Arena Two (15 page)

We are all tense, on guard, as we continue deeper into this town that once was. I hope and pray we can find fuel. All we need is one house, one store, one room—just one thing left uncovered. Who knows? Maybe we can even find more than fuel? Maybe food, weapons, ammo.

We come to the first store that looks like it might hold anything, and I stick my head through the open frame where there was once a window. I look inside, and see nothing but ruin.

I am about to move on, but Bree suddenly enters. She must spot something, because she steps across the threshold and into the store, and kneels down and reaches into the rubble. She pulls up something, gleaming in the light. I’m amazed she spotted it. She holds it out before us, and we all examine it. It’s an old, rusted tin. It looks like it was once a candy tin. She opens it, and I’m amazed: inside are several red sucking candies.

We each reach in and grab one. I pop one in my mouth and am overwhelmed by the sweet, sugary taste, which rushes through my blood. It tastes like cherry, and is sweet and sour at the same time. It is incredible.

“
Nice find,” I say to Bree.

“
Can I give one to Penelope?” she asks, who squirms in Bree’s arms.

“
Better not to,” I say. “She might choke.”

We continue on, each now more invested in scanning the rubble carefully. But despite Bree’s initial find, we come up empty. We enter store after store, block after block, and I am beginning to feel hopeless.

“
I don’t see how anything could be left that wasn’t already picked over,” Ben says. “We’re wasting time.”

“
We have no choice,” Logan says. “We need to find gas.”

“
Well we can’t make gas appear just by willing it to,” Ben says. “If there’s no gas, there’s no gas.”

“
There must be an old gas station somewhere,” Logan says. “Maybe an old body shop.”

“
Don’t you think scavengers would’ve raided it?” Ben asks, annoyed.

I can’t help feeling Ben’s right. Maybe we are wasting time.

Logan stops and stares Ben down, equally annoyed.

“
You have any better ideas?” Logan asks.

Ben hesitates. Clearly, he’s stumped, too.

“
Maybe we should split up,” he says. “Cover more ground.”

“
Fine,” Logan says without hesitating. “You go that way and I’ll go this way.”

They both turn and look at me, as if wondering who I will go with.

I feel torn, like a child divided between parents. I don’t want to offend either one. But as I look at them, I can’t help but feel that Ben needs my help more, and that Logan is more able to take care of himself. So I turn and head off with Ben.

“
Let’s all meet back here in an hour,” I say to Logan. “Holler if you find anything.”

I notice a hurt look on Logan’s face, as he turns and heads off in his own direction, and I can’t help feeling as if I betrayed him. But before I can say anything, he’s walking away. Ben’s right, anyway. We will cover more ground this way.

Bree sticks with me, and the three of us head off down a side street. As we go, I turn side to side, looking at all the different stores. I look everywhere for any sign of an auto shop, of a garage. I don’t find any.

But as we turn down another street, I look over and can’t believe my luck: I see a faded sign which reads: “Guns.” The windows are a shell, and I am sure that this was the first store that was raided when the war broke out. But I enter anyway.

I rummage through the rubble, looking for anything we can salvage. Of course, all the glass display cases have been shattered, and all the guns are missing. On the floor, I see a few stray bullets. I lean down and pick one up and begin to examine it, when suddenly, I hear a distant noise, like a cry.

I immediately turn, and my heart stops to see that Bree is not in here. It’s just me and Ben. I am shocked: I could have sworn she followed me in.

“
Bree?” I ask, frantic. “Where is she?”

Ben stares back at me, wide-eyed, and before he can respond, I take off, bursting out the store.

Back in the street, I look all around, and see, in the snow, Bree’s footsteps. I also see Penelope’s paw prints, and I realize what happened: Bree must have put Penelope down, who must have ran off. Bree must have chased her.

I hear another cry, and I’m sure it’s Bree.

I sprint down the street, following the trail. I am flooding with panic as I imagine the worst possible scenarios.

“
BREE!?” I scream, frantic.

