I’d been thinking the same thing.

“You
know everyone has to work here, right?” he adds. “The Commander isn’t
particularly kind when it comes to things like that.”

“What
do you mean?” I whisper.

“I
mean the Commander wouldn’t keep a useless soldier around. He doesn’t have the
resources or the motivation to rehabilitate damaged people.”

My
insides turn to ice at the thought of Ben being turfed out of Fort Noix and
left to fend for himself when at his most vulnerable. If I’d had any concerns
about leaving my friends and sister before, they’re now magnified by ten times.
If the Commander finds out about Ben’s PTSD, he’ll be kicked out for sure.

Which
means for now, I have no choice but to stay and look after him.

I’ll
stay, I realize.

At
least for now, I’ll stay.

SIX
MONTHS LATER

CHAPTER SIX

“Brooke! Brooke! Brooke!”

The crowd is cheering my name. My heartbeat races. My palms
are sweaty. I start to tremble as I raise my bow. I poise, holding my stance,
whispering a silent prayer under my breath. Then I let my arrow fly.

Bull’s-eye.

I hit my target dead center. Flooded with relief, I turn to
face the audience and squint against the spring sunshine. As my eyes orient to
my surroundings, I remember where I am. Not in an arena, but on the firing
range in Fort Noix: a big grassy field, beautiful and tranquil, peppered with
the first flowering buds of spring. I’m not fighting to the death, but taking
part in Fort Noix’s annual shooting competition.

Beside me, Molly takes her own shot, hitting the bull’s-eye
too.

“Molly, Molly, Molly!” the crowd chants.

My competitiveness is set alight. Molly and I are the last
two left in the knock-out competition. Now we have to go head to head, taking
on an assault course, shooting moving targets that pop up as we go. It’s made
up of cars, tires, ropes, and climbing nets and has become my favorite thing to
do in training. In fact, I’ve done it so many times now, I know how to jump and
weave like a ninja.

A horn blares and we’re off. I leap from one car hood onto a
net, swiveling around to fire a shot at the target that’s just popped up behind
me. I get it right between the eyes and it pops back down again.

I quickly climb up the rope and heave myself onto a platform.
Immediately another target pops up down below me. I crouch down and fire. I hit
my target and it pops down again. The crowd starts cheering.

I shimmy down the netting on the other side and race past the
tire stack. A target appears the other side. I can just about see it through a
gap in the tires. I shoot through the hole and it disappears. Straightaway,
another appears at the end of the stack, just by the finish line. I race toward
it and shoot it out of my way, not even slowing down in the process. The crowd
screams and cheers as I pass over the finishing line.

I’ve won.

“Brooke! Brooke! Brooke!”

Panting, I bend forward, exhausted from my run, and let the
sound of the cheering crowd filter into my mind, reminding myself that it is
not the braying cry of biovictims but the cheer and support of my friends and
allies. I catch sight of
my instructor, General Reece, standing in her
typical arms folded pose. There’s a sliver of a smile on her lips, one that
tells me she’s pleased with my performance.

“The winner of our annual shooting competition,” she announces,
“is Brooke Moore!”

In the audience I see Bree and Charlie going wild and feel a
swell of pride. Over the last six months that we’ve been in Fort Noix, they’ve both grown. Bree
celebrated her eleventh birthday and is looking more like a teenager every day.
It’s amazing what a healthy diet of vegetables and meat can do to a girl.

Neena’s also in the audience, looking on proudly like the
surrogate mother she has become to me. Neena’s one of the kindest women I’ve
ever had the pleasure of knowing. She takes good care of all the girls in the
house, making sure our bedding is clean and our clothes are mended, and though
she can be fierce, life is harmonious.

But
then I catch sight of Ben. He’s clapping in the muted, emotionless way I’ve
come to now expect from him. I feel a knot form
in my stomach. I’m surprised that he even came to watch me compete since he’s
been doing everything he can to keep his distance from me.

Molly and Ryan come over to congratulate me on my win,
quickly distracting me from my thoughts.

“And this is the girl who said she wasn’t going to compete,”
Ryan says, kissing me on the cheek cordially.

It’s
true. It took General Reece more than a bit of encouragement to get me to
compete. I was terrified about standing in front of an audience again after
everything I’ve been through in the arenas, worried it would cause another
flashback. But having people cheer me for my skill rather than bray for my
blood is beyond healing. My only wish is that she could have convinced Ben to
take part as well, but he hasn’t touched a weapon since that first night at the
outpost.

“Typical,”
Molly says, rolling her eyes playfully. “Even when Brooke doesn’t want to do
something she’s still better than the rest of us!”

I
can’t help but smile. Their support means the world to me. Since Ben seems to
be drifting further and further away from me, sometimes I think their
friendship is the only thing that’s keeping me going.

“So,”
I say, “do I get a medal or anything?”

Molly
laughs. “It’s not quite that easy to become a decorated soldier at Fort Noix,”
she tells me, knowingly. “Your reward is just to bask in your own triumph.”

“That’s
good enough for me,” I reply, jovially.

It’s
not just my mind that’s been rejuvenated by the last six months living and
working in Fort Noix. It’s my body. I’ve put on weight, my muscles are
stronger, and all my wounds are healed. The snake bite is now nothing more than
a cool silvery scar on my calf.

Bree
and Charlie run over to me, Penelope yapping at their heels. When they reach
me, they throw their arms around me and Penelope
licks my hand. Watching them flourish is the best reward of all.

“Want
to come to Trixie’s?” Bree asks me once she releases me from her bear hug. “Charlie
and me are going to play Jenga.”

Charlie
and Bree have been spending all their free time with the Forest Dwellers,
particularly Trixie and her family, learning how to forage and playing games.
Trixie’s dad carved a Jenga set, which has been well played ever since.

“I’d
love to,” I say. “But I have plans.”

I
glance up at Ryan shyly. He smirks. Bree looks from me to Ryan then nods
knowingly at Charlie. They think something romantic is happening between us,
but really it’s not. At least, I don’t think it is. It’s just that we’ve been
spending a lot of time together out in the forest, hunting and fishing
together, as well as discussing our positions at Fort Noix, and the Commander’s
isolationism. Because while I love seeing the
kids thrive, I also know in my heart that I can’t stay here forever. I
need to go out looking for survivors. I have a moral duty. Ben’s been safe
under the radar for six months. I can’t put my life on hold for someone who
doesn’t seem to want to know me anymore.

“Shall we?” Ryan says, gesturing toward the path that will
lead us into the forest.

I can practically feel Ben’s glare from here. I don’t like
hurting him, but I can’t just stay on pause forever. He’s the one pulling away
from me, not the other way round.

I nod, and leave with Ryan.

*

The
woods have become my favorite place. As much as I love Fort Noix and how well
it runs, like a well-oiled machine, nothing can beat the peace and tranquility
of the forest. If there’s any good to have come out of the war, it’s that
nature is getting the chance to reclaim the earth. My only wish is that if
civilization ever recovers, we don’t destroy the environment again.

Ryan
and I go straight to the river to check on the poles. Eating the food supplied
by Fort Noix is one thing, but catching our own fresh food and cooking it on
the bonfire is quite another.

We
find that we’ve both had catches. I tug on my line and pull out a trout, its
scales glistening in the spring daylight.

“Nice
catch,” Ryan says when he sees it.

He’s
smiling, but I don’t feel like returning the gesture.

“What’s
wrong?” he asks, when he notices my lackluster expression. “Anyone would think
you’d just lost the shooting competition!”

I
take a deep breath. “Spring is here,” I say. “And I think it’s time to leave.”

Ryan’s
expression falls. He always knew this day would come, but I think he’s been
hoping that I’d change my mind.

“Is
that still what you want?” Ryan asks.

I
turn back to the water. It’s clear and glistening. The beauty of it is
astounding. I wish I didn’t have to leave this peace and tranquility behind
when I’ve only just found it.

“It
is,” I say, hesitantly.

“But?”
he presses, picking up on my undercurrent.

“But.”
I pause. “But what exactly will the future hold? The country. Civilization.
Will we ever get that back?”

Ryan
shakes his head and lets out a little laugh. “Saving people’s lives isn’t
enough for Brooke. She needs to save the world.”

I
know he’s only joking but I can’t help but feel a little riled.

“Well,
why not?” I demand. “What’s so bad about wanting everything back to the way it
was before? Fort Noix is basically a normal town in many ways. If they can do
it, we can do it somewhere else. Replicate the model.”

“I
think you’re getting a bit ahead of yourself.”

I
huff and bend down to check my pole again. There’s another trout wriggling on
the end. I scoop it out of the water and lay it on the bank. It gasps its last
breaths before falling still.

“Maybe
I am being idealistic,” I say, “but saving a few lives here and there isn’t
going to make a huge amount of difference. We need to start rebuilding the
country. I wish…” I pause, struggling to get out my feelings. “I wish you would
support me.”

“Hey,” Ryan says softly. “I’m sorry. I just don’t want you to
die. Is that so bad?”
Then he rests his hand on my arm. “How about we deal with the future when we
get there?”

I
fall silent and we stand there side by side. Then I feel him slide his hand
down to my hand. For a brief moment, I let his fingers lace through mine. Then
I pull away.

Ryan doesn’t say a
word. He doesn’t question me or press me. He hasn’t for the last six months.

I
look at him. His eyes are burning with desire, his gaze fixed on my lips. I’m
overwhelmed with the desire to kiss him.

All
at once, we hear a twig snap and the sound of pounding footsteps. We leap apart
as Molly appears, frantic, running through the shrubbery, her cheeks as red as
her hair.

“What
is it?” I ask, suddenly terrified.

“A
message!” she says, panting.

Ryan
frowns. “A message? What do you mean?”

“A
transmission,” Molly says again. “On the radio. Someone’s contacted us from a
camp in America.”

Ryan
and I exchange a disbelieving look. I can hardly believe it to be true. A
survivors’ camp in America?

I
turn and race up the bank toward Molly, stashing my fish in a bag as I go. Ryan
follows, leaving the kiss that never happened on the bank of the river.

And
as I run, I sense that everything is about to change.

CHAPTER SEVEN

My heart’s pounding as we tear through the forest. A message
from America? What could it be? Molly must have alerted the Forest Dwellers to
the news as well, because they’re all racing a few paces ahead of us, heading
into the compound.

Trixie sees me and bounds over.

“What’s happening, Brooke?” she asks, clutching onto my arm. “Is
it something bad?”

I shake my head. “Not bad at all. Someone’s made contact with
us. From another camp in America.”

Her eyes widen with astonishment.

As we race through the gates, I see that literally everyone
from Fort Noix is gathered in the main square where we hold our bonfire
parties. With all the Forest Dwellers crammed in as well, it’s completely packed.
There are so many people all squashed in together, some are spilling out into
the side streets. I don’t think I’ve seen so many people in one place since
before the war.

Someone’s made a small makeshift stage and other guards are
busy hooking up some speakers. They’re going to use solar power to broadcast
the message for us all to hear. The benches that are usually around the bonfire
pit have been stretched out in front so that some people can sit, but no one
does. They’re too busy pacing restlessly, or standing around looking concerned.
Everyone’s feeling disconcerted by the news. But while most are reacting with
anguish, the main emotion coursing through me is excitement. This could be the
trigger, the moment I’ve been waiting for, to begin my search for survivors.

Trixie, Molly, Ryan, and I weave through the crowds. I search
for Bree, knowing she’ll be here somewhere, but there’s too many people and I
can’t see her.

Suddenly, the crowd falls into a hushed silence. I look up
and see the Commander take to the stage.

“I believe most of you have heard the news in some form or
another,” he says. “So I’m here to confirm that yes, we have indeed picked up a
radio transmission from America.”

The crowd gasps. There’s a hum as people start whispering.
Someone moves through the crowd and slips beside me. It’s Zeke. I can tell the
instant I look into his eyes that he’s thinking the same thing as me—that this
could be the catalyst that turns the tide, that makes the majority of people
realize that we have a duty to go out and look for survivors. Because here, at
last, is the definitive proof that they exist.

The Commander tries to quiet the crowd down with his arms. “It
is a recorded message,” he explains. “We can’t establish how long ago it was made.
It could even have been from before the war.”

I catch Zeke’s eye.

“What did the message say?” someone cries.

“The frequency wasn’t clear,” the Commander replies. “And at
times the message cuts out. But we will play it for you.”

He nods to one of the guards, who goes over to the radio that’s
been hooked up to the loudspeakers, and flips a switch. Immediately, the crowd
groans and covers their ears as a high-pitched squeak blasts out of the
speakers. The guard quickly adjusts the volume to cancel out the horrible
noise. Now the sound of crackling fills the square. It’s intermittently
punctuated by silence from where the transmission cuts out. Everyone listens
intently.

“This is -- of the -- battalion. Our base -- Texas. --
survivors. -- -- -- more.”

My heart clenches. That’s all there is. A garbled message
about battalions, Texas, and survivors. But two things strike me more than
anything else. The first is that this message has come from another military
compound. The second is the last word: more. Because I can’t help thinking it
wasn’t “more,” but “Moore.” The voice is too distorted to work out if it
belongs to my dad. And though there’s no way of making out the words that
filled the silence before it was spoken, the person could easily have said, “there
are many more,” but he also had time to fit in, “This is Laurence Moore.”

The message repeats again. I strain to hear the words, to
recognize the voice, to fully understand what is being said and by whom. But it’s
no use. The volume of the crowd has notched up another level, there’s too much
interference, and the silences cut out the most important words. All I know for
sure is that somewhere in Texas there’s a military faction that survived long
enough to send out a message about survivors and, though it would be a huge
coincidence, there’s a small chance that it could be from my dad.

“Have we been able to message them back?” a woman shouts.

“Do we have any idea who sent it?” another cries.

“That’s not the point,” someone else shouts. “The point is
that there are other camps! We’re not the only one.”

It feels like pandemonium is descending on the compound.

The Commander waves his arms, trying to get everyone to shut
up. “We have not been able to make radio contact with them. As I said, the
message is recorded and repeats on a loop. There’s no way of knowing if the
people who sent it are even still alive.”

“We’ve been combing the airwaves for four years!” Zeke shouts
from beside me. “Wouldn’t we have heard it before now if it was old?”

The crowd agrees and the Commander looks flustered, like he’s
starting to lose control. Everyone begins shouting at once.

“We need to make contact!”

“Can we send a search-and-rescue team?”

Suddenly I feel it, that the tides of opinion are changing.
Never before have the people of Fort Noix received a direct call. Before, it
was easy for them to sit back idly because there was no real proof that there
were other survivors’ camps out there. But now the proof has arrived, and
people are becoming unsettled.

Ryan gives me a mournful smile. He knows full well what I’m
thinking: that I want to leave in search of the Texan survivors. He knows that
he is finally about to lose me. I feel terrible for him, but when I look over
at Molly’s and Zeke’s triumphant expressions, my resolve returns. The turn of
the tide is exciting for all of us. My dream of rebuilding civilization might
be about to happen. Now, I just need the people of Fort Noix to demand that the
Commander use his resources to start helping those in need.

But there’s still a strong isolationist faction arguing
against those who are challenging the status quo.

“We can’t risk being found!” they cry. “It would be a suicide
mission!”

Everyone’s shouting. The voices that are demanding that the
Commander help become louder, bolder, stronger. More forceful. They start
drowning out the shouts from the isolationists and any of the supporting voices
of the Commander.

“We made an agreement years ago,” the Commander cries. “Fort
Noix does not seek survivors. Our own survival depends on us remaining secret
and hidden.” But as he looks out over the crowd, his expression changes, like
he can see that it is not enough anymore, that many, many people no longer
agree. “I ask of you all, please, that we sit down and talk about this.
Democratically.”

People begin to fall silent, taken aback by the mention of
democracy, something that a fort run on military command doesn’t usually get to
experience. I catch sight of General Reece’s distasteful expression, as though
she certainly would have preferred this not have been resolved diplomatically
at all.

“There is no need to shout and argue,” the Commander adds. “I’m
not going to force people to do things they don’t want to. But we need a frank
and honest discussion about what it entails, how these decisions may impact the
rest of the group. The security of Fort Noix has always been, and will always
remain, my paramount concern.”

We all settle down, sitting on the ground and benches. It
reminds me of kids at kindergarten sitting on a storytime rug, only we’re
soldiers, and we’re discussing something far graver than a five-year-old could
ever imagine.

“Say the message is recent,” the Commander begins, “we can
take it as fact that there are indeed survivors out there. Who feels that we
should be searching for survivors?”

There’s a show of hands, and I look around to see that far
more people than just our group have raised their hands in support. I feel a
swirl of happiness in my stomach to know that so many people share my belief
about looking for survivors.

“And what do you people propose we do with them?” the
Commander asks calmly.

Nicolas, a man in our group, begins to speak. “We want to go
on short missions to rescue them and bring them back to the fort.”

General Reece shakes her head. “That would be out of the
question. It would alert slaverunners to our presence.”

“Then what about creating a safe place for them nearby?”
Molly asks. “We can train them to guard and patrol like we do.”

People murmur in agreement, as though this is indeed a good
idea. It would make Fort Noix a town of separatists rather than isolationists.

“How many people would be willing to set up this new fort?”
the Commander asks.

Many of the people I’ve been speaking with over the last six
months volunteer themselves, including Trixie and her family, and a large
number of the Forest Dwellers. The Commander nods, though he looks a little
stung to see so many wishing to leave.

“Then, please,” he says, “know you have my blessing to do
what you think is right. But let me make it clear right now. If you leave, you
cannot come back. It’s too risky.”

General Reece nods. “I agree. If you’re going to be going out
on multiple rescue missions, you’re bound to be noticed by someone sooner or
later. You cannot lead those people here.”

“I understand,” Nicolas replies. “We’re all aware of the
dangers.”

Molly nudges me and gives me a thumbs-up. What we’ve wanted
for months is finally coming to fruition. People will be saved, given a chance
at life like me, Bree, Ben, and Charlie were. But something is still niggling
in the back of my mind. The message. The American military base.

“What about the radio message?” I say. “Can we send a team to
Texas to make contact with the survivors there?”

Silence falls across the crowd.

The Commander looks at me. “We don’t know for certain if the
survivors there are still alive,” he says. “And Texas is a very long way to
travel on the off chance that they are.”

“It’s a chance that many of us are willing to take,” I say,
confidently.

But when I look around, to my dismay I find that no one is
agreeing with me. I realize in that moment that they’ve changed their minds.
Making limited local runs to rescue people is enough for them. Heading across
the length of America is too much. Traveling all the way to Texas was never the
plan. I feel deflated.

“Like I said,” the Commander replies, noting the complete
lack of support anyone is giving me, “you’re free to leave. But you cannot come
back.”

I know I should just be happy that, at last, there will be a
group of people searching for survivors.

But it’s not enough. Because I can’t help thinking that the
person trying to contact us could be my dad, that he could have survived the
war just like the Commander did, and started his own group. Even if there’s
only a million to one chance that it is him, I have to find out.

And that means leaving Fort Noix.

And if need be, alone.

I breathe in deeply.

“In that case,” I say, “I want to leave.”

The silence would be deafening if it weren’t for the shrill
cry of a young girl coming from somewhere at the back of the crowd. It takes me
a second to realize that the cry is coming from Bree.

I look over my shoulder and see her pelting through the
crowd, making a beeline for me. Guilt swirls inside of me. I once made a
promise to her that I would never leave her, and here I am, breaking it to her
in the least sensitive way ever, that I’m going to do just that.

She reaches me and flings herself into my lap.

“I don’t understand what’s happening!” she sobs into my
chest. “You want to leave? But you’d never be able to come back!” She pulls
away, her tear-stained face bright red with emotion. “What about me? Charlie?
Ben? What about us?”

I’m about to soothe her and explain my theory about Dad, when
Neena pushes her way through the crowd and puts a maternal arm around Bree, as
if trying to shield her from the pain I’m causing.

“Come on,” Neena says in hushed tones as she heaves her to
her feet. “Let the grown-ups talk. This is no place for a child.”

Bree looks at me through red-rimmed eyes, her bottom lip
trembling, then lets Neena lead her away. Ben and Charlie follow them through
the crowd, both glaring at me darkly.

My heart breaks as Bree disappears. I feel awful to have
caused her pain. I need to explain to her about Dad, about my gut feeling that
the message is from him. Once she understands that, she’ll see why I have no
choice but to leave.

“Brooke,” General Reece says, “I think you should reconsider
leaving. You’d be going to Texas on nothing more than a hunch. I don’t want to
lose my best shooter.”

“It’s more than a hunch,” I reply. “Zeke’s right when he said
we would have picked the message up sooner if it had been recorded years ago. I’m
absolutely certain that message has only just been sent, that they’re all
alive. I want to find them.”

“I’m with Brooke,” a voice says and my heart skips a beat

I turn and look over at Ryan. All these months that we’ve
been debating isolationism and rescuing survivors, he’s been the person most
opposed to my views. He’s always wanted to stop me from leaving, to convince me
that it’s better just to stay. Yet now, he’s the first to volunteer to come
with me.

“Why?” I ask, astonished.

He smirks. “Because the chances of you changing your mind are
nil,” he says. “And I’m not about to let you walk out alone into your death. So
that leaves me no other option.”

My stomach flips. That Ryan would do that for me, it’s more
than my heart can handle.

“I’m coming too.”

I turn and am floored to see Molly smiling back.

“Unless I’d be a third wheel,” she adds wryly.

“You won’t,” Zeke adds. “Because I’ll be with you all.”

I look from one to the other, relief swelling inside of me
that I’m not doing this alone. And gratitude. I am touched that they care about
me so much that they’d all risk their lives for me.

“Brooke,” the Commander says, “come to my office tomorrow
morning. All of you,” he adds, addressing Zeke, Ryan, and Molly. “We’ll
formulate a plan for your departure.”

My stomach flips again at the thought that this is really
happening, and that the Commander is going to help me. My whole body is a
mixture of excitement and anticipation. After six months of dreaming about
leaving this place, it’s finally about to happen.

But there’s something else there too, a deep, hollow
sensation inside of me. I realize it’s the thought of leaving Charlie, Ben, and
Bree behind. I know they won’t come with me. Bree loves Fort Noix too much,
Charlie is her hopelessly devoted shadow who will do anything she asks, and Ben’s
too unwell to come even if he wanted to.

But I cannot change my mind now—and I don’t want to. Other
survivors might be out there. And among them, I even dare to hope, my father.

I have sealed my fate.

CHAPTER EIGHT

When I enter my room, Bree, sitting on the bottom bunk bed, puts
her book down and stares at me. That look kills me. She’s annoyed at me for
rocking the boat, for bringing disorder and chaos into her previously stable
life, but I decide not to sugar coat it. Bree’s matured a lot over the last few
months. She deserves the truth. I sit beside her on the bed. She looks so serious,
so grown up. I feel a pang of loss for the little girl she used to be.

“Bree, I’m sorry,” I begin, but she cuts me off.

“I think the Commander’s right,” she says, seriously. “Fort
Noix is the first place we’ve been safe. We don’t have to worry about slaverunners
or going hungry. Have you already forgotten what it was like out there? Don’t
you remember how it felt to be starving? I never want to feel that again.”
There’s accusation in her tone.

“But there are other people out there,” I argue gently. “Other
survivors. Don’t you think we should find them?”

Bree just shakes her head. “No. I don’t. The Commander would
let them in if they made it here just like he did with us. But I don’t think we
should go looking for them. It’s way too dangerous.”

“What if one of them was Dad?” I contest.

Bree frowns. She looks even madder than before.

“We don’t even know if Dad’s alive,” she says.

“We don’t know for certain,” I admit. “But I have this
feeling deep inside of me that he is. Like if the Commander can survive this
long, then why not Dad? He was one of the best in the platoon, you heard the
Commander say that.”

“But what does your thinking Dad’s alive have to do with
going to Texas?”

I know she’s going to think I’m crazy, but she has to
understand why I’m so adamant about leaving. “The radio message. I think it was
from Dad.”

Bree looks at me sadly. “I see Mom all the time, too. It’s
just part of grief.”

“It’s not like that,” I snap. “I’m not seeing ghosts.” She
goes to roll her eyes but I grab her roughly by the shoulder. “Listen,” I
demand. “The message is from a military base. Dad was in the military. It’s in
Texas. Dad trained in Texas. He said ‘Moore,’ right at the end!”

Bree wrenches her shoulders from my grasp. “And that’s enough
for you to just up and leave?”

“That and a feeling right in here,” I say, touching my heart,
“that Dad is alive out there somewhere and now that we’re strong enough to find
him we should.”

Bree sighs heavily. “Nothing I say will change your mind,
will it?”

I look down into my lap, ashamed. “You know I don’t want to
leave you.”

“Do I?” she snaps.

“Of course I don’t!” I cry. “You’re my sister. I love you.”

She flashes me a haughty look. “You left Mom.”

The words sting more than a slap to the face. My little Bree,
whom I did everything in the world for, is challenging me over one of the
hardest decisions I ever had to make, one that I made to make sure she stayed
alive.

I’m not prepared to argue with her. It feels as though being
at Fort Noix has turned her from a helpless kid into an independent one. She’s
acting like she doesn’t need me anymore. Maybe she doesn’t.

I stand from the bed and climb into the top bunk. With an
angry sigh I stare at the ceiling.

“I love you, Bree,” I say. “Whatever happens, remember that.”

She doesn’t say anything back.

*

I pace down the darkened corridor, tiptoeing so no one can
hear my footsteps. I’m deep in the bowels of Fort Noix, though I can’t quite
recall how I got here.

At the far end of the corridor, light seeps out from beneath
a door. It’s one of those big steel doors like in a submarine. I realize then
that I’m far, far underground.

I creep up to the door and press my ear against it. Inside, I
can just about make out a deep rumbling voice with a strong South Carolina
accent. It’s the Commander.

I can only hear some of the words he’s saying but it’s enough
to gather that he’s speaking to someone about the radio message, about the
group of survivors in America. Then I pick out something that makes my heart
stop.

“Laurence Moore.”

That’s my dad’s name. What’s the Commander doing talking
about my dad?

I shove the door open. The Commander’s back is to me. He’s
bent over a large machine which I assume to be some kind of radio device. It
takes up the whole other half of the room.
A single light bulb hangs from the ceiling,
casting a dirty dark yellow light over the room, making the shadows stark.

When I barge into the room, he spins around to face me. But
it’s not the Commander I come face to face with. It’s my dad.

He’s in full military gear, looking exactly like he did the
last time I saw him. Behind him the radio bleeps and crackles.

Confused, I start to stagger back, but all at once, the
ground beneath my dad gives way. The entire floor to the secret bunker room is
collapsing. He screams as he plunges down, with bits of the huge radio machine
falling after him.

“Dad!” I cry, reaching for him.

It’s no use. He’s fallen a good thirty feet to the bottom of
a long pit. The wires of the device have snapped and dangle against the wall.
Every time they touch, electricity zaps across them, sending sparks down on my
dad. He peers up at me, terrified.

That’s when I realize I’m not alone. All around the perimeter
of the room, looking down at my dad in the pit, are hundreds upon hundreds of
biovictims. They shout and jeer, waving their fists in the air.

My dad is in an arena.

From the far end, a door opens and a huge spider, at least
ten feet tall, crawls into the arena. Its legs are as thick as tree trunks. It
scuttles toward my dad as fast as a tiger. The spectators go wild.

He looks up at me. “Brooke!” he cries. “Brooke! Help me! You
have to come to me!”

I start to scream.

I wake, screaming, and look all around.

I realize I’m back in my room, in my bunk bed. Daylight is
streaming through the curtains and Bree snores softly in the bed beneath me. My
heart is beating fast. I take deep breaths to try and calm myself down. It was
just a dream, I tell myself. Just a dream.

But it felt like a dream that was telling me something. Urging
me to find my dad. To help him.

Telling me that he’s alive.

Quietly, I climb down the ladder of my bunk bed and land
softly on the ground. I take the fresh uniform Neena cleaned and ironed for me
and slip it on, feeling the rough fabric against my skin. It’s a sensation I’ve
become familiar with over the last six months at Fort Noix. As
I sling the backpack over my shoulder, I hear Bree’s voice coming from behind
me.

“You’re an idiot, Brooke,” she says.

I tense. I hate hearing my sister so angry, and I can’t help
but draw painful comparisons to the way I left Mom, the last bitter words I
said to her.

Without looking back, I say, “I’m sorry, but I have to do
this.”

I take one more step, stop, and add: “I love you. Don’t ever
forget that.”

There comes silence in return.

Then, without another word, I step out of this room, out of
this new life, for what may be the very last time.

CHAPTER NINE

Molly, Zeke, Ryan, and I watch quietly as the Commander
spreads a map out on the table in front of us. We’re in his office in the busy
main building, the one where he’d first decided to let us stay all those months
ago. Now, here he is, helping me to leave.

The map looks incredibly old. People stopped making physical
maps because technology surpassed the need for them, and most of the ones still
in existence would have been poached from museums around the early twenty-first
century. There’s no doubt in my mind that this map is an old, historical relic,
stolen in a raid years ago. There’s no way of knowing for sure if the roads
depicted on it will still be there, or that there won’t be extra settlements on
the way not shown, places where unsavory people might dwell.

General Reece leans over and taps a spot on the map. “This is
us,” she says. Then she runs her finger down the length of the map all the way
to Houston, Texas. “And here is where the signal came from.”

I frown and lean forward, looking more closely at the map in
the dingy yellow light. It looks like such an enormous distance to cover. The
thought is daunting.

“I would recommend you stick to the waterways wherever
possible,” she continues. “It will be safer. Faster. And will require less
fuel. Stay far from the shores. Take the Lawrence River and head west as far as
you can.”

I’d been planning on leaving by the same route I arrived,
traveling alongside the Hudson toward New York. It seemed logical to me to
retrace my steps, to tread familiar ground, at least for the initial part of
the journey. But looking at the map makes me realize that my plan is too risky.
New York is crawling with slaverunners, and is the site of Arena 1. She’s
right: passing through it via land would be incredibly dangerous. By sticking
to the waterways and following the river for as long as possible, we’ll be able
to bypass many of the main highways and cities.

“There’s just one snag,” I say. “I don’t have a boat.”

It’s the Commander who answers.

“We’ll give you a boat, Brooke,” he says, almost matter-of-factly.

My mouth drops open at the news. I can hardly believe it.
Molly and Zeke are both wide-eyed in disbelief, too. My first instinct is to
ask him why, why he would choose to help me by offering up a precious vehicle
like a boat, but I decide against it.

General
Reece taps the map again, pointing to a place in Ohio on the banks of the
river.

“If you survive that far,” she adds, “the water can take you
all the way to Toledo. There’s an old train station there, built during the war
as a way to transport coal down south. There are tracks running all the way to
Texas.”

“Really?” I gasp, my voice rising several pitches at the stroke
of luck.

She nods in her typically emotionless way. It takes all my
willpower to contain my excitement. General Reece and the Commander have no
idea how grateful I am to them for the information.

The tracks aren’t on the ancient map, so General Reece leans
forward and draws a straight red line from Toledo to Chicago, then all the way
down to Houston, Texas.

“This is your first main danger point,” she says, tapping
Chicago. She runs her finger down to St. Louis, Missouri. “This is your second
one.”

“Why?” Zeke asks.

“They’re both major cities and the tracks run straight
through them,” the Commander explains. “And where there are cities, there are
arenas.”

I shudder at the thought.

“So we go around them,” I say. “Adds a day or two to the
journey, but it’s not worth the risk.”

General Reece frowns. “You can’t go around them,” she states,
blandly. “You’ll be on a train.”

I pause and draw my eyebrows together. “We will?”

“Well yes, of course,” she replies. She taps Toledo again. “The
train station is relatively new. It operated throughout most of the war. The
chances of it still being operable are highly likely. Especially since all you
need is coal. You’ll just need to find an engine still on the tracks, fire up
the coal, and you’ll be away.”

Molly lets out a little squeak of surprise. I shake my head,
unable to comprehend.

“I’m sorry, you want me to drive a train?” I stammer.

“A coal-powered train,” General Reece says with a nod, as if
that makes any difference.

I take a seat as I try to catch my breath, completely stunned
by the enormity of the journey ahead of me. This journey is going to take me
entirely out of my comfort zone.

The Commander looks at me curiously. “If you don’t think you
can handle it, Brooke,” he says, “maybe it would be best not to go at all. You’ve
made a decent life for yourself here. There’s a group about to head out looking
for survivors to start their own colony. You could always go with them. Take
your sister. Your friends.”

I shake my head, determined. “No,” I say, forcefully. “I can
do this.”

“You can,” Molly agrees.

“We can,” Ryan adds.

I look up at my friends’ faces. They all seem to have so much
faith in me, so much belief. They’re willing to leave their home to help me
follow my dream.

“Any of you guys ever driven a train before?” I ask.

Everyone breaks into a smile.

*

My arms ache as I heave the last of the supplies into the thirty-foot
sailboat, making it rock on the banks of the river. We have a huge stash of
weapons; plenty of dried food provisions like cured meat and pickled vegetables;
changes of clothes; and a medical kit containing slings, bandages, and
antibiotics in case of emergencies.

