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

by Morgan Rice

I look around frantically, trying to figure some way out of here. I scan for vehicles, but don’t see any. Then I turn around completely, and find myself scanning the water, the shoreline. And that’s when I see it: right behind the Governor’s mansion, tied up to a solitary pier is a small, luxury powerboat. I’m sure it is reserved for the privileged few who use this island as their plaything.

  “There!” I say, pointing.

  Logan turns and sees it, too, and a moment later, we sprint for the shoreline.

  We run through the snow, down to the shore, right up to it. It is a beautiful, shining, motorboat, big enough to hold six people. It bobs wildly in the rough water and looks powerful, like a thing of luxury. I have a feeling that this boat was used by that fat, naked man having sex with those girls. All the more vindication.

  It is bobbing so wildly, I don’t want to risk Bree and Rose trying to board themselves, so I lift Bree and place her into it, while Logan lifts Rose and places her in.

  “Cut the rope!” Logan says, pointing.

  I turn and see a thick rope tying it to a wooden pole, and run over to it, extract my knife and cut it. I run back to the boat and Logan is already standing inside, grasping the pier to keep it from floating away. He reaches out a hand and helps me down into it. I check over my shoulder and see a dozen slaverunners charging us. They are only twenty yards away, and closing in fast.

  “I got them,” Logan says. “Take the wheel.”

  I hurry over to the driver’s seat. Luckily, I’ve driven boats all my life. Logan shoves us off and takes a position at the back of the boat, kneeling and firing at the oncoming soldiers. They duck for cover, and it slows them down.

  I jump into the driver’s seat and look down, and my heart drops to see there are no keys in the ignition. I check the dash, then check the front seats frantically, my heart pounding. What will we do if they aren’t here?

  I look over my shoulder and see the slaverunners are closer now, barely ten yards away.

  “DRIVE!” Logan screams, over the sound of his gunfire.

  I get an idea and check the glove compartment, hoping. My heart soars to find them there. I insert them in the ignition, turn the keys, and it roars to life. Black exhaust comes gushing out, and the gas gauge pops all the way. A full tank.

  I hit the throttle and am jerked backwards as the boat takes off. I can hear the bodies falling behind me, and I look back to see that Bree, Rose and Logan were all knocked over by the torque, too. I guess I gunned it too hard—luckily, they didn’t fall overboard.

  We are also lucky because the slaverunners are at the shore’s edge, just ten feet away. I pulled out just in time. They fire back at us, and because everyone hit the deck, their bullets whiz over our heads. One of the bullets grazes the wood paneling, and another takes out my side view mirror.

  “STAY DOWN!” Logan screams to the girls.

  He takes a knee at the rear, pops up, and fires back. In the rearview I see him take out several of them.

  I keep gunning it, pushing the engine with all it has, and within moments, we’re far away from the island. Fifty yards, then a hundred, then two hundred…. Soon, we are safely out of range of their bullets. The slaverunners stand on shore helplessly, now just dots on the horizon, watching us tear away.

  I can’t believe it. We are free.