I turn the corner, and stop short at the site. There, at the far end of the street, is Bree, Penelope beside her. She stands frozen in shock, daring not to move. Because standing opposite her, towering over her, is a huge, vicious, emaciated bear.

The bear roars as it stands over Bree. It looks like it hasn’t had a meal in years.

I watch in horror. There is little I can do: Bree, at the other end of the block, is too far for me. There is no way I’ll be able to reach her in time.

Ben runs up beside me.

“
Where’s the bow!?” I scream to him. “Shoot it!”

“
I didn’t bring it!” he says back, frantic.

“
BREE!” I scream. “Step back slowly!”

But Bree doesn’t listen. She must be too frozen in fear.

I break into a sprint. The bear closes in, and there is nothing I can do. It will be too late. I am going to have to watch my little sister get killed before my eyes.

“
BREE!” I scream.

The bear approaches her, and as it does, suddenly, I see motion.

Behind the bear, Logan turns the corner, comes running out, an old crowbar in hand. He charges, putting himself between Bree and the bear, winds up, and hits the bear just in time, just as its claws are coming down. Somehow, he also manages to push Bree out of the way at the last second.

Bree goes flying, tumbling in the snow, and the bear’s claws slash Logan’s thigh instead. Logan screams out in pain, as his blood squirts everywhere, darkening the snow red.

Logan switches hands with the crowbar, wheels around, and cracks the bear across its jaw. The bear yelps, turns, and flees down the side street.

“
Logan!” I yell, as I run for him.

He sinks to his knees, collapsing, grabbing his thigh with two hands. My heart breaks as I can already see how badly injured he is.

I run to him, kneel down and grab him, draping one arm around his shoulder. Ben, to his credit, kneels down and props up Logan with his arm. The two of us pick him up, holding him. He is heavy, much heavier than I thought.

Ben reaches down, tears a strip off his shirt, and ties it around Logan’s wound, tight. The bleeding slows, but drenches the rag quickly.

“
We have to get back to the boat,” I say. “Can you walk?”

Logan looks dazed, confused.

“
I don’t know,” he says.

We prop him up, and he walks with us. He’s hobbling badly, and I can feel his weight on me. I look at the injury and see how deep the claws punctured, nearly all the way to the bone. Logan’s blood trails us on the snow.

Bree, right beside us, is crying.

“
I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault.”

“
You didn’t do anything wrong,” I say back to her.

As we hurry back down the streets, I wonder what our next move should be. I have no idea. I know we have to get back to the boat, provide Logan some comfort. This town was a waste of time. And I feel that being out in the open is just too dangerous. Once we get back to the boat, somehow I’ll know what to do.

As we turn the corner and the river comes into view, suddenly, I freeze. I can’t believe what I see.

My mouth goes dry and heart drops into my throat. I’m too numb to move. To speak. I feel the world spinning out beneath me.

Because there, in the distance, on the water, I watch our boat being taken away. It is being tugged from shore by a large speedboat, all-black. They are not slaverunners—they look like some sort of pirates. They cut our anchor, and tied our boat to the back of theirs, and now they tug it away, at high speed. It is already halfway across the river, going God knows where. Our boat is gone.

We are stranded.

The four of us are still in a daze as we walk north, through the woods, alongside the Hudson. We walk beside the river, on snow-covered train tracks, and I watch the water as we go. A part of me refuses to believe our boat has been stolen.

But it’s been hours, and it’s starting to sink in that it’s gone for good. That we are stranded, on foot. And our boat, our only means of transportation, is gone.

After we discovered the boat was gone, we all spent time brushing the snow off the shells of vehicles that lined the streets, some of them on their side, twisted, burnt out. It was a desperate move, and a waste of time. Of course, none of them had any keys, and most of them didn’t even have engines—just gobs of metal, vestiges of cars. None of them remotely worked.

We knew we couldn’t stay in that town. We figured our safest shelter might be somewhere in the woods, close to the river. So we walked.

Now here we are, completely on our own. I can’t believe how stupid we were to leave the boat unguarded. But then again, who would’ve imagined that something like that would happen? We were too lax. We should have anticipated it.