I then reach over and begin loading the thirty-gallon drums
of fuel, knowing how precious each one is as General Reece hands them to me.

“We can only spare four,” she explains, as I load the last
one. “You’ll need to sail as much as you can. Use the fuel sparingly, only if
you’re in trouble or in bad weather. That engine is really meant for backup,
anyway. Remember, this is primarily a sailboat, not a yacht.”

I nod, taking it all in. The Commander’s map is safely
stashed in my pocket. Of all the items on board the boat, it is by far the most
precious. Without the map, we’ll just be four people wandering through America.

Jack jumps excitedly into the boat, kissing me first, as he
always does, and I feel reassured to have the pit bull with us.

Four people and a dog, I think to myself.

“You ready for this?” Molly asks, coming up to my side.

Her question makes me aware of the flutter of panic in my
chest. “I guess,” I reply. Then I look at her and frown. “Why did you decide to
come with me?”

The corners of her lips turn up. “You might be the best
shooter in Fort Noix, but you’re not going to get very far without the second
best watching your back.”

She says it in her usual dry way. But I read between the
lines of her sarcasm. She’s coming because I’m her friend and she wants to help
me. The thought is beyond comforting.

Jack starts barking at something in the distance, and I look
over to see figures approaching.

“Looks like our farewell party has arrived,” Ryan says.

A group of guards comes up to Ryan, clapping him on the
shoulder and embracing him. There are people there for Molly and Zeke as well.
My stomach drops at the realization that no one has come to say goodbye to me.
A part of me understands Ben not being here. His PTSD has driven a wedge
between us and we’ve grown apart over the last six months. And Charlie, of
course, won’t be here unless Bree is. But it’s Bree’s absence that hurts me the
most. I know she’s mad at me but I wish she would at least come to say goodbye.
It reminds me, painfully, of the way I let my dad walk out of my life all those
years ago. I’d refused to say goodbye to him because I’d seen him hit my mom
and was mad about him leaving us for the army. In my darker moments, that
memory has haunted me.

As I’m dwelling in my emotions, I suddenly catch sight of a
figure standing a little way behind the others. It’s Ben.

My heart leaps at the sight of him. I always thought Ben was
handsome, with his soft features and gentle eyes, but right now he looks
beautiful, standing so still like a statue in the midday sunshine.

He notices me looking but doesn’t approach. I wonder if he
was planning on just watching me leave and think maybe I shouldn’t say anything
to him. Then I decide that I don’t care about his poignancy, and head toward
him.

“You came to say goodbye,” I say as I walk up to him.

He shakes his head. “I came because I wanted to come with
you.”

His words shock me. We’ve barely spoken for six months and
now he’s telling me he wants to up and leave Fort Noix to be with me.

“You do?” I stammer.

He nods, his expression pained. “I did. But this was as far
as I could go.”

I look him up and down, frozen to the spot as though with
fear. The group of well-wishers are down by the shoreline. Ben’s PTSD has
stopped him from getting any closer.

Once again, I feel guilty about leaving him here. He’s
managed so far to just about present himself as well enough. He’s kept himself
beneath the radar. But what if my leaving triggers something in him, makes him
worse?

“Are you going to be okay, Ben?” I say.

He nods, but I can see tears glittering in his eyes. The
sight of them makes my own emotions threaten to choke me. Ben’s been by my side
more or less since Bree was kidnapped. We’ve been together through everything.
The last six months as he’s pulled away from me has made me unaware of just
much I will miss him.

Suddenly, I realize how much of a jerk I’ve been to Ben. I’ve
been pushing him away for months, unable to deal with his detached,
grief-stricken ways. I’d run to Ryan like a moth to a flame, wanting to be with
someone who wasn’t so damaged, to have a friendship where for once I didn’t
have to be the strong one. Bree’s right. I am an idiot.

I fly into Ben’s arms and hold him tightly, so tightly I can
feel his heart beating against my chest.

“Come with me,” I whisper into his ear. “Please.”

He shakes his head. “I wish I could,” he replies, his voice
tremulous. “You have no idea how much I wish I could.”

I pull away from the embrace, feeling like my heart is
splintering into a thousand pieces.

“Look after Bree,” I say, quickly wiping the tears from my
eye.

Then I turn and head back to the boat.

“You ready?” Ryan asks, offering his hand to help me into the
boat.

I don’t take it, just step onto the boat beside him.

“Let’s do this,” I say.

We raise the sails together. I yank on the coarse lines and
already my palms are burning; it takes more power to raise the sails than I’d
imagined. They rise slowly, one foot at a time, and I must use all the leverage
of my body to get them up. Molly helps beside me, while Ryan leans over the
hull and raises the anchor. Zeke secures the lines and turns the rudder, and a
moment later, I experience the most incredible feeling: we are moving. The wind
catches our sail, and foot by foot we begin to leave shoreline and gain
momentum.

I look back, taking one long, last look. I wonder if I will
ever see this place again. My heart aches from my goodbye with Ben, from
knowing I can never come back.

“Look, Brooke,” Molly says.

I see all the people amassing on the shore, standing on the
banks, saluting. The four of us salute back. I wish my dad could see me now.

We stand there, saluting each other, as the boat drifts farther
and farther away. Then, farther down the shoreline, we see another group of
people. It’s the Forest Dwellers. They wave, clap, and cheer. I see that Trixie
is there at the front, her giant bunny in her arms. The sight of her reminds me
why I am doing this; to make the world safer for everyone.

We wave back, feeling like superstars. The sounds of the
cheers make me smile.

That’s when I notice that one person isn’t waving or smiling
like the others. It’s Bree. She’s standing beside Trixie, with Charlie clutching
her arm on the other side. She watches me, silently, her chin tipped up.

I let my waving hand drop. As the boat sails past, we
continue to watch each other, our gazes locked together. I watch the figure of
my little sister grow smaller and smaller as the distance between us lengthens.
I watch until she is nothing more than a smudge on the horizon. My heart breaks
as it never has, as I am filled with waves of self-doubt and guilt.

Then I turn around and face the open water, ready to take on
the rest of my life.

Ready to find my father.

PART
TWO

CHAPTER TEN

Ryan sits in the stern___, steering the boat, Jack beside him,
paws up on the rail, his tongue lolling. I lean back, letting the wind catch in
my hair, tousling it behind me. It is surprisingly windy and because of the
speed, the wind is bracingly cold. My nose is stinging and my cheeks are
frozen.

It feels good to be on the move, to know my journey has
finally begun. After all these months thinking about this moment, it has
finally arrived. It’s especially great to be on the water, away from the cities
and destruction. Out here, you can almost pretend the war didn’t happen.

The water sparkles beneath us as we cut through it at speed.
I let it relax me. If it weren’t so cold, I’d almost be tempted to sunbathe.

“Take a look at that!” Ryan calls over his shoulder.

I sit up and see where he’s pointing. Up ahead are lots of
small islands dotting the water. Some are filled with trees, like mini floating
forests. Some are linked by bridges, now rusted and falling apart. On others
there are houses; big, grand buildings that are beginning to crumble into the
water.

“Did people live in those?” I say, surprised.

Zeke holds up the map and points to the St. Lawrence River,
which we are currently sailing down. “Must be the Thousand Islands,” he says,
tapping the blobs of green that run along the length of the river.

I watch, awestruck, as we weave in and out of the islands. I
can’t even begin to imagine the sort of community that would have lived here,
needing a boat to get to their neighbor’s house, or to the mainland for school
and work. The houses are very plush, making me think that they must have been
inhabited by rich people.

We pass a house that would have been a mansion in its heyday.
It’s covered in thick ivy that strangles all the windows, turning it into
something out of a children’s fairy tale. For a moment, I wonder what it would
be like if we all pulled over and moved into one of these mansions, lived out
our days here, in crumbling opulence. I wonder if anything inside is still
intact. Chandeliers? Marble fireplaces? Priceless rugs? Antiques?

All of that, if not looted, would surely be ruined by now.
We’d be living in a hull of a mansion, unheated, without food or running water.
I shake my head. It is a mirage of opulence, a dream from another era.

“This is where the others should bring the survivors,” Molly
says with a laugh. “Can you imagine?”

I cast my mind back to the moment we were rescued in the
Hudson River. After our horrendous ordeal, finding Fort Noix was like stepping
into paradise. But finding this place would have been like stepping into
another world, a dreamland.

“Too bad we can’t go back and tell them about this place,” I
say, with a hint of bitterness in my voice.

Molly picks up on my tone. “Are you pissed with the Commander
for saying we can’t go back?”

I shake my head. For all his faults, the Commander really
came through for me in the end. Without him we wouldn’t have the map or the
boat.

“It’s not that,” I say, gazing out over the crystal blue
water.

“Is it Bree?” Molly probes.

My heart squeezes at the memory of her watching me silently
from the shoreline. She truly believes that I’ve left her forever. She has no
faith in me to find our dad. In my mind, I’ll make it to Texas and send a radio
transmission home, calling to her. Or drive one of the military tanks up and
collect her myself. But in her mind, I’ve left her behind, just like I left Mom.
Just like Dad left us. What she thinks I’ve done to her is unforgivable.

When I don’t say anything, Molly puts her arm around my
shoulder. She holds me like that, not saying a word, just letting me be present
in my pain.

Just then, the clouds start to darken.

“Looks like rain,” Zeke says, gazing at the sky.

We all look up at the graying clouds starting to crowd above
us.

The boat is completely exposed. Depending on how bad the
storm is, we could be soaked to the bone if we keep going. But I don’t want to
have to stop so soon after leaving.

“Why don’t we stop off there?” Molly says, pointing up ahead
to where an amazing castle stands on one of the tree-covered islands.

My mouth drops open. “It’s beautiful,” I gasp.

Ryan, at the helm of the boat, looks over at me and raises an
eyebrow. “Well? Time for sightseeing?”

Just then, the rain begins to fall. It’s a cold, hard rain
that lashes us.

“Pull over,” I say. “Let’s shelter in the castle.”

Molly pulls the line on her side, and we all duck as we tack
and the boom swings, while Ryan steers us toward the little island that houses
the castle. He steers us expertly to a stop by the small jetty.

Jack’s the first off the boat, jumping off and running onto
the steady ground and barking his excitement. He pees, then rushes off toward
the castle, taking in all the new smells of grass, mud, and stone.

Molly and I leap off while Zeke ties up the boat. As soon as
he’s done, Ryan follows, and the four of us race into the castle.

We’re soaking wet by the time we’re inside. The castle has
seen better days, and parts of the ceiling have caved in. Water drips down,
pooling in the middle of the large, marble floor.

There’s a spiral staircase leading up, a broken piano in one
corner of the hall, and a grandfather clock that’s no longer ticking. Black
mold spots the walls and there’s a dank smell.

So much for my fantasy of opulence.

“Where’s Jack?” Ryan asks, peering through the gloom.

“He ran off that way,” Zeke says, pointing down one of the
corridors.

We begin to walk down the corridor, our footsteps echoing
across the marble tiles.

“Jack!” Ryan calls. “Where are you, boy?”

There’s the sound of barking from far in the distance. We
head toward the sound.

“Hey,” I say as we go. “What’s that up ahead?”

Everyone looks, peering through the darkness. There seems to
be something glowing in the distance, like some kind of source of light. But it’s
too yellow to be daylight. It looks more like a flame.

“A fire!” I gasp, suddenly alerted to the fact that someone else
is here.

Immediately we draw our weapons. My mind races. Who could be
here? A crazy colony? A group of slaverunners camping out on their way to the
cities?

A lone survivor?

Suddenly, Jack emerges from the shadows. He leaps up at Ryan,
licking him.

“Whoever it is,” Ryan says, “Jack seems to think it’s safe. He’s
usually a good judge of character.”

“Who is there?” a voice calls from the darkness.

We all freeze, our guns poised, ready to fire. Shadows leap
across the stone walls as a figure slowly shuffles toward us. As he gets
closer, I see that it’s a young Hispanic boy, maybe fifteen. He’s thin with a
baby face.

“Don’t come any closer!” I shout, jabbing my gun forward for
emphasis.

The boy holds his hands up. “That’s not a very polite way to
treat your host,” he says. “You are in my home, after all.”

My eyes dart right and meet Molly’s. She’s pulling a bemused
expression.

“You live in this castle?” I say to the boy. “Alone?”

“All alone,” the boy replies. “You’re the first people I’ve
seen in four years.” He looks away as though pained. “I’d started to think I
was the last.”

“The last what?” I ask.

“The last human on earth.”

My heart aches for him. To have spent all those years alone,
thinking he was the only one left. It’s a thought too horrible to bear.

I lower my gun.

“I’m Brooke,” I say, holding my hand out to shake his.

He looks at me, guarded, unsure whether he can trust the girl
who moments earlier was pointing a gun in his face. In the end he takes my
hand.

“Emmanuel,” he says.

He peers over at the others, their guns still trained on him.
The rest of the gang take my lead and lower their weapons.

“You got any food in there?” he asks, eyeing my bag.

“If you’ve got a fire we can dry ourselves by,” I reply.

He nods. “This way.”

We follow him down the corridor and into a large hall that
resembles a ballroom. The mold smell is even worse in here. There’s a large
marble fireplace in one of the walls with a small fire burning in the middle.
We all rush over and begin to warm ourselves.

I notice that Emmanuel is eyeing my satchel.

“Help yourself,” I say, knowing there are enough rations in
the boat to last us for weeks.

He opens up the bag and pulls out some dried meat strips,
then starts to eat them ravenously. The sight of him gorging reminds me of the
hunger that was a constant fixture in my life in the mountains. Thanks to being
regularly fed in Fort Noix, I’d let myself forget what it felt like to starve.
I feel a sudden pang of empathy for the boy.

“How did you get here, Emmanuel?” I ask him.

His mouth is stuffed with dried meat, but he speaks anyway.

“I’m from Toronto,” he replies. “When the rebels came and took
it over, my family and I had to flee the city. There were loads of other people
with us, maybe a thousand. Maybe even two.” He pauses, swallows, then takes
another huge mouthful of meat. “We had to go on foot. It was a long journey. We
were following the river because we didn’t have a map or compass or anything.
We’d got as far as the Thousand Islands when the bombs fell. They were killed.”

“Your family?” I ask gently.

“Everyone,” he replies. “I was the only one who didn’t die.”

I gasp, trying to imagine a group of two thousand people
obliterated in one bomb strike, leaving just one boy alive.

“I don’t know what made me jump in the water,” he adds. “I
guess it was some kind of instinct to just get away from it all, from all that
death.” He shudders as he relives the moment. “I just jumped in the water and
started swimming. Then I ended up here.”

“And you’ve been here ever since,” I reply.

I’m amazed by his story. If he is indeed fifteen, and has
been here for four years, he was Bree’s age when everyone he knew was killed in
one second. How he found the strength and resolve to carry on, I don’t know.

Molly whistles. “That quite a story, Emmanuel,” she says.

He glares at her, at her insensitivity. I can almost feel him
screaming in his mind that it’s not a story, it’s his life. Molly’s my friend
and I have to remind myself that she hasn’t seen the same kind of pain and
devastation as we survivors have. It’s harder for her to empathize with someone
like Emmanuel than it is for me. In fact, none of them do. Not Molly, Ryan, or
Zeke.

Suddenly, I feel the absence of Ben like a hole in the heart.
He’d get it right away. His sensitivity and understanding would be really
welcome round about now. But I know that’s not going to happen, so I’m going to
have to try and do it myself.

“I’m a survivor too,” I say. “I lived in the mountains in New
York. Just me and my sister.”

“Is she dead?” Emmanuel asks.

I shake my head. “No. She’s safe. Happy.” At least, I hope
she will be eventually, once she’s gotten over my betrayal.

The rain lashes outside, and the sky is starting to darken.
It makes me feel uneasy. With nightfall comes extra danger. Us not being able
to see properly gives predators—be they slaverunner, wild creature, or crazies—the
advantage. But Emmanuel has survived here alone for years, so it must be safe.
Still, the thought of us having to camp out overnight here doesn’t exactly
thrill me.

“Why did you leave New York?” Emmanuel asks.

“We had no choice,” I reply. “Slaverunners found us.”

Emmanuel looks confused. “What are slaverunners? Are they the
deformed people?”

It takes me by surprise that Emmanuel’s hideout is so cut off
from everything that he doesn’t even know what slaverunners are.

“Slaverunners control the cities,” I explain. “They go out
looking for survivors to put to work or…” My voice trails away. “To use for entertainment.”

I can feel everyone’s eyes on me. Of all the things that
interest my new friends, it’s my time in the arenas that intrigues them the
most. I’ve never fully spoken about it as it hurts too much to think of.
Recalling memories of Logan is still excruciatingly painful.

“There are still cities?” Emmanuel asks. “With survivors in
them?”

“Yes. But they’re dangerous places now. The only safe places
are the military-run survivors’ camps. There’s one just north of here. You
should go. You’d be safe there.”

“I’m safe here,” Emmanuel replies. “No one bothers me. The
only thing that worries me are the deformed people, but they just sail right
past.”

I pause, my attention suddenly alerted. “Wait,” I say. “What
do you mean they sail right past?”

Emmanuel prods the fire with a stick nonchalantly. “Well,
they don’t know I’m here. It’s not like I have a boat or anything that would
draw their attention to me.”

Molly’s eyes suddenly snap wide open as she comes to the same
realization as me. Our boat is tied to the jetty in full view. We didn’t even
think to hide it. But if there are crazies in this area, they will surely have
spotted it.

I leap to my feet and grab my gun. At the same time,
somewhere from down the long winding corridor comes a strange sound, like a
slamming door.

Molly looks at me.

Silently, I nod. Ryan and Zeke also leap up, their hands on
their weapons. Emmanuel looks terrified.

“What’s happening?” he asks.

I press my finger to my lips. “Be quiet. And put out the
fire.”

He does exactly as I say, rushing over and kicking the flames
until there’s nothing left but smoldering coal. In the pitch blackness, we all
stand completely still, listening to the shuffling, pattering sounds coming
from the other side of the castle.

I curse myself for having been so stupid as to leave the boat
in view. We’d been so distracted by the storm we’d been thinking only of
finding shelter. That lapse in judgment might have cost us dearly.

“Emmanuel,” I whisper to the terrified boy, “we’re going to
try and get to our boat, okay? We’ll get you out of here and head to safety.”

I’m thinking of Nicolas and the Forest Dwellers’ new
survivors’ colony. We can send Emmanuel in that direction. It would probably
take little more than a day to reach on foot.

But Emmanuel is shaking his head. “I don’t want to leave the
castle,” he says stubbornly. “This is my home.”

“Not for long,” I reply. “Listen. You hear that? Footsteps.
There are people here. People who want to hurt you.”

He frowns, suddenly angry. “You led them here,” he accuses
me.

There’s nothing I can say to refute it. He’s right.

“And that’s why I’m going to do everything I can to keep you
safe,” I reply, sternly.

I feel someone move beside me in the darkness. Even without
being able to see, I can tell that it’s Ryan.

“I’m sending Jack ahead,” he whispers. “We can follow his
route.”

“Good idea,” I reply.

I can just about make out Jack’s white fur as he trots
quietly across the large ballroom and out into the corridor.

“Come on,” Ryan whispers.

We creep silently across the room, putting all our faith in
Jack like he’s a guide dog for the blind. We make it to the corridor and skirt
along, our backs to the damp stone walls. After a tense few minutes, we emerge
into the main chamber with the piano, staircase, and grandfather clock.

A stream of weak moonlight comes through the hole in the
ceiling. Jack’s only fifty paces away from the open door when he stops. His
head darts up, picking up a sound that none of us can hear. Then he begins
barking shrilly, as though instructing us to run, leave, get out.

Without a second’s hesitation, we race forward, heading
straight for the door. At the same time, shadows lurch out of the corridor.

Crazies. At least ten of them.

They race toward us, their faces melted, their deformed hands
stretching out for us. I’m ready for them. I start shooting before anyone else
has even had a chance to draw their weapon. My first shot is so precise it only
just skims past Ryan’s face before meeting its target.

Emmanuel screams and freezes on the spot. I have no choice
but to grab him and start dragging him, making me unable to fire my weapon. I
just pray the other three can cover me.

Ryan, Zeke, and Molly shoot their guns desperately at the
crazies but none of the bullets find their destination. They’re panicking too
much. Finally, Molly gets herself together and manages to shoot one of the
crazies dead. He falls directly in my and Emmanuel’s path. Emmanuel
trips over the corpse and goes flying across the slippery marble floor, right
into another crazy. The deformed man snatches him up in his arms, ready to
whisk him away. But there’s no way I’m going to let that happen. This whole
thing is my fault. Emmanuel was safe before we turned up. I won’t let him die
because of me.

I aim my gun up and blast the crazy right in the face.

Blood explodes all over the place and the crazy falls to the
floor dead, releasing Emmanuel, who crumples into a heap, shivering, staring at
the place where the crazy’s face used to be.

“GET UP!” I cry at him. “MOVE!”

He drags himself to his feet and runs toward where Jack is
barking by the door, ready to lead the boy to safety.

With Emmanuel safely out the way, I wheel and direct my gun
at the shadows, at the figures darting around in them. Molly’s gun cracks out
another bullet, hitting a crazy in the chest. She fires two more times, and he
finally falls. Ryan and Zeke both fire on a second crazy and he collapses to
his knees before falling face first onto the marble with his arms splayed
either side of him. I turn my gun on the last standing crazy and fire. My
bullet hits him right between the eyes. He pauses momentarily before falling to
the ground.

Panting, blood-splattered, we look around at the fallen group
of crazies. Ten of them lie dead on the floor. That was way too close for
comfort, but we did it. We killed them all.

Suddenly, I hear the sound of Jack’s barking coming from
outside the castle. If Jack is barking, that means there’s more danger. My mind
immediately thinks of Emmanuel, who followed the pit bull outside. He’s
completely defenseless.

Ryan, Zeke, Molly, and I exchange a quick glance before
rushing out of the castle doors. And that’s when we see them. Through a gray
sheet of rain, we take in the sight of more crazies. A whole gang of them—on
our boat. The ones inside the castle were just an offshoot of this main group,
a distraction used to give these crazies the opportunity to steal our boat. And
there in the center sits Emmanuel. He’s been completely bound in rope. His
frantic gaze locks with mine.

“NO!” I scream.

The engine of our boat thrums and the black water churns as
the propellers turn. The boat starts to move away, taking our weapons, food,
and medical supplies with it.

Flooded with anger, drenched by rain, I raise my gun. But
what can I do? I can’t get a clear shot of the crazies driving the boat because
Emmanuel is in the way. If I shoot it to sink it, that would be no help either.
We’d lose everything, including Emmanuel, who wouldn’t be able to swim to
safety. There’s nothing I can do. I’m completely defeated.

Suddenly, I feel something grab me from behind. I scream and
thrash around frantically. Beside me, Molly, Ryan, and Zeke have all been
grabbed as well. As I finally catch a glimpse behind me, I realize that the
whole island is filled with crazies. There are at least fifty of them
surrounding the castle. The ones in the boat were just a decoy. We’re trapped.
There’s nothing we can do.

I’m certain I’m about to meet my death when the sudden blast
of a shotgun splinters the air. Something whistles past my face and immediately
the arms that were latched tightly around me release. The crazy who’d been
holding me falls into the wet, muddy earth, dead, with a neat bullet hole in
the side of his face.

I touch my cheek and feel warm blood mingling with the ice
cold rain drops. The bullet grazed me. Whoever just fired that gun was a
millimeter from blasting my face off.

I don’t have time to think about the fact I’m still alive or
how. I dart forward with my gun, spin on the spot, and start shooting the
crazies. I free Molly first, knowing full well that she’s a better shot than
either of the guys. She looks completely startled as she wriggles free from the
dead crazy who’d been holding her. She’s soaking wet from the rain. Her uniform
weighs her down and her ginger hair is plastered to her head.

“Save Emmanuel!” I shout at her.

She nods and splashes through the muddy puddles as she races
toward the jetty, where the small boat is rapidly disappearing across the water.
It’s only then that I notice the other boat, the one that’s coming toward us,
the one containing three silhouettes, one of whom is holding a gun.

Out the corner of my eye I have time to see the silhouetted
figure shoot his gun. Again, the bullet just skims me. For a second, I wonder
if I was the intended target. But then a dead crazy flops to my feet and I
realize I’d been mere seconds from being attacked by him. Whoever it is in that
boat, they’re trying to help us.

I have no time to think about the mysterious people who are
helping us; I have to focus on freeing Zeke and Ryan, on neutralizing the
threat. I turn back and see that Jack is attacking the crazy holding Ryan,
gnashing with his jaws. The crazy tries kicking him off but it’s no use. He finally
lets go of Ryan and falls down in the mud.

Ryan, now free, grabs his gun and fires a vengeful bullet
straight into the man’s head. When he looks up at me, his jaw is set firmly.
The expression on his face chills me to the bone much more than the pounding
rain that soaks me. It’s a murderous look.

As though fueled by revenge, Ryan grabs his gun and begins
firing round after round at the crazies. They begin dropping to the
rain-drenched ground, falling face first into the mud and dying undignified
deaths. My heart pounds as I fire too, and kill the crazy holding Zeke.

Now that there are three of us on the island shooting the
crazies, plus the mysterious stranger on the approaching boat, the crazies
begin to fall more quickly. Soon there’s only a handful left, the ones that
were clever enough to take cover behind walls and trees. Ryan stalks over to
one, seemingly without any recognition of the danger he’s in by exposing
himself, and fires at the crazy, killing him at point-blank range.

With Ryan on his murderous rampage and Zeke covering him, I
decide to help out Molly. I can hear her gun firing as she tries to kill the
crazies taking away Emmanuel, and every time she pauses to lock and load, she
curses, and I know she’s having no luck.
I race to her side but it’s no use. Our boat and
Emmanuel are far away. There’s no chance of rescuing them now.

Suddenly, the sound of gunfire ceases. I glance behind me and
realize that Ryan has shot the last of the crazies. We did it. But we lost
Emmanuel and our boat containing all our supplies. It hardly feels like a
victory.

For the first time, I let myself fully look at the other
boat, the one with the strangers who were helping us. It’s a boat just like the
one we’d just lost, but smaller. A sailboat, its small engine is nonetheless
whining as it’s being driven like a motorboat. Even in the gloomy moonlight,
and obscured by the sheet of pelting rain, I can tell that they are not
strangers at all. The three figures on the boat are in fact so recognizable to
me as to be family.

It’s Bree, Charlie, and, holding the gun, the gun that saved
my life twice in the last five minutes, Ben.

*

I stare at them as if I’ve seen a ghost. The small boat
reaches the jetty and Jack bounds over. Penelope leaps ashore and the two dogs
race around in circles, happy to be reunited.

The rest of us just stand completely still, too shocked to
move.

“Is that…” Molly begins.

“Yes,” I reply.

Suddenly, I find my feet. I race toward them full speed
through the squelchy mud, not caring about it splattering all over my clothes.
When I reach them, the kids grab hold of me and pull me into an embrace. I’m
filled with relief.

“Bree,” I stammer, staring into my sister’s face cupped
between my hands. “You came.”

She nods. “I’m sorry. I should never have let you go like
that. Without saying goodbye.”

“Shh,” I say, hushing her. “No sorries. If anyone’s sorry it
should be me. We’re together now, and that’s all that matters.”

I pull her into my arms again and hold on tightly, while
Charlie’s arms circle tightly around my waist.

“You’re bleeding, Brooke,” he says, sounding worried for me.

“I’m fine,” I say, touching my wound as I remember the bullet
that whizzed past my cheek and saved my life, the bullet that was shot by Ben.

I look over the children’s huddled figures at Ben, who is
standing a few paces back from the rest of us.

“How did you…” I begin, a million questions entering my mind,
not even knowing what to say next.

“We begged the Commander for another boat,” Ben said. “We had
a feeling you might need us.”

I smile.

“Nice shot,” I say, knowing full well that it’s the first he’s
made since that day at the outpost when his PTSD stopped him dead in his
tracks.

Ben looks at me intently with his soulful blue eyes. “I don’t
know how,” he says. “But when I saw that you were in danger I could just
suddenly shoot again.” He sounds confused, like he doesn’t fully understand it
himself.

“Well, I’m glad,” I say. “And I’m glad you came.”

“Me too,” he says quietly.

Just then, the other three come over. Everyone hugs, shakes
hands, pats each other on the back. But my joy and relief are only short-lived
as I remember Emmanuel and our boat.

“What do we do now?” I say.

We all look at Ben’s boat. It’s even smaller than the one the
Commander gave us, and there’s no way we’ll fit comfortably in there. And they
don’t have any supplies or weapons to speak of.

But we have no choice. The seven of us huddle into the boat,
the two dogs squeezing in too. It might be cramped but the important thing is
that we’re all together. Everyone I love is in this boat. Everyone but one
person… Dad.

“I’m coming, Dad,” I whisper under my breath.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The
boat, its engine off, now at full sail, sways and lurches in the water as Zeke
consults the map.

“We’ve
reached Lake Ontario,” he announces.

I
look out, as do the others, shocked by the sight ahead. It looks more like an
ocean. The waves are huge and rock our overcrowded boat violently. I cling on
for dear life, praying that after surviving an attack from crazies we don’t
meet our doom in the water. I would hate to drown like Logan.

The
rain is still pounding and we’re all completely soaked and shivering. But we
need to keep going, plowing onward, putting as much distance between us and the
crazies as possible.

The
entire way I kept my eyes peeled for the crazies, for our old boat, for
Emmanuel, desperate to save him. But to my horror and guilt, they were nowhere
to be found.

Suddenly,
a sound dawns on me, one that had been nudging at my consciousness and growing
louder with each minute.

“Uh-oh,”
Zeke says. “Looks like danger ahead.”

I
huddle forward and peer at the map. He’s pointing to something. I read Niagara
Falls.

“Oh,”
I say, apprehensively.

That
was the sound: rushing water, distant, yet growing closer.

It’s
a testament to the dangers of the cities that the Commander and General Reece
thought it would be safer to direct us via Niagara Falls than have us go by
foot for any significant portion of the journey.

“What
do we do?” Ryan asks.

“It’s
the only way to get into Lake Erie,” I reply. “Toledo is on its west bank. We’ll
just have to be careful.”

The
tension is unbearable. Not only do we have poor weather and overcrowding to
contend with, but now we have to maneuver past a waterfall. I feel Bree’s
small, cold hand slip into mine.

“It
will be okay,” I say. Then I look up at Ryan, who is steering the boat. “Won’t
it?”

He
nods grimly, his expression not exactly filling me with confidence.

“We
don’t have much gas,” Ryan adds. “And we’ll need as much power as possible to
counteract the force of the falls, to get us to shore before we go over.”

“Use
it all if you have to,” I tell him. “We can sail the rest of the way. Just don’t
let us go over.”

He
turns back to the tiller___, his features transforming into complete
concentration. I hold Bree close to me and whisper a silent prayer under my
breath. She nuzzles her head into my chest and squeezes her eyes shut. Penelope
sits in her lap, shivering from the rain.

The
boat chugs along, churning up water as we go. Ryan steers us smoothly along,
trying not to fight the power of the water while also using it to push us
forward. I can hear the engine struggling in the choppy water, and then a new
noise makes me even tenser. It’s the rising sound of the waterfall, of
thousands of liters of water plummeting down a cliff face, crashing on the
rocks. And we’re heading right toward it.

I
grip the sides of the boat even tighter. Beside me, Molly is doing the same.
Zeke has practically turned green. In complete contrast to the others, Ben sits
serenely, his gaze locked on me. I can’t help but feel calmed by his presence.
We’ve gone through so much together and are still standing; it’s almost like he’s
a good-luck talisman. He nods as if to say, “We’ve got this. We’ve been through
worse.” Despite my fear, I find myself smiling back at him.

The
boat carries on forward and the sound of the waterfall grows even louder. The
amount of water spray kicked up by the power of it is immense. It drenches us
as much as the rain.

The
sound and feel of the engine beneath me changes. I look over to Ryan and see
that he’s giving the boat more power. And that means that the pull of the
waterfall is starting to take effect. I can’t help but visualize our little
boat being sucked into the stream and splintering to a thousand pieces on the
rocks on the way down.

I
catch my first glimpse of the waterfall’s edge. How strange to think of all the
tourists who gathered here and took tour boats across the water. They will all
be dead now, all those people whose lives consisted of day trips to beauty
spots. They could never have imagined as they stood here looking at the
breathtaking sight of nature at its finest that in a few hundred years our
species would have almost entirely annihilated itself.

I
push the thoughts from my mind and keep my gaze on the lip of the waterfall as
we skim past it. I feel like every muscle in my body has tensed up and that I’ve
turned to rock. I’ve never been at someone’s mercy like this. It’s almost
unbearable. Usually when I’m in danger I know I can fight and get myself out of
it. Now, I have nothing to do but hope and wish and pray we make it out the
other side.

The
end of the waterfall’s rim is just in sight.

And
then a strange putt-putt-putt noise makes me frown. I look at Ryan. His
expression instantly tells me it is bad news.

