Arena Three

“The compound,” he explains. “What we’re doing here. We’re building an army. A resistance to both sides of the war. We’re working to take the system down from the inside out. It’s a long, slow process. Once we’re strong enough, we’ll take control of all the cities, destroy all the arenas, and bring the slaverunners to justice. But first we need to unite all the other pockets of resistance across the country. We’ve been trying to communicate with all the other resistance groups that we know of. It’s only when we’re together that we can fight and win.”

My heart begins to thud. “The radio message to Fort Noix. That was you?”

He nods. “We’re making contact with every base we can. There are resistors all over the country. We created compounds because we knew the war would mean mutually assured destruction. We knew it was the only chance we’d have of restoring civilization once it was all over.”

My mind swirls with emotions. “You mean, you left… you volunteered for the army because…”

“Because it was inevitable and I knew it couldn’t be stopped,” he says, sternly. “Because I knew the only way the human race would survive was by making sure there were still people alive after it was all over. And now we’re almost ready to reclaim the country.”

I can’t believe it. It really is a dream come true. All I’ve wanted, ever since meeting Trixie in the forest, is to create a safe world for everyone; a world free from slaverunners and crazies. A world free from arenas.

“When is it happening?” I say, slamming my fists onto the table. “When are you reclaiming the country?”

Dad looks at me. “It’s a strategic military operation, Brooke. I can’t reveal that to you.”

“I want to help,” I say, determined.

“I’m glad to hear it. There’s plenty to do around here and—”

“No,” I say, cutting him off. “I want to fight.”

“Brooke,” he begins.

“I’ve survived two arenas, Dad,” I say. “I’m a fighter now, the fighter you always wanted me to be. I can do this. Whatever it takes to get justice, I want to do it.”

He looks at me hesitantly. But he can tell I’m not backing down. I’m not the fourteen-year-old girl he abandoned all those years ago. I’m a young woman now, one who can hold her own, one who’s taken all the lessons he taught me and used them again and again and again to survive. I’m stronger than he ever thought possible.

“Well, all right,” he says, finally. “If you really want to fight, I won’t stop you. We need all the help we can get.”

“Good,” I say, standing.

“Where are you going?” Dad asks.

“To join the rest of the soldiers,” I say. “There’s a meeting about to happen, isn’t there?”

I raise an eyebrow. Dad gives me a look of disbelief, but he doesn’t challenge me. Instead, he stands from the table.

“Lead the way, Moore.”

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

The meeting is taking place in one of the vast underground rooms of the compound. When my dad enters, all the soldiers stop talking and rise to their feet and salute. Then Dad steps aside and lets me into the room. Though they try not to react, I can almost feel the ripple of confusion as it passes down the line. Everyone’s wondering who this beat-up girl is and what she’s doing here.

“This is my eldest daughter, Brooke,” Dad says. “She’s joining us.”

I hobble into the room and take a seat. I am by far the youngest person here. Though there are plenty of women, most are like the soldier I met in the back of the truck; hardened, bulky, emotionless. I stick out like a sore thumb. I’ll be relieved once I’m given a US Marine Corps uniform to replace the strange, stiff, homemade uniform of Fort Noix that I am still wearing. For the first time, I wish I hadn’t been so hasty in demanding to join in the meeting. I could have really done with a hot bath, a hair brush, a proper sleep, and a change of clothes. But just like when I was a kid, I find myself wanting to please my dad, to do everything right and be the daughter he always wanted me to be. I know, now, after my ordeal and everything I’ve survived, I am so close to making that a reality.

I can tell that the atmosphere in the room has changed. Everyone is a little wary of me. I’m not surprised, to be honest. Just like the Commander at Fort Noix, the people here have learned to be suspicious of everyone. There’s probably more than just a flicker of doubt in the back of each of their minds, questioning whether I really am who I say I am or if their grief-stricken Commander has let in some kind of slaverunner spy. I will just have to prove myself to them and earn their trust and respect.

“Please,” my dad says. “Resume your meeting.”

The General nods obediently and walks over to a map of Texas hanging up on a board.

“This is Arena Three,” he says. “Our target.”

I can feel a coldness spread through my body at the thought of another arena. There must be so many all across America now, filled with kids like me forced to fight to the death.