Arena Two (22 page)

The dozen or so kids left on the bridge continue to run across it, getting close to the other side, to freedom. The spectators throw rocks like crazy, now aiming at them. One kid gets hit so hard that he loses his balance and falls plunging off the bridge.

But the others are making good time, and it looks like they’re going to make it. I can’t believe it was that easy. Was Flo wrong? Should we have went with them?

Then, everything changes. The crowd parts way as a group of slaverunners marches up, holding torches. Without hesitating, they hurry forward and set the rope bridge on fire. They then hurl the torches to the far side of the bridge, setting it on fire from both sides.

In moments, the rope bridge, destabilized, on fire from all directions, swings erratically. It is horrific. There is nowhere for these kids to go. Flames rise in both directions, and some of the kids are already on fire themselves. They scream and yell, trying to get the fire out, running over each other. But it is useless.

One of them jumps off the bridge, choosing suicide. Others try to put out the flames, but suddenly, the bridge collapses. The 10 or so of them left go plunging, all in flames, all screeching, down to their deaths.

The crowd cheers like crazy.

Flo was right. Her advice saved our lives.

I look over at the other three bridges, and now I wonder. A dozen kids are already charging onto one of the other bridges. They race onto it, stumbling over themselves, seeing who can get there quick enough.

But as they are halfway across, something goes horribly wrong. The ground is slipping away where the bridge was attached to the landmass. Roots and dirt go crumbling, then suddenly, one of the two ropes snaps.

The bridge swings wildly side to side and the kids all screech as they try to hold on. A few of them fall off.

Then, the other rope snaps. The bridge, attached only by the far side, goes swinging wildly, heading towards the cliff wall. Whichever kids manage to hang on go flying at full speed, smacking right into the wall. It is a horrific sound of breaking bone.

They drop like flies, plunging to their deaths, no one left.

All that remains of the bridge is a long line of rope, attached at the far end, going straight down the cliff. The crowd roars.

I look over at the other two bridges and wonder what could be in store. As I watch, a dozen kids race onto it, running at full speed, trying to cross. But they have just witnessed what happened on the other two bridges, and now they’re not so sure—they hesitate, stopping halfway, debating whether to go back. Some of them rush forward, stampeding the others, while others try to run back.

On the mainland, suddenly, the crowd parts and two slaverunners step forward with huge machetes. They raise them high, the crowd egging them on, and the kids on the bridge open their eyes wide in fear. They turn and try to make it back.

But it’s too late: the slaverunners bring down their machetes, cut the ropes. The bridge plummets and swings. All the kids go hurling and screaming, plunging to their deaths as the rope smashes into the rock wall of the land mass.

I turn away from the grisly sight. Aside from our small group, huddled on the floor in the center of the land mass, I look around and see there are now only about fifty of us left. The others lie on the ground, too, some covering their heads, all doing our best to avoid the hurling rocks. We all look over at the remaining bridge. It is our only way out. But it looks too good to be true. None of us seem to want to try. It is just another cruel trick? Do they want to see us all dead? Is there really no other way out?

The crowd cheers, and I see a huge, satisfied smile on the face of their leader. I wish I could kill them all.

“
Is that bridge a trick?” I ask Flo, who’s lying a few feet away from me.

“
What do you think?” she snaps back, cynical.

Of course, I know the answer myself. It can’t be that easy. Or could it? Maybe it’s some sort of sick reverse psychology.

Apparently, several of the other kids have the same idea. They suddenly jump to their feet and race for the final bridge. There must be ten of them, brave souls. They race for it at full speed, one of them tackling the other from behind as they go, apparently still thinking that killing each other off is the way to go. Another punches the other, and one throws another off the cliff.

The others continue to run, hit the bridge single file, and I’m shocked as I see them race across it easily, making good time. There’s nothing wrong with this bridge, and I’m kicking myself now. It looks like they will make it. They were the brave ones, the ones willing to risk when others weren’t—and they are being rewarded for it.

Then, everything goes wrong. The kids are only feet away from the mainland, when they all stop. I can’t understand why; they stand there, frozen, as if glued to the bridge.