“The
engine,” he says. “We’re running out of gas.”

As
soon as he says it, the whirring of the propeller starts to slow. Instantly,
the power of the waterfall can be felt beneath us. The boat starts to be pulled
toward it by the force.

“ROW!”
I scream. “EVERYONE! NOW!”

We
grab the oars from beneath the seats and frantically begin rowing. My arms ache
with the power of my movements. I grit my teeth with determination and put
everything I’ve got into forcing the boat away from the waterfall’s edge. But
despite all our strength, we continue to veer closer and closer to the rim.

There’s
just five meters or so to push through before we clear the edge. The engine
hasn’t died yet and Ryan’s able to keep it turning over, giving us just a fraction
more power.

“Head
for the shore!” I cry to Ryan.

With
the combined efforts of all of us, and what little power we have left in the
engine, we manage to just reach the shore.

I
heave a sigh of relief, as do the others, all of us drenched.

The
second we touch land, I leap off and extend my hand to Bree. She grabs it and I
haul her up onto the solid land. I heave Charlie out next. Jack and Penelope
leap up on their own, and Molly, Ben, and Zeke are able to heave themselves out
of the boat and onto the land. Together we grab the ropes and hold on for dear
life as Ryan makes the leap out and onto land.

“Now
what?” Molly cries, fighting against the power of the boat.

“Now
we pull the boat onto land,” I shout back.

She
gives me a look like she’s less than thrilled, but she doesn’t argue. Zeke,
Molly, Ben, Ryan, and I begin heaving with all our strength. After rowing for
so long, my arm muscles scream in pain. But I keep pulling. Finally, we edge
the boat out of the water and onto the strip of land.

I
fall back, exhausted, aching, relieved. We’re still alive. I can hardly believe
it.

“That
was a close call,” I say to the gray, drizzly sky.

Ben’s
face appears above me. “Come on,” he says, extending his hand to me.

I
take it and let him pull me to my feet, overwhelmed once again by the mere
sight of him. Ryan must notice the way I look at him because he shoots a glare
my way. He’s probably thinking that he was the one who just saved all our
lives, that he was the one who came with me in the first place, and yet here I
am swooning over Ben, the boy who barely spoke to me for six months and let me
head off alone. I know it’s not fair, but I don’t fully understand my feelings
toward either of them.

Zeke
pulls out the map the Commander gave us.

“We
should walk the boat to Lake Erie,” he says. “There’s three more waterfalls to
get past in this part of the lake. We won’t have enough gas to power past them
all.”

He’s
right. Once in Lake Erie, we’ll be able to sail all the way to Toledo, but we
won’t have the strength to pass any more rapids.

Despite
our complete exhaustion, no one is prepared to take a break, especially when we’re
on land and completely exposed. We all feel much more comfortable on the water
where the chances of crazy and slaverunner attacks are closer to nil. Plus, we’re
nearing Buffalo, which was a densely populated city before the war. If there’s
going to be any slaverunner activity in these parts, that’s where we’re likely
to find it.

We
trudge along the road, weary, shivering, soaked to the bone. A rest would be
welcome around about now, but we have to keep going. Apart from the kids, we
all take it in turns carrying the boat. It’s heavy, and what with our muscles
already aching, it starts to really slow us down.

After
an hour of walking, I’m completely spent. I stumble, my legs giving out beneath
me.

“We
can’t stop here,” Zeke says. “Buffalo is just ahead.”

He
nods toward the horizon, where a collection of skyscrapers and tall buildings
make up the skyline. I drag myself to my feet and begin trudging along again.
To make matters worse, my stomach feels completely hollow. We lost all of our
provisions when the crazies stole our boat. We’re going to have to hunt
sometime soon before we all collapse from exhaustion. But I keep telling myself
“not yet.” Once we’ve made it past Buffalo and are back in the water, then I
can start worrying about things like sleep and sustenance.

The
city looms up ahead of us. I get an unpleasant feeling in the pit of my
stomach. But it’s not the feeling that tells me danger lurks nearby, it’s a
different feeling. It’s the feeling of death. Of ruin. The entire city is
empty, deserted. A once bustling metropolis has been left to decay because of a
pointless war that killed its inhabitants.

Night
is starting to fall, making stark shadows across the streets, turning the
houses into skeletons. I shiver and draw my arms across my chest for
protection.

“Looks
like there’s nothing to worry about here,” Zeke says.

The
abandoned city is good news. It means no slaverunners. But it makes me think
dark, depressing, hopeless thoughts, and that is definitely not good. The
sooner we get out of Buffalo the better.

“This
way to get to the water,” Zeke says, pointing to the dog-eared map.

“Here,”
I say, going up to Ryan. “I’ll take the boat for the next stretch.”

He
swaps out with me. Then Ben comes over and swaps out with Molly. For the first
time, Ben and I are walking together. We don’t say a word, we’ve never had much
need to. Without him having to utter a single syllable, I can tell that the gesture
was a symbolic one, one that says he won’t leave me again, that we’ll be
walking side by side forevermore. The thought comforts me.

We
get to the lake’s edge and nudge the boat into the water.

I
heave a sigh of relief, completely spent.

“Lake
Erie,” Zeke announces, like some kind of tour guide, as we begin to clamber on
board. “Three hundred twenty miles to Toledo.”

My
legs shake from fatigue as I clamber aboard. The kids practically fall asleep
the second they hit the deck.

“We’ll
need to take this in turns then,” I say. “Get some sleep in shifts. Ryan, why
don’t you sleep first since you steered us through Niagara Falls and all?”

I’m
expecting to see his cocky smile at my quip but he just looks at me with
pained, haunted eyes. It occurs to me that the last twenty-four hours have
probably been the most traumatic in his life. He’s become a shell of himself.
But he nods, accepting my urging.

“Just
twenty minutes,” he says. “Then wake me up.”

I
agree, though I have no intention of waking him for at least two hours. Zeke
decides he’ll take the first sleeping shift as well. Then I turn to Molly.

“Do
you want to sleep on the first shift too?” I ask.

She
looks from me to Ben with a curious look in her eye. I can tell she doesn’t
think it’s a great idea for me and Ben to be left alone together, and I wonder
if it’s because she doesn’t yet trust him or because she is suspicious of there
being something between us and feels loyalty to Ryan. Whatever it is, she
finally agrees to sleep.

Everyone
apart from Ben and me curls up on the floor of the boat, leaving the two of us
to set the sails and steer out into the expanse of water.

We
head southwest, keeping the banks in our sight line at all times.

I
look over at Ben. He looks stunning in the dawn light.

“I’m
glad you’re here,” I tell him, speaking quietly so as not to wake anyone up. “I
missed you.”

“We
were only apart for a few hours,” he replies.

“That’s
not what I mean.”

He
looks down, embarrassed, as it dawns on him that I’m referring to our time in
Fort Noix, and the way he cut me out of his life.

“Where
did you go?” I ask him. “Why didn’t you speak to me for six months?”

He
can hardly meet my eye. “I didn’t want you to know how weak I’d become.”

I
frown. “And why would that matter to me? You’re my friend, Ben, I care for you
no matter what.”

“That’s
just it,” he replies. “I’m your friend. Your weak, sensitive friend. Rather
than the sort of strong, confident guy who could one day become more than your
friend.” His eyes skim over Ryan’s sleeping form.

“Are
you telling me you ignored me for six months because you’re jealous of Ryan?” I’m
almost too angry to speak.

“It’s
not just Ryan,” Ben says. “It’s Logan too. The second we reached Fort Noix you
never spoke of him again. Never even said his name. You were in love with him,
weren’t you?” His eyes burn into me.

“I
don’t know,” I say, squirming.

“Well,
I do,” Ben says. “You were. And even after he died I still wasn’t good enough
for you.”

“Ben,”
I say, pained. It hurts to hear him talk like this, especially when it couldn’t
be further from the truth. I do have feelings for Ben, I just don’t fully
understand them.

“You
have a type,” Ben adds. “Strong. Confident. Accomplished.”

“You’re
all those things,” I reply, a little exasperated.

He
just shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. I know my place now, Brooke. Because
you see, I tried to let you go and it didn’t work. I came running straight
after you. My place is beside you. Whether you want me there or not.”

“I
do want you there,” I say. “Always.”

Ben
turns his face from me and looks out over the sparkling water. He doesn’t
believe me and my heart deflates. I wish I was better with words, and that I
could make him see how much it means to me that he’s here. But I don’t get the
chance because Molly stirs.

“Brooke,”
she whispers. “Why don’t I take this shift?”

It
occurs to me then that she’s heard everything, that she hasn’t slept a wink.
Like a good friend, she’s trying to protect me from my pain.

“Thanks,”
I say. “I could do with the sleep.”

As
we swap places, she squeezes my arm, as if to tell me that everything will be
all right.

“Good
night, Ben,” I say.

He
doesn’t say anything back.

*

I’m
woken by a jolt. I sit up sharply, and realize it’s morning. I must have slept
all night. No one woke me to take another shift.

I
drag myself to sitting and look around. The boat is lurching violently.

“What’s
happening?” I shout.

Above
me, Zeke, Molly, and Ryan are fighting with the sail.

“Storm!”
Zeke shouts down.

I
finally make it to my feet. The water is dark, churning violently. Waves
several meters high rise up, dragging our little boat helplessly along with
them. My stomach turns as we plummet down the side of a wave.

“I’m
scared!” Bree cries.

I
look back at her clutching the sides of the boat. She looks terrified, as does
Charlie.

“It’s
going to be okay,” I tell them hurriedly. “We can handle it.”

I
help the others with the ropes and sails. There’s very little we can do,
though, other than sit it out. We’re at the mercy of the water and can only
pray that it doesn’t capsize us.

The
sensation is horrible, like being on a terrifying rollercoaster or an airplane
in turbulence. Molly loses her footing and gets catapulted across the boat.
Zeke grabs her just in time to stop her falling overboard.

“Everyone
hold on tight!” I cry, reaching for my friends.

We
huddle together, keeping vigilant of any danger as our little boat is buffeted
by the waves and thrown around. Even though my stomach is empty, I still feel
like I could throw up.

The
dogs whimper as we lurch sideways. Bree begins to cry. For the first time I
wonder if we made the right call taking the river route. If Buffalo was
completely deserted, maybe all the big cities along the lake’s edge are
deserted as well. But just as I’m thinking it, I catch sight of a city on the
banks, and what I see chills me to my core.

“Zeke!”
I cry as the boat bobs up and back down again. “Where are we?”

“Must
be Cleveland,” he replies.

“Do
you see it?” I shout to Ben, my eyes transfixed on the city that the lake seems
to be pushing us toward.

“I
see it,” he replies.

There,
in the distance, looming up in the middle of bombed out buildings, is the
unmistakable outline of an arena.

“We
have to MOVE!” I cry. “There are slaverunners in that city. If they see us, we’re
dead.”

I
remember the powerful speedboats the slaverunners chased us with before. Our
little boat will be nothing against them. If we’re spotted, we’ll be captured
in a matter of minutes.

“There’s
nothing we can do!” Ryan shouts back as the boat makes another huge push up,
followed by a stomach-churning plummet down.

I
know he’s right but I just can’t accept it. There must be something we can do
to put a bit more distance between us and the city crawling with slaverunners.
We seem to be forced closer to the banks. From here, I can even make out the
sight of the bright yellow school buses that are used to transport young girls
to the sex trade. We’re far too close for comfort.

“Is
there any gas at all?” I cry to Molly, who’s sitting by the engine throttle.

She
tries it, and to my relief, the engine sputters alive.

“There
must be a tiny bit left,” Ryan says.

“Good.
Then use it!”

He
powers the boat forward, heading away from the coast and farther into the
middle of the lake. The waves here seem even stronger, and with the forward
motion of the boat as well, we seem to be bobbing up and down even more
violently. Charlie begins retching in his hole at the bottom of the boat. Bree
holds onto him to comfort him.

“Come
on, Ryan,” I urge, willing him to go faster, to get us out of sight of the dangerous
city.

At
last, the distance between us and Cleveland seems to grow. I can no longer make
out the buses, and the tops of the buildings disappear over the horizon. The
only thing that’s left in my sightline is the roof of the huge arena.

Just
as the waves begin to lessen, the engine of the boat finally splutters to
death. We’re sitting ducks again. Only at least this time we’re nowhere near
the dangerous city of Cleveland. Instead, we’re closer now to the northern bank
of Lake Erie. From here we can see the derelict city of Detroit. It’s another
grand city reduced to nothing more than rubble. I shiver, desperate to make it
to Toledo soon and put the danger and horror of mass destruction behind us.

But
I have a feeling it’s only just beginning.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“So this is Toledo,” I say, looking around at the decaying
harbor we’ve landed in.

Finally, we touch the shore and disembark. It feels strange
to be back on solid ground after so long at sea. I am not sure whether I am
relieved to be off the violent waters, or anxious to be back on dry land.

I look around. Toledo is more or less intact, but completely
empty. It’s a ghost town, eerie in the pale morning light. The place is so
thoroughly deserted, I can’t help but think slaverunners must have been through
here, picking off all the survivors. The thought makes me shudder.

Zeke consults the map. “It’s this way,” he says, pointing
ahead.

We all stop and turn and look at the boat. I have mixed
feelings, knowing we are abandoning it. I can only hope and pray we find the
train soon. And I can’t help but feel a sense of victory that we made it this
far by water.

We turn and walk. We trek down a narrow road, tall trees
growing on either side. There are young tree saplings that have clearly grown
since the war because they look healthy and untamed. But the road itself has
been ravaged by bombs. Every few steps we pass another crater, another burnt
out car, and bits of twisted metal all over the asphalt from an explosion that
ripped vehicles right apart from its force. Nature has attempted to reclaim the
road. Tufts of grass spring out of cracks, and vines twist around street signs,
hydrants, and lamps.

After a while, we turn onto a main road. Here there are
houses dotted either side of the road, the wood siding rotting and falling off
in places, their front gardens completely overgrown. Some of the houses have
endured fires and have huge black smoke marks above the grubby windows. Others
look almost completely intact, the bombs that fell here missing their properties
by mere feet.

We pass a gas station, with a raggedy American flag still
blowing in the wind. There are rusted trucks sitting in the parking lot,
abandoned. We check them all for gas, to see whether we can use them to reach
our destination more quickly, but they’ve all already been siphoned. It’s a
sign that people lived around here after the war long enough to scavenge, but
there’s no one to be seen now. No sign that anyone’s set foot on this road, in
this part of America, for years and years and years.

Beyond
exhausted, we trek all day. Finally, night begins closing in. We’re all famished.
The only upside is that there have been no more attacks from crazies, and no
sightings of wild animals, despite the Toledo zoo being just a few blocks from
where we’re heading. I’ll never forget the time I came face to face with a wild
lion that had broken free from Central Park Zoo. It’s an experience I hope
never to repeat.

The
air is heavy with dust. The houses become more dense, as does the destruction.
There are whole streets where the front parts of the buildings have been blown
off, like the door to a doll’s house being taken off and exposing the whole
house inside. Each house tells the same story: of everything of worth being
looted, of the building being left in disrepair with wallpaper peeling from the
walls, plaster and wiring falling from the ceiling, the stairs caved in, of
nature trying to reclaim what was taken from it. Rats have nested in the old
family homes, as have birds.

I’m
on even greater alert here than before. Anywhere that was once more populated
is more dangerous. Not only are there more places to hide but there’s more
chance that people survived the war and got left behind. At least there’s no
sign of slaverunner activity. I’m certain that this area must have been amongst
the first to be raided by the slaverunners. They probably haven’t been here for
years now, discarding the place after taking what they needed, leaving a ghost
town in their wake.

Finally,
I see the huge rust-colored bridge where the train tracks pass over the roads.
For the first time in a long time, I let a flicker of hope lift my spirits. I
even find enough strength in my limbs to run.

“Guys,
come on, this way,” I call to the others.

With
tired, heavy footsteps, we dash across the last bit of open land and into the
train yard. But the moment we get a clear view of the station and tracks, my
stomach sinks with disappointment. The whole place is destroyed. Explosions
have melted the metal of the tracks and twisted them up at strange angles. The
train cars that were on the tracks must have been blasted off, because they lie
on their sides, scattered across the yard.

And
of course, there is no coal.

They’ve
all been looted.

I’m
devastated by the sight I see before me. The Commander’s historic map was
right, it led us on the right path to the right place, but we’re here years too
late. The map has led us to a place that’s been completely obliterated. The
only things still standing are the bridge across the road and the small metal station
house.

Molly
is the first to speak.

“Now
what?”

It’s
a good question and one I can’t answer. When we left Fort Noix, there was no
plan B.

“We’ll
need to find another vehicle,” I say.

“Way
to state the obvious,” Molly says. “But we’ve been checking pretty much every
car we’ve passed. There’s nothing.”

I
really don’t appreciate her attitude right now.

“We
can’t stand here,” Ben says.

He’s
right. Darkness is crowding in on us, and that means danger is getting ever
closer. Slaverunners, crazies, escaped animals, if they wanted to attack, now
would be the time to do it, while we’re all standing here in the middle of an
open train yard.

I
look back at the ragtag bunch of followers. Bree and Charlie are clasping hands
with each other. They look completely exhausted, with dark circles under their
eyes and downturned mouths. Molly appears to be fuming, but getting angry and
hostile has always been her reaction to negative experiences. Ben looks
frantic. Even Zeke, the only actual adult here, looks like a tired, vulnerable
infant. Ryan’s the only one who looks like he has any fight left in him at all.

I
realize then that they’re all looking to me. They need me to tell them what to
do, to make the decisions, to lead them.

“Let’s
head for the train station,” I say, agreeing with Ben. “We can hide out there
until we figure out what to do.”

We
begin walking past the rail yard toward the small station house. Zeke leads the
way, zigzagging through the fallen train cars, assuming the position of leader
just like he used to when we had our meetings. But leading a discussion around
a table and leading a mission are two completely different things. He’s not
being cautious enough, just plowing ahead. Some instinct tells me to reach for
my gun.

All
at once, there’s an almighty noise of screeching metal. Everyone freezes as one
of the train carriages ahead of us appears to start moving. It rocks side to
side, light glittering off the metal, and in the darkness, I can see movement
coming from under it. Like a swarm of ants under an overturned log, crazies
start crawling out of the train carriage.

I
don’t have any time to think. I start to fire straightaway. Ryan takes up his
firearm, his gunshots joining the cacophony of noise. Beside me, Ben and Molly
start shooting too.

The
crazies surge forward, charging at the closest target: Zeke.

“Run!”
Molly shouts.

We
run, jumping over bits of blown-up train carriage, dashing across the yard. The
only place that offers any kind of protection in the near vicinity is the
station house, and that means racing round the perimeter of the yard in a full
circle. It’s impossible to go straight ahead because that’s where the mass is
coming from.

Without
question, everyone follows me.

“Don’t
look back!” I shout.

Then
I hear a scream, one that makes my bones turn to ice. It’s Bree.

I
don’t even stop to think. I turn on the spot.

“Brooke!
What are you doing?” Molly cries, coming up to me, trying to shove me on.

But
it’s no use. I barge past her easily and run back to where Bree is right at the
back of the group. The crazies are so close to her they’re barely an arm’s
length away.

Like
a relay race runner preparing to receive the baton, I stretch my hand back for
her and get in a stance ready to run. She sees me and stretches her hand
forward. The second her fingers make contact with me, I yank her forward,
pulling her with me. We pelt across the yard, heading for the station house
where the others have already made it.

“Run!
Brooke, run!” they’re all screaming from the door.

I
can hear the sound of hundreds of crazies’ footsteps pounding after me. There’s
so many of them I can smell their odor, feel the heat coming from their skin.
Bree stumbles as she runs beside me, but I won’t let her fall.

We’re
almost there. Fifteen feet. Ten feet. Five feet.

Then
we catapult in through the open door and collapse onto the ground. Ben slams
the door shut behind us, locking it with bolts. We hear the sound of the
crazies as they blast into the side of the building, thudding one after the
other.

Bree
and I sit up, panting. She clasps onto me just like she used to when it was
just the two of us in the mountains. We hold each other close in the center of
our group. Everyone’s huddled into the middle of the room, looking out at the
windows, where the silhouettes of the crazies bob around, banging their fists
against the glass.

We’re
completely surrounded.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The
sound of pounding is like a drum in my brain. The dogs are barking feverishly.

We’re
trapped in the station house. I’m still clutching Bree in the middle of the
dark room, sitting on the dusty floorboards. My friends seem frozen with fear
around me. The same thoughts must be running through all of our minds: this is
the end, this is how we die.

The
fear I’m feeling is so consuming, I don’t even realize that Bree is trying to
break free from my clasp.

“Brooke,”
she’s saying. “Brooke, look, look there.”

Finally
I let her go and turn to see where she is pointing. She scrabbles up from me
and rushes over to a small hatch in the ground. I have no idea how she managed
to see it in the dim light, but the relief as I pull it open and see stairs
leading down into blackness is all consuming.

“Quick,”
I shout at everyone.

Ryan
is the first to rush over. He races down the ladder, disappearing into the
blackness. Molly gestures for Bree and Charlie to go next, ushering them in,
then dropping down after them. Zeke is quick to follow.

Ben
appears, his gun drawn and pointing at the door as he edges backward.

“Brooke,
go,” he says. “I’ll cover you.”

But
some sense of responsibility is stopping me from saving myself first. It would
be like a captain abandoning a sinking ship.

“You
first,” I cry out. “Come on.”

I
grab him by the shirt and pull him toward the hole. Just as he starts
descending, one of the windows smashes. I flinch at the noise and turn to see
crazies climbing over one another in their haste to get to me.

“Brooke!”
Ben screams up from the hole.

I
clamber onto the ladder, pulling the heavy wooden trapdoor down with one hand
and fumbling with my gun with the other. I get out four shots at the advancing
crazies before disappearing into the hole and yanking the trapdoor firmly into
place.

From
below, the hands of my friends reach for me. I’m lifted clean off the ladder by
Zeke and Ben, and set on the ground. Above us, the crazies pound on the trap
door.

My
heart beats wildly as I look around. Molly’s lit her flashlight and is shining
it around, lighting up the place. We’re in a tunnel, stretching on as far as
the eye can see. It seems like some kind of storage place, with wooden crates
stacked haphazardly around. It’s made of brick and is dank, molded with mildew.
It stinks of rat and death down here.

Though
we have no idea where it is leading us, we have no choice to but to follow the
tunnel. The crazies will get through the trapdoor sooner or later. Going
forward is the only way to avoid certain death.

We
run through the tunnel as fast as we can, our flashlights lighting the way,
bouncing and making shadows dance all around us in a crazy flashing pattern. It’s
like we’re in some kind of nightmare discotheque.

From
the other end of the tunnel, the way we’d just come, we hear the sound of
cracking wood, followed by thuds as the crazies drop through the trapdoor to
the ground. Once again, the hunt is on. I can only pray that there isn’t more
danger at the other end of this tunnel.

I
can hear the crazies’ footsteps gaining on us. My whole body is tense, pumping
with adrenaline. I don’t want to die down here in this dark, smelly tunnel.

As
my feet pound against the cement floor, I feel something brush past my leg. My
first instinct is a rat, but it was far too big for that. It’s then that I
realize Jack is heading back the way we came, running straight for the crazies.
Penelope is running right after him, eager to join the fight too. I turn my
flashlight on them and see them both baring their fangs, aiming for the crazies’
throats. The sight is so gruesome it turns my stomach. I’m also terrified for
their safety. They’re both so small and fragile in comparison to the crazies.

I
fire off some rounds of ammunition to help out, but I know it’s not enough. If
I want to stop the crazies from pursuing us, I’ll have to think of something
drastic.

“Guys!”
I shout ahead. “We need to create a blockade with the crates.”

“We
can’t stop!” Zeke shouts back. “They’re too close.”

But
I know we’re not going to make it if we keep running. We still can’t see the
end of the tunnel. We don’t even know what’s at the end of it. It could be
leading us to a brick wall for all we know.

Ignoring
his warning, I start knocking the crates with my arm as I go. They tumble down
to the ground, splintering and spilling their contents onto the floor. Coal.
Stacks and stacks of it. Seeing it gives me my second burst of inspiration.

I
keep knocking down the crates, hoping that the crazies will find it harder to
reach us with the obstacles in the way. At the same time I rip a strip of cloth
from my uniform, hold it between my teeth, and fumble in my bag for matches.
Finally, I find them. I light the end of the fabric, stop, turn, and throw it
into the strewn coal and splintered wood. The splinters act like kindling and
the fire spreads quickly. But it’s too low. The heat might slow the crazies but
it’s not enough to stop them.

Jack
and Penelope dart toward us, sprinting past the fire and back to the group.
They’ve managed to cause a lot of damage between them, but there are still
crazies standing and they’re getting very close. I grab one of the crates and
throw it with all my might at the fire.

The
others finally realize what I’m doing. They all stop too, quickly building a
waist-high barricade with spare crates. The fire catches, and at last we have a
barrier. Some of the crazies run straight into it, setting themselves alight.

“Come
on,” I say. “Let’s keep going.”

We
leave the flaming barricade behind us and sprint along the tunnel. Jack is
right by my heel and I’m so grateful for his bravery back there. He slowed the
crazies down long enough for me to collect my thoughts and come up with a plan.

Smoke
is starting to thicken in the tunnel as more and more coal starts to smolder.
It’s thick, making it difficult to breathe. The kids start coughing.

“We
have to get out of here!” I yell.

“I
can see a ladder!” Zeke shouts from up ahead.

We
all hurry toward him and see a rusty, half falling apart metal ladder screwed
into the wall, leading up to a round metal cover. It’s a manhole, presumably
leading out to the streets of Toledo.

Zeke’s
up it quicker than I can blink, slamming his shoulder into the cover at the
top. It opens and cold evening air blasts us. He disappears out the top, then
his face reappears.

“Come
on!” Zeke cries, holding his hand down.

We
pass up Charlie and Bree. Molly starts climbing, with Penelope under one arm.
The ladder groans under her weight. The screws in the wall seem loose and they
rattle with every step she makes.

“Brooke,”
Ben says. “You’re the lightest, you should go next.”

I
look from him to Ryan. I can’t go up knowing one of them will be last, that the
ladder might not hold out for one of them and send the other plunging to his
death. But I don’t get a choice, because Ryan suddenly sweeps me up in his arms
and shoves me onto the first rung. He pushes from behind, and I have no choice
but to climb.

I
grab Zeke’s outstretched hand and he yanks me up into the street through the
hole. The cold air shocks me after the stuffy, stinking, smoky tunnel. I start
coughing, and Bree runs over, flinging her arms around me. But it’s not over
yet. Ben and Ryan are still down there, down in that horrible, dark place.

Black,
acrid smoke billows out the hole as I race over beside Zeke and stretch my hand
down. Jack is shoved into my arms by Ryan. I heave him out and plop him down
behind me. He runs over to Penelope and Bree for some much needed pampering.

Ben
is next. I help pull him from the hole. He’s completely soot covered, his face
streaked with black, looking like a miner emerging from the mines. But as he
pops out the hole, the ladder screeches and disintegrates behind him.

“Ryan!”
I scream, as twisted bits of metal fall down around him, clattering to the
ground.

From
the bottom of the hole, Ryan looks up at me, looking lost and terrified.

“Grab
my hand!” I scream.

“No!”
he shouts back. “I’m heavier than you. I’ll just pull you in.”

I
turn to Zeke and Ben. “Hold my legs, I’m going in.”

I
don’t give them a chance to protest. I fling myself forward into the hole and
they grab me, pinning my legs against the asphalt. I’m hanging into the hole by
my waist, stretching forward for Ryan. He’s still a good few feet below me.

“Jump!”
I shout.

The
smoke is so thick now it’s starting to obscure my view of him. For a second, I
lose sight of him. My first fear is that he’s passed out.

“Ryan!”
I scream. “RYAN!”

Suddenly,
he reappears, making the smoke swirl around him. He’s got a crate. He coughs as
he positions it on the ground, covering his face with his sleeve, then clambers
onto it. It gives him just enough height to reach my hands. I grip him as hard
as I can.

“Pull!”
I shout at Zeke and Ben.

Molly
comes over to help, and between the three of them, they heave me up with Ryan
dangling from my arms. We get him through the hole then flop back against the
ground. I take in a huge gasp of air, lying sprawled on my back, gazing up at
the black sky.

My
first instinct is to laugh. We made it. We’re alive. But when I turn to Ryan,
expecting to see his cocky smile, instead I see that his eyes are closed. He’s
not moving.

“No,
no, no,” I say, dragging myself onto my knees and crawling over to him.

I
rest my head on his chest. It’s not rising or falling. He’s not breathing.

Everyone
begins to realize what’s happening. They crowd over, looking anxious and pale.
The kids cling to each other, unable to look as I begin performing CPR on Ryan.
Jack howls into the night, and Penelope joins in.

“Come
on!” I shout as I pump down on Ryan’s chest.

He’s
completely covered in black smoke. When I push my lips to his they taste of
coal. I will Ryan to breathe again. He can’t leave me. Not now. I don’t know
what I’d do without him.

Suddenly,
Ryan takes a sharp intake of breath. He’s breathing again, but he’s still
unconscious.

I
sit back on my heels, feeling overwhelmed. What are we supposed to do now? We’re
in the middle of the street, completely exposed. We don’t have the train anymore,
and Ryan’s out cold.

“We
need to find shelter,” Molly says, taking me by the arm and leading me to my
feet. “In case there are any crazies left alive around here.”

“Shelter
where?” I cry, glancing around at the derelict buildings. None of them seem to
offer adequate protection; they’re all falling apart.

Just
then, I realize the dogs have disappeared. Once again, they’ve hurried off,
sniffing the air, searching for danger on our behalf. Then from somewhere far
away, Jack starts barking and Penelope joins in with her high-pitched yapping.

“I
think the dogs might have found somewhere,” Molly replies. “Come on.”

She
takes my hand, not wanting to let me go, even when I pull back to try and get
Ryan. So I let her lead me away in the direction of Jack’s and Penelope’s
barks, while Ben and Zeke carry Ryan’s unconscious body.

Penelope
and Jack lead us all down a road that runs parallel to the train tracks. Up
ahead is a strange-looking building that looks like it might have been some
kind of power station once upon a time. It’s made of a series of buildings like
silos. Beside them is a pyramid-shaped building that is completely rusted.
There are no windows and the only way in is up a steep, narrow ladder. I’m so
glad the dogs managed to find this place; it will certainly offer us protection
for the night. With only one way in, we’ll be able to guard the door.

“Come
on,” I say, scaling the ladder.

I
push open the door at the top and step inside the strange building. I realize
then that it’s not a power plant at all, but an enormous grain store. I’ve
never seen anything like it before. Zeke, Ben, and Molly manage to carry Ryan
up the steep stairs and into the grain store. Bree and Charlie come inside
last. Zeke slams the door shut, plunging us into darkness. Then we all sink to
the floor, exhausted.

I
help settle Ryan into a comfortable position and wipe the soot from his face.
He’s still unconscious and the sight terrifies me.

“I
think a few of us should go back to get the boat from the harbor,” I say to the
group.

“Why?”
Molly questions me.

“Because
the river runs all the way to Indiana and we know we’re safest on the water.”

Zeke
consults the map. “She’s right. The Maumee River would take us on for miles but
it goes through some built-up areas.” He points to where the river diverges at
a place called Grand Rapids, heading due south almost all the way through Ohio.
“This river would avoid all the large towns.”

“I
don’t want you to leave, Brooke,” Bree says, her bottom lip quivering. “And
what about Ryan? What if he wakes up while you’re gone?”

“She’s
right,” Ben says. “We shouldn’t split up. Not while there might still be
crazies out there.”

“Well
then what’s your plan?” I say with a harsh tone.

“How
about,” Molly says, acting as the peacemaker, “we all get some sleep? Eat some
food? Talk about this in the morning?”

I
shake my head. “We need to have a plan.”

“And
we will,” she says sternly. “Tomorrow. The kids need to rest.”

She
gestures toward Bree and Charlie. They both look terrified and exhausted and I
know Molly’s warning me to calm down, to not look so desperate and frantic in
front of them. But I can’t help it. I can’t bear the thought of not knowing
where we’re heading next, not knowing what the next step of the plan is. We
were supposed to be on a coal train right now, hurtling through the open
countryside, not cooped up in a grain store.

“No,”
I snap back. “Tonight. We’ll work out what we’re doing. As soon as Ryan’s
awake, we leave.”

Molly
narrows her eyes. She doesn’t appreciate my attitude or being bossed around by
me. But I feel like I’m losing my mind right now. Plotting our next steps is
the only thing that will stop me from worrying.

“You
know what, fine,” she says gruffly. “Since none of my opinions seem to matter,
I’m going to go and see if there’s anything edible in this place. You guys sit
around talking in circles.”

She
stomps off. I feel bad for making her annoyed, but she has no idea how much
danger we’re in, in the middle of nowhere, completely off course. The quicker
we plan our escape route the better.

Zeke
spreads the map out on the floor and Ben and I peer over it.

“Do
you really want to go all the way back for the boat?” Ben asks.

