by Morgan Rice
“Ben’s more of a bow and arrow kind of guy,” I say, gently mocking him, trying to coax him into the conversation.
Ben frowns, clearly not taking the joke well. Ben’s always been sensitive, but he’s clearly feeling more sensitive than usual. I remind myself to be more careful with him. I don’t want him to think I’m making a joke at his expense or that I’m letting Ryan’s jovial attitude rub off on me.
“No problem,” Ryan says. “We have plenty of bows and arrows if you’d prefer.”
“I’m fine with this,” Ben answers tersely.
Ryan shrugs, once again seemingly oblivious to the building tension in the air.
I then notice a wall display of knives. I go over and see the same kind of knife my dad had when I was a kid, with a military insignia brandished into the handle. A wave of nostalgia washes over me.
I touch my fingertips to the cool metal blade. “Can I take this too?”
“Of course,” Ryan replies, suddenly coming up very closely behind me. “Take what you want.”
I can feel the warmth radiating from his body as I snatch up the knife, holding the weight of it in my hand. It feels like mine, like it was always supposed to be in my grasp. Then I dart out of Ryan’s shadow, stashing the knife at my hip as I go. I load up with the gun on one shoulder, and a bow and arrow slung across my back.
Ryan whistles as he takes in the sight of me.
“Ready for duty,” he says, giving me a light-hearted salute.
I can’t help but smile to myself. I feel every inch a guard and I’m practically itching to get out there, to learn the ropes and prove to the Commander that I deserve my place here.
Ben, on the other hand, is fumbling around and getting frustrated with a twisted strap. Ryan goes over to help him. As he tightens his straps, I can’t help but think that Ben looks like a lost, vulnerable child being dressed by his parent on their first day at school.
We head out of the arsenal and my stomach swirls with anticipation as I catch sight of the group of ten other guards up ahead that we’ll be patrolling with. They’ve congregated by one of the huge iron barbed-wire-topped gates. A few dogs mill around, pawing tufts of grass at the base of the fence, sniffing the air, cocking their heads at every noise. It occurs to me that they’ve all been trained to help with patrolling and to offer protection against attacks. The Commander was right when he said everyone at Fort Noix has a job to do—even the animals. I’m grateful again that he conceded to keep Penelope, and I hope she gets a chance to prove that despite being the size of a cat and having only one eye, she’s the smartest dog he’ll ever meet.
Jack breaks away from us and rushes up to the other dogs, barking excitedly. His presence alerts the group to our approach. Heads begin to turn in our direction, taking in the sight of Ryan leading two strangers toward them. I can’t help but feel like I’m being scrutinized, sized up, and I try to calm my racing heart. After all, this is nothing compared to the leering eyes of the biovictim spectators in the arenas.
Ben doesn’t seem to be faring as well as me, though. As we get closer to the group, I can see his face becoming paler. He’s not ready for this at all. Being with strangers, packing weaponry—it’s all too much for him, like being back in an arena. I don’t get a chance to tell him to turn around and go home, though, because we’re suddenly at the entrance. Ryan’s clapping people on the back, reeling out names that fly in one ear and out the other. The only one that sticks is Molly, because the girl it belongs to has shockingly ginger hair.
She looks over at me.
“You’re living with Neena, right?” she asks with a friendly grin. She looks about my age, with bright green eyes and freckles across her nose.
I nod, a little overwhelmed by all the names and faces.
“Me too,” she replies. “I guess that makes us roomies.”
Roomies. The word seems alien to me, like it’s a term that belonged to an old, ancient world that I thought had ceased to exist. Not for the first time since arriving here, a wave of happiness washes over me. I have a feeling she might become a friend. Friend. A word I had never thought to use again.
The group begins to move and we follow, sticking close to Ryan and Molly. We pass through several layers of fencing, guards stationed at the gates of each one. The amount of security they have here is crazy, but I understand their need to be so heavy-handed. The only way to keep the people inside Fort Noix safe is by making it impenetrable to all the monsters lurking outside.
