Arena Three

I can tell I have the support of the rest of the soldiers. But I’ve put my dad in a difficult position, because now he has to fight between his heart and his head. He has to decide whether to listen to the father in him who is inevitably telling him not to let his daughter do this, or the commander in him who knows this is the best chance they’re ever going to get.

Eventually, he stands, having made his decision.

“Brooke’s right,” he says. “She’s in by far the best position to infiltrate Arena Three.”

And with that, I have sealed my fate. For the third time in my short life, I am heading back into the arena.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

I’m raring to go, but the doctor tells me I have to wait a week until I can go on any missions at all. My body was so badly damaged from the time I spent in the desert, I will need to give it time to recuperate. I spend the days in the hospital with my friends, sharing memories of those we lost along the way. I know none of them want me to leave, to do what I have to do, but they know better than to argue with me. If I die on this mission, it’s a sacrifice I am willing to make.

Finally, the day comes when I am to leave. Dad has been in communication with the other compound in Massachusetts in order to coordinate our efforts. The time is now. Today is the day the world will be reborn.

I stand in the meeting room deep beneath the compound, the walls lined with blueprints and strategic maps. For the first time, I am wearing my US Marine Corps uniform. I feel a surge of pride to be standing before my dad in this uniform. Though he doesn’t show it on his face, I know he is proud of me too.

“There’s no need for you to take weapons,” Dad says. “Anything you take will be stolen by the slaverunners as soon as you’re captured. It’s better for them not to get their hands on any weaponry. But I want you to have this, just in case you run into any crazies along the way.”

He holds out a knife. It is the same one I used back on Catskills Mountain, the one that helped keep me and Bree alive and fed for four long years. It was taken from me back in Arena 1. I hadn’t realized how much symbolic value I’d placed on that knife until now, as I hold its replica in my hands.

I stash the knife away and swallow down the emotion in my throat.

“This is your GPS chip,” Dad says, placing a small device securely in my pocket. “Once you’re inside the vicinity of the arena, activate it. It will be our signal to launch the bombs and the tracker inside will guide them to the right spot. Then you’ll have five minutes to get out. So as soon as it’s activated you need to get the hell out of there. Do you understand me, Brooke? No matter what happens, don’t let them take you into the arena to fight.”

I understand what he’s saying. If I end up fighting in the arena, there’s no way I’ll make it out in five minutes. I’ll be at the mercy of whatever fighters they decide to throw at me. It would be a suicide mission. I pray it doesn’t come to that, but I also know I’m willing to give myself up if it does.

It’s time to go. I begin the long walk through the underground corridors, then I’m up into the compound, surrounded by trees and vegetation. It feels so strange standing in this beautiful Eden in a military uniform. That war must exist for peace to prevail is a concept I can hardly wrap my head around.

Up in the compound, my friends have been allowed out of the hospital to see me off. Ryan has shaved his head again, and he gives me his confident, cocky smile. For the first time in a long time, he looks like the Ryan I first met at Fort Noix, the only difference being the sling around his arm and the absence of Jack.

Charlie has bounced back to full strength remarkably. I hug him goodbye, knowing that Flo is watching down on us, grateful that I have gotten him this far.

Ben is still weak from our ordeal. He was always the gentler, more sensitive of us, and it stands to reason that the toll the desert took on his body would be greater than the toll it took on mine. I feel bad for leaving him when he’s still vulnerable, but I know Ben can look after himself, even if his mournful blue eyes are silently pleading with me not to go. Like always, the words we want to speak to each other seem bound up, tied in our throats. Ben and I always struggled to talk about the shared experiences we’d been through, and I vow in that moment that if I make it out of the arena alive, I will open up to him about everything. But for now, I take his hand in mine, noting how the skin has become soft again thanks to a week resting in the hospital, and press a kiss onto the back of it, just like he did with me when we first parted ways all those months ago. Back then he went off searching for his brother, while I went after Bree. Now we’re parting ways again, united in our goal, knowing that the whole future of the world is resting on my shoulders.