Arena One: Slaverunners (Book #1 of the Survival Trilogy)

I am marched back down the corridor, still handcuffed. As I go, I can’t help but wonder if I made the wrong decision. Not about giving up my life—but about giving up Bree’s. Should I have said yes for her sake?

  By refusing, I have effectively given her a death sentence. I feel torn by remorse. But ultimately, I still can’t help but think that Bree would rather die, too, than see innocent people get hurt.

  I feel numb as they shove me from behind, back down the corridor from which I came, and wonder what will become of me now. Are they marching me to the arena? What will it be like? And what will become of Bree? Will they really kill her? Have they already killed her? Will they put her into slavery? Or, worst of all, will she be forced to fight in the arena, too?

  And then an even worse thought come to mind: might she be forced to fight against me?

  We turn the corner and I suddenly see a group of slaverunners marching towards me, leading someone. I can’t believe it. It is Ben. My heart floods with relief. He is alive.

  His broken nose is swollen, there are bruises under his eyes, blood drips from his lip, and he looks as if he’s been roughed up. He looks as weak and exhausted as I do. In fact, I hope I don’t look as bad as he. He, too, stumbles down the hall, and I assume they are taking him to see their leader. I assume they will make him the same offer. I wonder what he will decide.

  As we walk towards each other, only a few feet away, his head hangs low and he doesn’t even see me coming. He’s either too weak, or too demoralized, to even look up. It appears he has already accepted his fate.

  “Ben!” I call out.

  He lifts his head, just as our paths cross, and his eyes open wide with hope and excitement. He is clearly shocked to see me. Maybe he’s surprised I’m alive, too.

  “Brooke!” he says. “Where are they taking you? Have you seen my brother?”

  But before I can respond I am shoved hard from behind, and Ben is shoved, too. A slaverunner reaches over and clamps my mouth with his disgusting, smelly palm, and as I try to call out, my words are muffled.

  A door is opened, and I am shoved back into my cell. I go stumbling in, and the door is slammed behind me, the metal reverberating. I spin around and bang on the door, but it’s no use.

  “LET ME OUT!” I scream, banging. “LET ME OUT!”

  I realize it is no use, but somehow, I can’t stop myself from screaming. I scream at the world, at these slaverunners, at Bree’s absence, at my life—and I don’t stop screaming until I don’t know how much later.

  At some point I lose my voice, tire myself out. Finally, I find myself slumped on the floor, against the wall, curled up.

  My screams turn to sobs, and eventually, I cry myself to sleep.