Between one row of fencing and the next, nestled in the trees, I see a row of wooden cabins.
“Do you guys stay in those overnight?” I ask Molly.
She shakes her head. “No, people live in them.”
“Really?”
Before Molly has a chance to reply, Ryan speaks up, practically salivating at the opportunity to impart his wisdom.
“We call them the Forest Dwellers,” he says. “They’re sort of a part of Fort Noix but not at the same time.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Well, not everyone wants to live by military command. They want to structure their lives differently. They want to have families, homes, pets, that sort of thing. You know, the whole men and women being separated thing isn’t so great for that.” He smiles and wiggles a knowing eyebrow. I blush and avert my gaze as he continues. “Anyway, they’ve all taken the pledge to keep the fort secret, so they’re pretty much a part of us really, especially as they are within our perimeter. They’re just not on the same job rotation system—and they don’t get rations.”
Just then I notice a barefoot young girl sitting on the wooden doorstep of one of the cabins. In her lap sits a huge rabbit with light brown fluffy fur, which she strokes gently. As we pass, she looks up and waves. I wave back. She must take it as an invitation to come over, because she places the rabbit on the ground, leaps to her feet, and bounds over. Her patchwork dress swishes as she skips toward us, and her blond ponytail bobs.
“Oh, here we go,” Molly says under her breath while rolling her eyes, giving me the distinct impression that she’s not much of a maternal type.
“Trixie,” Ryan says in a gentle warning tone as she draws up beside him. “You know you can’t come on patrols with us. It’s far too dangerous.”
“I just wanted to say hello to the new people,” the little girl says breezily.
She’s absolutely adorable. I can hardly believe that such a smiley, carefree child can exist in our brutal world.
“I’m Brooke,” I say to Trixie. “And this is Ben.”
I look around for my companion, realizing he’d been so quiet I’d completely forgotten about him. The whole time that I’ve been chatting with Molly and Ryan he’s been silent, just taking it all in. As I look at him now, I can see how distracted he seems, looking over his shoulder, flinching at every noise. My worry for him magnifies.
“Do you want to come to my house to play?” Trixie says to me, breaking through my thoughts.
Her sweetness and innocence warms my heart. She can’t have seen any of the atrocities of the war, or have the constant terror of being kidnapped by slaverunners at the back of her mind. She’s carefree, just as a child ought to be.
“I’d love to,” I say, “but I’m on guard duty. It’s my job to protect you.”
Trixie beams up at me. “Well then maybe another day,” she says. “My mom will make you soup if you like. Dad made a Scrabble board out of wood. Do you like Scrabble? My sister’s better than me at it but it’s still my favorite game.”
The thought of hanging out with a family playing games and eating soup seems like a dream come true.
“That sounds like a lot of fun,” I reply, feeling a strange pang in my stomach as I realize that I haven’t played a game since before the war, that my childhood, and the lives of many, many others, was cut short by all the fighting. “Maybe I’ll be able to come back and see you,” I finish.
This seems to placate Trixie. She trots off back to her home, although not
before stroking each one of the guard dogs.
“She’s so cute,” I say to Ryan as I watch her skip away. “I can’t believe she lives out here with her family. She seems so carefree.”
“She is,” Ryan replies. “That’s part of our job. We’re not just protecting the fort, we’re protecting everyone we can.”
A strong wave of happiness washes through me, telling me I’m exactly where I need to be.
Finally we pass through the perimeter fence and head farther into the woods. It’s colder out in the open and the ground beneath my boots is frozen, crunching underfoot. The new boots Neena gave me prevent any of the cold seeping in like my old, worn leather ones used to. The strange uniform is pretty good at keeping out the cold too.
“So, where is it that you guys are from?” Molly asks Ben and me, sounding genuinely interested.
She has a soft Canadian accent, which invites me in and tells me I can trust her. But I’m reticent to tell her about the arenas and everything we’ve been through. The thought of making a friend, a real friend, is so tempting. I don’t want to scare her off by revealing my gladiatorial past. No one wants to make friends with a killer.