“What
other option do we have?” I reply. “It’s our only transportation. We can’t get
to Texas by foot.”

“She’s
right,” Zeke replies. “The boat is integral here. We could even head all the
way west then row it down the Mississippi.”

“But
that would mean going via Chicago,” Ben says. “There’s bound to be an arena
there. And that’s not to mention how far we’d have to carry the damn boat in
the first place.”

“Do
you have a better idea?” Zeke asks.

Ben
shrugs. “I don’t know if it’s better or not, but I think we should leave the
boat behind. The chances of us finding one at the other end are pretty high,
wouldn’t you say? And it would mean we weren’t being slowed down the whole time
by carrying the boat.”

I’m
about to launch into another argument when I suddenly hear a shrill scream.

“Molly!”
I cry.

Jack
and Penelope bound off into the darkness, ready to play the heroes again. We
stand, prepared to follow them.

“Stay
here!” I cry at Bree and Charlie. “Look after Ryan, okay?”

Then
we run, Zeke first, then me, then Ben. The metal grating clangs underfoot as we
hurry after Jack and Penelope.

“MOLLY?”
I cry, but there’s no response.

I’m
terrified for my friend. What could have happened to her? Did she fall over one
of the balconies and hurt herself? Was she attacked? If so, by who, or what?

I
can see Jack and Penelope draw to a halt up ahead, but I can’t see Molly at
all. We race toward the dogs and see why they’ve stopped. There’s a large door
that’s sealed shut. The dogs scratch at it, whining.

“She
must be in there,” I say.

Zeke
and Ben start ramming their shoulders against the door. I join in too, and
before long, we manage to pry it open just a little.

“Molly?”
I shout through the gap. “Where are you?”

Again,
there’s no response. We manage to make a gap just big enough for Penelope to
get through.

“Please
find her,” I tell the one-eyed Chihuahua.

The
little dog tips its head to the side as though she understands what I’m asking
of her, then disappears through the gap.

“She’ll
be okay,” Ben says, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. “Penelope will find
her.”

I
fold into him, remembering how safe and comforted I feel in his arms.

Finally,
we hear Penelope’s familiar yap-yap-yap. She leaps back through the
hole, tail wagging, and a moment later, the door creaks open, and there stands
Molly.

“Oh
God,” I cry, flying into her arms. “I thought something terrible had happened
to you.”

But
that’s when I realize she’s not moving, not reciprocating the hug. I open my
eyes and discover that I’m starting straight down the barrel of a gun.

I
jerk back and hold my hands in a truce position. As I move away from the door,
I catch sight of Molly’s captor. He’s a young guy, maybe nineteen years old,
with a guarded expression. One of his arms is tight around Molly, the other
clutches the gun, pointing it at us.

“Who
are you?” he demands.

“Just
survivors,” I say. “Just people like you.”

He
glares at me, untrusting.

“Why
are you here?” he snaps. “No one’s been in Toledo for years. Why did you come
here?”

“Why
don’t you put the gun down so we can talk properly?” I say.

“No
way,” he says, shaking his head. “Tell me why you’re here.”

“We’re
trying to get to Texas,” I reply. “To an army camp there. We were supposed to
take the train all the way down but the tracks were damaged and we were
attacked by crazies.”

He
pauses and a little flicker of interest crosses his face.

“An
army camp?” he says.

I
feel like I might be getting somewhere. The mention of the military camp has
piqued his interest.

“Yes.
We received a radio message from a survivors’ camp. A military one. We’re going
to check it out.”

He
studies my face as though trying to work out if I’m telling the truth or not.

“I’m
Brooke,” I continue, trying to lure him into security so he’ll put the gun
down. I point to each of the guys behind me. “Ben. Zeke. And that’s Molly.” I
point at my friend, who is trembling, the gun poised at her temple. “I’m also
here with my little sister, Bree, her friend Charlie, and there’s one more of
us, Ryan. He’s unconscious. Then there’s Jack the pit bull and Penelope the
Chihuahua, who you’ve already met. And that’s it. That’s everyone. You don’t
have any reason to be afraid of us. We just wanted somewhere to shelter until
Ryan wakes up, then we’ll be off.”

“You’re
really going to Texas?” he asks, his tone closer to curiosity than aggression.
But his eyes are still narrowed, telling me he’s not quite sure if he can trust
me.

“Yes,”
I reply.

“What
if…” he begins, then pauses. I can tell he’s hesitating, deliberating. “What if
I told you I know the best way to get to Texas from here? Would you let me come
with you?”

I
can feel Zeke and Ben tensing behind me. We don’t know this guy. All we know
about him so far is that he has a gun and he’s pointing it at Molly’s head.

“I
would,” I say, trying to sound as honest as possible. “The bigger the group,
the stronger we’ll be. Survivors need to stick together.”

He
narrows his eyes. “How can I trust you?”

I
shrug. “You just have to make that leap of faith.”

There’s
a long moment of stillness. Everyone holds their breath. Molly’s eyes are
squeezed tight. Her skin is drained of all color.

Then
suddenly, the boy releases her. She flies forward into my arms. I grab her
trembling body and hold her tightly, exhaling all the tension I’d been trying
to hide from the boy.

Everyone’s
relief is palpable.

“I’m
Stephan,” the boy says, still looking guarded but showing no guilt or shame at
all for having held Molly hostage.

“Nice
to meet you, Stephan,” I say, trying to sound cordial rather than angry.

I
hold out my hand for him to shake. But as his gaze darts down to my
outstretched hand, I turn it into a fist and slam it under his chin. It knocks
him out cold.

His
gun clatters to the floor. I grab it and stash it in my belt. Everyone stares
at me, open-mouthed.

“What?”
I say defensively. “He deserved it.”

No
one argues with me.

“You’d
better tie him up before he comes to,” I tell Zeke.

“I’ll
go and raid his food supply,” Ben adds.

“Good
idea.”

I
loop my arm through Molly’s and begin leading her back to the others. She’s
still trembling.

“So
you were just lying when you said Stephan could come with us?” she asks.

“Oh
no, he can come with us if he wants,” I say with shrug.

“Then
why did you punch him?!”

“I
just felt the need to put him in his place. No one points a gun at my best
friend’s head.”

Molly
locks her green eyes on me.

“Thank
you, Brooke,” she says under her breath. “And I’m really sorry about our
argument.”

“It’s
okay,” I say. “Already forgotten.”

Molly
and I have never been into mushy displays of affection. It makes me
uncomfortable to talk like this. Thankfully, we’ve reached the others and Bree
runs up to me.

“Where
have you been for so long?” she cries.

“We
found a survivor,” I reply.

Bree
frowns. “You did? Where?”

“Oh,
Zeke’s just tying him up.”

Her
frown deepens. But before she gets a chance to fire another question at me, I’m
distracted by a noise that comes from behind her. I look over and see that Ryan
is stirring. He’s waking up. Molly loosens her grip on my arm and gives me a
little shove, as if to say, “Go to him.”

Quietly,
I head to where Ryan is starting to bring himself up to a sitting position. He
looks disorientated, and his cropped hair is still filled with soot. He manages
to prop himself up against the wall, and hunches
his knees to his chest.

“Brooke,” he says when he sees me approaching. “What
happened?”

I crouch down beside him and put my hand gently on his
shoulder. “Nothing happened. You’re safe.”

He shakes his head. “No. No. Something bad happened. I died,
didn’t I?”

I falter, unsure as to how much I should really tell him. “You
stopped breathing,” I explain. “But it was just for a little bit.”

“It being for a little bit doesn’t make it any better.”

I look away. My voice is quieter. “No, I suppose not.”

“Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean…” He pauses, frowns, stares
at me intently. “You brought me back to life, didn’t you?”

I can feel the emotion lodging in my throat. The fear when I’d
thought I’d lost him. The panic. The utter relief when he came back to me.

I nod, slowly.

Ryan looks down at his lap, frowning as though some deep
thoughts are consuming him. Then he looks up at me again, leans forward, and
quickly kisses me.

I’m completely taken aback. It was the last thing I was
expecting him to do. But it felt wonderful, like electricity in my body.

The pleasant sensation doesn’t last long, though, because I’m
suddenly hit by a pang of guilt. Ben. Ryan. I don’t know what I want or how I
feel.

“It’s okay,” he says, studying my expression. “I’m not
expecting anything from you. This world is too insane for relationships or
dating. I just wanted to do something a normal eighteen-year-old guy would do,
you know? Just in case I die properly next time.”

I let out a small laugh and smile shyly. “Okay.”

Just then, Zeke and Ben return with Stephan. He has a huge
bruise from where I punched him, and looks incredibly angry. They’re carrying a
box filled with cans of food. At last, we’ll be able to eat. Molly looks at
Stephan coolly, as if to warn him that she has neither forgotten nor forgiven
the gun incident.

“You must be the survivor,” Bree says with a friendly smile.

Stephan gives her a moody look. “That’s me.”

“Well, thanks for letting us stay here,” she adds, brightly. “We
appreciate your hospitality.”

Stephan touches his jaw and winces. “I didn’t exactly have
much choice.”

“Come
on,” I say, peering into the box filled with can of beans and fruit. “Let’s eat.”

We gorge ourselves on the provisions, and as we do, we look
over our map again, plotting out our route. Between mouthfuls of canned
peaches, I look at Stephan.

“You said you knew a good route to Texas,” I say. “So, tell
us.”

“The Mississippi is by far the safest route,” Stephan
explains, pointing it out on the map. “You can follow its path all the way to
Baton Rouge in Louisiana.”

“We have a boat,” I explain as I pop another piece of peach
into my mouth. “It’s in Toledo Harbor. It would only take a couple of hours to
head back and get it. We could send a small group.”

“A boat isn’t going to do you any good,” Stephan says, his
laugh closer to a scoff.

“Why?” I ask, frowning.

“Because there’s no water in the Mississippi anymore. The
riverbed is completely dry.”

“What?” I snap. “Then why would we even bother going that
way?”

“Because it’s still the best route,” Zeke says gently. “And
at least this way we won’t have to go back for the boat.”

I chuck my empty can down on the ground, making it clatter.
Everyone jumps at the sound. I don’t know why I’m so angry, it’s just that fate
seems to be throwing every obstacle it can at us.

“You really need to chill out,” Stephan says.

“Chill out?” I say, getting more irritated by the second. “What
about this scenario do I have to be chilled out about?”

“Well,” Stephan says, haughtily, “how about the fact that I
know somewhere nearby where we can get motorcycles?”

I stare at him, my mouth agape. “Why didn’t you say so?”

He gives me a smug look. “Maybe something to do with you
punching me out cold. It didn’t exactly warm me to you.”

“Brooke!” Bree chastises me. “You didn’t, did you?”

“He was pointing a gun at Molly!” I cry, defending myself.

“Stephan,” Bree snaps at him. Then she looks at each of us in
turn. “Can we all please stop arguing? It’s not doing any good. We’re all in
this together so we may as well start acting like friends.”

I fold my arms and stare Stephan down. He gives me a fake
smile, one that says we will probably never be friends. But if he knows how to
get us bikes, and as long as I’m in possession of his gun, then we’re sticking
together.

“Fine,” I say, relenting. “Let’s get some sleep. We leave for
the Mississippi in the morning.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“Ta-da,” Stephan says, gesturing to the open garage door.

I peer into the gloom. Inside I see several old vintage motor
bikes and choppers, covered in thick dust and cobwebs. They look like they
could have belonged to a gang of Hells Angels once upon a time. They’ve
certainly seen better days.

“And these things work?” I ask, incredulous.

I can’t help thinking that Stephan’s led us on a wild goose
chase.

“Oh, they work,” he replies.

He walks into the garage and toward one of the choppers, then
retrieves the keys from inside its seat compartment. He twirls the keys around
his fingers, showing off. I roll my eyes.

“Hurry up, please,” I say. Stephan’s really testing my
patience.

He grins and finally puts a key in the ignition. The bike
thrums to life, its engine roaring and throwing out fumes.

“I don’t believe it,” I say, pacing forward and drawing up
beside the bike. “How much gas is in this thing?”

“It has a full tank,” Stephan replies. “They all do. I’ve
been siphoning gas for years, filling them all up, just in case.”

“In case of what?”

“In case I ever found somewhere to go.”

For the first time since I’ve met him, I feel bad for
Stephan. He’s a survivor like me, who’s done morally questionable things to
survive just like I have. Making Molly a hostage was just a desperate act on
his part. Can I really say I wouldn’t have done the same if our positions were
reversed?

“Thanks,” I say, trying to sound sincere. “We’ll get to the
Mississippi in no time at all with these. Come on, guys, grab a bike.”

Everyone enters the dark garage and chooses a vehicle. I make
sure my bike has a sidecar so that Bree can travel with me with Penelope on her
lap. It makes me feel better to have her close. Charlie chooses to ride in a
sidecar with Ben. As Ryan attempts to mount a bike, I rest my hand gently on
his arm.

“I don’t know if it’s a good idea for you to be in control of
a vehicle after what happened yesterday.”

“I’m not an invalid, Brooke,” he replies. “I’m fine now.”

“I know, I’m just being cautious. And anyway, you should be
in a sidecar with Jack really. You are his master, after all.”

He finally agrees to get in the sidecar with Molly driving.

Before we set off, Zeke pulls out the map.

“It’s four hundred miles direct,” he says. “But that takes us
straight through Chicago.”

I shake my head. “No way. We need to avoid Chicago entirely.
There’ll be an arena there. I’m certain.”

He nods in agreement. “Then how about we take this route,
heading slightly southwest? We’ll avoid Chicago completely, but it will add an
extra three hours to the journey.”

“Three more hours?” Ryan repeats. “That’s a hell of a lot
more gas used up than needs to be.”

“I think we should take the direct route,” Molly says,
joining in the debate.

“I think we should take the safest route,” Ben contests.

I sigh, my head filled with thoughts that swirl around. “Is
there anywhere to stop off midway?” I ask Zeke. “We could do with hunting and
picking up some more provisions.”

Stephan makes a scoffing noise. “Yeah, great idea, since you’ve
eaten all my rations.”

Even though it’s true that we finished up the last of his
rations over breakfast, I shoot him a glare and he quiets down.

Zeke shows me a spot on the map that’s meant to be a wooded
area. It’s on the direct route, close to Chicago. It would be risky to go that
way but I’m starting to think it’s our best bet.

“Remember this map is about a hundred years old,” Zeke
reminds me. “Whether that wood is still there or not, there’s no guarantee.”

I nod, understanding that it would be a risk to head
somewhere we can’t be certain exists, especially when it’s so close to a major
city.

“Molly and Ryan are right,” I say finally. “We need to head
the most direct route. We can stop off here in the forest, pick up some
provisions, have a rest. Then we’ll detour a little south so that we miss
Chicago entirely.”

I look up at my friends, hoping for confirmation. Ben’s the
only one who doesn’t look impressed. He must think I’m siding with Ryan when I’m
really just trying to do what’s best for everyone.

Zeke folds up the map and puts it away safely in his pocket. “That’s
settled then. Let’s go.”

We mount our bikes and head out of the garage and onto the
main road, leaving Toledo and the destroyed rail yard behind us, venturing out
on a new path, with a new plan, into the unknown.

*

Since there’s no one else on the freeway, we can use as much
of the road as we want. It feels freeing, like we’re breaking all the rules of
our old civilization.

It’s a cool spring morning. By the color of the sky and the
position of the sun, I would guess it’s only slightly after 6 a.m. We all
managed to get a decent night’s sleep last night and, along with filling our
stomachs with Stephan’s canned food, we’ve all woken up feeling rejuvenated.

It takes four hours of solid driving to reach our stop-off
point in the woods south of Chicago. To my great relief, the drive is uneventful.
After about two hours of cruising, the engines whining in my ears, my friends
at my sides, I finally stopped bracing myself for catastrophe.

I slow my bike to a stop beneath a patch of trees. The others
draw up beside me and kill their engines. Silence descends. By the time we turn
off the main road, fatigue and hunger have set in.

After a moment, birds start singing in the trees.

“Dinner,” I say, dismounting my bike.

I look over at Ryan. The two of us spent months hunting in
the forests of Fort Noix, and I’ve been missing those quiet, peaceful moments.
I’m expecting him to jump at the opportunity to come hunting with me, but he
doesn’t look like he wants to go anywhere at all.

“I’ll come with you,” Ben says quickly.

I look from one to the other as it dawns on me what is
happening. The jealousy between them is growing, causing a rift. Before, Ben
was the weak one, the distant one, and Ryan was right by my side supporting me.
But now, after his near-death experience, Ryan’s the one who’s becoming withdrawn,
and Ben isn’t hesitating for a second to step into his shoes.

“You know, there’s a lake a little farther north,” Zeke says.
“Maybe we should send someone to fish as well.”

“I’ll go,” Stephan says. “I know how to fish.”

I look at him skeptically. I still don’t trust him, even
after he led us to the motorbikes and let us eat his food.

“I’ll go with him,” Zeke says.

“I don’t need a chaperone,” Stephan replies.

“You don’t get a choice,” I say to Stephan. Then to Zeke, I
add in a hushed tone, “Don’t let him out of your sight.”

Ben
and I collect the bows and arrows and head into the forest. The thick canopy of
trees above us provides a nice, cool shade.

We
walk quietly through the forests, making sure not to startle any birds. The
silence between Ben and me has never been awkward. Our friendship has never
needed many words spoken. Ben feels like my companion, like an extension of
myself. He’s been there since the beginning, since everything changed for me
and Bree. He helped me through some terrible times. He’s seen me at my absolute
worst and he’s always been by my side. If he wasn’t there, I wouldn’t feel
right.

I pause and gesture for Ben to do the same. He freezes and we
both listen to the twittering coming from the trees above us. I recognize it as
the call of grouse.

Slowly, imperceptibly, we both move into position with our
arrows poised and ready to fire. The second the grouse take flight, we let the
arrows go. They sail through the air, side by side, and each one hits its
target.

Elated, I swirl on the spot and embrace Ben. His arms
encircle me, holding me close. It feels so good to be reunited with him. Being
in his arms feels so right.

I hear a twig snap and leap away from Ben, suddenly filled
with guilt. I look up and see Stephan standing there, his eyebrow raised, a row
of fish hanging from his line. Zeke’s a few steps behind.

“Don’t let me interrupt,” Stephan says, amused.

“You’re not interrupting anything,” I mumble, feeling
uncomfortable and awkward, putting some extra space between me and Ben. I don’t
meet anyone’s eye as I add, “Let’s get the food back to the others.”

Ben and I grab the grouse from where they fell, then the four
of us head back, not saying a word as we go.

We make it back to the place at the edge of the forest where
we pulled over to find that Ryan and Molly have made a sort of camp. Charlie,
Bree, and the dogs are all sleeping curled up around each other beside a fire
pit lined with hot rocks.

“Grouse,” I say to them, holding up the two dead birds. “The
others caught fish.”

They all look thrilled.

It takes a few hours to cook the fish and birds on the hot
rocks. The smell while we’re waiting makes us salivate. But the results are
better than I expected and everyone sits around munching on the tender meat,
relieved to finally be resting and filling their stomachs.

Soon, the light begins to fade.

“Should we set up camp for the night?” Molly asks.

“No,” Ryan says. “We should get a move on.”

I’m inclined to side with him; the longer we stay out here in
the middle of nowhere the more likely we are to run into danger. But there are
risks to driving in the darkness as well. We’re so close to Chicago we’ll have
to drive without headlights so as not to draw any attention to our whereabouts.
That will make it far more difficult to navigate and far more dangerous to
drive. But despite the danger, I’m certain it would be better for us to keep
going, albeit slowly and cautiously, than risk being discovered or ambushed in
the middle of the night.

“Ryan’s right,” I say. “We should pack up and ride through
the night.”

“I think we should stay,” Ben says, challenging me.

I frown, looking at him with confusion. I’d assumed Ben would
be on my side—he’s seen firsthand what the slaverunners can do after all. A
part of me wonders if he’s saying that just to start an argument with Ryan.

Whatever his reasoning, it works. I can’t tell whether Ryan’s
making up for lost time or just being overzealous because he has an opposing
opinion to Ben, but he pushes his point rather aggressively.

“We’d be sitting ducks!” he cries. “We’re far too close to
Chicago.”

“We’d be driving blind,” Ben counters. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Hardly,” Ryan scoffs. “It’s not like we’re going to run into
anyone else out on the road. But if you’re worried that your driving skills
aren’t up to the challenge—”

“My driving skills are fine,” Ben shoots back.

Stephan starts laughing, seemingly finding the two boys
bickering a source of amusement. I decide that things are getting too heated
and step forward to intervene.

“Guys,” I say, holding my hands up. “Arguing isn’t helping
anything.”

“But you’re siding with him,” Ben says.

I can see the hurt in his eyes.

“It’s not about sides.”

Molly steps in, again trying to be the peacemaker. “We need
to do what’s best for the kids.”

“What’s best for the kids is not getting kidnapped by
slaverunners,” I say. I look at Ben, appealing with my eyes. “You know that.
You’re just being argumentative.”

Ben looks down at the floor. He knows I’m right. He knows the
fight he’s picking with Ryan isn’t about whether we drive through the night or
not, but about me.

“Ben, I’m sorry,” I say. “But there’s plenty of bikes. If you
want to stay back and sleep the night, you can. Ryan and I can just go on ahead
and meet up with you later.”

His gaze snaps up. “No way.”

Once again I know he’s arguing against me and Ryan being
alone together more than anything else.

“There has to be some kind of compromise,” I say
diplomatically.

Bree, overhearing the dispute, comes over.

“Brooke’s right,” she says. “We have to keep going. If we
stay here we’ll get caught by slaverunners.”

Ben folds his arms. “I’m not just going to change my mind
because an eleven-year-old girl has told me to. That’s not how democracy works.”

“Who said this was a democracy?” Bree says haughtily. “Brooke’s
leader. It’s her plan. She gets to decide.”

Everyone looks at me. I curse silently in my head. I wish
Bree hadn’t put me in such a difficult situation. I know Ben’s going to read
more into my answer than he ought to, that he’s going to think that I’m
choosing Ryan when really all I’m choosing is common sense. But right now
staying alive is more important than not hurting Ben’s feelings.

“I’m sorry,” I say to him. “But we’re driving on. It’s only a
couple more hours before we reach the Mississippi. We can rest there.”

Ben shakes his head and looks so disappointed it makes my
stomach ache. The atmosphere is beyond tense. Then suddenly, Stephan starts
clapping.

“I’m so glad you guys brought me along for the ride,” he
says. “This is so entertaining.”

Molly shoots him an angry glare.

With a heavy heart, I get back on my bike and try to kick it
to life. But nothing happens. I check the gas gauge and realize that it’s
practically on zero.

“Um, guys!” I call out. “I’m out of gas!”

One by one, everyone checks their own bikes and realizes that
the same fate has befallen them. Every single one of our bikes has run out of
gas.

I turn on Stephan.

“I thought you said the tanks were full!” I snap. “You said
we could make it all the way to the Mississippi.”

He looks sheepish. “They were. I guess they just… well, the
bikes are really old, you know? Maybe there were leaks in the tubes or
something.”

Furious, I run over to the road that we’d come along. Sure
enough, there are little droplets of gas all along the road. I run back to the
others.

“Okay, now we really have to get out of here,” I say,
urgently. “We’ve made a trail with gas all the way here. If there are
slaverunners on that road, we’ll lead them right to us.”

Everyone looks terrified.

“You want us to walk?” Bree says, trembling. “In the pitch
black?”

“We have no choice,” I say, marching ahead. “Come on!
Everyone, get a move on!”

I’m starting to lose my cool. But the rest of the gang knows
I’m right and they start to follow.

As the night grows darker and colder I curse under my breath.
Our two-hour drive has just turned into a twenty-four-hour trek.

*

The sun starts to rise. We’ve been walking all night. As the
black nothingness I’d found comforting disappears, I’m now faced with a sight
of destruction and devastation.

Up ahead a rusted metal sign reads Galesburg, but it’s the only thing left standing. The rest of the town
has been reduced to a huge crater. Someone dropped a bomb here so powerful it
wiped the entire town off the face of the earth, leaving behind nothing but a
welcome sign teetering on the edge of the crater.

It’s heartbreaking to think of what this place once was. To
think of all the innocent families blown to pieces, their lives cut short in
one catastrophic moment.

“I don’t believe it,” Ben says, breaking through my thoughts.

I
look up. Just ahead, the only thing standing beside the long, straight road, is
a used car yard, still filled with cars.

I
try not to let myself feel too hopeful, but as the gang rushes over, the dogs
barking excitedly at our heels, I start to feel that we might have had our
first stroke of luck in hours.

Together
we rush across the street to the auto salvage yard. They cars look like ones
from the 1950s. The doors, thankfully, are unlocked.

Zeke
climbs in the front driver’s seat.

“You’re
not going to believe this,” he says. “It has a full tank of gas.”

I
can’t believe our luck. But no sooner do we get the good luck than we’re
immediately hit with the bad luck.

“Damn,
no keys,” Zeke says.

“That’s
not a problem,” Molly replies. “I can hotwire a car.”

I
raise my eyebrows at her. She shrugs.

“We
all have pasts, Brooke,” she says with a haughty little smile.

She
gets the car started then does the same with another. Bree jumps in the back of
the other car. Of course, Charlie joins Bree, and Penelope, too, wanting to be
with her favorite human, clambers in. Then Jack starts barking at the kids and
dog in the back seat, making it very clear that he wants to ride with his furry
companion.

Ryan
beelines for that car.  “I should stay with Jack,” he says. “Plus, I want to
drive.”

Molly
takes the passenger seat in the other car next to Zeke. Ben takes the backseat
behind Zeke and Molly, then it’s just me and Stephan.

“After
you,” I say, trying to get him to take the pressure off me over whose car I get
in.

He
laughs and shakes his head. “No way. I wanna see who Brooke is going to choose!”
He makes a kissy face.

“You’re
a jerk,” I hiss, looking from one car to the other, from Ben to Ryan, torn, not
knowing what to do.

Thankfully,
Bree leans out the window. “Come with us, Brooke!” she cries. “Please, please,
please!”

I
smile. “Of course.”

I
turn and clamber in the seat beside Ryan while Stephan waltzes to the other
car, whistling nonchalantly as he goes. I don’t look for Ben’s expression. I
don’t want to know how angry he is with me for choosing Ryan over him once
again.

Once
we’re all strapped in, Ryan guns the gas pedal and reverses out of the lot.
Zeke does the same. At last we’re on the road, in vehicles. For the first time,
the chances of us making it to Texas don’t seem so small.

“Let’s
get to the Mississippi already,” I say.

Our two cars cruise along side by side, heading west. As we
go, we try to avoid any of the towns or cities, cautious about how close we get
to built-up areas. There’s no knowing whether they’ll be in enemy hands,
crawling with slaverunners ready to kidnap us and bring us to their arenas. So
we stick to the open roads wherever possible, the ones that cut straight
through barren landscape.

Darkness falls like a blanket of black. We can hardly see
anything beyond the hood of the car, and we certainly can’t see Molly, Zeke,
Stephan, and Ben’s car behind us.

Ryan’s a careful driver but I know in another life he wouldn’t
be. In another world, a world without the war that’s ravished everything, Ryan
and I probably wouldn’t even get along. He’d be the cool senior boy, a bit
fringe, a bit tough, driving some beat-up piece of junk and never seen without
his trusty pit bull. I’d be… I don’t know what I’d be. I can’t even imagine who
I’d be without all the terrible things that have shaped me.

At
last, we reach the Mississippi and ride down the
slope into the bone-dry riverbed.

Seeing the impact that the war has had on the Mississippi is
truly awful. I hate what our species has done to the world, the ways in which
it has destroyed nature. My only hope is that one day our country will recover,
that the Mississippi will be the beautiful, life-giving river it once was.

“What’s that noise?” Ryan says, breaking me from my thoughts.

I strain to hear over the rumble of the engine. I can just
about pick up a noise, a sort of whining. It sounds like a vehicle revving.

“It’s the other car, isn’t it?” I say.

Through the darkness, I can just make out Ryan shaking his
head. My blood runs cold.

All at once, a blinding light suddenly appears in the
rearview mirror. My heart clenches as I realize we’re not alone, that someone’s
been following us.

Suddenly, our car’s shunted forward. I scream and grab hold
of my seat as we jerk roughly around. Ryan fights to keep hold of the steering
wheel, to keep control. But whatever hit us rams into us again. I can’t see
through the bright light, I can’t tell what’s hitting us. But there’s no chance
to work it out, because we’re hit again and suddenly we’re spinning, up and
over, round and round.

Charlie and Bree are screaming as we spin. My body feels like
it’s being hurled through the air.

Then, suddenly, my head slams against the window. I hear a
crack. Before I get the chance to work out if it’s the glass or my skull,
everything turns black.

PART
THREE

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I groan. My head is pounding. I manage to open my eyes a sliver.
The daylight is stark and bright, making me wince. I realize my face is against
a hard cement ground covered in sand.

Memories of the car crash come back to me in a rush. I sit up,
startled. As I do, I hear the distinctive clinking noise of chains.

I look all around. I’m in a bare cell filled with other people.
We’re all sitting on the dusty ground, chained to the wall. There’s a window
set high in the bricks, letting in the blistering sunshine. We’re definitely
still south, but where exactly is a question I cannot answer.

I notice Charlie curled up in a ball opposite me. He’s covered in
the sandy-colored desert dust, but other than that, he looks like he got out of
the crash unscathed. Then I see Bree slumped against a far wall, unconscious.
There’s crusted blood all over her clothes and matted into her hair. My heart
clenches at the sight of her. An instinct in me makes me reach for her and my
chains jangle loudly as I move. But they hold me back, stopping me from
reaching her.

“Brooke?” I hear someone whisper.

I look left. It’s Ryan. He’s one of the few prisoners who’s awake,
and must have been drawn by the sound of my clanking chains.

I’m relieved to see him alive, and glad to know that everyone from
our car made it out of the crash. But at the same time I feel frantic,
desperate, and distraught. We’ve been captured. Again. Once more, my freedom
has been stolen from me. And I have no idea what happened to the other car, to
Molly, Zeke, Stephan, and Ben.

At the thought of Ben, my heart constricts. We parted on bad
terms. What if that ends up being the last time I see him alive? How could I
have let him get into the other car like that, with so much left unspoken
between us?

There’s no time to dwell. Though my heart aches with worry over
what could have happened to my friends in the other car, I have more pressing
matters to deal with in the immediate moment: escape.

“Are you okay?” I say to Ryan.

He nods but he’s gritting his teeth and I know something is
causing him pain. It’s then that I notice Jack isn’t with him. His trusty best
friend, who has been by his side since forever, has been taken. I look back at
Bree and realize that Penelope is missing too. Rage swirls through me at the
thought of what might have happened to them.

“What are we going to do?” I say to Ryan.

He shakes his head. “I don’t know. Wait. See what’s what then come
up with a plan.”

My stomach drops. I know all too well what’s what. I’ve been in
this situation before. There’s only one thing that awaits us, and that’s an
arena.

Just then, the sound of footsteps comes from the other side of the
cell door. Then there’s a rusted, grinding noise as someone turns a key in the
lock. The door swings open and bangs against the wall, making a cloud of dust
whirl into the air.

Many of the prisoners who’ve been sleeping jerk awake. One of them
is Charlie. He looks around, disorientated and panic-stricken. I catch his eye
and nod to him, trying to reassure him. But his large, fearful eyes keep being
drawn to the figure that just entered the room, a man dressed in a long, black
robe, with a large hood that completely obscures his face.

“Morning, sleepyheads,” the man says in a thick southern accent.
He uses a cheerful tone but I can hear the undercurrent beneath it, one that
tells me this man is anything but friendly, that he is cruel and mean. “Who’s
hungry?”

People begin to moan, stretching their hands out desperately for
food. The other prisoners must have been survivors before they were kidnapped,
living out in the harsh desert wasteland.

More people enter the room behind the black-clad man, all in
similar attire. They’re carrying buckets. The buckets are dropped in front of us,
one bucket to three or four prisoners. Breakfast. But when I look inside, I
recoil. They’re filled with dead cockroaches.

“Come on, slaves, eat up!” the man cries sadistically. “We gotta
get y’all strong for a day’s hard labor!”

I look up at him sharply, trying to make eye contact with him
through the slit in his hood.

“Why don’t you just take us to the arena and get it over with,” I
bark at him. “That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”

There’s a pause before the man walks over to me slowly, his heavy
boots clunking. He bends down at the knees and gets close to my face.

“That’s not why you’re here at all, missy,” he hisses. “We don’t
have any arenas here. We’ve got much better things for y’all to be doing. You
see, the other biovictims, they’re jealous of y’all, with your pretty features
and your healthy bodies. All they want is to eradicate you. Not us. We know
that God chose us. We’re biovictims because of his grand plan. This new world,
the one that exists after his Armageddon, it’s a world made for us.”

He pulls his hood off in one quick movement. In spite of myself, I
flinch. His face is horrific. It looks as though half of it is melting, with
one of his eyes dropping down his face at an awful angle. His teeth are exposed
on one side of his face where the flesh is no longer there, and there are
places on his bald head where the skin has bubbled and burned.

