Arena Two (3 page)

“
It is,” I say to her, trying my best to sound convincing. “Isn’t that true, Logan?”

Logan looks over, nods at them briefly, then looks away. He is the one, after all, that believes in Canada, believes in a promised land. How can he deny it now?

The Hudson twists and turns, getting more narrow, then widening again. Finally, we enter familiar territory. We race past places I recognize, getting closer and closer to dad’s house.

We turn another bank, and I see a small, uninhabited island, just a rocky outcropping. On it sits the remains of a lighthouse, its light long shattered, its structure hardly more than a façade.

We turn another bend in the river and in the distance I spot the bridge I’d been on just days before, when chasing after the slaverunners. There, in the middle of the bridge, I see the center blown out, the huge hole, as if a wrecking ball had been dropped through the middle. I flash back to when Ben and I raced across it in the motorcycle and nearly skidded into it. I can’t believe it. We’re almost there.

This makes me think of Ben, makes me remember how he saved my life that day. I turn and look at him. He stares into the water, morose.

“
Ben?” I ask.

He turns and looks at me.

“
Remember that bridge?”

He turns and looks, and I see fear in his eyes. He remembers.

Bree elbows me. “Is it okay if I give Penelope some of my cookie?” she asks.

“
Me, too?” Rose echoes.

“
Sure it is,” I say loudly, so Logan can hear. He’s not the only one in charge here, and we can do with our food as we wish.

The dog, in Rose’s lap, perks up, as if she understands. It is incredible. I have never seen such a smart animal.

Bree leans in to feed her a piece of her cookie, but I stop her hand.

“
Wait,” I say. “If you’re going to feed her, she should have a name, shouldn’t she?”

“
But she has no collar,” Rose says. “Her name could be anything.”

“
She’s your dog now,” I say. “Give her a new one.”

Rose and Bree exchange an excited glance.

“
What should we call her?” Bree asks.

“
How about Penelope?” Rose says.

“
Penelope!” Bree screams. “I like that.”

“
I like it, too,” I say.

“
Penelope!” Rose cries out to the dog.

Amazingly, the dog actually turns to her when she says it, as if that were always her name.

Bree smiles as she reaches out and feeds her a piece of cookie. Penelope snatches it out of her hands and gobbles it up in one bite. Bree and Rose giggle hysterically, and Rose feeds her the rest of her cookie. She snatches that, too, and I reach out and feed her the last bite of my cookie. Penelope looks back at all three of us excitedly, trembling, and barks three times.

We all laugh. For a moment, I nearly forget our troubles.

But then, in the distance, over Bree’s shoulder, I spot something.

“
There,” I say to Logan, stepping up and pointing to our left. “That’s where we need to go. Turn there.”

I spot the peninsula where Ben and I drove off on the motorcycle, onto the ice of the Hudson. It makes me flinch to think of it, to think of how crazy that chase was. It’s amazing I’m still alive.

Logan checks over his shoulder to see if anyone is following; then, reluctantly, he eases up on the throttle and turns us off to the side, bringing us towards the inlet.

On edge, I look around warily as we reach the mouth of the peninsula. We glide beside it as it curves inland. We are so close to shore now, passing a dilapidated water tower. We continue on and soon glide alongside the ruins of a town, right into the heart of it. Catskill. There are burnt-out buildings on all sides and it looks like it’s been hit by a bomb.

We are all on edge as we make our way slowly up the inlet, getting deeper inland, the shore now feet away as it narrows. We are exposed to ambush, and I find myself unconsciously reaching down and resting my hand on my hip, on my knife. I notice Logan do the same.

I check back over my shoulder for Ben; but he is still in a nearly catatonic state.

“
Where’s the truck?” Logan asks, an edge to his voice. “I’m not going too deep inland, I’ll tell you right now. If anything happens, we need to be able to get out to the Hudson, and fast. This is a death trap,” he says, warily eyeing the shore.

I eye it, too. But the shore is empty, desolate, frozen over with no humanity in sight as far as the eye can see.

“
See there,” I say, pointing. “That rusted shed? It’s inside.”