“The Catskills,” I reply. “New York.”
Her eyebrows rise with interest. “New York? How did you end up in Quebec?”
Logan. That’s the real answer. He always believed in this place and urged us to come here. But I can’t tell Molly that. I can’t even let his name pass my lips.
“There was a rumor about Fort Noix, about survivors,” I say. “We thought we’d risk it.”
Ben looks at me inquisitively, silently noting my inability to utter the name of our dead companion.
This time, Molly’s eyes widen. “You’d better not tell the Commander that there are rumors about this place. He’s terrified about anyone finding out about us. I mean you guys are the first outsiders we’ve welcomed in a long, long time. He seems to think the whole fort will implode if anyone finds out about our existence.”
“He’s right to think that,” Ben says, a little too abruptly. “You’d all be in danger if the slaverunners found out about this place.”
Molly gives him curious look, one that seems to suggest that she’s seen through him, into his soul, and has glimpsed the darkness inside. But she doesn’t challenge him, and I’m grateful.
The outpost is a little ways away from Trixie’s cabin. It’s a tall metal structure that stretches far up into the canopy. The climb is at least thirty feet. Molly enthusiastically begins to scale the ladder, showing off her strength. But I falter. Because as I stand at the base of it, I get a sudden flash of memory of the horrible sand dune we had to climb in Arena 2.
“You need help climbing up?” Ryan asks.
I shake my head, dislodging the memory, then grip the rungs. I’m determined not to be weak, not to let the things I’ve been through in the past affect me now. I take a breath to steel myself and begin to climb, Ryan following right behind. My muscles protest but I push through my pain, and after a few moments I’m at the top.
The effort was worth it. Up here at the top, there’s an amazing view all around. The mountains look beautiful, with their snow-capped peaks glittering in the midday sunlight. I let the air stir the hair at the base of my neck, cooling the sweat from the effort of climbing. I completely tune out the sound of the rest of the guards clambering into the outpost, and revel in the tranquility of the moment.
Far in the distance, I can see huge craters in the earth where the bombs hit. It makes me so sad to think of all of the needless destruction, all the death and pain, and I wonder if our world really ever can recover. But then I realize that the craters are overgrown with vegetation, as though nature is trying to eradicate the disastrous effects our war has had, trying to heal the scars and gashes our bombs created. The sight gives me hope for a better future. All at once, a smile bursts across my face.
From the corner of my eye, I can see Ryan watching me intently. I squirm under his scrutiny and let my smile fade. For some reason, I don’t want him encroaching on my private moment. When he approaches I don’t look at him, keeping my gaze steadily ahead.
“I don’t think your friend is enjoying the view as much as you are,” his voice quips into my ear.
I look behind and see Ben, his gun huddled in his arms, looking overwhelmed.
“It’s the height,” I say, knowing exactly why Ben is freaking out, knowing he must have had the same horrible flash of memory as I had. “We had to climb up a mountain in one of the arenas. It was full of spikes that bludgeoned kids to death.”
I shut my mouth immediately. I don’t know what came over me, what made me blab about such a painful secret from my past to Ryan like that.
“Oh,” he says, his mocking smile immediately disappearing. He looks suddenly serious for the first time since I’ve met him. “Sorry, I didn’t realize.”
A feeling of intense awkwardness overcomes me.
“You couldn’t have known,” I reply quickly, trying to end the conversation.
On the other side of the post, Molly takes a seat beside another guard and pulls out a pack of cards. I’m shocked and a little taken aback to see her, and the other guards around her, looking so lax. No one seems to be alert at all. The Commander made it seem as though everyone at Fort Noix was as serious and militaristic as he is, but here are his guards lazing around.
“Don’t worry,” Ryan says, clocking my expression. “Nothing ever happens on guard duty. There were attacks at the beginning but these days it’s calmed down a lot.”
