Arena 3 (Book #3 in the Survival Trilogy) Chapter 10

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.