Arena Three

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.