But as I think about it, I realize that even if we did stay with the boat, there was probably not much we could have done. That was a large group of armed, professional pirates. Survivors. They probably would’ve just mowed us down with their guns. And with our boat basically out of fuel, it’s not like we could’ve taken it anywhere else. Maybe we got lucky that they took it while we were away. Maybe if we had put up a fight, we’d all be dead right now.

The grim reality of not having any transportation or shelter starts to sink in, to weigh heavily on all of us. We all walk slowly, our feet crunching in the snow, which is hardening. The temperature has dropped at least ten degrees and the wind has picked up; the snow is now freezing and turning to ice. A deep cold is starting to settle in my bones, to pierce right through me. I look at the others and see it is piercing through all of us. We are all huddled over, rubbing our hands, desperate for warmth.

Making matters worse—much worse—is Logan. He was hurt bad, and Ben and I have to help him walk, his arms slung over our shoulders. It is slowing us down, and I am very concerned for him. Up until now, he was always our backbone, our strength; now, he is a liability. I can’t help feeling that the odds are turning against us. The idea of reaching Canada at this point is almost laughable. We’d be lucky to make it the next mile.

We are getting farther and farther from any remnants of civilization, deep into the woods, and I’m starting to feel that our chances are grim. We’re nearly out of supplies, there is no sign of shelter, it’s getting dark out, colder, and soon we’ll have to stop for the night. Even Ben’s bow and arrow, left on the boat, is gone.

Hunger sets in, eating away at my stomach, stabbing me with sharp pains. I am feeling weaker with each step, especially with Logan’s weight pressing down on me.

As we continue down the train tracks, I look out at the river and see it has frozen over—one big sheet of ice. It is incredible. Even if we were in our boat now, we couldn’t get anywhere, anyway.

I can’t go on much longer, and I sense that Ben and Logan can’t, either. In the distance, I spot a particularly thick copse of trees, forming a wall from the elements. We head for them.

As we enter the patch of trees, I feel they provide some protection from the wind. I stop, and the others turn to me.

“
I think we should rest here,” I say. “It’s almost dark.”

“
Good idea,” Ben says, slowly removing Logan’s arm from around him.

Logan winces in pain as he does. I look down at his leg: it is already swollen. Luckily, it doesn’t look quite as infected as Rose’s had; maybe the cold weather has helped. But still, it is a very bad injury.

“
Are you okay?” I ask Logan.

He nods quickly, wincing, and Ben and I lower him down to the ground. He sits heavily, his back against one of the thick trees, and breathes out sharply in pain as he does, his face bunching up into a million wrinkles. But he never cries, or complains. Not once. He is a real trooper.

“
I’m starving,” Bree says.

I kick myself for leaving our food on the boat; the only thing I had thought to take with me was a single jar of half-eaten jam. I pull it out of my pocket now. It is raspberry, Bree’s favorite, and as I unscrew the lid, Penelope whines, too. I reach in, take a huge scoop out, and put it into Bree’s open palm. She eats slowly, savoring it, then reaches over and gives some to Penelope.

I hold the jar out to Ben, then to Logan, and they each tape take a finger-full, savoring it. Finally, I do the same, taking the last scoop of our last jar. It melts in my mouth, and is the best raspberry jam I’ve had in my life. I close my eyes, trying to savor every second of it. What I would give right now for a dozen jars like this.

I look at the empty jar longingly. We are out of food. It is going to be a long, hard night.

*

Hours have passed since we’ve curled up here. Night has fallen, and the four of us sit in the snow, our backs to the trees, freezing. We all huddle against the wind and the cold, which seems to get worse with every minute.

Thank God, after hours of effort, I was able to start a fire. I used the last of the matches that I salvaged from dad’s place, lit the last candle, and used the shelter from the wind, to light the kindling I’d found. I built a small pile, but even so, it took nearly all the matches to get something going.

Now there is a small fire before the four of us. We are all so cold, we literally hover over it, raising and rubbing our palms. Every passing gust of wind threatens to blow it out, and I get up every few minutes, and put more sticks on. The fire is fighting to stay alive. Just like the four of us.