Arena Three

Chaos breaks out in the cell as prisoners start panicking. I quickly press my thumb into the button, but in my trembling haste I can’t tell whether it fully activated or not. I don’t get a chance to double check; the guard is there in one second flat, wrenching my hand and the device out of it. I can’t see whether the red blinking light has been activated because the guard drops it on the ground and slams his heavy boot into it.

My insides drop like a ten-ton weight. If I didn’t manage to activate it before he destroyed it, the rest of the army won’t have seen my signal. They won’t know that the moment has arrived much sooner than anyone was anticipating. Even if they did pick up the signal, it would only have been for a split second. They could easily have blinked and missed it. And there won’t be anything to guide their missiles. They have one shot to hit their target and now they’re going to have to do it blind.

I’m so taken aback by the speed with which everything has changed, I don’t even have time to attack. The guard has already grabbed me roughly by the arms and is dragging me from the prison cell. Meanwhile, the sounds of the crowds above intensifies. I can hear their footsteps as they march above my head and take their seats. I’m being taken to the arena and there’s nothing I can do about it.

As I’m pulled from the cell, I narrow my eyes at the old woman who turned on me at the very last minute. I know she probably just wanted to survive another day, to not be the one called to fight today, but her callousness has ruined everything. That one decision to call me out might even have changed the course of the future of the world.

The cell door is slammed shut and I’m dragged, stunned, along the corridor. As I go, my calmness completely disappears. In its place comes a frantic, racing heartbeat, a whirring mind, and palms slick with sweat. It’s all gone wrong. My worst nightmare has been realized.

I’m heading for Arena 3.

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

Each one of my footsteps echoes as I am prodded along the corridor by the guard. My mind is a frantic blur. It is so dark down here with only the emergency lights to illuminate the path I can hardly see my hand in front of my face. It makes everything stark. I feel like I am walking into hell.

Slaverunners walk ahead of me and behind me. They must have gotten the lowdown on me. They know what I did in Arena 1, how I killed the leader there, and they’re not taking any chances.

The corridor bends, taking me away from the path that leads to freedom, steering me in the opposite direction, toward the jaws of death. I can hear the crowd above stamping their feet, chanting my name. Everyone wants to see me fight, but no one wants to see me survive. They all want to bear witness to my death.

I dig my heels in, my body not letting me move. A slaverunner comes up behind me and kicks me in the small of my back, making me take a stumble forward. I almost lose my footing. Because my hands are bound so tightly, if I fall, there will be nothing I can do to stop myself hitting the floor. I have no choice but to let myself be shoved onward.

Finally, the corridor opens out into a circular room.

“Stand there,” one of the slaverunner says, pointing at the ground.

I can just about make out a metal shape on the floor in the middle of the room. It looks like some kind of trap door.

As I step on it, metal cuffs wrap around each of my boots, sticking me to the ground steadfast.

“What is this?” I ask, frustrated to hear my voice trembling. “What’s happening?”

The slaverunners don’t get a chance to respond, because in that moment a circular panel opens up directly above my head. Stark daylight pours in through the hole above me, blinding me. I turn my head to protect my eyes from the glare. Along with the light, a blast of sound comes down the hole, so loud it’s deafening. It’s the chanting, screaming, braying crowd. At the same time, I feel someone fiddling with the cuffs around my wrists. They’re unlocking me. And that can only mean one thing.

All at once, the ground moves beneath my feet. The metal thing I’m standing on is beginning to rise. My hands are free but my feet are locked into the ground, making sure I don’t go anywhere. I rise slowly, the light blinding me. I want to cover my eyes but I know that within a matter of seconds I’ll be in an arena where anything could happen to me. I have to be alert, ready for anything they might throw at me.

A voice booms over the loudspeakers as I rise.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please put your hands together for Brooke Moore!”

The crowd roars, the noise so loud it is deafening.

My head tips through the hole, just enough for me to be able to see the arena before me. It’s circular, built in an old sports stadium. The arena is like a desert, with dusty yellow sand covering every inch of the ground. It is completely open to the elements and the blue sky up above me.