Logan drives us another thirty yards or so, then turns for the shed. There is an old crumbling dock, and he’s able to pull the boat up, feet from shore. He kills the engine, grabs the anchor and throws it overboard. He then grabs the rope from the boat, makes a loose knot at one end, and throws it to a rusted metal post. It catches and he pulls us in all the way, tightening it, so we can walk onto the dock.

“
Are we getting out?” Bree asks.

“
I am,” I say. “Wait for me here, with the boat. It’s too dangerous for you to go. I’ll be back soon. I’ll bury Sasha. I promise.”

“
No!” she screams. “You promised we would never be apart again. You promised! You can’t leave me here alone! You CAN’T!”

“
I’m not leaving you alone,” I answer, my heart breaking. “You’ll be here with Logan, and Ben, and Rose. You’ll be perfectly safe. I promise.”

But Bree stands and to my surprise, she takes a running jump across the bow, and jumps onto the sandy shore, landing right in the snow.

She stands ashore, hands on her hips, glaring back at me defiantly.

“
If you’re going, I’m going too,” she states.

I take a deep breath, seeing she’s resigned. I know that when she gets like this, she means it.

It will be a liability, having her, but I have to admit, a part of me feels good having her in my sight at all times. And if I try to talk her out of it, I’ll just waste more time.

“
Fine,” I say. “Just stay close the entire time. Promise?”

She nods. “I promise.”

“
I’m scared,” Rose says, looking over at Bree, wide-eyed. “I don’t want to leave the boat. I want to stay here, with Penelope. Is that okay?”

“
I want you to,” I say to her, silently refusing to take her, too.

I turn to Ben, and he turns and meets my eyes with his mournful ones. The look in them makes me want to look away, but I force myself not to.

“
Are you coming?” I ask. I hope he says yes. I’m annoyed at Logan for staying here, for letting me down, and I could really use the backup.

But Ben, still clearly in shock, just stares back. He looks at me as if he doesn’t comprehend. I wonder if he’s fully registering all that’s happening around him.

“
Are you
coming
?” I ask more forcefully. I don’t have the patience for this.

Slowly, he shakes his head, withdrawing. He’s really out of it, and I try to forgive him—but it’s hard.

I turn to leave the boat, and jump onto shore. It feels good to have my feet on dry land.

“
Wait!”

I turn and see Logan get up from the driver seat.

“
I knew some crap like this would happen,” he says.

He walks across the boat, gathering his stuff.

“
What are you doing?” I ask.

“
What do you think?” he asks. “I’m not letting you two go alone.”

My heart swells with relief. If it were just me I wouldn’t care as much—but I am thrilled to have another set of eyes to watch Bree.

He jumps off the boat, and onto shore.

“
I’m telling you right now, this is a stupid idea,” he says, as he lands besides me. “We should keep moving. It will be night soon. The Hudson can freeze. We could get stuck here. Not to mention the slaverunners. You’ve got 90 minutes, understand? 30 minutes in, 30 there, and 30 back. No exceptions, for any reason. Otherwise, I’m leaving without you.”

I look back at him, impressed and grateful.

“
Deal,” I say.

I think of the sacrifice he just made, and I am beginning to feel something else. Behind all his posturing, I am beginning to feel that Logan really likes me. And he’s not as selfish as I thought.

As we turn to go, there’s another shuffling on the boat.

“
Wait!” Ben cries out.

I turn and look.

“
You guys can’t leave me here alone with Rose. What if someone comes? What am I supposed to do?

“
Watch the boat,” Logan says, turning again to leave.

“
I don’t know how to drive it!” Ben yells out. “I don’t have any weapons!”

Logan turns again, annoyed, reaches down, takes one of the guns off a strap from his thigh, and chucks it to him. It hits him hard in the chest, and he fumbles with it.

“
Maybe you’ll learn how to use it,” Logan sneers, as he turns away again.

I get a good look at Ben, who stands there, looking so helpless and afraid, holding a gun he barely seems to know how to use. He seems absolutely terrified.

