Arena Three

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.