Arena 3 (Book #3 in the Survival Trilogy) Chapter 7

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.