“You don’t like the look of God’s new creatures, do you?” he says,
so close his spittle hits my face. “Well, you listen to me, missy. This is how
it’s going to be now. You all had your chance and you blew it. Literally. We’re
the ones who own the earth now. And that means you gotta work for us.”

“You’re making us slaves?” I say.

The man stands at last and puts his hood back on. “God said that
he put the animals on the earth for us to use. And that’s what y’all are to us,
nothing more than animals. So we’re going to use y’all, just like He said we’re
meant to. We’re going to work y’all to death.”

The people who’d brought in the buckets begin hauling prisoners up
to their feet, locking them into a row with chains. Ryan gets yanked up and
cries out in pain. I can see now that his shoulder has been dislocated,
probably from the crash.

I watch helplessly as people are dragged to their feet and added
to the chain. Charlie, despite his young age, is shown no mercy, and neither is
Bree, who only wakes up, finally, once she’s shaken roughly to her feet. I try
to get her attention, to calm her down, but she’s so frantic she doesn’t see
me. I can’t imagine how frightened she must be feeling to have woken up to this
horror.

Finally, I’m added to the row, right at the front. A heavy metal
collar is placed around my neck. The chains weigh so much it’s hard to even
stand upright.

“This way,” the hooded man says to me.

When I don’t move he gestures to one of the other robed men, who
then pulls a long whip from his belt and strikes me with it. The pain is so
sharp I’m momentarily winded. I gasp and feel tears spring to my eyes.

“I said, ‘this way,’ missy,” the leader snarls.

I don’t argue again. I begin to trudge through the cell, following
his lead out of the prison cell, along the corridor, then finally out the cell
block and into the bright sunshine.

It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust. When they do, I gasp in
horror. As far as the eye can see are groups of slaves, other people like me,
chained together, moving heavy blocks and stones to make buildings. They’re all
painfully thin and barely clothed. Many of them are bright red, sunburned from
the harsh glare of the sun. I can see why our captors wear the robes now, to
protect their skin from the UV glare. Black-robed slavers ride about on
motorbikes, making clouds of dust fly into the air. They whip the prisoners as
they go, seemingly at random.

Enormous structures like temples are dotted around, made of huge
stone bricks. Some stones stand several feet high, while others have intricate
patterns, statues and columns carved into them. It reminds me of pictures of
Ancient Egypt that I learned about in school. The slavers are building a new
city in the crater where another city once stood. It’s like being in a valley,
only this one was man-made, created by bombs, bombs that were far more
destructive than anything I saw in the north. These bombs have created a
wasteland, a brutal landscape of desert. There’s not a tree or body of water as
far as the eye can see.

“Welcome,” the robed man says in his fake cheery voice, “to
Memphis, Tennessee.”

*

We trudge along, me leading the way, following the robed man. The
whole time, my eyes are darting around me, taking in everything, seeking a way
to break out of this nightmare. We’re so close to reaching Texas, there’s no
way I’m giving up now. I’ll do whatever it takes to get out of this place.

My heart soars when I catch sight of bright ginger hair. I look
over. Molly is in another chain of prisoners, being led the same direction as
us. She’s gritting her teeth and limping. I let out the breath I’d been holding
as I see that a few people behind her stands Ben. I’m relieved to discover that
he’s completely unscathed from the crash, though there’s blood on his clothes.
I scan the rest of the line but Stephan and Zeke are nowhere to be seen. I can’t
help but fear the worst.

We’re led past a stack of cages filled with animals. I see that crammed
inside one of the cages are Penelope and Jack. They look terrified, huddled
together, shaking. My only comfort is that they have each other.

As we trudge through the wasteland, I manage to catch Molly’s eye.
Silently, we try to communicate with one another. She’s looking at the bikes,
same as me. We’re both thinking that they’re our only chance of escape. If we
want to live to see tomorrow, we’re going to have to steal them somehow.

I gesture to the chains around my wrists. The way that we’re all
connected together means that if I yank hard enough, I could get the whole line
to fall. Then, in the confusion, we might be able to find a way to break free.

I look back at Ryan and hold up my chained hands, trying to
communicate to him what I intend to do. I mime tugging them down and he nods in
understanding. But my attempt to communicate with him doesn’t go unnoticed by
the guards. A slaver zooms over on his bike and cracks his whip against my
chest before roaring away. I cry out in pain and fall to my knees. Blood
appears on my top.

Despite the pain making black stars flash in my vision, I know I
can’t let this opportunity go to waste. I pretend to be struggling to stand up,
knowing that the slaver will return and whip me again. As I slowly struggle to
my knees, I quickly glance over at Molly and nod, as if to say: now. We tug on
our chains simultaneously. I see her line begin to tumble, and can hear the
prisoners behind me begin to fall as well. At the same time, the slaver circles
back around on his bike, his whip raised high, ready to discipline me for my
rebellion. I reach out and grab the whip as he cracks it down. I grip with all
my strength, not letting go, then yank it toward me. The slaver goes spinning
off his bike, smacking to the ground with a crunch. The bike heads straight
toward a crowd of people, making them scatter in all directions.

Chaos breaks out in that moment. Slavers start whizzing toward us
on their bikes, attempting to quell the pandemonium with their whips. But the
rest of my group understands what is happening—they know instinctively that I’m
trying to free us all—and the other prisoners catch on too. The slavers may
have weapons and bikes, but we have more people and an unbreakable will to
live. If I can just get my chains off, I’ll be a formidable opponent.

There’s a bike screaming toward me, and I know I have only one
shot to do what I’m planning to do. It’s a crazy idea but I have no other
options.

As the bike flies toward me, its rider ready to strike me with the
whip, I throw my chained hands out directly in front of its tires. As the whip
lashes against my back, making me scream with pain, the bike roars directly
over the rusty chains, snapping them clean in half. I’m free.

I rise to my feet immediately and leap, like a cat, onto the back
of the motorbike. The slaver is not expecting me to move so quickly and doesn’t
get his defenses up in time. After a short grapple, I manage to shove him off
the bike. He hits the ground hard and goes rolling across the desert earth.

I take control of the bike and double back on myself, heading
straight for Ryan.

“Chains!” I shout. “I’m going to cut your chains!”

I see him crouch and lay his arms out, closing his eyes, unable to
look. But I steer perfectly over the chains, and they snap beneath my wheels.
He’s free. Now there are two of us able to fight.

The prisoners in Molly and Ben’s chain are being surrounded by
bikes, penned in like sheep, with nowhere to go. It’s up to me and Ryan to
liberate them.

I slow the bike, allowing him to leap on the back.

“You’re bleeding,” he says, leaping on.

“I’ll be fine.”

He encircles my waist with his good arm, the other hanging limply
by his side, and I rev the bike again. Together we race forward, plowing
straight toward the group. I’m trying to call their bluff, to get them to
scatter, but they’re holding their positions.

“WE’RE GOING TO CRASH!” Ryan screams in my ear.

I can see the terrified faces of the prisoners behind the line of
captors on bikes. Everyone knows what is about to happen, and I’m the only one
who can stop it. But I won’t. This is our one chance. I gun the bike, gaining
more and more speed.

“JUMP WHEN I SAY!” I shout back to Ryan, praying he can hear me
over the roaring wind.

His grip on me gets tighter and tighter.

“NOW!” I scream.

We both jump to the side, letting our bike carry on forward
without us, and hit the ground hard. I roll across the parched earth, one, two,
three times, then manage to stop myself. I glance over my shoulder just in time
to see the bike slam into the others at full speed. The gas tank explodes and I
duck down, covering my head with my arms as flames and bits of twisted metal
fly into the air and rain down over me.

This is the chance the other group needed. In the chaos and under
the cover of thick, billowing smoke, they’re able to scurry away from their
captors, many of whom are now lying groaning on the ground or rolling around in
an attempt to put out the fires ravaging them.

“THIS WAY!” I scream, leaping to my feet, ignoring the aches and
pains in my body from hitting the ground.

A little way ahead, Ryan manages to drag himself up. His bad arm
dangles uselessly at his side.

All the prisoners begin to follow me. For the first time since
being chained to the front of my group, I catch sight of Bree, way, way back.
She and Charlie are attempting to liberate Jack and Penelope from their cages.
I’m about to scream at them that there’s no time when they manage to get the
cage open. The dogs leap down and start running toward me and Ryan. Bree and
Charlie clasp their hands together and run at full speed through the fire and
smoke, jumping over smoldering body parts and hunks of metal. I want to run to
Bree, to sweep her into my arms, but I know I have to keep going forward. I
have to trust that she’ll follow.

Ryan is right beside me as I run. Out of all the prisoners, we’re
the only two completely free from our shackles. The others are still bound
together. They’re all running at different speeds and attempting to maneuver in
different directions around debris. It’s slowing us down, giving the slavers a
chance to regroup. There’s no way we’ll be able to get all the prisoners free.
But then I have an idea. Maybe we can use this to our advantage.

I tell Ryan my plan and he looks at me like I’m crazy. But when he
looks back and sees the bikes racing toward us in a line, he knows this is the
only chance we have of defeating our captors. We pass the message back to the
prisoners and one by one they nod their agreement.

The bikes are gaining on us, and the slavers riding them swing
their whips over their heads, ready to strike us down.

“NOW!” I shout.

All at once, the prisoners fan out in a long line, stretching the
chains that connect them so they’re just level with the necks of the
approaching riders. One by one the slavers are caught in the trap, the chains
pinging them from their bikes and throwing them to the ground.

Some of the bikes keep rushing forward before crashing and
exploding, while others skid to their sides and halt. Ryan and I rush forward
and grab the spare bikes. Now it’s up to us to keep the remaining slavers at
bay while the prisoners escape. Molly’s using a dropped axe to start smashing
apart the chains and freeing the prisoners. Once they have their arms freed
they’ll be in much better positions to steal bikes.

Ryan and I also grab discarded tools, brandishing them as weapons
as we start circling back and forth on our bikes, facing off with the remaining
slavers. We’re trying to keep them at bay long enough for the rest of our group
to be freed.

The scene behind us is one of utter chaos. Prisoners are cowering
as the slavers attempt to whip them into submission. Other robed men are
running around on fire, screaming, trying to fan out the flames. More still lie
dead on the ground, their limbs twisted and jutting out at painful angles.
There’s thick smoke everywhere, obscuring my vision. Then, through the smoke, a
figure emerges.

Despite being fully robed, I recognize him straightaway as the man
who’d first spoken to us in the prison cell. He’s standing at the front of a
group of slavers, leading them to battle. A red mist descends over my vision. I
rev the bike, brandish the crowbar in my hand, and race toward him. I swing the
crowbar back and, as I pass, bring it down with all my strength. I hear the
crack of his skull, see him fall, dead, to the ground, and a sick satisfaction
washes over me.

I loop back and see that Molly and the others have managed to get
hold of bikes. As much as I wish we could liberate all the prisoners here, I
have to be selfish and look after my own. I drive up to my group.

“Bree, get on the back,” I say to my sister, who is cuddling
Penelope in her arms. “Molly, you take Charlie and Jack. Ryan, Ben, take a bike
each. We’ll need the spare spaces for Zeke and Stephan once we find them. Come
on, let’s go.”

Everyone gets into position and I lead the way through the
compound, racing past burning structures and groups of slavers and prisoners,
trying to find Zeke and Stephan amongst them. But they’re nowhere to be seen.

“We have to get out of here!” Molly cries from behind.

“NO!” I shout back. “We need to find Zeke and Stephan first.”

“There’s no time,” she barks.

She’s right. The slavers have noticed our little gang and they’re
starting to follow. But the thought of leaving my friends behind makes my blood
run cold.

“We can’t leave them!” I scream. “We have to rescue them.”

Molly locks her eyes with mine. “We can’t rescue them, Brooke.
They’re not here. They’re dead.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

We’re still tearing along the road on the bikes,
but it feels like the ground has fallen away beneath my feet. I can hardly
breathe.

“I’m sorry,” Molly cries over the wind as we race
across the parched earth. “They didn’t survive the crash. We have to go.”

Stephan and Zeke are dead? I can’t believe it. I
don’t want to believe it.

I look back over my shoulder. They others look as
depressed as me. None of us wants to accept the reality of having lost two of
our group, and I can’t help but feel like their deaths are on my shoulders. I
look at Ben, hoping that the only other person in the car who may have
been witness to their tragic demise will be able to refute the bombshell Molly
has just dropped on me.

“Ben was passed out,” Molly shouts. “He didn’t
see. But I did. They’re gone, Brooke. We have to save ourselves.”

Emotions threaten to choke me. I feel like I
could easily give in to the blackness, to give up the fight.

“Brooke!” Bree cries from the back of the bike. “Listen
to Molly. We have to save ourselves.”

The sound of her voice grounds me, brings me back
to the moment. We may have lost our friends but we haven’t lost our hope. Now
isn’t the time to break down. Like my dad would always say, crying won’t keep
you alive. No matter how terrible I feel, I have to do what needs to be done to
survive.

I grip the handlebars of the bike hard in my
fists and grit my teeth, more determined than ever.

“Let’s go!” I cry.

Without another word, we rev the bikes, driving
even faster through the thick smoke. We’re searching for a road, a way out. The
slavers got into the crater somehow, and we’ll be able to get out if we find
it. But driving through the crater city is dangerous. There are still slavers
milling around, not to mention prisoners who are desperate to be liberated. The
whole time I’m on a knife edge, feeling like my world could end any second.
Bree must feel it too; her clutch on me is so tight it’s painful.

Finally I see a steep incline leading out of the
crater. It’s been carved like a road, winding up the crater edge. I pray our
bikes can handle such a difficult climb.

“THERE!” I cry to the others.

One by one we start to race up the steep road. I’m
gunning the bike, knowing the only thing that will carry me up is speed. As we
burst through the cloud of smoke, I know we’re now in plain view of all the
slavers below. There’s no hiding on the crater’s edge. We’re completely
exposed.

It’s then that I hear someone cry out. Instantly,
I recognize the voice as belonging to Ben.

I look back and see that his battered bike is
struggling to get up the incline. It has clearly been damaged in all the
fighting and is starting to give out. It’s getting slower and slower. Behind
him, racing along on their own bikes, are a group of slavers.

“Ryan!” I shout. “You have to go back for Ben.”

Ryan grits his teeth. “No way. If I go back, the
slavers will get me.”

I stare at him, horrified. “We can’t leave him!”

“We left Zeke,” he spits back. “We left Stephan.”

“They died, Ryan. You heard Molly. We have to let
them go. But Ben is still alive and he needs our help!”

Behind me, clinging on with dear life, Bree
starts to cry.

“Please,” she begs Ryan. “You’re the only one
with a spare space. Don’t leave Ben to die.”

The motorbikes are getting so close to Ben now it’s
almost too much to watch. I feel like every muscle in my body has tensed as I wait
for Ryan’s decision.

Finally, he lets out a deep sigh and turns his
bike around, heading for Ben. The rest of us keep gunning it along the narrow
pathway, racing up and up, higher and higher. I can’t look back, terrified that
I’ve sent Ryan to his death. I can’t lose them both.

“BREE!” I shout over the roaring wind and revving
engine. “What’s happening?”

I can feel her cheek pressed into my back. The
vibrations from the bike are making the wounds from being whipped sting.

“They’re okay,” she says. “Ryan’s got Ben.”

I let out my breath. They’ve made it. For now.

Just
then, there’s an almighty explosion. I can’t look back, too scared that if I do
so I’ll veer off the narrow road and plunge into the crater beneath. Bree fills
me in.

”Ryan
and Ben blew up the bike,” she cries. “The rest of the slavers are gone.”

They
did it. We’re free. We made it.

What’s
left of us, anyway.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

We travel south, following the dried up riverbed
of the Mississippi, riding without stopping. I know it only takes about eight
hours from Memphis to Houston, and I’m desperate not to stop. But everyone’s
weary, battered, and exhausted, and eventually, after traveling for two hours,
even I have to concede that we need to rest.

The devastation here is absolute. Everything has
been completely flattened, reduced to a desert. The bombs that caused craters
as big as towns in the north have completely flattened cities in the south.
What were once bustling metropolises have been completely eradicated. All
around, as far as the eye can see, there is nothing. Which means nowhere to
hide, nowhere to shelter, and nowhere to hunt.

Finally, we draw to a halt. I get off the bike
and help Bree down. Her face is streaked with tears and I realize she must have
been crying about Zeke’s and Stephan’s deaths the whole way. I can’t say I
blame her. If my dad hadn’t drilled it into me not to cry, I would have broken
down too.

I want to comfort Bree but the guilt I feel over
causing her so much pain holds me back. Luckily, Charlie comes over and hugs
Bree close. She cries into his shoulder. Penelope goes over to her as well. I
leave the three of them to it and walk over to the rest of the gang.

Ryan is slumped in a sitting position against a
rock, cradling his dislocated arm.

“Want me to pop it back into place?” I say.

“Want is a strong word,” he says, wryly. “But
yeah.”

I position myself, holding him by the top of the
arm with one hand and holding the shoulder with the other. Then I yank. There’s
a huge crunching noise as the bone pops back into its socket. Ryan cries out,
causing Jack to run over and start licking him.

“It’s okay,” he says through gritted teeth as he
pats the dog’s head. “I’m okay, boy.”

Ben comes over to my side.

“Remember when you did that to my broken nose?”
he says.

I do. It feels like a million years ago, in a
whole different world. Up north, the effects of nuclear war have turned the
place to ice, making the winters harsh and unforgiving. But down here in the
south, there’s been a different effect. Winters have been all but banished.
There is perpetual, blistering sunshine. And we’re all suffering because of it.
Dehydrated, sunburned, sweating.

Despite my grossness, I can’t help but throw my
arms around Ben. The last time we spoke properly we were arguing. Now we’re both
still here. Both still alive. We hold each other for a long time.

“Brooke?” Ryan says, breaking up my and Ben’s
moment.

I let my arms fall from Ben and turn to look at
him. I can’t help but feel angry. Ryan almost left Ben to die. It will take me
a while before I can forgive him.

“I think we’d better try hunting,” he says. “The
kids are starving.”

I move away from Ben and look around. “Hunt
where?” I say. “There’s nowhere around for miles.”

“There are birds,” he says. Then he tips his eyes
down. “Vultures.”

I know what that means. That somewhere nearby,
the vultures are picking on the bones of dead people, other survivors who’ve
lost their battle to the harsh desert landscape. As much as it revolts me, Ryan’s
right to bring them up as a source of food.

“Okay,” I say. “Let’s go.”

We leave Molly and Ben to set up a fire so we can
roast whatever we come back with, and Ryan and I trudge out into the desert
together.

All of our belongings were taken back in the
prisons in Memphis, so the only weapons we have now are the crowbars, axes, and
spades we managed to grab as we were leaving. It’s going to make hunting even
more difficult, but we have no other choice. We take Jack with us too, hoping
that he may be able to sniff out an easier catch for us.

We’re silent as we go, but after a while, Ryan
begins to speak.

“I’m sorry about what happened back there,” he
says.

“You mean about you almost leaving Ben to die?” I
challenge him.

He looks away, ashamed. “Yeah.”

I shake my head, fuming. “How could you?”

“I thought it was a suicide mission. I didn’t
think I’d make it.”

I realize then what Ryan did for me. He thought
going back to get Ben would mean certain death, yet he still did it. I should
be thanking him, not berating him. Feeling ashamed, I finally mumble an apology,
and we carry on in silence.

After a good twenty minutes walking, Ryan
freezes. “Look,” he says, pointing into the distance.

I can just make out a patch of trees. The sight
is completely out of place in the harsh desert landscape. As we draw closer I
realize the trees aren’t growing out of the ground at all, but leaning against
something. A fence? My heart stops as I realize it’s a dwelling that’s been
covered in branches to conceal it. Through the trunks I can make out signs of
life: a shack, a tin roof, something that looks like a well.

Ryan and I exchange a look. Neither of us can
handle more fighting and whoever lives inside could be dangerous. But we also
can’t give up on the chance that we may have found shelter. Our group could
seriously do with some shade.

“Shall we?” he says.

I nod my agreement and tighten my grip on the
crowbar I’m carrying.

Carefully we approach the dwelling, which
consists of little more than a wooden hut. It looks so out of place amongst the
desolation. It must have been erected after the bombs. There’s no way it would
have survived them if all the other buildings around here were eradicated.
Someone, some survivor, decided to make this empty wasteland his home.

We get to the hut and Ryan opens the door,
crowbar raised over his head. Inside, everything is in darkness. It smells of
dust.

I go in first. Jack races in after me, sniffing
all the corners and crevices.

Whoever lived here was as much a survival nut as
my dad. There are weapons and medical supplies, matches, flashlights, bandages,
thread and needle, and, even more importantly, a small, wind-up radio. There’s
also enough food for us to eat well for at least a couple more days, though we’re
too close to our destination to slow down now. Still, it would be a great place
to rest up for the night.

While Ryan seems overjoyed by the feast we’ll be
able to eat, I’m happier about the discovery of the radio. I grip it in my
hands, feeling like I’ve just witnessed a miracle.

“We can use this to try to get in radio contact
with the military base in Texas!” I cry, clutching it to my chest. “Tell them
we’re coming. Get their exact coordinates.”

Ryan seems happy for me and my discovery and
smiles encouragingly.

“Here, look,” Ryan says, as Jack becomes excited
by something on the other side.

I walk over and see that there’s a trap door in
the floor. Whoever built this was clever enough to also dig underground for
some protection.

“What if there’s someone down there?” I say.

“I guess now’s the time to find out,” Ryan
replies.

He heaves open the trapdoor and we descend into
the darkness. The underground bunker is a small room with bedding and pillows.
It looks a bit like a nest. Certainly big enough and cozy enough for us.

“Let’s get the others,” I tell Ryan. “I think
this would be a great place to rest up.”

We head back toward the camp to fetch the others,
relieved that we won’t have to dine on fire-roasted vulture tonight.

But as we draw up toward the spot where we left
the others, something unusual catches my attention. I recognize the silhouettes
of my friends milling around, but there is someone else there, someone
unfamiliar.

I catch Ryan’s arm. “Who’s that?” I say.

He squints, trying to make it out. “A stranger.”

We give each other a wary look. We’ve been lucky
so far with the survivors we’ve run into but I’m always on edge, always on the
lookout for danger. That the stranger seems to be amongst the group calms my
nerves a little; they’ve clearly deemed him safe.

We start to draw toward the gang. The stranger
who has joined them is an older man, rake thin, with long white hair. He has a
rasping laugh that I can hear even from this far away. Jack sprints up, yapping
away, and runs in circles round the man’s ankles, making him let out another one
of his thick, mucusy laughs.

“Well, well, well, who’s this then?” I hear him
say as he crouches down and pets Jack. Then he looks up and sees Ryan and me
approaching. “Well, howdy,” he says, straightening up and extending one of his
grubby hands.

I take it and shake. Ryan, cautiously, does the
same.

“I’m Brooke,” I say. “Who are you?”

“Craig,” he replies, squinting against the
sunshine. “Craig Merryweather. Your friends here told me you’ve traveled all
the way from Quebec.”

I nod. “And you? Where are you from?”

He shrugs. “Here and there. But mostly here.” He
grins, showing off a row of rotten teeth.

Bree looks up at me. “Did you find something for
dinner?” she asks. “I’m hungry.”

I look at Ryan, trying to judge whether to reveal
our find or not in front of the stranger. He gives me a slight nod, as if to
say he thinks it’s safe.

“We did,” I say. “There’s a shack up there with
supplies in it.”

Craig suddenly lets out one of his croaking
laughs. “That’s my shack!” he cries, slapping his knee like I’ve just said the
punch line of a joke. “But you can all come along. Stay the night. Get some
rest.” He eyes the collar round my neck. “Looks like you’ve been through the
wars.”

I catch Ryan’s eye, silently asking him whether
we ought to go or not. But really, we have no other choice. We’re too exposed
here and we have nothing to eat. We can eat and sleep in the bunker. Plus,
there’s more of us than him. He’s far too outnumbered to try anything.

“Okay,” I say finally. “Let’s go.”

*

Everyone takes it in turns to eat a pickle out of a jar. Then we
use the medical supplies to patch ourselves up.
I hadn’t realized how badly wounded I was by the whip. There’s a huge gash
across my chest and another across my back. Molly cleans them both and sews them
up, but I’m probably going to have scars. The adrenaline must have stopped me
from feeling any pain. I’m also covered in bruises from the car crash. I look
like a state.

“How did you guys all meet then?” Craig asks as
he offers around some canned peaches for dessert.

“It’s a long story,” I say, scooping one up with
my fingers and plopping it in my mouth. It’s sweet and sticky, and so
delicious.

“It’s nice you’ve got each other,” Craig replies.
“I’ve been alone for years.”

I feel sorry for him. At least on Catskills Mountain
we had trees around, and animals. The desert is completely barren. It’s the
sort of landscape that could drive you mad.

“Why did you settle here?” I ask.

Craig shrugs. “Good a place as any.” Then he
laughs again, wheezing as he does. “I mean there’s nothing around for miles and
miles.”

For someone who has been alone for so long, he
seems strangely jovial. I can’t help but think of Emmanuel in the castle on the
Thousand Islands. Being alone has driven him crazy, but maybe that’s the point.
Maybe because being crazy has made it possible for him to survive.

There’s ample space in the bunker part for
everyone to get a place to sleep, though we leave our stuff upstairs in order
not to crowd the room. We all huddle up together, full after eating jar after
jar of provisions. Knowing we’re so close to Houston—just an eight-hour drive—has
made us throw caution to the wind. We all know that once we wake up tomorrow
morning, we’ll head out on the open road and reach our destination. With the
radio to help guide us, there’s no way we can fail. That doesn’t stop me
whispering a prayer under my breath. This world is brutal and unpredictable and
I know that between now and tomorrow evening, anything could happen.

For the first time in a long time, we feel like
we can relax, let our guards down just a little bit. The bunker feels so
secure, not to mention being in the middle of literally nowhere. But feeling
secure gives our minds the chance to process what’s happened. One by one, our
emotions creep up on us. Zeke and Stephan are dead. So are Rose, Flo, and
Logan. We’ve all lost so much, seen so much, fought for so long.

“Hey, Molly,” I say when I realize sleep won’t
come to me. “What did you mean when you said we all had pasts?”

I hear her sigh in the darkness. “I meant that I
was a bit of trouble when I was a kid. The hotwiring cars kind. My parents were
going crazy because of me. I was always in trouble. Then the war came and they
died. There’s nothing like being orphaned to make you clean up your act.”

Her words hang in the air. Silence falls in the
cabin as we all process what she said.

“I lost my parents too,” Ryan says. “During one
of the first airstrikes.”

I roll onto my side and look over at where his
disembodied voice is coming from. It’s so dark that I can’t even make out his
silhouette. I wonder if that’s the reason for his sudden candidness. In all the
six months we were together in Fort Noix, Ryan never spoke about anything
personal like his family or life before the war. I never asked because I
figured he had a reason not to.

“But it was when my sister died that it was the
worst,” he finishes.

“What happened to her?” Bree asks softly.

“She had an asthma attack. Can you believe it?
With the war and the slaverunners and nuclear destruction it was her own body
that killed her. She’d run out of medication and that was that. She was six
years old.”

Six years old. The same age as Trixie.

“My brother was killed by slaverunners,” Ben
says.

His voice is as clear as a bell. It’s the first
time I’ve heard him truly admit his brother is dead. For a long time, he was
clinging onto the hope that he was alive, but it seems that he’s finally
accepted reality.

“You had a brother?” Ryan asked.

I think it’s the first time I’ve heard Ryan and
Ben behave cordially to one another since they first met back at Fort Noix.
Finally, they have something in common, something that can make them realize
they’re not so different from one another, that they’re both on the same team.

“I did,” Ben says. “It’s how Brooke and I met. We
were chasing the car that had Bree and my brother in it.”

“He was brave,” Bree said. “Right up to the end.
He didn’t let the slaverunners hurt me. And he loved you. He said you would
come for him.”

There’s a long silence.

“Thank you,” Ben finally says. I can hear the
emotion thick in his voice.

“Flo wasn’t my only sister,” Charlie says
suddenly. “I had two other ones, Daisy and Rebecca. Flo was the oldest. I was
the youngest.”

“I didn’t know that,” I say into the darkness.

I can hardly believe we’ve all been beside each
other so long without getting to know the fundamentals. It’s just another thing
the war stole from us: socialization, communication, friendship. When your life
is reduced to fighting and surviving, there’s never really a good time for a
chat.

“That’s why Flo wanted me to be stronger,”
Charlie adds. “She didn’t want me to get taken like they were.”

“Was it slaverunners?” Molly asks.

“Yes,” Charlie says. “Slaverunners.”

No one asks anymore. The very fact that we’ve
even spoken feels like the beginning of a healing process has begun. It’s like
we’ve stepped over some invisible line, broken down one of our guarded
barriers. In this awful, terrifying world, opening up to each other about our
pasts has been one of the scariest things we’ve done.

Despite our exhaustion, no one sleeps well that
night. Bree wakes several times, sweating and screaming. She used to have night
terrors all the time when we lived alone on the mountains but they stopped when
we were at Fort Noix. I feel terrible for putting her in a position where she
is so scared again. The only difference now is she has Charlie to comfort her.
I can’t help but feel a little pang of jealousy as I realize she leans on him
more readily now than she does on me. It’s partly her growing up
and becoming independent—she’s starting to realize she can’t rely on me
forever—but it’s also partly because of me, because of how I’ve had to shut
down my emotions to get through it all. I’ve been through so much, I don’t have
anything left in me to give.

As I lie there in the darkness, my mind mulling
over everything we’ve been through, it dawns on me that I’ve become the soldier
my dad always wanted me to be, the practical, tough, emotionless son he never
had. But I also know that my emotionless exterior will only last so long. I won’t
be able to keep it up forever. One day, all the heartache will hit me at once,
and when it does, I’ll cry enough tears to refill the Mississippi.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

I’m almost surprised when I wake the next
morning, still alive and in one piece. No disaster befell us during the night
like I’ve come to expect. I even slept at some point.

I still have the heavy metal neck brace on that
the slavers put on me and have no idea how I’m going to get it off; I can’t
exactly get Molly to take her axe to it. It’s irritating and cumbersome, but it’s
just another niggling pain I’m going to have to endure.

My wounds are sore as I start to climb the
ladder. When I reach the trap door, I push up with my hands and discover that
it’s stuck. I push again, putting more strength into it. But it doesn’t budge.

I start to panic. The darkness down in the bunker
seems to suddenly envelop me, and the stagnant air seems to grow even hotter. I
can’t help but think of the prison cell Ben and I were locked in back in Arena
1 in all those months ago.

Finally, I jam my shoulder in the trapdoor hard
enough for it to give. The hinges ping off as I slam my palms into it.

Quickly, I ascend the ladder, and the sight that
meets me makes me cry out in despair.

Everything is gone.

From the floorboards beneath me, I can hear people
jerking awake, scrabbling to get to the ladder and find out what’s making me
wail. Ryan’s the first to emerge out of the hole. He looks at where I sit
crumpled on the floor with an alarmed expression on his face.

“He took everything!” I cry. “Craig. He stole
everything.”

The others begin filing out of the underground
bunker, and look around at the empty room with dismay. The food, the weapons,
our backpacks, everything has gone. Then I realize, with an even greater
despair, that our map has been taken as well.

Ryan comes over and drags me back up to my feet.

“We can’t stay here, Brooke. We don’t know who he
will have alerted to our presence. We have to leave.”

I know he’s right but I can hardly stand. The
shock of losing our possessions is too great for me to bear. All that food,
gone, and the means with which to hunt stolen from us too. What are we going to
do?

Finally, I manage to stand and stagger out of the
shack and into the bright daylight. At the very least, our bikes remain. Craig
must have left them knowing the engine noise would wake us up.

Without the map to guide us to Houston, we have
no choice but to follow the Mississippi south. The roads are so destroyed here
that there aren’t even any signs we can follow, and the bombs have flattened everything,
meaning there aren’t even any distinguishable landmarks. It may add some more
hours onto our journey but at least we’ll end up in Louisiana eventually, and then
it’s just a case of heading west until we hit Houston.

We mount the bikes and go, my heart falling as I
lose a bit more faith in the kindness of mankind.

*

After several hours driving, our gas gauges start
to get low. It worries me to think we might have to make the last leg of the
journey on foot.

We’re in a town built on the banks of the river
that hasn’t been completely flattened. It’s called Baton Rouge and the road
here is still intact. There’s a road sign informing us that Route 10 heads all
the way west right to Houston. I can hardly believe our luck. The road sign
tells us it’s 271 miles, which will take about six hours if the road holds out
the whole way. As long as we don’t have to detour or run out of gas we should
be there by nightfall.

It seems like everything is finally looking up.
But a feeling inside of me says it won’t last for long.

We’ve been riding for another four hours when
something up ahead gets my attention. I can’t quite tell what it is I’m looking
at yet, but something about the view ahead of me isn’t quite right.