But it’s not enough to placate me. Everyone back at the fort is relying on these guys to do their job and here they all are sitting around like it’s a big game. Even the guard dogs are slacking off, play fighting with one another rather than looking out for intruders. So much for everyone has a job to do! Only Ben and I seem to be alert to the possibility of lurking danger.
Just as those thoughts are crossing my mind, I notice movement coming from the distance. In the area pocked with bomb craters there’s a patch of trees and shrubbery, and it seems to be rustling.
“Do people live over there?” I say, nudging Ryan.
He peers out where I’m pointing.
“In the bomb craters?” he says. “No way. The radiation levels are too high.”
Every muscle in my body tenses. “There’s someone there,” I say.
I bring up my shotgun. The motion alerts Ben. He comes to my side, poised with his rifle.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Ryan cries. “You guys are getting a bit trigger happy. I’m sure you’re seeing things. It’s probably just a deer.”
Molly notices the commotion and comes to my side.
“What’s going on, Brooke?” she asks, her expression serious and intent.
“There are people in the trees,” I say, not looking at her, my body still positioned to fire, my eyes still locked on the foliage, seeking out possible danger.
Unlike Ryan, Molly doesn’t contest me. She seems to have understood me straightaway. She raises her own gun, taking position beside me.
The trees continue to rustle. Then all at once, something huge and black billows from the foliage. I let off a shot, the noise splintering the air. It’s only after I’ve fired that I realize my evil predator was a flock of innocent birds.
The tenseness leaves my body in one go, replaced by embarrassment. Molly gives me a sheepish look, as if she’s embarrassed on my behalf by my overreaction. Ryan just grins, amused by the whole thing.
“Told you there was nothing to worry about,” he says, arrogantly.
But no sooner are the words out of his mouth, than the sounds of screaming and frantic barking come from behind.
I spin and my heart drops as I see that, just on the other side of the outpost, near the ladder leading up, a group of crazies are thundering out of the vegetation. They’re heading right for us.
Ryan’s slow to react. “Breach!” he finally shouts.
Immediately, I
fire my gun at them, but my angle is off and I miss my target. The guards seem stunned, like they were never expecting such a thing to happen. They take far too long to react. By the time they join me, I’ve finally managed to hit one of the crazies, and he goes down like a dead weight.
At last, guns begin firing off all over the place. The noise is so loud I wince. The air becomes thick with smoke from the shots we’re firing and the smell of sulfur.
The crazies start to drop, but some are getting dangerously close to our outpost. I adjust my position and begin firing as they ascend. Ben stands beside me but I realize he isn’t firing his gun at all. His hands are trembling and sweat is pouring down his face. He’s as white as a ghost.
“Ben!” I cry. “Help me!”
But he’s completely frozen. It’s Ryan who sidles up to me and helps me take down the group, one by one, while Molly flanks my other side, firing expertly, too.
Suddenly, I hear a shrill scream from behind and swirl on the spot. One of the crazies must have taken a different route than the others and has gotten up the outpost without anyone noticing. It dawns on me that not a single one of the guards thought to cover us from behind, leaving us completely exposed.
The crazy’s arm is locked around Molly’s throat and he’s dragging her back toward the ladder. I watch, horrified, as Jack bounds forward and locks his jaws around the crazy’s leg. The man roars in pain and loosens his grip on Molly, leaving just enough for her to run away. But now Jack’s the source of his hatred. He grabs the pit bull and yanks him off, bringing him over his head, ready to hurl him off the outpost. The whole world seems to slow down as I notice the terrified dog’s expression as he hangs helplessly over the edge of the outpost. The thirty-foot drop will certainly kill him.
Without even thinking, I pull my knife from its sheath and race across the length of the outpost. With every ounce of strength in my body, I stab the crazy straight in the heart.
The crazy’s eyes roll back in his head and he falls backward. I manage to wrench Jack from his grasp before the crazy plummets over the side of the outpost and hits the ground with a sickening squelch.