As I look closely, as I hear their screams, I realize what has happened: thousands of small blades popped up from the bridge, through their feet, through their hands on the railings. The kids are pierced with knives, blood gushing from them as they are literally stuck to the bridge. I am so grateful we didn’t go for it.

I swallow hard, and look around. There are only about forty of us left. All the bridges are gone, and the crowd is screaming like crazy.

“
KILL! KILL!” the crowd chants at us.

I look at our opponents, and they look back. At the same time, it seems to dawn on everybody that the only way left is to kill each other.

A wild look starts to come on the faces of the survivors, as I see them getting ready, grabbing rocks, preparing to fight. Then, it happens. Seemingly all at once, the forty or so kids jump to their feet, and charge each other. The crowd goes wild.

I jump to my feet, sheltering Bree, as kids charge and hand-to-hand fighting erupts all around us. I watch Flo step up, take a rock, and smash a boy in the face right before he can hit Charlie. Then Charlie reaches down, grabs a rock, and chucks it at a tall boy racing towards Flo. It is a perfect strike, right between the legs, and the boy drops to his knees, groaning. In the distance, I see a boy pick up a girl over his head, race towards the edge, and hurl her off the cliff. She goes down screaming.

The crowd is screaming like wild.

I suddenly feel someone approaching me from behind, and I turn and spot it just in time. A large boy charges and jumps up on my back. But I bend over as he does, and in one smooth motion, flip him. He lands flat on his back, the wind knocked out of him. I step up and kick him hard once in the face, knocking him out.

I see Ben tackled hard from behind, driven to the ground; Logan, beside him, reaches around and elbows the attacker in the back of the head, knocking him off Ben.

But then Logan himself is kicked, right in the ribs, and he keels over. A second boy jumps on Logan, pinning him down.

Bree picks up a huge rock and brings it down on the back of Logan’s attacker. He rolls off of him. I’m surprised by Bree’s fierceness.

Logan rolls onto his back. He breaks free of his second attacker, knees him in the gut, and throws him off. He then manages to reach around and grab him in a chokehold, choking him until he passes out.

Dozens more of kids are fighting all around us, and many more are racing our way. Rocks are still hurling through the air, and a rock from a spectator hits a kid hard in the temple, knocking him out. The crowd screams like wild.

I realize quickly that this is a no-win proposition. We can’t survive long like this. Soon, we’ll all be dead. There has to be another way out. There
has
to be. There has to be a way to reach the mainland without killing each other.

I look again at the four downed bridges, studying them—and suddenly, I see a pattern. Two of them—the way they collapsed. One was severed from our side, the rope still attached at the mainland, and one was severed from the mainland, the rope still attached to our land mass. The rope dangles straight down, like a ladder down to hell. I get an idea.

“
FOLLOW ME!” I scream to the others. “I see a way out!”

“
What are you talking about?” Flo screams.

But there is no time to explain. I grab Bree and sprint for one of the downed bridges. Logan hobbles behind me, Ben helping him, and Flo reluctantly prods Charlie, and they follow me, too.

“
You better know what you’re doing,” Flo warns.

The six of us race towards one of the collapsed bridges, dodging flying rocks and other kids. Luckily, the kids are preoccupied with each other—but I do get hit hard by a rock, in my hip. It hurts like hell.

As I reach the precipice I hit the ground and slide my body right to the edge. I look straight down, and see the two ropes, dangling straight down, all the way to the bottom of the canyon, a good hundred feet below. Heights. I hate heights. But I take a deep breath and force myself to look. They cut the ropes on the mainland, but they are still holding here. I test them, yanking hard. They don’t give.

I look over, to the far side of the canyon, and look at the other destroyed bridge. The ropes gave way on our end, but not on the far side. We could climb down her and climb on up on the other side.

I turn and see that some of the other kids notice us and head our direction. Rocks whiz by my head and I know we have to act quickly.

Flo looks over the edge, too, seeing what I’m thinking.

“
So, we can climb down,” she says. “Then what? That doesn’t get us out.”

