Arena Three

In a split second, he disappears, taking the blanket of stars and the dark, empty sky with him. Suddenly, everything is replaced by the blistering heat, the bright, white daylight, and the searing pain of dehydration and starvation. There’s a noise in my ear like a roaring sound. It takes me a long time to realize it’s the sound of an engine.

I’m in a vehicle, moving forward, bumping along. Is this another dream? I don’t know what’s real and what’s not anymore.

“She’s waking up, sir!” someone shouts.

A woman’s face appears above me. She’s a soldier, dressed in a US military uniform. Her face is harsh and lined, but she’s looking at me in a kind way.

“Can you tell me your name?” she says.

I try to speak, but my mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton wool. The soldier helps scoop my head up in her hand. She tips water from a canteen into my mouth. It’s tepid, but I don’t care. It tastes delicious. I still can’t tell whether I’m dead or alive—but if I did pass away during the night, this is surely heaven.

“Brooke,” I finally say. “Brooke Moore.”

The soldier’s features change right away. She looks over at someone out of my sight line.

“Did you hear that?” she says to the other person. “She says her name is Brooke Moore. You’d better call the Commander.”

I reach out and grab the soldier’s arm, relieved to discover I’m no longer paralyzed.

“Where’s my sister?” I stammer. “My friends? Did they make it?”

The woman smiles. “They made it,” she says. “And so did you. Brooke, we’re taking you to your father.”

PART FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

The road is bumpy, making the journey tough going. Every part of my body is aflame with pain. I slip in and out of consciousness, and each time I come around, I’m expecting to discover that it has all been a dream, that there is no US military vehicle taking us to Dad. But each time I am rewarded by the jolting sensation of the truck, by the sounds of its tires racing across the parched earth, and by the sight of the US marine as she tends to me, giving me water to sip and chewy protein bars for energy. Not long ago I was certain we were facing death, that my dead friends were appearing before my eyes in order to take me to the afterlife. Now, it is as though I’ve been given a second chance.

I can’t believe what is happening. My dad is alive, and we have been rescued, right when it looked like the end had arrived. In my wildest dreams, I never imagined it would happen this way.

The truck I’m traveling in is part of a convoy. For reasons I don’t fully understand yet, we’re all traveling separately. I think of Bree and pray that she is being cared for as well as I am. I wonder if she’s been told that our dad is alive yet, or whether she knows we’re on our way to be reunited with him. I try to picture her reaction; I know she won’t have held back her tears in the way I did. At the very least, I hope she’s with Charlie, that the two of them are together, perhaps even with Penelope beside them. I don’t dare let myself consider that the dog may not have survived, though I know it’s a possibility.

I hear the sound of brakes and start to feel the truck slowing down.

“What’s happening?” I say to the soldier who has been caring for me.

I try to sit up but she guides me back down.

“We’re at the compound,” she explains. “There are checkpoints to go through. Don’t worry. We’ll be there very soon.”

I try to relax but it’s almost impossible. I feel like I did when I was a little child waiting for my dad to come home after being stationed abroad for months. Only the sensation inside of me is a thousand times stronger than it was when I was younger, because it hasn’t been months, it has been years. And while the concept of my dad dying while he was away was scary when I was younger, it still seemed abstract and unimaginable. But I’ve spent the last four years assuming I will never ever see him again. The sensation inside of me is more akin to discovering that someone has come back from the dead.

I can hear the sound of a chain-link fence being opened. Then the truck picks up speed and we’re bobbing along once again. The jolting movement smooths out and I know that means we’re riding on asphalt, that we’re on a proper road again. I wonder if it’s a new road, built after the war, or if the people of the compound managed to protect one that was already there. Nothing else in the south seemed to have survived the bombs, so I presume that means they’ve been rebuilding.

There are many more checkpoints to pass through, and row after row of fencing. If I’d thought Fort Noix was heavy-handed with its layers of guards and outposts, it was nothing compared to this. The fences are tall and topped with barbed wire. Guards are positioned all along them, though from where I am lying prone in the truck I can only see the tops of their heads. But I recognize their uniforms and the insignia of the marines. It gives me a sense of enormous familiarity and nostalgia.