The closer we get, the better my view becomes, and
it dawns on me that we’re approaching a series of massive craters that have
completely obliterated the road.

We drive up to the precipice and stop. One by
one, we dismount from our bikes and stand side by side in a row staring at the
chasm before us, the latest hurdle blocking our way.

“It looks like the Grand Canyon,” Bree says.

I don’t know how she can find beauty in it at
all. To me, it looks like a scar in the earth. A war-inflicted wound. A gash
that will never heal, violently blighting the world.

I can’t help the disappointment that bites at me.
We’re less than two hours from Houston and now we’re facing another massive
detour that might add who knows how many hours onto our journey. We’re so low
on gas, I don’t even know if our bikes can handle going off course again. The
last thing we need is to be stranded and have to proceed on foot. It would be a
cruel trick for fate to play on us when we’re so close to the Texas border.

“What are we going to do?” Molly says. “We can’t
go around it. It looks like it stretches on for miles.”

She’s right. The crater goes on and on, as far as
the eye can see.

“We’ll have to find a way down,” I say.

“You want to drive through it?” Ryan questions
me, an eyebrow raised.

“What about the radiation?” Ben adds. “It will be
worse down there. We can’t risk exposure.”

As much as it frustrated me when the two were
arguing, having them team up against me is even more annoying.

“Do either of you have a better plan? You know
how to make a bridge?” I say sarcastically in response. When I’m met by a wall
of silence, I add, “Didn’t think so.”

And with that, we get back on the bikes and begin
driving slowly along the edge, looking for a place we might be able to drive
down. But this crater isn’t home to a slaver community. No one’s chiseled a
path for bikes into the crater’s edge. It’s just a sharp, jagged hole, blasted
into the earth by a nuclear bomb.

“If we had some rope, we could try shooting it
across with an arrow,” Molly says.

“I’m pretty sure that only works in cartoons,” I
say. “Plus, there’s the whole not having any rope situation.”

“What if we abandon the bikes?” Bree says from
behind me. “Maybe we’d be able to scramble down?”

It’s one of the more sensible suggestions, but it’s
still too risky. Not having the bikes could mean the difference between life
and death. We need to keep hold of them as long as we possibly can.

“Hey, look!” Charlie suddenly cries, pointing
ahead.

We ride over to where he was pointing and see
animal tracks leading down into crater. If we follow in their footsteps, we’re
bound to find a safe way down. It looks like a pack of them walk this route
regularly, at least enough to have worn a wide groove into the mountainside.
But I look at the others, unsure.

“They might be predators,” I say.

Molly raises a cocksure eyebrow. “Last time I
checked, we were the predators,” she says.

I can’t help but smile at her fighting spirit.
She’s right. Whatever animals made those tracks, we’re stronger, better, and
fiercer than them.

“Okay,” I say. “Let’s do this.”

I lead the way down the perilous path. We don’t
use the motors, instead letting gravity do the work. Any way we can save gas
now we’ll have to take. Plus, if we’re quiet enough, we won’t draw attention to
ourselves to whatever predators are lurking in the bottom of the crater.

Bree holds onto me tightly, tense as I maneuver
down the steep incline. Bits of rock tumble from beneath my tires, making my
heart fly into my mouth. She’s gripping so hard it’s starting to irritate the
wounds on my chest and back.

After a tense ten minutes, we finally make it
into the crater. As soon as I get on level land, an eerie feeling comes over
me. My spine tingles as I get that undeniable sensation that we’re being
watched.

We race across the trough of the crater then
reach the steep wall at the other side. There’s no sign of a path back up. I
curse under my breath.

“We need to search on foot,” I say. “There’s not
enough gas to keep riding back and forth.”

As I start scanning the crater’s edge, it occurs
to me that the only way we’re getting the bikes back up is by pushing. Even if
we do find a path we can follow, it’s going to be back-breaking work getting
back out of here.

“I think I’ve found something!” Molly calls.

We all go over and see her peering into a hole,
five feet in diameter, dug into the side of the crater. It’s clearly been made
by an animal of some sort.

“Do you think it’s a burrow?” I ask.

“I guess so,” Molly says. “Pretty big burrow.”

I don’t want to even imagine the type of creature
that’s living inside. At the basin of the crater, the radiation will be high,
meaning whatever lives down here will have taken a huge dose over the years.
Just like the crazies in the lakes in the north, the creatures living down here
will have evolved into something unrecognizable and formidable.

We all agree it’s too risky to venture into the
burrow, even if it does eventually lead out of the crater. If there is
something sleeping inside, it’s probably best to let it rest.

“I think I see something,” Ben says, peering into
the distance.

Sure enough, there’s another path leading up the
crater, made by the same prints as the one we took down. The animals that made
these tracks have shown us down into the crater and are now offering us a way
back out. They’re like guardian angels.

We go back to get the bikes and head toward the
path. But as we go, a new noise joins the thrumming of our engines.

Jack and Penelope are suddenly alert, their ears
pricking up, their teeth bared.

“What’s that noise?” I call out to the others.

We draw to a halt and cut off the engines. As
soon as we do, the noise becomes perceptible. There’s no mistaking it. It’s the
howling of wolves. And it’s close. Too close for comfort.

Penelope and Jack immediately join in with the
howling. Bree tries to quiet Penelope down but it’s no use. The tiny Chihuahua
is trying to make herself look fierce.

“Quick,” I say. “We have to go.”

But it’s too late. All at once, we’re surrounded
by the most disgusting creatures I’ve ever seen. They look like wild dogs, but the
radiation they’ve absorbed from having lived in the crater has made their
bodies mangled. Their spines are curved upward, making them look more like
hyenas than dogs. Their fur is balding in places, sticking up coarsely in
others. Tumors grow out of their skin. Saliva drips from their jaws in thick
strings, and their teeth, like their claws, are enormous.

I gun the engine of my bike, hoping that the noise will scare them
off, and start whizzing around and around in circles, trying to tire the
creatures out so that they’re slow enough to take a hit. The others do the
same. The wolves chase our bikes, their eager jaws snapping, treating it like a
game, as though they’re nothing but puppies. It reminds me of Sasha, our old
pet dog, and the way she would lumber around play fighting with me. I’m almost
relieved that she was killed by slaverunners; they saved her from this fate, of
being turned into a grotesque, cancerous, murderous creature.

We’re burning through our remaining gas fast, and the dogs are
showing no signs of slowing. If only there was somewhere to ride the bikes up
and out of the crater, but it’s too steep.

Suddenly, I hear a scream. I look back and see Molly’s bike
careening away as she and Charlie tumble to the ground.

“Charlie!” Bree screams.

The wolf-dogs pounce on them straightaway. I turn my bike around
and race straight at them. Thankfully, they’re scared off and run away.

I leap off the bike and run over to where Molly and Charlie are
sprawled on the ground, Molly cowering over him, protecting him with her whole body.
I grab her by the shoulders and roll her back. There’s a huge pool of blood
there.

Charlie wriggles out and flies right into Bree’s arms. Molly lies
there panting, gritting her teeth in agony.

The dogs have torn a hole in her calf so deep I can see the bone.
The sight turns my stomach. Ryan removes his shirt and bandages her up, but it
soaks up with blood within a matter of moments. He looks back at me gravely.

“We can’t stay here,” I say. “There could be more packs waiting to
get us. Can you walk, Molly?”

She tries to stand on her bitten leg but the second she puts
weight on it she cries out in pain. I look up at the sheer face of the crater.
Not only are we going to have to climb, but we’re going to have to carry Molly.
There’s no way we’ll be able to push the bikes up while carrying her at the
same time. We’re going to have to abandon them. From here on out, we’re going
by foot.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

My feet are blistered and swollen. My mouth is
parched. I have no idea how long we’ve been walking. It feels like days. In
fact, I think it has been days. The sun has set and risen several times.

With one hand, I cling onto Bree. She’s so weak
it reminds me of the time back in the mountain cabin when she had a fever. If
she had been well enough to travel with me to the cabin I’d found, where would
we be now? Would we still be safe in the mountains, hiding from the
slaverunners? Would I have avoided fighting in the arenas and being forced to
become a murderer? Or would we have perished in the mountains? There would
always have been something waiting to finish us off. Death seems to lurk around
every corner.

I don’t even know if we’re heading in the right
direction, but I pretend that we are to the others. I don’t want them to lose
hope.

The metal collar around my neck is causing me
sores. It weighs down heavily on my shoulders, making every step more painful
than it needs to be.

Behind me, Molly stumbles along, propped up in
the middle of Ryan and Ben. Her leg has become infected. There’s nothing we can
do. Just like Rose’s arm back on the boat when we were floating in the Hudson,
Molly’s leg will turn gangrenous and eventually kill her. I haven’t given up
hope yet, but it’s certainly starting to wane. Sometimes when I look back at
her, I can’t even tell if she’s still alive, and I start to wonder if it’s her
ghost limping through the desert with us. Maybe we’re all dead. We’re all
ghosts walking through purgatory.

Charlie stumbles to his knees for what must be
the hundredth time. I pick him up, silently, and set him on his feet again. He
doesn’t say a word, just whimpers his distress. Then once more, we trudge
onward.

Watching Penelope and Jack deteriorate is just as
painful as watching the children struggle. The dehydration has hit them both
hard. Ryan’s taken to carrying Jack in a pouch across his chest, like he’s a
newborn baby. For the first few days he whined, but he’s been quiet for a while
now.

Penelope is still walking, but only just. Bree
doesn’t have enough strength left in her to carry the dog, even though she’s
small. Penelope seems to understand; she doesn’t complain, but I can tell she’s
suffering and would love to be carried. We all would. Losing the bikes was the
worst thing for all of us.

Charlie stumbles again. This time, when I go to
pick him up, I find my arm muscles aren’t strong enough. I fall forward too and
land in a heap on the ground.

Bree falls to her knees beside me. “Brooke,” she
pleads, nudging me. “Get up. You have to get up. We have to carry on.”

But something about my stumbling seems to spread
to the others, as though it’s an invitation that they too can give up. Ben
unlinks Molly’s arm from round his shoulders and together, he and Ryan set her
on the ground. Then they both slump down themselves, their tired eyes barely
able to stay open.

“No,” Bree cries, her voice choked. “We can’t
give up. We can’t.”

My tongue is swollen it’s been so long since I
last spoke. “Let’s just have a quick nap,” I say.

“NO!” Bree screams. But her own voice is
faltering. She can only just about croak out the word.

Realizing it’s futile to protest, she lies down
next to me, resting her head against my splayed out arm. Penelope lies down
too, and finally lets out the pained whimper she’s been holding in for days.

“Are we going to die?” Bree whispers in my ear,
stammering on her tears.

I try to shush her, to calm her down. I want to
tell her that we won’t die but I know it’s a lie. We can’t go on any farther.
My legs won’t support my weight. The best I’d be able to do is crawl, but my
arms are too weak as well. The only thing that could save us now is a
rainstorm. Maybe with a bit of hydration we’d be able to make it another mile
or so. Maybe Houston is just over the horizon. But we’ll never know, because
the rain will never come.

I stare up at the unforgiving sky. It is a
beautiful blue, the sun a blazing yellow, but between them they signify death.
I find myself secretly praying someone dies and draws the attention of
vultures. Then we’d be able to shoot one and feast on it. But I feel ashamed
almost as soon as I think it. It’s better that we die together rather than live
with that guilt.

“Do you really think Dad is still alive?” Bree
says.

Her voice is floaty and sing-songy, as though she’s
becoming delirious.

“Yes,” I reply.

“Do you think he still loves us?”

I let my heavy eyelids close, the scorching sun
burning the tender skin. My mind has gone back to another place, to the time
when my dad left for the army. I’d come home to find him and Mom arguing about
it. He’d hit her and I’d been so filled with revulsion I wouldn’t say goodbye
to him. He’d told me through the door that he would always love me, no matter
what.

“Of course,” I say to Bree.

She doesn’t respond. When I look over, I see that
her eyes are closed.

“Brooke,” I hear Molly say.

I manage to heave myself to my elbows and look
back at her. She’s holding her bad leg and breathing rapidly. Despite the heat,
her face has completely drained of color. She looks like she’s at death’s door.

“I need to tell you something,” she stammers
through the pain.

“What?” I say, squinting against the glare of
harsh sunlight.

“The crash,” she gasps. “Zeke and Stephan…
survived.”

My heart hammers in my chest. “What do you mean?”

Tears streak down Molly’s cheeks. “I’m sorry. I
lied. I knew you’d never leave if you thought there was a chance we could save
them.”

She’s shaking her head so frantically, making her
matted ginger hair fly all over the place. She licks her parched lips. I can’t
help thinking that she’s using the last ounce of strength left in her to make
this confession. It’s as though she’s trying to atone before she dies, to rid
herself of sin just in case she’s about to meet her maker.

My grief is all consuming. It hurts so much my
stomach aches. It’s more painful than the blisters, than the gnawing starvation.
It’s more painful than the car crashes and the arena fights, than the snake
bite and the slavers’ whips.

I fall back against the hard, cracked desert
ground, feeling completely defeated, and let my eyes close.

CHAPTER TWENTY

“Brooke. Brooke, wake up.”

My eyelids flutter open. I’m flat on my back on the parched earth.
I can’t feel any pain at all; my whole body is comfortably numb.

There’s a blanket of stars above me. I squint, trying to work out
who it is standing before me. But it’s impossible. The person is nothing more
than a silhouette.

“Who are you?” I manage to say.

My voice is no longer parched. My tongue isn’t swollen, nor are my
lips dry and cracked. But it’s still hard to get my words out. It’s like I can’t
move, like I’m more than just numb, but paralyzed.

“It’s me,” the voice replies.

But I can’t place it. It sounds like a hundred different voices in
one. I can’t even tell whether it’s a man or a woman.

I don’t know whether I’m dead or alive, awake or dreaming. All I
know is that the pain has gone. I’m filled with peace and tranquility. My
eyelids are so heavy, I could easily just fall back to sleep.

The person reaches out and touches my cheek with their fingers.

“Don’t fall asleep, Brooke. Not now. Not yet.”

As I finally place the voice, my heart clenches. Because it
belongs to Rose. I can’t make out her features in the darkness, I can only
conjure a memory of what she looks like.

“How did you get here?” I stammer, confused by her presence.

“You brought me with you,” she replies, touching my heart gently. “I’m
in here.”

As her hand presses into my chest, I realize that it’s not Rose
sitting beside me anymore. It’s Flo.

“Thank you for looking after him,” she says. “For taking care of
Charlie all this time.”

“Flo?” I stammer.

“I don’t blame you, Brooke,” she says. “You did everything you
could for me.”

She reaches down and presses a kiss to my forehead. But as she
straightens up, it’s no longer Flo. It’s my mom looking down at me.

Disorientated and slightly panicked, I try to shake my head. My
heart is fluttering, my breath coming in short, anxious gasps.

“Mom, I didn’t want to leave you.”

“I know,” she whispers. Then she repeats the words Flo said a
moment ago. “I don’t blame you, Brooke. You did everything you could for me.”

Emotion begins to well inside of me. All these people, all my dead
friends, my mom; it’s like they’re saying goodbye.

I try to reach out for my mom, to touch her and feel her hand in
mine, but I can’t move at all. Even as I struggle against whatever invisible
force is keeping me paralyzed, I can sense that the person has transformed
again, that it’s no longer my mom sitting beside me.

“We would have made a good team, you and me,” the voice says.

It’s instantly recognizable as Logan’s. I gasp, but I can’t see
his face. How I wish I could look into his eyes one last time.

“You can let me go now, Brooke,” Logan says. “You can be with him.”

“With who?” I stammer.

“With whomever you choose.”

I try to reach out for Logan but my arm feels like it’s pinned to
my side. I can’t move at all.

“I don’t want to choose,” I say. “I can’t. I don’t want to hurt
anyone.”

“Then let fate decide,” he says. “Like it did with us.”

I don’t know what to make of his words, but it’s too late to try
and decipher their meaning. His silhouette is moving, standing up and leaving
an empty, yawning space beside me. Starlight illuminates the figure but doesn’t
show me any of his features. I don’t want him to leave but I can’t stop him. I
watch helplessly as he paces across the desert ground, leans down, and picks up
Molly in his arms.

“No!” I shout. “Don’t take her! Please!”

But Logan doesn’t listen. He holds Molly’s limp body in his arms.
Her hair splays over and swings in the breeze as he starts to walk away. Jack
the dog trots along beside him.

I watch helplessly as they disappear into the distance. My heart
aches. I can’t tell what’s real and what’s not, but wherever my mind is right
now, I know my body is giving up. This is what dying feels like. Like floating
and falling all at once. Like a horrible, dark chasm opening up inside of you.
I don’t want to give up. I don’t want to die here. But I don’t think I get a
choice. The fight is leaving me.

As I lie there, my weak arm gesturing in the direction Logan went,
I see something else coming toward me. Another ghost? Another person from my
past come to haunt me?

The person is drawing closer and closer. When they reach me, I
notice that they’re wearing army fatigues. They bend at the knees, and shadows
judder against their face, obscuring their features.

“You can do better than this, soldier,” the voice says.

It’s my dad’s voice. I recognize it instantly.

“I can’t go on,” I say. “I’m dying, aren’t I?”

“Not on my watch, soldier.”

In a split second, he disappears, taking the blanket of stars and
the dark, empty sky with him. Suddenly, everything is replaced by the
blistering heat, the bright, white daylight, and the searing pain of
dehydration and starvation. There’s a noise in my ear like a roaring sound. It
takes me a long time to realize it’s the sound of an engine.

I’m in a vehicle, moving forward, bumping along. Is this another
dream? I don’t know what’s real and what’s not anymore.

“She’s waking up, sir!” someone shouts.

A woman’s face appears above me. She’s a soldier, dressed in a US military
uniform. Her face is harsh and lined, but she’s looking at me in a kind way.

“Can you tell me your name?” she says.

I try to speak, but my mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton
wool. The soldier helps scoop my head up in her hand. She tips water from a
canteen into my mouth. It’s tepid, but I don’t care. It tastes delicious. I
still can’t tell whether I’m dead or alive—but if I did pass away during the
night, this is surely heaven.

“Brooke,” I finally say. “Brooke Moore.”

The soldier’s features change right away. She looks over at
someone out of my sight line.

“Did you hear that?” she says to the other person. “She says her
name is Brooke Moore. You’d better call the Commander.”

I reach out and grab the soldier’s arm, relieved to discover I’m
no longer paralyzed.

“Where’s my sister?” I stammer. “My friends? Did they make it?”

The woman smiles. “They made it,” she says. “And so did you.
Brooke, we’re taking you to your father.”

PART
FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

The road is bumpy, making the journey tough going. Every part of
my body is aflame with pain. I slip in and out of consciousness, and each time
I come around, I’m expecting to discover that it has all been a dream, that
there is no US military vehicle taking us to Dad. But each time I am rewarded
by the jolting sensation of the truck, by the sounds of its tires racing across
the parched earth, and by the sight of the US marine as she tends to me, giving
me water to sip and chewy protein bars for energy. Not long ago I was certain
we were facing death, that my dead friends were appearing before my eyes in
order to take me to the afterlife. Now, it is as though I’ve been given a
second chance.

I can’t believe what is happening. My dad is alive, and we have
been rescued, right when it looked like the end had arrived. In my wildest
dreams, I never imagined it would happen this way.

The truck I’m traveling in is part of a convoy. For reasons I don’t
fully understand yet, we’re all traveling separately. I think of Bree and pray
that she is being cared for as well as I am. I wonder if she’s been told that
our dad is alive yet, or whether she knows we’re on our way to be reunited with
him. I try to picture her reaction; I know she won’t have held back her tears
in the way I did. At the very least, I hope she’s with Charlie, that the two of
them are together, perhaps even with Penelope beside them. I don’t dare let
myself consider that the dog may not have survived, though I know it’s a
possibility.

I hear the sound of brakes and start to feel the truck slowing
down.

“What’s happening?” I say to the soldier who has been caring for
me.

I try to sit up but she guides me back down.

“We’re at the compound,” she explains. “There are checkpoints to
go through. Don’t worry. We’ll be there very soon.”

I try to relax but it’s almost impossible. I feel like I did when
I was a little child waiting for my dad to come home after being stationed
abroad for months. Only the sensation inside of me is a thousand times stronger
than it was when I was younger, because it hasn’t been months, it has been
years. And while the concept of my dad dying while he was away was scary when I
was younger, it still seemed abstract and unimaginable. But I’ve spent the last
four years assuming I will never ever see him again. The sensation inside of me
is more akin to discovering that someone has come back from the dead.

I can hear the sound of a chain-link fence being opened. Then the
truck picks up speed and we’re bobbing along once again. The jolting movement
smooths out and I know that means we’re riding on asphalt, that we’re on a
proper road again. I wonder if it’s a new road, built after the war, or if the
people of the compound managed to protect one that was already there. Nothing
else in the south seemed to have survived the bombs, so I presume that means they’ve
been rebuilding.

There are many more checkpoints to pass through, and row after row
of fencing. If I’d thought Fort Noix was heavy-handed with its layers of guards
and outposts, it was nothing compared to this. The fences are tall and topped
with barbed wire. Guards are positioned all along them, though from where I am
lying prone in the truck I can only see the tops of their heads. But I
recognize their uniforms and the insignia of the marines. It gives me a sense
of enormous familiarity and nostalgia.

“This is the last checkpoint,” the soldier informs me. “Then we’re
heading straight to the Commander. Your dad, I mean.”

My dad, a commander. I shouldn’t be so surprised. If anyone was
going to survive the war and find a way to thrive in spite of it, it was going
to be my dad.

I’m surprised to see the tips of trees above me as the truck
crawls past the final fence. I’d become so accustomed to the barren desert
landscape that the sight of green leaves is shocking. Then, I’m certain in the
distance I can hear the sound of running water.

“How do you have trees?” I say. “And water?”

The soldier smiles. “The Commander has turned this place into
Eden,” she explains. “We’re completely self-sufficient.”

As I absorb her words, my first feeling is relief. If they’re
self-sufficient here then there’s no need for scavenging, no dangerous hunting
trips out into the wild.

“Do you take in survivors?” I ask.

The soldier looks at me kindly. “Brooke, I know you have a lot of
questions. But I don’t want you to tire yourself out. Why don’t you rest and
gather your strength for when you see your dad?”

I know she’s right but I can’t help myself. The sensations inside
of me are too great. They all vie for my attention, mixing around in my stomach
and making me nauseous. My exhausted body is telling me to rest and recuperate,
but my frantic mind is racing through a million thoughts. I’m filled with
excitement, but at the same time I’m nervous. I haven’t forgotten the sound of
my dad’s hand as he slapped my mom’s cheek the night he left us, voluntarily,
to join a war that went on to obliterate everything. Is he even still the same
man I remember?

Just then, the truck jolts to a halt.

“We’re here,” the soldier says.

She stands and starts unlatching the flap at the back of the
truck. I’m suddenly overcome with fear. What if my dad isn’t the person I want
him to be? What if he’s been traumatized by the last four and a half years? He
said he would always love me no matter what, but that was before the
slaverunners and the arenas and the crazies. That was before the nuclear bombs
and the fighter jets.

“Are you having trouble standing?” the soldier asks.

I am, but not in the way she thinks. She thinks I’ve been weakened
by my ordeal out in the desert. In reality, my legs seem to have turned to
jelly beneath me. My whole body trembles as she helps me to my feet, guiding me
by my elbow down onto a step, then down again onto the ground.

I’m standing on paving slabs with moss growing up between them. I
can smell grass and vegetation, and hear the sound of running water in the
distance. The air is cool, not like the painful, sweltering heat of the Texan
desert I’ve just come from.

I feel the soldier put gentle pressure on my shoulder, and I can
feel that she’s urging me on. Another truck has pulled up beside me, and Bree
is being led down to the ground, trembling in much the same way as me. When she
sees me, her eyes brim with tears. I know Dad always told me not to cry, but
the sight of her alive makes me well up. I can still hear her screams in my
head as she begged me not to give up back in the desert, to keep moving. I
couldn’t do it for her. I’m only here by a miracle. But if she holds any
resentment toward me because of it, she doesn’t show it. She rushes over and
throws herself into my arms. She’s been patched up well by the soldier she rode
with, and is no longer as feeble as she was back in the desert.

“Did they tell you?” she says through her sobs. “Dad is alive.”

“They told me,” I gasp, stroking her hair beneath my fingers.

“You were right, Brooke. You were right all along.”

I was. But people still died because of me. I will have to live
with that guilt for the rest of my life.

Finally, Bree lets me go. I can see the other trucks pulling up
behind us, and see Ben emerge from one. He looks as frail as he did when we
first got to know each other back in the prisons of Arena 1. But he has
transformed since then. He is leaner, more muscular, and the sensitivity I
could always see in his eyes seems to have hardened. Like me, survival has
taken its toll on him.

Bree slips her hand in mine, pulling me back to the moment. I turn
away from the trucks. As much as I want to see each of our friends arrive
safely, I know my dad is waiting for me. I can’t prolong this anymore. It’s
time to face him.

The soldier who’d been riding with me gestures past some palm
trees.

“He’s over there,” she says.

Bree and I squeeze one another’s hands as we take small steps
along the paving slabs. The vegetation grows thicker and lusher as we go,
forming a thick canopy above that plunges us into cooling shadows. Then all at
once, I see a figure.

We stop dead. There is a man down the path. He’s wearing a
military uniform. His hair is completely gray. He stands with his hands resting
just lightly behind his back. I know the stance. “At ease.” It is my dad.

I can’t get the words out. I try to call to him but the only noise
that comes from my throat is a croak.

It’s enough for him to hear. He spins to face us. There is no
denying it; though time has aged him considerably, the man standing before me
is my dad.

“Brooke,” he gasps, staring at me like he can’t believe what he is
seeing. “Bree.”

And then we’re running, both of us, full speed, finding reserves
of energy from deep within our weakened bodies. Dad spreads his arms wide and
we run into them. He sweeps us tightly into him. He feels so solid, so real.
This is not the man in my dreams; this is my real dad, alive and strong.

I don’t want to show my weakness in front of him, but Bree is
sobbing uncontrollably, and I just cannot hold back anymore. My tears begin to
fall.

We’re all shaking with emotion. I clutch onto Bree and nestle my
head into the crook of my dad’s neck, letting my tears drop onto his uniform
one by one. It is then that I realize, for the first time in my entire life, my
dad is crying too.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

We stay like that for a long time, holding one another and
weeping. It is like we never want to let go.

“You’ve both grown so much,” Dad says finally, drawing back to
look at us. He looks Bree up and down. “Eleven years old,” he says, shaking his
head as though in disbelief. She was seven last time he saw her. Then he looks
at me. “Seventeen.”

I nod. I wish he could have seen us back when we were in Fort
Noix. We were healthy then, our muscles stronger, our hair and bodies clean. He
would have been able to see firsthand how well I’ve looked after Bree. Instead,
she looks more like a mangy cat.

“You’ve changed too,” I say.

He laughs, sadly, and points to his gray hair. “I look older.”

It’s been four years since we last saw each other, but Dad seems
to have aged so much more. The stress of war has taken its toll on him.

He reaches up to wipe a strand of hair tenderly from off my face. “I
didn’t think I’d ever see you again, Brooke,” he says. “But I never gave up
hope. I thought of you, both of you, every single day.”

Tears blur my vision.

“How long has the camp been here?” I ask. “Is it yours? Did you
build it?”

I know I sound like an eager child, but I want to know everything
that has happened to him over the last four and a half years. How he came to
defect from the army and create this place.

But Dad puts a finger to his lips to quiet me, and smiles. “We can
talk about everything later. But first I think you should go to the hospital
for health checks.”

He eyes the metal collar around my neck, which has given me sores
and rashes.

Bree slides her hand into his and holds on tight. “Will you come
with us?” she asks.

“Of course,” he says, kindly, smiling down at her.

While in the medical ward, I finally have the metal collar removed
from around my neck. It feels like a huge weight has been lifted from my
shoulders. The doctor gives me an ointment to help the wounds heal.

“Can we see our friends?” I ask the doctor as I take another gulp
of the sugar and saltwater solution she’s given me.

“Please,” Bree adds.

The doctor looks at Dad for his approval. I can’t help but swell
with pride, seeing the way everyone looks up to him. He is clearly well
respected.

Dad nods, and the doctor leads us through the ward to where Charlie
is sleeping, with Penelope sitting on the end of his bed.

“That’s Charlie,” Bree tells Dad with an air of pride. “Brooke
rescued him from an arena. And this is Penelope.”

She strokes the Chihuahua behind the ear. Despite the ordeal we’ve
been through, Penelope is looking well. If it weren’t for her missing eye, she
would look the picture of perfect health.

“You do have pets here, don’t you?” Bree asks Dad, wide-eyed.

“Of course,” he replies.

“Phew,” she says, clearly relieved to know we won’t have to fight
to keep Penelope like we did with the Commander in Fort Noix.

Charlie murmurs and opens his eyes. As soon as he sees Bree, he
breaks into a huge grin. Bree hugs him tightly and Penelope snuggles in. The
three of them stay like that for a long, long time.

“It was touch and go,” the doctor informs me. “His dehydration was
so severe he had a seizure.”

I press my hand to my mouth, alarmed at the thought of poor, sweet
Charlie fitting.

“Will he be okay?” I ask.

The doctor nods. “He’s had the same fluid solution as you and
Bree. He’s on the mend.”

I’m so relieved to know Charlie will be okay. I don’t know what
Bree would do without him.

In the next bed along is Ben. His usually pale skin has been badly
sunburned, making him a very sore-looking red color. Parts of his skin have
been bandaged to stop the blisters from becoming infected.

“Ben,” I say, taking his hand. “This is my dad, Laurence.”

My dad would never shake hands with someone. Instead, he salutes
Ben.

“Ben was living on Catskills Mountain, too,” I tell Dad. “He
helped me rescue Bree from the slaverunners.”

Despite his sunburn, I can see Ben blush. “Only because Brooke
helped save me from Arena One,” he says shyly.

I can see my dad’s eyebrows rise. He’s not usually one for outward
emotion, but I can practically see the questions in his eyes asking me how,
exactly, we escaped from an arena. I’m almost excited at the prospect of
telling him that we didn’t just escape, but that I killed three of their most
prized fighters and then killed their leader, all while snake venom
swirled in my bloodstream.

“I look forward to getting to know you, Ben,” Dad says.

“You too, sir,” Ben replies, looking as awkward as a boy meeting
his prom date’s parents. Then he tips his eyes to me. “You did it, Brooke,” he
whispers, squeezing my hand tightly in his. I can see tears glittering in the
corners of his soft, blue eyes. “I always believed in you.”

I squeeze his hand back, overcome with emotion.

Next I take my dad over to Ryan’s bed. It’s only now in this clean
hospital setting that I realize how disheveled Ryan has become since we left
Fort Noix. His hair has grown a little longer, softening his look. Normally, he’d
be the sort of clean-shaven, buzz-cut kind of guy my dad would immediately
respect. But with his unkempt appearance he looks much more boylike. His arm is
in a sling, his dislocated shoulder having been injured further by supporting
the weight of Molly and having to carry Jack.

“Where is Jack?” I ask, expecting to see him sleeping on the end
of the bed like Penelope was with Charlie.

Ryan looks at me sadly. “He didn’t make it,” he says.

Bree lets out a sob. Grief washes over me. Jack had been a trusted
ally, fighting side by side with us since day one. He even saved our lives back
in the tunnels in Toledo. To have lost him now seems so unfair.

“I’m so sorry,” I say to Ryan, squeezing his good arm.

He nods, but I can tell he’s not ready to talk about it. Jack was
his best friend. When others died around him, Ryan always had Jack. The loss
will take a long time to heal.

“Where’s Molly?” I say, realizing that the bed beside Ryan’s is
empty.

But before he has a chance to answer, I look up and see a shock of
ginger hair peeking through a gap in a curtain around a bed a few down from
where we stand. I’m in two minds about seeing Molly again. Because of her,
Stephan and Zeke were left behind in Memphis. If Molly hadn’t lied, perhaps I’d
have been able to save them. But despite the feelings of anger inside of me, I’m
glad that she’s here. Molly had it worse than any of us back in the desert. She
is my friend, after all, and no matter how disappointed I am in the decision
she made back in Memphis, I still love her.

I prepare myself for the sight that awaits me, knowing full well
her leg will have been amputated because of the bite she sustained from the
radiated wild dogs. But as I approach her bed, the doctor quickly rushes over
and blocks me from proceeding.

“Brooke, maybe it’s time for another saline solution,” she says.

“In a minute,” I reply, trying to move past her. “I need to see
Molly first.”

The doctor becomes more insistent. “I really think you should have
another drink now. Please, this way.”

Bree can tell something’s up. She ducks past the doctor quick as a
flash and hauls open the curtain surrounding Molly. As I look over the doctor’s
shoulder, I see Bree suddenly halt and gasp.

“Bree,” I say, feeling my heart begin to thump. “What is it?”

The doctor finally drops her arms and sighs loudly. “Your friend
didn’t survive,” she tells me.

The words hit me like a punch in the gut. “What?” I cry, barging
past her. My stomach churns as I hobble over to Molly’s bedside.