“
They had to design this arena with a way out,” I say. “Otherwise it wouldn’t be a game. Don’t you see? It’s all a game to them. We just have to figure out how to break the code. This whole place was designed with a way to get to the other side. These two bridges, they collapse in two different directions. There’s a reason. It left a way out. We can climb down this rope, and climb up the other.”

“
That’s crazy,” Flo says. “What if they cut the rope on our way up?”

“
Or what if one of the kids cuts it on our way down?” Ben asks.

“
That’s the chance we have to take,” I say. “I don’t think they will. The other kids want a way out, too. And the gamemakers—don’t you see? They want survivors. They want to prolong this. We are their entertainment.”

The other kids are charging, getting closer know. They know something is up.

“
We have no time to lose,” I say. “I’ll go last and guard our backs. Bree, you go first. Then Charlie.”

I grab Bree, pull her over, position her so she’ll go down feet first, hold her hand, and make sure she grabs firmly on the ropes.

She looks back up at me, eyes wide in fear.

“
I’m scared,” she says.

“
Don’t be scared,” I assure her. “You’ll be fine. Now go!”

Bree hangs there, frozen in fear. I am sweating: I don’t know what to do.

Suddenly, Charlie appears. He slides over to her and looks at her sweetly.

“
It’s okay,” he says. “I’ll go with you. Just follow me. We can do it together. One rung at a time.”

Bree seems to relax as Charlie climbs down with her. They start to climb down together, and I am relieved.

Next, I prod Logan to go, then Ben.

Flo finally seems to be on board—but she stops and looks back over her shoulder. Several kids are running for us, now just twenty yards away. She reaches down, grabs a rock, and throws it at one of them. She hits him, and he goes down. But the others still charge.

“
What about the rest of them?” she asks.

“
Go,” I say. “Watch over them. I’ve got this.”

She looks at me with something like admiration, then, she surprises me. For the first time ever, she smiles.

“
You’re not half bad,” she says.

Before I can thank her for the closest she’ll probably ever come to a compliment, she gets on the rope and begins to quickly descend.

I turn just in time: two kids are charging right at me. One of them lowers his head, and I can see he is aiming to tackle me, to drive me off the edge.

I force myself to stay disciplined, relaxed. I wait. Just like my dad taught me.

Then, at the last second, I squat all the way as far down as I can, ducking under him, and as he is about to hit me, I spring up, using his momentum to throw him over my shoulder. His momentum carries him flying over the edge. He plummets down, screaming.

I can’t react fast enough, though, for the other one. He tackles me, driving me down to the ground hard. He has me right at the edge, and before I can react, he reaches over and chokes me, holding my head backwards over the cliff. I look over and see nothing but a sharp plummet between me and the canyon below. He has all the leverage. I have none.

I’m slipping and sliding, about to go over. He grimaces down, flashing his orange teeth. I realize that he will kill me. This is how I will die.

I’m running out of air, and quickly sliding of the edge, and I have few options. I realize I have to make one last desperate move.

I reach back, over the edge, and just manage to grab, with one hand, a huge root, sticking out the side of the cliff. I wrap my legs around his waist, then slide my body backwards, over the edge of the cliff, grasping the root for dear life. I pray it holds.

I swing over the edge hard, taking him with me. I let go of my legs and he goes flying, screaming, plummeting head over heel down to his death.

The root is quickly giving way, dirt flying everywhere; I manage to swing around just in time and grab the edge of the rope ladder. As I do, the root gives way. Another second and I would’ve been dead.

I hurry down the rope ladder, and as I do, I feel something hard hit me on the shoulder. I turn and see the spectators are going crazy, hurling rocks at all of us as we climb down. Another rock hits me hard in the back, and each one hurts more than the next. I just hope and pray that Bree can hang on.

I am about halfway down the cliff when I feel the rope move. I look up and see a group of kids at the top, watching us, getting the same idea. They get onto the rope and begin to climb down, too. I was right: they didn’t cut it. They wanted out, too. I just hope the rope can hold us all.