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

I open my eyes as a rough hand shoves my shoulder.

  “LET’S GO!” comes an urgent whisper.

  I open my eyes with a jolt, disoriented, unsure if I’m awake or asleep. I look all around, trying to get my bearings, and see grey, pre-dawn daylight filtering in through a window high up. Daybreak. I’ve fallen asleep sitting on the floor, my head resting on Ben’s shoulder, who still sits beside me, sleeping. Logan shoves him roughly, too.

  I jump into action, scurrying to my feet. As I do, the pain in my calf is excruciating, exploding in my leg.

  “We’re losing time!” Logan snaps. “Move! Both of you! I’m leaving. If you want to follow me out, now’s your chance!”

  Logan hurries to the door and leans his ear against it. I feel a rush of adrenaline as I cross the room, Ben now awake and beside me, and take a position behind Logan. We listen. All seems quiet outside. There are no more footsteps, no shouts, jeers…nothing. I wonder how many hours have passed. It sounds like everyone has disappeared.

  Logan seems satisfied, too. Holding his gun in one hand, he slowly reaches out with his free hand, unlocks the door, and checks to see if we’re ready. He then slowly pulls open the door.

  Logan cautiously steps outside, rounds the corner sharply, ready to shoot.

  He gestures for us to follow, and I come out and I see the corridors are empty.

  “Move!” he whispers frantically.

  He runs down the corridor and I run behind him for all I’m worth. Every step is a small explosion of pain in my calf. I can’t help looking down at it, and as I do, I wish I hadn’t: it’s now swelled up to the size of a baseball. It’s also bright red, and I worry it’s infected. All my other muscles ache, too, from my ribs to my shoulder to my face—but it’s my calf that concerns me most. The others are just injuries; but if my calf is infected, I’ll need medicine. And fast.

  But I can’t focus on this now. I continue to run, hobbling down the corridor, Ben beside me and Logan about ten feet in front. The steel corridors are dimly lit by sporadic emergency lights, and I follow Logan in the darkness, relying on his knowledge of this place. Luckily, there is still no one in site: I assume they are all out looking for us.

  Logan makes a right down another corridor, then a left. We follow, trusting he knows his way out of here. I realize my fate is in his hands. He is our lifeline now, and I’ll just have to put my trust in him. I have no choice.

  After several more twists and turns, Logan finally comes to a stop before a door. I stop beside him, out of breath. He pushes it open, peeks out, then opens it all the way. He reaches back, grabs Ben by the shoulder and pulls him forward.

  “There,” he says, pointing. “See it?”

  I lean forward. In the distance, across the vast, open terminal, are train tracks.

  “That train, the one beginning to move. It goes to the mines. It leaves once a day. If you want to go, now’s your chance. Catch it!”

  Ben turns and looks at me one last time, eyes open wide with adrenaline. He surprises me by reaching out, grabbing my hand, and kissing the back of it. He holds it for another second and looks at me meaningfully, as if this might be the last time he sees me.

  He then turns and sprints across the terminal, heading for the train.

  Logan glances at me derisively, and I can feel his jealousy.

  I don’t know what to think of the kiss myself. As I watch him run for the train, I can’t help but wonder if it will be the last time I see him.

  “This way!” Logan snaps, as he starts running down a different corridor.

  But I sit there, frozen, watching Ben run.

  Logan turns back to me, annoyed, impatient. “MOVE!” he whispers.

  I realize I’m frozen in place, watching Ben run. He runs across the entire open expanse of Penn Station, runs along the tracks, then jumps up onto the back of the slowly moving train. He holds tight onto the metal bars as it goes. He holds on tight as the train disappears, into a black tunnel. He’s made it.

  “I’m leaving!” Logan says, then turns and sprints down another corridor.

  I snap out of it, sprinting after him. I go as fast as my legs will take me, but Logan is already far ahead and he turns again, out of sight. My heart pounds as I wonder if I’ve lost him.

