Arena 3 (Book #3 in the Survival Trilogy) Chapter 20

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.”