She’s covered in a white sheet, and her skin is so pale it makes
her ginger hair even more strikingly red. She looks peaceful in death in a way
she never did in life. It’s like her fight is finally over.

“The bite on her leg was too infected,” the doctor explains,
coming up beside me. “Even amputation couldn’t have saved her. We gave her pain
relief and then she slipped away. I didn’t want you to know in case it caused
too much shock to your system. I’m sorry.”

Bree and I stand side by side, looking over Molly’s lifeless body.

Dad grips my shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” he says. “We will give her
a proper funeral.”

Bree leans down and kisses Molly’s cold cheek.

“Come on,” Dad says, guiding us gently away from Molly. “I think
it’s time to go home.”

Home. The word echoes in my mind, feeling unreal to me. I can
hardly believe we have a home again. A real home. That for the first time in
four years, we will be a family again.

Dad leads us out of the hospital and through the compound.
Everyone we pass salutes him. He is so well respected and it fills me with
pride to be his daughter.

“So you were living in the mountain cabin?” Dad asks as we walk.

“Yes,” I say. “Bree and me. Sasha too. She was killed by
slaverunners.”

He looks downcast. “I didn’t think to look for you there,” he
says.

“What do you mean?” I say, frowning.

“I came back for you,” he says.

A pit opens up in my stomach. I made us leave home. I told Mom
there was no point waiting for him anymore, that he’d left us for good. I’d
been wrong.

“It was my fault we left,” I stammer. “I thought you would never
come back for us.”

Dad squeezes my shoulder. “You did the right thing, Brooke,” he
tells me. “When I got back, the place was bombed. The whole street. If you’d
stayed, you would have died.” His voice becomes quieter. “I thought that maybe
you had.”

I shake my head. “We were in the mountains all that time. For four
years. We only left about six or seven months ago.”

“I’m impressed with how well you coped,” he says.

I shrug. “I didn’t have much choice.”

Dad falls silent. I hadn’t meant the comment to be pointed, but my
anger at him abandoning us is evident in my tone.

“Here’s the house,” Dad says, gesturing to a brick bungalow. “Let’s
get inside. You can wash while I make something to eat.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You cook?”

It sounds so domestic. So unlike my father.

“Badly,” he replies. “But yes, I cook.”

He opens up the door to the bungalow and we all go inside. When we’d
entered Neena’s house back at Fort Noix, I’d been overwhelmed by the smallest
of things—the real pillow and duvet, the chest of drawers, clean clothes. But
entering Dad’s house is even more surreal. It looks like a completely normal
house, like the ones that existed before the war blew them to smithereens. He
shows us the living room, the bathroom, the bedrooms, each one furnished and
decorated.

“I can’t believe this place,” I say, awestruck by the fact that
this will actually get to be our home, that we can live in this place together
as a family.

We follow Dad into the kitchen.

“Do you girls like bread?” he says. “Jam?”

“I love jam!” Bree exclaims. “Brooke once found a house in the
mountains full of provisions. She brought me back a jar of jam. It was
delicious.”

Dad smiles. He seems proud of me, of my resourcefulness and the
way I took care of my sister. It’s the best feeling in the world.

We sit down and tuck into the jam sandwiches, relaying stories
about the time I managed to get sap from the tree, how I drove his old
motorbike and sidecar down the mountainside at 100 miles an hour without
crashing, and how I hunted a deer.  But the more we speak, the harder it
becomes for me to ignore the dark cloud hanging over us. The unspoken words
seem to be swelling around us, crushing down on us. None of us wants to talk
about it, to rip the scab off that old wound. But I can’t help myself. I need
answers. I need to know why he abandoned us all those years ago.

“Why did you leave us, Dad?” I finally blurt out.

Bree stiffens, immediately awkward. Dad sits silently for a long,
long time, his hands laced together on the table. He looks so much older than I
remember. Not only is his face more lined and his hair completely gray, but
there’s a stoop in his posture that was never there when I was younger. It’s a
vulnerability he would once have never allowed me to see.

“I was barely fourteen,” I continue. “Bree was seven. How could
you abandon us like that? Why did you choose the war over us?”

Dad doesn’t look at me when he finally speaks. “It’s complicated,
Brooke. I know you think I chose the war, but I didn’t. I chose you two, I
always did. I chose to give you a future, and that meant leaving you in the
present and fighting in the war.”

“But it hadn’t even begun yet,” I shoot back, anger making the
volume of my voice rise. “You volunteered. You left before you even
needed to.”

“I had to put myself in the best strategic position,” he says,
sighing heavily. “I don’t expect you to understand. But know that I’m sorry for
the hurt I caused you two—”

“And Mom,” I interrupt. “Or did you forget about how you slapped
her the night before you left?”

He looks away, ashamed. “I haven’t forgotten. And I’ve regretted
it every day that’s passed.”

“You know she waited for you,” I say, and I can hear the
bitterness in my voice. “Even after the mushroom cloud. She said we couldn’t
leave, in case you came back. You hit her and she still died for you.”

Bree begins to weep softly beside me. I know she wants me to stop
but I can’t help myself. All the rage and anger I’ve felt over the last few
years is spilling out of me. There’s no amount of apologies Dad can say to
atone for the death of our mom, or make up for the fact that I had to leave her
to her certain death and look after Bree alone. Because of him I had to grow up
overnight, make adult decisions, and live with the consequences. I was just a
kid and his actions robbed me of my childhood.

“I understand if you never forgive me,” Dad says. “But I had to be
right in the thick of it in order to fight it from the inside out.”

I pause and frown. I’m confused, not able to comprehend what he’s
saying.

“What do you mean, ‘fight it from the inside out’?” I say.

“The compound,” he explains. “What we’re doing here. We’re
building an army. A resistance to both sides of the war. We’re working to take
the system down from the inside out. It’s a long, slow process. Once we’re
strong enough, we’ll take control of all the cities, destroy all the arenas,
and bring the slaverunners to justice. But first we need to unite all the other
pockets of resistance across the country. We’ve been trying to communicate with
all the other resistance groups that we know of. It’s only when we’re together
that we can fight and win.”

My heart begins to thud. “The radio message to Fort Noix. That was
you?”

He nods. “We’re making contact with every base we can. There are
resistors all over the country. We created compounds because we knew the war
would mean mutually assured destruction. We knew it was the only chance we’d have
of restoring civilization once it was all over.”

My mind swirls with emotions. “You mean, you left… you volunteered
for the army because…”

“Because it was inevitable and I knew it couldn’t be stopped,” he
says, sternly. “Because I knew the only way the human race would survive was by
making sure there were still people alive after it was all over. And now we’re
almost ready to reclaim the country.”

I can’t believe it. It really is a dream come true. All I’ve
wanted, ever since meeting Trixie in the forest, is to create a safe world for
everyone; a world free from slaverunners and crazies. A world free from arenas.

“When is it happening?” I say, slamming my fists onto the table. “When
are you reclaiming the country?”

Dad looks at me. “It’s a strategic military operation, Brooke. I
can’t reveal that to you.”

“I want to help,” I say, determined.

“I’m glad to hear it. There’s plenty to do around here and—”

“No,” I say, cutting him off. “I want to fight.”

“Brooke,” he begins.

“I’ve survived two arenas, Dad,” I say. “I’m a fighter now, the
fighter you always wanted me to be. I can do this. Whatever it takes to get
justice, I want to do it.”

He looks at me hesitantly. But he can tell I’m not backing down. I’m
not the fourteen-year-old girl he abandoned all those years ago. I’m a young
woman now, one who can hold her own, one who’s taken all the lessons he taught
me and used them again and again and again to survive. I’m stronger than he
ever thought possible.

“Well, all right,” he says, finally. “If you really want to fight,
I won’t stop you. We need all the help we can get.”

“Good,” I say, standing.

“Where are you going?” Dad asks.

“To join the rest of the soldiers,” I say. “There’s a meeting
about to happen, isn’t there?”

I raise an eyebrow. Dad gives me a look of disbelief, but he doesn’t
challenge me. Instead, he stands from the table.

“Lead
the way, Moore.”

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

The meeting is taking place in one of the vast underground rooms
of the compound. When my dad enters, all the soldiers stop talking and rise to
their feet and salute. Then Dad steps aside and lets me into the room. Though
they try not to react, I can almost feel the ripple of confusion as it passes
down the line. Everyone’s wondering who this beat-up girl is and what she’s
doing here.

“This is my eldest daughter, Brooke,” Dad says. “She’s joining us.”

I hobble into the room and take a seat. I am by far the youngest
person here. Though there are plenty of women, most are like the soldier I met
in the back of the truck; hardened, bulky, emotionless. I stick out like a sore
thumb. I’ll be relieved once I’m given a US Marine Corps uniform to replace the
strange, stiff, homemade uniform of Fort Noix that I am still wearing. For the
first time, I wish I hadn’t been so hasty in demanding to join in the meeting.
I could have really done with a hot bath, a hair brush, a proper sleep, and a
change of clothes. But just like when I was a kid, I find myself wanting to
please my dad, to do everything right and be the daughter he always wanted me
to be. I know, now, after my ordeal and everything I’ve survived, I am so close
to making that a reality.

I can tell that the atmosphere in the room has changed. Everyone
is a little wary of me. I’m not surprised, to be honest. Just like the
Commander at Fort Noix, the people here have learned to be suspicious of
everyone. There’s probably more than just a flicker of doubt in the back of
each of their minds, questioning whether I really am who I say I am or if their
grief-stricken Commander has let in some kind of slaverunner spy. I will just
have to prove myself to them and earn their trust and respect.

“Please,” my dad says. “Resume your meeting.”

The General nods obediently and walks over to a map of Texas
hanging up on a board.

“This is Arena Three,” he says. “Our target.”

I can feel a coldness spread through my body at the thought of
another arena. There must be so many all across America now, filled with kids
like me forced to fight to the death.

“We’ve been in strategic communication with the compound up in
Massachusetts,” the General continues. “We’re preparing to coordinate a large-scale
attack on Arena One and Arena Two in New York, while at the same time taking
down Arena Three, here in Texas. We have only one shot to get it right. We’ve
amassed enough bombs and weapons to eradicate all three. Once the first three
arenas fall, it won’t take long to break the stranglehold of the other, smaller
ones across the country. A coordinated attack on the major arenas is step one
in the liberation of the people of America.”

I hadn’t fully understood the arenas and how they came about
before now, but as I listen in on the meeting, I start to comprehend the
logistics behind the war. The first two arenas weren’t for bloodsport at all,
but mass public executions. Different sides of the civil war had different
strongholds in the north and south. Anyone who opposed the dominant group in
the north were taken to the arenas and killed. In retaliation for their people’s
slaughter, Arena 3 in the south turned the public execution of rebels into a
vicious game. It was a form of retaliation for what was happening to their
sympathizers in the north. The north responded with more bloodshed, turning the
arenas into perverse battlegrounds. This all had the effect of making the arena
places for survivors to congregate. As more and more people died and the
different sides slowly obliterated one another, the arenas became the central
hub of the remaining cities, and the survivors who’d gone there had a choice:
join the brutal new societies or die.

I remember the moment back in Arena 1 when I’d been offered the
opportunity to join them. I’d chosen to face death instead. I wish others had
been as strong when the moment counted. Perhaps if they had, the cities wouldn’t
have gotten such a strong hold over what remained of civilization.

The General moves over to another board, this one showing a
picture of a small electronic device.

“This is the GPS tracker which needs to be placed in each of the
arenas in order to guide the bombs. Once detonated, they will completely
eradicate the arena and the city around it entirely. Over a hundred thousand
people will die in each attack.”

The thought of all those deaths makes my stomach turn. But I also
know it’s a necessary evil. Fighting war with war doesn’t sound like it makes
much sense but I understand why it has to be this way.

As the conversation turns to strategy and how, exactly, we can get
the GPS devices inside, I am hit by a sudden moment of clarity.

“Send me into the arena,” I say, before my brain has even had time
to catch up to my mouth.

Silence falls. Everyone looks at me. I can feel their eyes burning
into me.

“I’m sorry?” the General says. I can almost hear the derision in
his voice. He’s wondering what a seventeen-year-old girl can do in an arena
built for slaughter.

“I’ve fought in them before,” I add. “They’ll all know my name,
all recognize my face. I’ll be able to walk right in there. Everyone will want
to see me fight. I’ll be able to draw every single person in the city into one
place. Once I’m there, I can activate your GPS device.”

It’s my dad who speaks first. “How will you get back out again?”
he says.

I can feel my hands trembling. I don’t want them to. This is my
moment, I have to be brave so that everyone knows I can do this.

“I’ve done it before,” I say.

I can tell Dad is growing tenser. “That doesn’t mean you can do it
again,” he says.

“I know. And if I can’t, you’ll just have to blow the place up
with me still inside.”

There’s a perceptible change in the atmosphere as everyone realizes
what it is I’m offering. Instead of sending a group of soldiers into the city
and risking all their lives, I’m offering to infiltrate, to allow myself to be
caught. I’m offering to return to the worst place I’ve ever had the misfortune
of entering in my entire life, without the guarantee of coming out the other
end, just for their cause. I can feel the respect of the soldiers in the room
begin to build.

“You don’t have to do this just to prove a point, Brooke,” my dad
is saying.

I shake my head. “I’m not,” I say. “I’m doing it because I can.
Because I’m the best person to do it. You said we get one chance, that we only
have enough weapons for one attack. So let me draw everyone to one place. It
will increase our chances of success, won’t it?”

My dad can’t argue against me. He knows I’m right.

“Let me do this,” I say again, firmly. “It’s the right thing to
do. If we don’t take these cities down, if we don’t eradicate the arenas and
the slaverunners, then survivors will keep being tortured and enslaved.
Children will keep being taken for the mines, for the sex trade.”

My voice falters as I think of Ben’s brother whisked away on a
train for the mines beneath Grand Central. I have to do this for him, and for
everyone else who died because of this stupid, brutal war.

I can tell I have the support of the rest of the soldiers. But I’ve
put my dad in a difficult position, because now he has to fight between his
heart and his head. He has to decide whether to listen to the father in him who
is inevitably telling him not to let his daughter do this, or the commander in
him who knows this is the best chance they’re ever going to get.

Eventually, he stands, having made his decision.

“Brooke’s right,” he says. “She’s in by far the best position to
infiltrate Arena Three.”

And with that, I have sealed my fate. For the third time in my
short life, I am heading back into the arena.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

I’m raring to go, but the doctor tells me I have to wait a week
until I can go on any missions at all. My body was so badly damaged from the
time I spent in the desert, I will need to give it time to recuperate. I spend
the days in the hospital with my friends, sharing memories of those we lost
along the way. I know none of them want me to leave, to do what I have to do, but
they know better than to argue with me. If I die on this mission, it’s a
sacrifice I am willing to make.

Finally, the day comes when I am to leave. Dad has been in
communication with the other compound in Massachusetts in order to coordinate
our efforts. The time is now. Today is the day the world will be reborn.

I stand in the meeting room deep beneath the compound, the walls
lined with blueprints and strategic maps. For the first time, I am wearing my
US Marine Corps uniform. I feel a surge of pride to be standing before my dad
in this uniform. Though he doesn’t show it on his face, I know he is proud of
me too.

“There’s no need for you to take weapons,” Dad says. “Anything you
take will be stolen by the slaverunners as soon as you’re captured. It’s better
for them not to get their hands on any weaponry. But I want you to have this,
just in case you run into any crazies along the way.”

He holds out a knife. It is the same one I used back on Catskills Mountain,
the one that helped keep me and Bree alive and fed for four long years. It was
taken from me back in Arena 1. I hadn’t realized how much symbolic value I’d
placed on that knife until now, as I hold its replica in my hands.

I stash the knife away and swallow down the emotion in my throat.

“This is your GPS chip,” Dad says, placing a small device securely
in my pocket. “Once you’re inside the vicinity of the arena, activate it. It
will be our signal to launch the bombs and the tracker inside will guide them
to the right spot. Then you’ll have five minutes to get out. So as soon as it’s
activated you need to get the hell out of there. Do you understand me, Brooke?
No matter what happens, don’t let them take you into the arena to fight.”

I understand what he’s saying. If I end up fighting in the arena, there’s
no way I’ll make it out in five minutes. I’ll be at the mercy of whatever
fighters they decide to throw at me. It would be a suicide mission. I pray it
doesn’t come to that, but I also know I’m willing to give myself up if it does.

It’s time to go. I begin the long walk through the underground
corridors, then I’m up into the compound, surrounded by trees and vegetation.
It feels so strange standing in this beautiful Eden in a military uniform. That
war must exist for peace to prevail is a concept I can hardly wrap my head
around.

Up in the compound, my friends have been allowed out of the hospital
to see me off. Ryan has shaved his head again, and he gives me his confident,
cocky smile. For the first time in a long time, he looks like the Ryan I first
met at Fort Noix, the only difference being the sling around his arm and the
absence of Jack.

Charlie has bounced back to full strength remarkably. I hug him
goodbye, knowing that Flo is watching down on us, grateful that I have gotten
him this far.

Ben is still weak from our ordeal. He was always the gentler, more
sensitive of us, and it stands to reason that the toll the desert took on his
body would be greater than the toll it took on mine. I feel bad for leaving him
when he’s still vulnerable, but I know Ben can look after himself, even if his
mournful blue eyes are silently pleading with me not to go. Like always, the
words we want to speak to each other seem bound up, tied in our throats. Ben
and I always struggled to talk about the shared experiences we’d been through,
and I vow in that moment that if I make it out of the arena alive, I will open
up to him about everything. But for now, I take his hand in mine, noting how
the skin has become soft again thanks to a week resting in the hospital, and press
a kiss onto the back of it, just like he did with me when we first parted ways
all those months ago. Back then he went off searching for his brother, while I
went after Bree. Now we’re parting ways again, united in our goal, knowing that
the whole future of the world is resting on my shoulders.

Then it’s only Bree and Dad left to say goodbye to. Bree is
holding onto Penelope, clutching her against her chest. She looks like a little
girl again, like the seven-year-old I raised on the mountainside, the girl who
relied on me for everything. It’s as though being back in our dad’s presence
has allowed her to regress. She can claim back those childhood years she lost
again. I wish I could do the same.

I bend down so my eyes are level with her and Penelope. I address
the one-eyed dog first, rubbing her behind the ear.

“Take care of Bree while I’m gone,” I say.

Penelope tips her head to the side as though she’s taking in
everything I’m saying. Then she licks Bree’s face, lapping up the salty tears
that are rolling down her cheeks.

“I wish you didn’t have to go,” Bree stammers. “I wish there was
another way.”

“I know,” I say. “So do I. But this is the last fight, Bree. After
this, the world will begin to heal again. I’ll be able to heal again.”

She doesn’t say what we are both thinking; that there is a chance
I might not make it back at all.

I pull her into me, hugging her tightly. Over my shoulder, I catch
sight of Charlie watching me. I know he’ll take care of Bree if I don’t return.
She’ll have Charlie and Penelope and Dad. If there was any time for me to
disappear from her life, it would be now.

I let go of her and straighten up before my own tears have a
chance to fall. I can hardly bear to look into her sorrowful eyes, and so I don’t.
I move along, pain swirling in my gut, and come face to face with my dad.

In unison, we salute.

“Commander,” I say.

“Good luck, soldier,” he says.

Then he reaches forward and pulls me into a tight embrace. “You
can do this, Brooke,” he says into my ear. “I believe in you.”

“Thank you, Dad,” I whisper back.

And then there’s nothing left to do but to mount my motorcycle and
head off into the desert, alone. I kick the engine to life and rev, making
fumes spew out behind me. Then I’m off, heading away from the compound, away
from the Eden my dad has created. I am leaving behind everything I care about.

I decide not to look back.

*

The Texas sunshine is blistering hot. It’s the height of midday
and the sun’s rays are burning into me. Being back in the desert makes me
uncomfortable. It brings back all those horrible memories, of the wild dog
attack, of the slave city in the crater of Memphis. I try not to think about
all that I’ve endured because it just serves to remind me that what I’m about
to do is only the first step in reclaiming the planet. Ridding the world of
slaver cities and crazies and mutated creatures will take far, far longer to
do. Eradicating the arenas is just the catalyst needed to start that process.

I head west toward San Antonio, where Arena 3 is located.
Remarkably, the road is still intact. It will barely take me three hours to
reach the city. Which means that in three hours’ time, I’ll be heading back
into an arena, back into the place of my nightmares. But for now, everything is
peaceful. The road stretches on forever, seemingly into oblivion. There is
nothing left of the civilization that once used this route. No gas stations at
the side of the road, no fields growing crops. There’s just desert as far as
the eye can see, and above it a cloudless blue sky. If there was anything that
could make me feel insignificant, it would be driving along this road alone.

I have to remind myself that I am not insignificant at all. Right
now, I am a very important cog in a machine that will change the course of the
world forever. I know that elsewhere in the country, there are other soldiers
like me, riding motorcycles alone down endless, straight roads, heading toward
other cities and other arenas.

As time passes, I feel my anxiety growing. It’s forming a knot in
my stomach. There is so much resting on my shoulders, the pressure is almost
too great to handle. But then, all at once, I see San Antonio appearing on the
horizon and a strange sense of calm settles over me. I feel like I was always
meant to be here. I was always meant to do this. Every road I have traveled,
every decision I have made, every person, crazy, and creature I have fought,
every friend I have lost, it was all to take me to this exact place, this exact
moment. I am about to face my destiny.

Then I see it, appearing out of the distance. Arena 3. It is
enormous, rising up from the ashes of the city that once thrived here, casting
a shadow over everyone who still lives here. Light glitters off its metallic
surfaces. It is by far the most imposing arena I have seen yet.

But my time to dwell has come to an end, because all at once, as
though appearing from nowhere, several motorcycles appear and surround me.
Their riders are dressed all in black and they each have gun trained on me.
Slaverunners.

I kill the engine of my bike and slowly get off, my hands raised
into a truce position. I’m surprised by how completely calm I am. My heartbeat
has hardly increased at all.

The slaverunners approach me cautiously, as though expecting me to
pull a weapon out. But when they frisk me, all they find is the knife. Once
again, my Marine Corps branded weapon is stolen from me. This time, I know I
will get it back again. I will survive. Because I’m not doing this alone; I
have a whole army behind me. Somewhere back in Houston a red light on a machine
is relaying my GPS’s coordinates back to a room full of soldiers.

“What have we got here then?” one of the slaverunners says to me.

“My name is Brooke,” I say. “I’m a fighter. The only person to
have survived Arena One.”

The slaverunner raises his eyebrows as though in disbelief. “Is
that so? A slight little thing like you?” His face is so close to mine I can
smell his breath.

I set my jaw firm. “You could’ve asked their leader if I hadn’t
killed him.”

There’s a murmur around the rest of the slaverunners. News of my
victory over the leader in Arena 1 must have filtered down south. The man
questioning me frowns, studying my face.

“What are you doing here?” he says. “How’d you make it all the way
to Texas if you were fighting in Manhattan?”

“I’ve been touring the arenas,” I lie. “Giving the spectators what
they want to see: the famous Brooke Moore.”

He looks at me skeptically, as though not sure whether to buy my
story. But since I’m not packing any weapons, I’m not exactly a threat. They
have no reason not to cuff me.

I don’t resist as my hands are wrenched behind my back, nor when I’m
marched toward a bike. In fact, as I’m sat on the back, heading down the road
toward the arena, I smile to myself.

Game on.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

It is like déjà vu, like stepping into a nightmare. The sounds of
the arena, the metallic smell of blood in the air, it all brings back such
horrible memories. Since it’s midday, there are no fights taking place yet and
so no crowds to satisfy. It means I don’t need to worry about accidentally
being thrust into an arena anytime soon. It also means I have plenty of time to
plant my device and plot my escape. We need everyone in the arena before I set
off the device because we only have one chance to destroy the city and the
people within it.

But it also means the place is more or less silent. The only
noises I can hear, other than our boots as we march along, are the crazed
screams of the prisoners deep in the bowels of the arena.

The slaverunners lead me far underground, along winding corridor
after winding corridor. They seem thrilled to have found me and keep grinning
to one another, rubbing their hands with glee. I despise every single one of
them. The farther I go underground, the stuffier it becomes. The prisoners kept
down here aren’t afforded any kind of ventilation system, and the air is thick
with the smell of sweat, urine, and terror. The cries become louder the closer
I get to the cells. I try to keep my emotions deep inside, but my heart breaks
for them.

As I go, I mentally map out the whole route, every corner we turn,
every staircase we descend, committing everything to memory. I’ll need to know
the exact route to take to get back to the surface when the time comes. Five
minutes is all I’ll have to escape the arena before the bombs obliterate it. So
the whole time I walk, I take mental pictures of every single twist and turn,
every little chink in the brickwork, anything that will help me find my way to
the surface.

It grows darker and darker with each new corridor I’m led down.
The place is lit only with emergency lights which bathe everything in a grimy
dark yellow light. It’s hard to believe how harsh the light is on the surface
down here.

My captors don’t speak to me. They just prod me along, like an
animal, like I’m less than human. I keep my chin high, not about to give them
any kind of satisfaction for their bad treatment of me. Then they draw to a
halt outside of a large steel door. One of the guards takes out a key and
unlocks the door. It swings open and I’m kicked in the small of my back. I
stumble inside and fall to my knees, colliding with the hard cement ground.
Before the door is slammed harshly behind me, just enough light streams in from
outside for me to see the gaunt, hollow faces of the prisoners locked up
inside. Then the doors are locked behind me, and we are plunged back into
darkness.

The smell in here is horrendous. There must be at least a hundred
prisoners in here all crammed together, chained, sitting in their own dirt and
filth. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that no one inside here has washed
since being locked up. Being so close to them brings awful memories flooding
back to me, of the gnawing hunger I felt when I was locked up in Arena 1, and
of the heavy cuffs around my wrists. I feel nothing but empathy for them all.
But I don’t speak to anyone. I’m not here to make friends. If I so much as let
myself care for anyone inside here, I could jeopardize the whole mission.
Everyone here is going to die. They’re collateral damage to a grander plan.

It shocks me to hear myself thinking this way. I really have
turned into Flo. She didn’t care who she hurt as long as she survived. At the
time, I hated her for it. But now I understand. And I understand, too, why my
dad did what he did. Sometimes small acts of evil build up to greater acts of
kindness. Not that anyone could call blowing up a stadium filled with
slaverunners and spectators small...

My mission doesn’t leave my thoughts for even a second.
Straightaway, I fumble in my pocket, searching for the red LED light of my GPS
tracker. It’s hard to reach with the cuffs on and in the pitch blackness, but I
find it nevertheless. I know once I activate it I’ll only have five minutes to
escape before the bombs are dropped, so it’s absolutely critical that I secure
myself an escape route before I do. I wish I had just the smallest amount of
light to see by, so I could work out how many steps it will take me to reach
the door. Every detail matters now. My plan is to activate the device when the
guards arrive to take me to my fight, then attack them. I’ll be up and out of
the arena before the bombs fall.

“What have you got there?” a disembodied voice says to me. It
sounds like the voice of an old woman. The cruelty of the slaverunners for
putting an elderly woman in an arena for entertainment is unimaginable.

“It’s nothing,” I say, not knowing whether I can trust her.

“Looks like something to me,” comes her reply.

I deliberate whether to tell her more. But then I remind myself
that I’m not here to be polite or friendly. I have a mission and nothing should
be distracting me from it, even if that something is just a light-hearted
conversation with an old woman.

As I’m feeling my way in the gloom along the perimeter wall, I
pray the other survivors don’t suss out what I’m doing, or haven’t been drawn
to my movements by the nosy old woman. I can’t trust anyone, not even people
who in other circumstances would be on the same team as me. I feel guilty
knowing that my actions will be causing their deaths, but I have to remind
myself that they’d all be dead anyway. At least this way, other people
elsewhere will get to live. I shouldn’t have to turn them into martyrs, but I
have no choice.

As I’m searching for a strategic place to prepare for my attack, I
start to hear something that piques my suspicion. It sounds a lot like the
distant shouts of a crowd. I listen intently, straining to hear over the sounds
of the other prisoners shuffling around in the cell. It is unmistakable. I can
hear the sound of an approaching crowd, their cries for blood growing louder
and louder and louder.

The old woman who’d spoken to me before must hear it too.

“Must be a special event,” she says. “There ain’t usually fights
this early in the day.”

I want to ask her how she can even tell what time of day it is,
since we’re in a completely dark cell without any way of seeing outside, but I
have more important things to think about. A special event could only mean one
thing: the slaverunners have announced my arrival. I knew I’d be a draw for the
crowds but I didn’t realize I’d be such a draw that they would move the games
forward to the middle of the day. I won’t get the evening to prepare at all.
They’re holding a special fight, right here, right now.

A jolt of panic races through me. I’ve barely been here twenty
minutes and already the plan is diverging off course. My escape route hasn’t
been planned. I haven’t had time to figure out what I’m doing.

Suddenly I hear the sound of footsteps approaching from outside.
They’re coming for me. The lock screeches as someone opens it from the other
side of the door, then a slaverunner appears, a silhouette against the dim
light coming from outside.

“Brooke Moore,” he says. I recognize his voice as the slaverunner
who first captured me back out in the city. “You were right about you being a
crowd pleaser. The second we said we had you, our leader called a fight. A
special fight. You’re coming to the arena.”

I try to keep calm. Everything’s happening more quickly than I was
expecting—it’s barely been four hours since I left Ryan, Ben, Charlie, Dad,
Bree, and Penelope at the gates of the compound—but I have to keep my wits
about me. I’m a soldier, a fighter, I can do what I have to do. The time is
now. The moment has arrived.

The old woman begins to chuckle. “Oh, you’re the special
event. Well, good luck to you.”

I turn and glare at her, at her wizened face. She’s missing all
her teeth and her hands are gnarled.

But I don’t have time for anger, I have work to do. I reach into
my pocket for the GPS device. But before my thumb hits the button, the woman
screams.

“She’s got something in her pocket!”

Chaos breaks out in the cell as prisoners start panicking. I
quickly press my thumb into the button, but in my trembling haste I can’t tell
whether it fully activated or not. I don’t get a chance to double check; the
guard is there in one second flat, wrenching my hand and the device out of it.
I can’t see whether the red blinking light has been activated because the guard
drops it on the ground and slams his heavy boot into it.

My insides drop like a ten-ton weight. If I didn’t manage to
activate it before he destroyed it, the rest of the army won’t have seen my
signal. They won’t know that the moment has arrived much sooner than anyone was
anticipating. Even if they did pick up the signal, it would only have been for
a split second. They could easily have blinked and missed it. And there won’t
be anything to guide their missiles. They have one shot to hit their target and
now they’re going to have to do it blind.

I’m so taken aback by the speed with which everything has changed,
I don’t even have time to attack. The guard has already grabbed me roughly by
the arms and is dragging me from the prison cell. Meanwhile, the sounds of the
crowds above intensifies. I can hear their footsteps as they march above my
head and take their seats. I’m being taken to the arena and there’s nothing I
can do about it.

As I’m pulled from the cell, I narrow my eyes at the old woman who
turned on me at the very last minute. I know she probably just wanted to
survive another day, to not be the one called to fight today, but her
callousness has ruined everything. That one decision to call me out might even
have changed the course of the future of the world.

The cell door is slammed shut and I’m dragged, stunned, along the
corridor. As I go, my calmness completely disappears. In its place comes a
frantic, racing heartbeat, a whirring mind, and palms slick with sweat. It’s
all gone wrong. My worst nightmare has been realized.

I’m heading for Arena 3.

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

Each one of my footsteps echoes as I am prodded along the corridor
by the guard. My mind is a frantic blur. It is so dark down here with only the emergency
lights to illuminate the path I can hardly see my hand in front of my face. It
makes everything stark. I feel like I am walking into hell.

Slaverunners walk ahead of me and behind me. They must have gotten
the lowdown on me. They know what I did in Arena 1, how I killed the leader
there, and they’re not taking any chances.

The corridor bends, taking me away from the path that leads to
freedom, steering me in the opposite direction, toward the jaws of death. I can
hear the crowd above stamping their feet, chanting my name. Everyone wants to
see me fight, but no one wants to see me survive. They all want to bear witness
to my death.

I dig my heels in, my body not letting me move. A slaverunner
comes up behind me and kicks me in the small of my back, making me take a
stumble forward. I almost lose my footing. Because my hands are bound so
tightly, if I fall, there will be nothing I can do to stop myself hitting the
floor. I have no choice but to let myself be shoved onward.

Finally, the corridor opens out into a circular room.

“Stand there,” one of the slaverunner says, pointing at the
ground.

I can just about make out a metal shape on the floor in the middle
of the room. It looks like some kind of trap door.

As I step on it, metal cuffs wrap around each of my boots,
sticking me to the ground steadfast.

“What is this?” I ask, frustrated to hear my voice trembling. “What’s
happening?”

