Arena Three

Whoever lived here was as much a survival nut as my dad. There are weapons and medical supplies, matches, flashlights, bandages, thread and needle, and, even more importantly, a small, wind-up radio. There’s also enough food for us to eat well for at least a couple more days, though we’re too close to our destination to slow down now. Still, it would be a great place to rest up for the night.

While Ryan seems overjoyed by the feast we’ll be able to eat, I’m happier about the discovery of the radio. I grip it in my hands, feeling like I’ve just witnessed a miracle.

“We can use this to try to get in radio contact with the military base in Texas!” I cry, clutching it to my chest. “Tell them we’re coming. Get their exact coordinates.”

Ryan seems happy for me and my discovery and smiles encouragingly.

“Here, look,” Ryan says, as Jack becomes excited by something on the other side.

I walk over and see that there’s a trap door in the floor. Whoever built this was clever enough to also dig underground for some protection.

“What if there’s someone down there?” I say.

“I guess now’s the time to find out,” Ryan replies.

He heaves open the trapdoor and we descend into the darkness. The underground bunker is a small room with bedding and pillows. It looks a bit like a nest. Certainly big enough and cozy enough for us.

“Let’s get the others,” I tell Ryan. “I think this would be a great place to rest up.”

We head back toward the camp to fetch the others, relieved that we won’t have to dine on fire-roasted vulture tonight.

But as we draw up toward the spot where we left the others, something unusual catches my attention. I recognize the silhouettes of my friends milling around, but there is someone else there, someone unfamiliar.

I catch Ryan’s arm. “Who’s that?” I say.

He squints, trying to make it out. “A stranger.”

We give each other a wary look. We’ve been lucky so far with the survivors we’ve run into but I’m always on edge, always on the lookout for danger. That the stranger seems to be amongst the group calms my nerves a little; they’ve clearly deemed him safe.

We start to draw toward the gang. The stranger who has joined them is an older man, rake thin, with long white hair. He has a rasping laugh that I can hear even from this far away. Jack sprints up, yapping away, and runs in circles round the man’s ankles, making him let out another one of his thick, mucusy laughs.

“Well, well, well, who’s this then?” I hear him say as he crouches down and pets Jack. Then he looks up and sees Ryan and me approaching. “Well, howdy,” he says, straightening up and extending one of his grubby hands.

I take it and shake. Ryan, cautiously, does the same.

“I’m Brooke,” I say. “Who are you?”

“Craig,” he replies, squinting against the sunshine. “Craig Merryweather. Your friends here told me you’ve traveled all the way from Quebec.”

I nod. “And you? Where are you from?”

He shrugs. “Here and there. But mostly here.” He grins, showing off a row of rotten teeth.

Bree looks up at me. “Did you find something for dinner?” she asks. “I’m hungry.”

I look at Ryan, trying to judge whether to reveal our find or not in front of the stranger. He gives me a slight nod, as if to say he thinks it’s safe.

“We did,” I say. “There’s a shack up there with supplies in it.”

Craig suddenly lets out one of his croaking laughs. “That’s my shack!” he cries, slapping his knee like I’ve just said the punch line of a joke. “But you can all come along. Stay the night. Get some rest.” He eyes the collar round my neck. “Looks like you’ve been through the wars.”

I catch Ryan’s eye, silently asking him whether we ought to go or not. But really, we have no other choice. We’re too exposed here and we have nothing to eat. We can eat and sleep in the bunker. Plus, there’s more of us than him. He’s far too outnumbered to try anything.

“Okay,” I say finally. “Let’s go.”

* * *

Everyone takes it in turns to eat a pickle out of a jar. Then we use the medical supplies to patch ourselves up. I hadn’t realized how badly wounded I was by the whip. There’s a huge gash across my chest and another across my back. Molly cleans them both and sews them up, but I’m probably going to have scars. The adrenaline must have stopped me from feeling any pain. I’m also covered in bruises from the car crash. I look like a state.

“How did you guys all meet then?” Craig asks as he offers around some canned peaches for dessert.

“It’s a long story,” I say, scooping one up with my fingers and plopping it in my mouth. It’s sweet and sticky, and so delicious.

“It’s nice you’ve got each other,” Craig replies. “I’ve been alone for years.”

I feel sorry for him. At least on Catskills Mountain we had trees around, and animals. The desert is completely barren. It’s the sort of landscape that could drive you mad.

“Why did you settle here?” I ask.

Craig shrugs. “Good a place as any.” Then he laughs again, wheezing as he does. “I mean there’s nothing around for miles and miles.”