I want to comfort him. To tell him everything will be OK, that we’ll be back soon. But as I turn away and look up at the vast mountain range before us, for the first time, I am not so sure that we will.

We walk quickly through the snow and I look anxiously at the darkening sky, feeling the pressure of time. I glance back over my shoulder, see my footprints in the snow, and beyond them, standing there in the rocking boat, Ben and Rose, watching us wide-eyed. Rose clutches Penelope, equally afraid. Penelope barks. I feel bad leaving the three of them there, but I know our mission is necessary. I know we can salvage supplies and food that will help, and I feel we have a comfortable jump on the slaverunners.

I hurry to the rusted shed, covered in snow, and yank open its crooked door, praying that the truck I hid inside ages ago is still there. It was an old rusted pickup, on its last legs, more scrap than car, with only about an eighth tank of fuel left in it. I stumbled across it one day, in a ditch off Route 23, and hid it here, carefully down by the river, in case I ever needed it. I remember being amazed when it actually turned over.

The shed door opens with a creak, and there it is, as well hidden as it was on the day I stashed it, still covered with the hay. My heart swells with relief. I step forward and pull the hay back, my hands cold as I touch the freezing metal. I go to the back of the shed and pull open the double barn doors, and light comes flooding in.

“
Nice wheels,” Logan says, walking up behind me, surveying it. “You sure it runs?”

“
No,” I say. “But my dad’s house is a good twenty miles away, and we can’t exactly hike.”

I can tell from his tone that he really doesn’t want to be on this mission, that he wants to be back in the boat, moving upriver.

I jump into the driver seat and search the floor for the key. I finally feel it, hidden deep. I put it in the ignition, take a deep breath and close my eyes.

Please, god. Please.

At first nothing happens. My heart drops.

But I turn again and again, twist it farther to the right, and slowly, it begins to catch. At first it is a quiet sound, like a dying cat. But I hold it, twist again and again, and eventually, it turns over more.

Come on, come on.

It finally catches, rumbling and groaning to life. It clutters and gasps, clearly on its last legs. At least it’s running.

I can’t help smiling, flooding with relief. It works. It really works. We’re going to be able to make it to my house, bury my dog, get food. I feel as if Sasha’s looking down, helping us. Maybe my dad, too.

The passenger door opens and in jumps Bree, bristling with excitement, scooting over in the one vinyl seat, right next to me, as Logan jumps in beside her, slamming the door, looking straight ahead.

“
What you waiting for?” he says. “Clock’s ticking.”

“
You don’t need to tell me twice,” I say, equally short with him.

I put it into gear and floor it, reversing out of the shed and into the snow and afternoon sky. At first the wheels catch in the snow, but I give it more gas, and we sputter forward.

We drive, swerving on the bald tires, across a field, bumpy, getting jolted every which way. But we continue forward, and that’s all I care about.

Soon, we are on a small country road. I am so thankful the snow was melting most of the day—otherwise, we’d never make it.

We start picking up good speed. The truck surprises me, calming down as it warms up. We hit almost 40 as we ride Route 23 heading west. I keep pushing it, until we hit a pothole, and I regret it. We all groan, as we slam our heads. I slow down. The potholes are nearly impossible to see in the snow, and I forgot how bad these roads have become.

It’s eerie being back on this road, heading back to what was once home. I am retracing the road I took when chasing the slaverunners, and memories come flooding back. I remember racing down here on a motorcycle, thinking I was going to die, and I try to put it out of my mind.

As we go, we come across the huge tree felled in the road, now covered in snow. I recognize it as the tree that had been felled on my way out, the one downed to block the path of the slaverunners, by some unknown survivalist out there who was looking after us. I can’t help but wonder if there are other people out there now, surviving, maybe even watching us. I look from side to side, combing the woods. But I see no signs.

We are making good time and to my relief, nothing is going wrong. I don’t trust it. It is almost as if it is too easy. I glance at the gas gage and see we haven’t used much. But I don’t know how accurate it is, and for a moment I wonder if there’ll be enough gas to get us there and back. I wonder if it was a stupid idea to try this.