The slaverunners don’t get a chance to respond, because in that
moment a circular panel opens up directly above my head. Stark daylight pours
in through the hole above me, blinding me. I turn my head to protect my eyes
from the glare. Along with the light, a blast of sound comes down the hole, so
loud it’s deafening. It’s the chanting, screaming, braying crowd. At the same
time, I feel someone fiddling with the cuffs around my wrists. They’re unlocking
me. And that can only mean one thing.

All at once, the ground moves beneath my feet. The metal thing I’m
standing on is beginning to rise. My hands are free but my feet are locked into
the ground, making sure I don’t go anywhere. I rise slowly, the light blinding
me. I want to cover my eyes but I know that within a matter of seconds I’ll be
in an arena where anything could happen to me. I have to be alert, ready for
anything they might throw at me.

A voice booms over the loudspeakers as I rise.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please put your hands together for Brooke
Moore!”

The crowd roars, the noise so loud it is deafening.

My head tips through the hole, just enough for me to be able to
see the arena before me. It’s circular, built in an old sports stadium. The arena
is like a desert, with dusty yellow sand covering every inch of the ground. It
is completely open to the elements and the blue sky up above me.

The crowds stretch up in the bleachers as far as my eyes can see.
I’m shocked to discover that none of them are biovictims. Whereas the
spectators in the other cities had been deformed and mutated by radiation,
their nuclear fried brains turning them into savage beasts, the people here
have no such excuse. They’re humans, just like me, ordinary people who survived
the war. But every single citizen of the city must be here—the elderly, the
young, everyone’s turned out to watch my death. I wish I could find a way to
empathize with them, to remind myself that they’re victims of a brutal society
as well. But I just can’t do it. They had the same choice I was confronted with
back in Arena 1: join them or fight them. They’ve chosen the path of least
resistance and for that, I can never forgive them.

Any residue of shame I felt about blowing this place to
smithereens dissipates. These people deserve to die. Now I just hope that I
activated the GPS device, that the bombs are on their way. But it’s already
been five minutes and nothing has happened yet. Whether something’s alerted
them to my being in danger or not, there’s no way of knowing. All I know is
that I’m still here, the arena is still standing, and there’s no sign of my dad’s
army. I’m alone.

The platform finishes rising and clunks into place. But my metal
cuffs keep me frozen to the spot. I look around, trying to work out what is
happening and what I am supposed to do. I’m on high alert, my senses listening
out for the smallest sound, my body feeling out for the smallest tremor.
Anything that will tell me where my foe is coming from. I don’t know what to
expect. Arena 1 was like a wrestling ring. Sumo, Shira, Malcolm—all my
opponents were celebrity fighters in their own right. But Arena 2 was more like
a sport or a game. All the competitors were children my age. They wanted us to
die but they wanted to be creative with it. They wanted their crowds to be
entertained. I wonder what Arena 3 will be like. It’s not giving away any of
its secrets yet.

All the while I stand there, I look around at every crevice and
cranny in the whole building, praying that somewhere I’ll see a way out, an
escape hatch. Other than the disc I stand on, I cannot see a single entryway.
But my competitors will have to get in here somehow. Just as soon as they do, I’ll
make a beeline for it and take my chance at escape.

That’s when I see movement from opposite me. Another person is
coming out of the ground, rising on their own metal disc. I expect them to be
my competitor, but once the disc clicks in place and the dust settles, I
realize I am facing a child. She can’t be more than twelve years old. She
stares at me, terrified, her face completely white.

Suddenly, all around me, children start rising up on discs,
clicking into place, until we’re in a circle. There are ten in total.

I can feel my stomach roiling at the realization that they’re expecting
us to fight each other to the death.

The announcer speaks.

“There can only be one survivor. Whoever is left standing will be
crowned the winner. Let the games begin.”

Suddenly there’s a loud honking noise and the metal cuffs across
my feet snap open. I’m free to move. To fight.

The crowd begins to cheer. I can feel the anticipation buzzing in
the air.

No one moves. None of my fellow competitors prepared to fight one
another. But that’s when the ground begins to rumble. I wobble on my platform,
trying to keep my footing, but the shaking is too great. We begin to stumble
from our discs, landing on the desert ground.

The second we do, the desert sand suddenly sifts away through a
million pinprick holes in the ground. As it disappears, it reveals a huge metal
framework on the floor, like a lattice. Then, out of each gap, a red laser beam
bursts out, making a crisscross pattern above my head. The arena has been
transformed in a matter of seconds from a barren desert into a strange,
futuristic stadium. The crowd goes wild, delighted by what is unfolding before
their eyes.

I crouch down, certain that the laser beams mean danger. I know
that the electricity in the laser beams won’t be strong enough to kill us
because that would make the game a huge disappointment. But they’re certainly
designed to hurt and I don’t want to risk touching any of them. I have no idea
what they’re for when I suddenly see a bright red light coming from one end of
the stadium. I look over and see that a huge doorway has been illuminated. It’s
the exit. They’re trying to tempt us toward it. But I’m not about to play their
game. It’s like a magician, always trying to get you to look in a certain place
so they can distract you from the real trick. I won’t fall for it. That exit is
probably fake anyway. They just want to see my desperation.

Two of the kids race for the exit. The second they do, the laser beams
begin moving, chasing them across the desert ground. They scream in pain and
collapse to the floor, writhing around as though shocked by electricity.

The crowd is momentarily entertained by the sight, but they
quickly grow frustrated at the lack of fighting. As though in response, the
laser beams begin to move, rotating so that we have no choice but to move. They’re
forcing us together. I duck and weave through them, like I’m dancing a horrible
dance. I step and leap, crouch and spin, trying to get out of the path of the
moving laser beams. I’m hit and the pain is excruciating, like barbed wire all
over my body. At last the crowd begins to cheer, pleased to see some suffering
for their entertainment. But I know this isn’t it. There is more to come. This
is just the beginning. This is like the warm-up act, trying to pump up the
crowd for the main show.

All at once, the ground begins to vibrate. I can hear the sound of
grinding metal coming from somewhere beneath the floor of the stadium. Then two
slits open up in the ground and rising from them are giant, twisting blades.
The crowd simultaneously oohs, and I feel sick to my stomach.

At the same time, a platform like the one I rose into the arena on
appears at the far end, opposite the neon, flashing exit. I can only just about
see the silhouette of whatever it is being raised into the arena. All I can
tell is that it isn’t human. It is some kind of beast, a disgusting, huge,
spiny creature. A spotlight appears on the creature. It looks like a giant,
spiky earwig covered in mucus. Its pincers click together.

So that’s how they’re going to play it. If we won’t fight each
other, then they’ll pit man against beast, humans against the deformed
creatures our radioactive world has produced. I swallow hard and try to
psych myself up. If I can fight crazies and kill radiated wild dogs, I can do
this. But none of my dad’s training has prepared me for this, and the creature
is so revolting it takes every ounce of resolve in my body not to run away.

The crowd goes crazy, cheering and shouting.

There’s a split-second pause as the creature takes in the sight of
its prey standing defenselessly in front of it, then it launches itself
forward, racing toward me and the other children at a frighteningly fast pace.

My heart flies into my throat. The adrenaline pumping through me
sharpens my faculties and helps me make sense of what I have to do. I
understand how this arena is set up. I have opponents, obstacles, but no
weapons, but they didn’t go to all this effort just to see us die in five
seconds flat. They want to be entertained and that means watching us fight,
having us die one by one. I’m supposed to want the other kids to get killed
before me.

I spring forward, racing right at the creature. The crowd gasps,
clearly not expecting me to make such a bold move. As though following my
movements, the rotating saws crash down. I only just manage to leap out of the
way. I fall on my side and go rolling across the hard metal grid floor.

But the creature manages to avoid the blades as well, and remains
completely unscathed. It rears up like a centipede, showing off a thousand
spindly teeth, then roars. Huge strings of spit hang between its teeth, and a
fine mist of hot spit sprays the crowd. They squeal like children at Sea World.
Don’t they realize they’re watching humans fighting for their lives? Have they
become so desensitized to violence?

The creature zooms toward me again. I’m up on my feet quick as a
flash, racing toward the spinning saws. It was too easy for the creature to
duck out of the way of the last blade, so I get a different idea this time.
Instead of trying to get one to crash down on it, I’m going to run straight
through the middle.

It’s a risky maneuver and the crowd knows it. They start bouncing
up and down in their seats as I make a beeline straight down the center of the
groaning, rotating saws. As I go, they start crashing down, just inches from
the place where I last stood. They’re so close, I can feel the rush of wind
created by each slam.

The creature is right behind me, right on my tail. Just as its
pincers reach out to snap me up, one of the blades crashes down. I’m thrown
forward by the force and land chest down on the hard ground. The wind is
knocked out of me and I wince. Then I look back and see that barely a foot
behind me, the creature is twitching against the metal ground, a saw rammed
right through its head and black, sticky, gooey blood oozing out of it.

Across the other side of the arena, a group of about five of the
children are huddled together, staring at me wide-eyed as though in terror. I
just have time to spin onto my back when a boy barrels into me.

“Don’t fight me, you idiot!” I scream as we roll across the
ground.

He pins me down, grappling with me.

“I’m trying to keep you all alive!” I shout back.

As the boy wrestles with me, the ground begins to rumble and the
saws start to disappear down into the slits in the grating, taking the
disgusting earwig creature with them. The crowd chants my name but I know
better than to fall for it. There will be another monster to fight. There
always is. These games will only end when the humans die.

I managed to get my knee up and kick the boy in his stomach. He
goes flying back and the ground starts to rumble and shake. I know something
else is coming for us, that the arena is about to transform again, but I need a
moment to catch my breath. As I take in a deep gasp, I’m suddenly aware of a
pungent smell coming from behind me. Whatever is there, the crowd has already
seen it, because they start to clap and squeal with excitement.

I flip onto my feet in a crouching stance and spin, coming face to
face with three enormous rodent-like creatures. They’re completely furless,
covered in painful-looking sores and boils, and their eyes glow red. They’re
each at least six feet long, and the stench coming off them is unbearable. In
the crowd, people cover their mouths, but it’s all part of the spectacle for
them, all part of the evening’s entertainment.

The rats see the group of five children huddled in the corner.
Within a second, they gobble them up. The boy next to me screams. I cover my
mouth, trying to stop myself from retching, and glance around me desperately,
searching for somewhere to run and hide. But all around me is nothing but the
flat open arena ground.

Then the ground suddenly begins to shake and rumble. A series of
walls burst up, so fast I’m knocked off my feet. The giant rats scurry to the
far end of the stadium, seemingly afraid. I take my chance and run to the
opposite side. Walls spring up all around me, blocking me in, forcing me to
backtrack. At the very least, they provide a barrier between me and the boy who
was trying to kill me. But when everything stops shaking, I realize what has
happened. Surrounding me is a maze.

My heart pounds. I can hear the rats scurrying around at the other
end of the stadium. The sound of their claws on the metal grating makes my
stomach turn, as does the screaming of the children they are catching and
eating. I can smell their odor as it wafts through the maze toward me, but the
walls are so high there’s no way I can see where they’re approaching from. I’m
completely blind.

I start running, disorientated and panicked. I’ve always been a
fighter, not a runner. This is completely out of my comfort zone. And it’s made
worse by the way the ground suddenly rises and falls, by the way the walls
suddenly grind and begin to move. I feel frantic, like I’m trapped in a
nightmare.

I can hear the pounding feet of the rats from just the other side
of the wall and smell their putrid flesh. They are so close. A wall is starting
to move and I launch myself at it. It’s just low enough for me to pull myself
up on top. It springs back up to its full height, and I’m just a few yards
above the rats. Their disgusting noses sniff me, but I’m just out of their
reach. I run along the top of the wall away from them. While being able to see
where they are is useful, it won’t help me in any way if I don’t find a way to
kill them.

I race along the top of the wall, searching for anything that I
might be able to use as a weapon. As I go, I wrack my brains, trying to think
of a way to defeat them. It’s when I see one of the rats nip the other that I
get a brilliant idea. In the last fight, I used the obstacle against the
opponent. What about if in this fight, I pit the opponents against one another?

I notice ahead a place where the walls move in and out, forming a
block like a prison cell. I know then what I have to do.

“HEY!” I shout at the stinking creatures, trying to get their
attention. “I’M UP HERE!”

All three of them turn their disgusting faces up to me, twitching
their crusty noses. Revolted by the sight of them, I start to run. My feet slap
against the hard wall. The rats are right behind me, chasing so fast, getting
so close. I have to time this perfectly or it won’t come off at all.

I take a running leap just as one of the walls is starting to rise
and manage to grip it by my fingertips. I hang there, dangling helplessly as it
continues its slow rise. I try to heave myself up but I can’t quite get
purchase on the wall. Gritting my teeth, I begin to scrabble and kick,
searching for a nick in the wall where I can get my footing. The rats are
racing toward me; I can hear them, smell them, can feel the crowd on the edge
of their seats with anticipation. Finally, I get my foot onto a rough part of
the wall and start to scramble, heaving with all my might. Then, in the nick of
time, I’m crouching on the top of the wall.

The rats congregate beneath me, snarling, snapping their teeth. I
stand there, trying to catch my breath. I need to time this perfectly.

I turn on top of the wall and watch the one opposite as it begins
to lower. Then I jump, right into the enclosed space. It’s a complete dead end.
The audience has no idea what I’m doing and must think I’ve chosen suicide,
because they all gasp in unison.

I back away, my heart hammering, prepared for the wall ahead of me
to lower and my opponents to race in and devour me. The screeching, grinding
noise of the walls begins to sound out, and it starts to lower. The rats are
clambering over one another, trying to be the first into the small space. Then,
just as I hoped, the wall my back is pressed against begins to rotate. I barely
have a second to press myself through the gap before it slams shut with a
humongous crunching noise. The rats are locked up inside the tiny room on the
other side. Within a matter of seconds, I hear the sounds of them tearing one
another to pieces. The crowd erupts with applause, thrilled by the spectacle I’m
giving them.

But of course, it’s not over. There will be more deformed
creatures to fight. More races to run and hoops to leap through. I’m their
entertainment for the evening. My only chance of survival is if I can draw the
game out long into the evening, long enough for the troops back at the compound
to realize I’m in trouble. Right now, I don’t care if I die in their bomb
blasts. Anything would be preferable to playing this disgusting death game.
Right now, a bomb strike would feel like mercy.

As the ground shakes and the maze disappears, I get my first look
at the other competitors. Only three of them remain. The boy who attacked me is
gone, swallowed by one of the putrid rodents. The sight makes me feel hollow,
but the crowd loves it. They roar their approval, loving the entertainment and
the way we are being slowly tortured to death. Of all the arenas I’ve fought,
of all the crowds I’ve faced, these are by far the worst because they know
better but have adopted a “rather you than me” attitude. The hatred I feel for
them is all consuming.

The ground begins to shake again and when I look down, I see hot,
boiling water bubbling up through the grid at my feet. It’s so hot, steam curls
up with it, and bubbles pop on the surface. Then platforms rise up.

I have no choice. My instinct to survive is stronger than anything
inside of me that wants to give up. I grab hold of a rope attached to a podium
and start to swing across the burning water. I’m moving like a pendulum, back
and forth, the whole time looking down to see what hybrid creature will be sent
up to terrorize me. But instead of a creature, the water keeps on rising. My
muscles scream in protest as I force myself to climb up the rope, inching
myself away from the water that just keeps on rising.

At the other end of the arena, one of the boys loses his grip on
the rope. He slips into the boiling water and lets out a bloodcurdling scream.
I climb even quicker and manage to pull myself, stomach first, onto the
platform. When I look down, I realize that the water is filled with giant,
wriggling maggots, at least fifty foot long and completely see-through.
Clearly, these animals evolved in hot, radiated, toxic waters.

The crowd squeals as though they find the sight squeamish. I’m so
angry with them, with the way they’re treating us and the pleasure they’re
deriding from our fear and misery. But the fight is leaving me. I have no
energy to spare to scream at them. All that’s left in me will have to go into
fighting the maggot-like creatures.

In the water beneath me, they writhe and wriggle around. More keep
appearing, squirming, their disgusting transparent bodies making me feel sick.
If the audience is expecting me to kill them, they’re going to be sorely
disappointed. There’s no way I’ll be able to fight all those disgusting
creatures; there are literally hundreds of them.

But the waters are rising, bringing them closer and closer, and
there’s nowhere left to climb. I can’t get any higher.

That’s when I realize I’m not supposed to climb or fight. This is
the end of the line. For the crowd, the enjoyment comes with the toe-curling
anticipation of knowing one of us is about to die, of watching the terror on
our faces. I have no choice but to delight them by cowering back from the
platform edge.

The water begins lapping at the side of the platform. The maggoty
worms are so close to me now I can see their bulbous eyes. They have rows of
perforated teeth, like needles. The crowd squeals with delight as another quake
begins to shake the podiums. I hear the shrill scream of a girl and know
another one of the competitors has fallen into the deathly waters.

I cling on for dear life, praying that I make it out of here alive.
But I know it’s futile. The end has come.

All at once, the platform tips. My grip on it tightens but I can’t
hold on forever. My muscles fail me and I let go. I hit the boiling water and
scream in time to the gasping crowd of thrill seekers. It feels more like fire
than water. I thrash around, screaming at the top of my lungs. But something is
changing in the crowd. No one wants to see me die this way; not because it’s
vicious and brutal, but because it’s too cheap. Whoever is controlling the game
gets the hint, because suddenly the water that had been filling the stadium
suddenly begins to drain away, and before the worm creatures even have a chance
to bite me, I’m plummeting down, swirling as the water is sucked away.

I hit the metal grid of the arena ground once more. The worm
creatures lie all around me, flapping and gasping in the air, drowning in
oxygen, no longer a threat.

The crowd bursts into applause.

I look over and see there’s just one other competitor left alive.
A boy of roughly eighteen. He’s lying on the floor too, his skin red and scalded
like mine.

I realize then that there will be no more creatures to fight. It’s
down to the final two. They want us to kill each other.

With a clunking noise, two swords are dropped into the arena. But
I can’t even move. I’m exhausted, completely spent. My body feels like it’s on
fire, the scalding water making every part of me hurt. It feels like I’m back
in the desert again, when my body gave up and I just couldn’t carry on. My
limbs are heavy, and my mind whirring.

I can see the boy rising to his feet, picking up his sword, and,
for the first time, I admit to myself that no one is coming to save me. My GPS
device failed. The bombs weren’t triggered and I will die before anyone
realizes too much time has passed. No one was expecting me to be hauled into
the arena so soon. As far as they know, I’m still a prisoner within the
compound, plotting out my plan of escape. But in reality, I’ve failed in the
one thing I had to do. I will die in this place and the world will keep on
turning, just as brutal as before. Children will keep being stolen and
survivors will keep fighting to the death in arenas until there’s nothing left
of the old human race, nothing to show for all our accomplishments. I will die
and there will be hell on earth.

The boy’s face appears above me, the sword glinting. He looks
mournful, like he doesn’t want to kill me but knows he has to. I lie there,
unable to move. But something catches his eye. There’s something coming toward
us, floating as lightly as a feather on the wind. It’s coming from the
audience. Someone has thrown a piece of white cloth, or a feather, in our
direction. We watch it float down. Is it some kind of peace offering? I look up
and scan the crowd, trying to see the person who threw it. When I do, my heart
stops beating.

There, in the crowd amongst the other spectators, are Ben and
Ryan.

I don’t think I’ve ever been more happy to see them in my life.
They leap over the barriers and start running for me.

“Intruders!” the commentator cries.

I try to rise to my feet, finding my legs weak beneath me. Then
suddenly their arms loop beneath mine and I’m wrenched to my feet.

“What are you doing here?” I cry to Ben and Ryan.

“We’re your plan B,” Ryan says.

“We’re getting you out of here,” Ben says, holding me close.

I wince, my scalded flesh sending bolts of pain through my body
where he touches me. I notice Ryan is holding a GPS device and he hits it,
turning the blinking red light into a solid one. The army has been mobilized.
We have five minutes to get out of here before the whole place blows.

The crowd erupts into pandemonium. Half of them seem to be loving
the abrupt change in course; the other half are angry to have been cheated out
of seeing me and the boy fight to death.

But the boy doesn’t seem to understand what’s happening. He must
think Ben and Ryan have been sent to help me kill him. He charges us, his sword
raised.

Ryan snatches up the sword that was dropped for me and turns.
Their swords clang together.

Ben gets to the metal disc that delivered me into the stadium and
uses some kind of device in his hand, a tool of some sort, to ram the edge of
the disc. It opens.

“RYAN!” I scream behind me. “COME ON!”

“GO!” he shouts. “While you still can!”

Ben tugs my arm and all at once we plummet downward, through the
hole.

We hit the ground hard, winded. I feel one of my ribs crack on
impact and take a sharp breath. The hole above closes over, plunging us into
darkness. We’re back underground, and Ryan is trapped up in the arena.

“NO!” I scream, my voice tearing from my lungs.

But Ben keeps on tugging me, pulling me, forcing me to move on. We
only have a matter of minutes to get out of the arena before the whole thing
blows.

I’m hardly in a fit enough state to run. Ben has to hold me close
to him to keep me on my feet. Numb with grief, I’m somehow able to trace my
steps back through the twisting, labyrinthine underground. From above, the
audience is roaring, the commentator desperately trying to quell the chaos. It
sounds like we’ve started a riot.

I’m hardly able to stand. I wince with every step. But we reach
the very last corridor and race up the very last staircase. Then all at once,
we burst out into the desert heat, into the abyss of nothing. We’re free from
the arena.

We start running full speed, knowing we only have a few minutes
before the arena blows up. Even from outside we can hear the angry crowd. Shots
start ringing out and it occurs to me that the slaverunners have opened fire on
their own people.

As we race across the expanse, away from the arena, I hear the
whining sound of bombs flying through the air.

The bombs hit and explode, the force so strong Ben and I are both
flung forward. Heat blasts my face, singeing my hair. I land with a hard thud
on my back and my head slams against the asphalt, making me bite down hard on
my tongue.

I taste blood in my mouth. There’s a ringing in my ears that’s
beyond painful. I’m completely dazed, unable to move or think or get my
thoughts in any kind of order. Acrid smoke billows above me. I manage to roll
over onto my chest. A little way behind me, I can see Ben lying face down on
the ground. He’s completely still and I pray that he’s just been knocked
unconscious. Behind him, I can see a scene of utter carnage. Enormous flames are
leaping into the air, and bits of metal and body parts rain down. I duck as
pieces of the arena grating thud just an inch to the side of my head.

I look back and see that where the arena stood is now nothing more
than a smoldering crater. The bomb obliterated everything. It wiped out
thousands of people in one blast.

There is no arena. There is no Ryan.

Then the world turns black.

EPILOGUE

They tell me this is what victory feels like. But I can’t bring
myself to celebrate. Not when I wake from my coma two days later in Dad’s
compound in Houston as a hero, nor when I’m reunited with Bree. I don’t
celebrate when my dad tells me how proud he is of me for what I’ve done.

We won. The plan to destroy the arenas simultaneously went off
without a hitch. Or at least it did as far as everyone else is concerned. No
one knows about the grueling hours I spent in Arena 3, fighting for my life
against the vicious mutants the nuclear war created. Nor does anyone know what
Ben and Ryan did for me, about how they both had a gut feeling that something
was wrong, and how they put their differences aside to unite and help me with
their secret plan B. No one realizes that if it weren’t for them, I would have
died in the arena, our whole plan would have fallen apart, and we’d all be
under slaverunner control right now.

I know I’ll never be able to tell them, that I will never be able
to admit that I screwed up the most important thing I was ever going to do. I
have to accept their praise even though I don’t deserve it. I have to let them
comfort me over Ryan mysteriously running away from the compound, knowing I
will never be able to tell anyone that he is in fact dead because of me.

No one knows any of that. They all believe, when they found me
unconscious in the desert, that my skin had been burned by the bomb’s blast.
They all needed me to be their hero and so I had no choice but to accept.

Only Ben seems to understand why I am so subdued. He knows why I
don’t dance and drink and celebrate like the rest of them. Like always, it’s
Ben who understands that what I have experienced has marked me, damaged me,
possibly forever. The only good thing to come out of all of this is that I know
we’ll be by each other’s side, silent, supporting, not needing to speak to
understand where the other is coming from.

In the first week after the arenas are obliterated, we receive a
message from a squad in the Midwest. Arena 4 has fallen, its prisoners
liberated. They’re all on buses heading south since we have the infrastructure
in place and plenty of food to support them. But still I don’t celebrate.

In the second week, we get an even bigger surprise when the
Commander from Fort Noix arrives with his troops. He admits he was wrong to
ignore my dad’s appeal for help. He vows to do everything he can to help, and
they strike up a bargain to take in a thousand orphans from the fallen cities
and rescued from the sex trade. They’ll be placed with families in the cabins
in the woods.

But even this is not enough for me to celebrate. Nor is the moment
when Charlie and Bree’s friendship blossoms into first love, nor when Zeke and
Stephan are rescued from Memphis, nor the moment when I am finally able to look
Ben in the eye and tell him that I love him, that I finally can be with him in
the way he wants me to be.

The point when I am finally able to smile for the first time comes
a whole year later.

*

It is a week before the newly formed American army begins
mobilizing into the deserts, and a month after the first full, reestablished
communication device between the different compounds becomes fully operable. I’m
sitting in my bedroom in my dad’s house. Ben’s asleep in my bed, his hair
mussed up. Sunlight streams through the curtains, illuminating his pale torso,
making him look more beautiful than ever. There’s a faint knock at my door.

“Come in,” I say.

Bree tips her head around the door. When she sees Ben asleep in my
bed, she turns bright red.

“Yes?” I ask her, amused by her embarrassment.

“Dad wants to see you,” she says.

Ben stirs and, realizing he is revealing a little more than he’d
like, quickly pulls the cover up to his armpits.

“Hey,” he says to Bree.

She just turns around and darts out the door.

I go over to Ben and bring my arms around his neck. Then I lean
down and plant a slow, lingering kiss on his lips.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” I say. “Did you sleep well?”

“Perfectly,” he replies. “What did Bree want?”

“She said Dad wanted to see me,” I say, getting up from the bed. “Coming?
I’ll make you breakfast.”

Ben grins and slips on his clothes.

We go through the corridor of the bungalow and find Dad in the
kitchen. Bree is sitting at the table with him. He smiles when he sees the both
of us.

“What is it?” I say. “Bree said you wanted to see me.”

“I do,” he replies. “I’ve got some news for you. Sit.”

I exchange a glance with Ben, then we both take a seat.

“I received a call from a compound in California today,” Dad
begins. “They told us that the arena there has fallen. The city has been
reclaimed.”

I gasp.

“That was the last one?” I say, feeling my heart begin to thud.

Dad nods. “It was the last one.”

I can hardly believe it. It’s real. America has finally been rid
of its arenas. No more fighting will ever take place in them again.

Dad steps forward and gives me a long hug. In that hug, I can feel
all the years of grief, of agony, begin to melt. I can feel a new beginning
forming.

I look from my sister, to my dad, to the boy I have finally let
myself fall in love with. And then I smile.

Today, I realize, life can begin
again.

Author Note

Thank you so
much for reading all three Arena novels. I am so honored that you’ve read them
all! I hope you’ll continue on this journey with me. Although this is the final
installment of my dystopian novels, you might enjoy one of my other series. You
might especially enjoy RISE OF THE DRAGONS, which features another tough female
protagonist who I am sure you will fall in love with! If you like Brooke, you
will love Kyra! Read it for free and let me know what you think! I can’t wait
to hear!

Best wishes,

Morgan

RISE OF THE DRAGONS

(Kings and
Sorcerers—Book 1)

“If you thought that there was no reason left for living
after the end of the Sorcerer’s Ring series, you were wrong. In RISE OF
THE DRAGONS Morgan Rice has come up with what promises to be another brilliant
series, immersing us in a fantasy of trolls and dragons, of valor, honor,
courage, magic and faith in your destiny. Morgan has managed again to produce a
strong set of characters that make us cheer for them on every page.…Recommended
for the permanent library of all readers that love a well-written fantasy.”

--Books and Movie Reviews, Roberto Mattos

The #1
Bestseller!

From #1 Bestselling author Morgan Rice comes a sweeping new
epic fantasy series: RISE OF THE DRAGONS (KINGS AND SORCERERS—Book 1).

Kyra, 15, dreams of becoming a famed warrior, like her
father, even though she is the only girl in a fort of boys. As she struggles to
understand her special skills, her mysterious inner power, she realizes she is
different than the others. But a secret is being kept from her about her birth
and the prophecy surrounding her, leaving her to wonder who she really is.

When Kyra comes of age and the local lord comes to take her
away, her father wants to wed her off to save her. Kyra, though, refuses, and
she journeys out on her own, into a dangerous wood, where she encounters a
wounded dragon—and ignites a series of events that will change the kingdom
forever.

15 year old Alec, meanwhile, sacrifices for his brother,
taking his place in the draft, and is carted off to The Flames, a wall of
flames a hundred feet high that wards off the army of Trolls to the east. On
the far side of the kingdom, Merk, a mercenary striving to leave behind his
dark past, quests through the wood to become a Watcher of the Towers and help
guard the Sword of Fire, the magical source of the kingdom’s power. But the
Trolls want the Sword, too—and they prepare for a massive invasion that could
destroy the kingdoms forever.

With its strong atmosphere and complex characters, RISE OF
THE DRAGONS is a sweeping saga of knights and warriors, of kings and lords, of
honor and valor, of magic, destiny, monsters and dragons. It is a story of love
and broken hearts, of deception, of ambition and betrayal. It is fantasy at its
finest, inviting us into a world that will live with us forever, one that will appeal
to all ages and genders.

Book #2 in KINGS AND SORCERERS is also now available!

“RISE OF THE DRAGONS
succeeds—right from the start…. A superior fantasy…It begins, as it should,
with one protagonist's struggles and moves neatly into a wider circle of
knights, dragons, magic and monsters, and destiny.…All the trappings of high
fantasy are here, from soldiers and battles to confrontations with self….A
recommended winner for any who enjoy epic fantasy writing fueled by powerful,
believable young adult protagonists.”

--Midwest
Book Review, D. Donovan, eBook Reviewer

RISE OF THE DRAGONS

(Kings and
Sorcerers—Book 1)

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Books by Morgan Rice

THE WAY OF STEEL

ONLY THE WORTHY (Book #1)

OF CROWNS AND GLORY

SLAVE, WARRIOR, QUEEN (Book #1)

KINGS AND SORCERERS

RISE OF THE DRAGONS (Book #1)

RISE OF THE VALIANT (Book #2)

THE WEIGHT OF HONOR (Book #3)

A FORGE OF VALOR (Book #4)

A REALM OF SHADOWS (Book #5)

NIGHT OF THE BOLD (Book #6)

THE SORCERER’S RING

A QUEST OF HEROES (Book #1)

A MARCH OF KINGS (Book #2)

A FATE OF DRAGONS (Book #3)

A CRY OF HONOR (Book #4)

A VOW OF GLORY (Book #5)

A CHARGE OF VALOR (Book #6)

A RITE OF SWORDS (Book #7)

A GRANT OF ARMS (Book #8)

A SKY OF SPELLS (Book #9)

A SEA OF SHIELDS (Book #10)

A REIGN OF STEEL (Book #11)

A LAND OF FIRE (Book #12)

A RULE OF QUEENS (Book #13)

AN OATH OF BROTHERS (Book #14)

A DREAM OF MORTALS (Book #15)

A JOUST OF KNIGHTS (Book #16)

THE GIFT OF BATTLE (Book #17)

THE SURVIVAL TRILOGY

ARENA ONE: SLAVERSUNNERS (Book
#1)

ARENA TWO (Book #2)

ARENA THREE (Book #3)

VAMPIRE, FALLEN

BEFORE DAWN (Book #1)

THE VAMPIRE JOURNALS

TURNED (Book #1)

LOVED (Book #2)

BETRAYED (Book #3)

DESTINED (Book #4)

DESIRED (Book #5)

BETROTHED (Book #6)

VOWED (Book #7)

FOUND (Book #8)

RESURRECTED (Book #9)

CRAVED (Book #10)

FATED (Book #11)

OBSESSED (Book
#12)

About Morgan Rice

Morgan
Rice is the #1 bestselling and USA Today bestselling author of the epic fantasy
series THE SORCERER’S RING, comprising seventeen books; of the #1 bestselling
series THE VAMPIRE JOURNALS, comprising twelve books; of the #1 bestselling
series THE SURVIVAL TRILOGY, a post-apocalyptic thriller comprising two books
(and counting); of the epic fantasy series KINGS AND SORCERERS, comprising six
books; and of the new epic fantasy series OF CROWNS AND GLORY. Morgan’s books
are available in audio and print editions, and translations are available in
over 25 languages.

TURNED (Book #1 in the Vampire
Journals), ARENA
1 (Book #1 of the Survival Trilogy), A QUEST OF HEROES (Book #1 in the Sorcerer’s Ring)
and RISE OF THE DRAGONS (Kings and Sorcerers—Book #1)
are each available as a free download on Amazon!

Morgan
loves to hear from you, so please feel free to visit www.morganricebooks.com to join the email list, receive
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exclusive news, connect on Facebook and Twitter, and stay in touch!