Arena Three

He’s right. Darkness is crowding in on us, and that means danger is getting ever closer. Slaverunners, crazies, escaped animals, if they wanted to attack, now would be the time to do it, while we’re all standing here in the middle of an open train yard.

I look back at the ragtag bunch of followers. Bree and Charlie are clasping hands with each other. They look completely exhausted, with dark circles under their eyes and downturned mouths. Molly appears to be fuming, but getting angry and hostile has always been her reaction to negative experiences. Ben looks frantic. Even Zeke, the only actual adult here, looks like a tired, vulnerable infant. Ryan’s the only one who looks like he has any fight left in him at all.

I realize then that they’re all looking to me. They need me to tell them what to do, to make the decisions, to lead them.

“Let’s head for the train station,” I say, agreeing with Ben. “We can hide out there until we figure out what to do.”

We begin walking past the rail yard toward the small station house. Zeke leads the way, zigzagging through the fallen train cars, assuming the position of leader just like he used to when we had our meetings. But leading a discussion around a table and leading a mission are two completely different things. He’s not being cautious enough, just plowing ahead. Some instinct tells me to reach for my gun.

All at once, there’s an almighty noise of screeching metal. Everyone freezes as one of the train carriages ahead of us appears to start moving. It rocks side to side, light glittering off the metal, and in the darkness, I can see movement coming from under it. Like a swarm of ants under an overturned log, crazies start crawling out of the train carriage.

I don’t have any time to think. I start to fire straightaway. Ryan takes up his firearm, his gunshots joining the cacophony of noise. Beside me, Ben and Molly start shooting too.

The crazies surge forward, charging at the closest target: Zeke.

“Run!” Molly shouts.

We run, jumping over bits of blown-up train carriage, dashing across the yard. The only place that offers any kind of protection in the near vicinity is the station house, and that means racing round the perimeter of the yard in a full circle. It’s impossible to go straight ahead because that’s where the mass is coming from.

Without question, everyone follows me.

“Don’t look back!” I shout.

Then I hear a scream, one that makes my bones turn to ice. It’s Bree.

I don’t even stop to think. I turn on the spot.

“Brooke! What are you doing?” Molly cries, coming up to me, trying to shove me on.

But it’s no use. I barge past her easily and run back to where Bree is right at the back of the group. The crazies are so close to her they’re barely an arm’s length away.

Like a relay race runner preparing to receive the baton, I stretch my hand back for her and get in a stance ready to run. She sees me and stretches her hand forward. The second her fingers make contact with me, I yank her forward, pulling her with me. We pelt across the yard, heading for the station house where the others have already made it.

“Run! Brooke, run!” they’re all screaming from the door.

I can hear the sound of hundreds of crazies’ footsteps pounding after me. There’s so many of them I can smell their odor, feel the heat coming from their skin. Bree stumbles as she runs beside me, but I won’t let her fall.

We’re almost there. Fifteen feet. Ten feet. Five feet.

Then we catapult in through the open door and collapse onto the ground. Ben slams the door shut behind us, locking it with bolts. We hear the sound of the crazies as they blast into the side of the building, thudding one after the other.

Bree and I sit up, panting. She clasps onto me just like she used to when it was just the two of us in the mountains. We hold each other close in the center of our group. Everyone’s huddled into the middle of the room, looking out at the windows, where the silhouettes of the crazies bob around, banging their fists against the glass.

We’re completely surrounded.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The sound of pounding is like a drum in my brain. The dogs are barking feverishly.

We’re trapped in the station house. I’m still clutching Bree in the middle of the dark room, sitting on the dusty floorboards. My friends seem frozen with fear around me. The same thoughts must be running through all of our minds: this is the end, this is how we die.

The fear I’m feeling is so consuming, I don’t even realize that Bree is trying to break free from my clasp.

“Brooke,” she’s saying. “Brooke, look, look there.”

Finally I let her go and turn to see where she is pointing. She scrabbles up from me and rushes over to a small hatch in the ground. I have no idea how she managed to see it in the dim light, but the relief as I pull it open and see stairs leading down into blackness is all consuming.

“Quick,” I shout at everyone.