  I turn down another corridor and run up a ramp, and finally, I spot him again. He stands along a wall, beside a glass door, waiting for me. Through it, I can see outside. Eighth Avenue. It is a world of white. I am shocked to see that there is a raging blizzard out there.

  I run up to Logan and stand beside him, my back against the wall, struggling to catch my breath.

  “See there?” he asks, pointing.

  I follow his gaze, trying to see between the sheets of snow.

  “Across the street,” he says, “in front of the old post office. Those buses parked out front.”

  I strain to look, and spot three large buses, covered in snow. They look like school buses, but are modified, with thick bars built on every side, like armored vehicles. Two of them are painted yellow, and one is black. As I watch, I see dozens of young girls, chained to each other, being loaded onto them. My heart leaps, as I spot Bree. She’s a couple hundred yards away, in the chain gang, being loaded onto one of the two yellow buses.

  “There she is!” I scream. “That’s Bree!”

  “Give it up,” he says. “Come with me. You’ll survive, at least.”

  But I am filled with a new resolve, and I look at him with dead seriousness.

  “It’s not about surviving,” I reply. “Don’t you realize that?”

  Logan looks back into my eyes and I can see that, for the first time, he gets it. He really gets it. He sees that I’m determined, that nothing on earth is going to change my mind.

  “OK, then,” he says. “This is it. Once we burst out those doors, I’m heading uptown, for the boat. You’re on your own.”

  He suddenly reaches down and places something heavy in palm. I look down and see it’s a gun. I am surprised, and grateful.

  I am about to say goodbye, but suddenly hear an engine, and look out and see clouds of black exhaust exiting the buses’ tailpipes. Before I know it, all three buses start to pull out in the thick snow.

  “NO!” I scream, and suddenly burst forward. Before I even think it through, I kick open the door and burst outside. A wave of icy snow and wind hits me in the face, so cold and wet that it takes my breath away.

  I run out into the blinding blizzard, snow hitting my face, snow up to my knees. I run and run, heading across the white, open expanse towards the buses. Towards Bree.

  I am too late. They have a good hundred yards on me, and are gaining speed in the snow. I sprint after them, my leg killing me, barely able to catch my breath, until I realize that Logan was right. It is useless. I watch the buses turn a corner, and they are soon out of sight. I can’t believe it. I just missed her.

  I check back over my shoulder, and Logan is gone. My heart drops. He must have taken off already. Now I’m completely alone.

  Desperate, I try to think quick, to come up with an idea. I scan my surroundings, and see, in front of Penn Station, a row of Humvees. Slaverunners sit on the roofs and hoods. They are all huddled in their coats against the snow, their backs to me. None of them look in my direction. They are all fixated on watching the buses leave.

  I realize I need a vehicle. It is my only chance to catch those buses.

  I sprint, hobbling, towards the Humvee in the rear, the only one with no slaverunner sitting on its roof. The Humvee is running, exhaust coming from its tailpipe, and I see a slaverunner sitting in the driver’s seat, warming his hands.

  I creep up to the driver’s side door and yank it open, holding out my gun.

  This slaverunner wears no facemask, and I can see the shock in his face. He holds up his hands in fear, not wanting to be shot. I don’t give him time to react, to alert the others. Pointing my gun to his face, I reach in, grab him by the shirt, and yank him out. He falls hard to the snow. br />
  I’m about to jump into the driver’s seat, when suddenly I feel a tremendous pain in the side of my head, the impact of something metal. Knocked over by the blow, I fall down to the snow.

  I look up and see that another slaverunner has snuck up on me, has cracked me in the side of the head with his gun. I reach up and feel my head, and feel blood trickling onto my hand. It hurts like hell.

  The slaverunner stands over me, and lowers his gun towards my face. He grins, an evil grin, cocks the pin, and I know he’s about to fire. Suddenly, I realize I’m about to die.

  A gunshot rings, and I brace myself.

  T W E N T Y F O U R