Arena 3

by Morgan Rice

  At last, the distance between us and Cleveland seems to grow. I can no longer make out the buses, and the tops of the buildings disappear over the horizon. The only thing that’s left in my sightline is the roof of the huge arena.

  Just as the waves begin to lessen, the engine of the boat finally splutters to death. We’re sitting ducks again. Only at least this time we’re nowhere near the dangerous city of Cleveland. Instead, we’re closer now to the northern bank of Lake Erie. From here we can see the derelict city of Detroit. It’s another grand city reduced to nothing more than rubble. I shiver, desperate to make it to Toledo soon and put the danger and horror of mass destruction behind us.

  But I have a feeling it’s only just beginning.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “So this is Toledo,” I say, looking around at the decaying harbor we’ve landed in.

  Finally, we touch the shore and disembark. It feels strange to be back on solid ground after so long at sea. I am not sure whether I am relieved to be off the violent waters, or anxious to be back on dry land.

  I look around. Toledo is more or less intact, but completely empty. It’s a ghost town, eerie in the pale morning light. The place is so thoroughly deserted, I can’t help but think slaverunners must have been through here, picking off all the survivors. The thought makes me shudder.

  Zeke consults the map. “It’s this way,” he says, pointing ahead.

  We all stop and turn and look at the boat. I have mixed feelings, knowing we are abandoning it. I can only hope and pray we find the train soon. And I can’t help but feel a sense of victory that we made it this far by water.

  We turn and walk. We trek down a narrow road, tall trees growing on either side. There are young tree saplings that have clearly grown since the war because they look healthy and untamed. But the road itself has been ravaged by bombs. Every few steps we pass another crater, another burnt out car, and bits of twisted metal all over the asphalt from an explosion that ripped vehicles right apart from its force. Nature has attempted to reclaim the road. Tufts of grass spring out of cracks, and vines twist around street signs, hydrants, and lamps.

  After a while, we turn onto a main road. Here there are houses dotted either side of the road, the wood siding rotting and falling off in places, their front gardens completely overgrown. Some of the houses have endured fires and have huge black smoke marks above the grubby windows. Others look almost completely intact, the bombs that fell here missing their properties by mere feet.

  We pass a gas station, with a raggedy American flag still blowing in the wind. There are rusted trucks sitting in the parking lot, abandoned. We check them all for gas, to see whether we can use them to reach our destination more quickly, but they’ve all already been siphoned. It’s a sign that people lived around here after the war long enough to scavenge, but there’s no one to be seen now. No sign that anyone’s set foot on this road, in this part of America, for years and years and years.

  Beyond exhausted, we trek all day. Finally, night begins closing in. We’re all famished. The only upside is that there have been no more attacks from crazies, and no sightings of wild animals, despite the Toledo zoo being just a few blocks from where we’re heading. I’ll never forget the time I came face to face with a wild lion that had broken free from Central Park Zoo. It’s an experience I hope never to repeat.

  The air is heavy with dust. The houses become more dense, as does the destruction. There are whole streets where the front parts of the buildings have been blown off, like the door to a doll’s house being taken off and exposing the whole house inside. Each house tells the same story: of everything of worth being looted, of the building being left in disrepair with wallpaper peeling from the walls, plaster and wiring falling from the ceiling, the stairs caved in, of nature trying to reclaim what was taken from it. Rats have nested in the old family homes, as have birds.

  I’m on even greater alert here than before. Anywhere that was once more populated is more dangerous. Not only are there more places to hide but there’s more chance that people survived the war and got left behind. At least there’s no sign of slaverunner activity. I’m certain that this area must have been amongst the first to be raided by the slaverunners. They probably haven’t been here for years now, discarding the place after taking what they needed, leaving a ghost town in their wake.

  Finally, I see the huge rust-colored bridge where the train tracks pass over the roads. For the first time in a long time, I let a flicker of hope lift my spirits. I even find enough strength in my limbs to run.

  “Guys, come on, this way,” I call to the others.

  With tired, heavy footsteps, we dash across the last bit of open land and into the train yard. But the moment we get a clear view of the station and tracks, my stomach sinks with disappointment. The whole place is destroyed. Explosions have melted the metal of the tracks and twisted them up at strange angles. The train cars that were on the tracks must have been blasted off, because they lie on their sides, scattered across the yard.

  And of course, there is no coal.

  They’ve all been looted.

  I’m devastated by the sight I see before me. The Commander’s historic map was right, it led us on the right path to the right place, but we’re here years too late. The map has led us to a place that’s been completely obliterated. The only things still standing are the bridge across the road and the small metal station house.

  Molly is the first to speak.

  “Now what?”

  It’s a good question and one I can’t answer. When we left Fort Noix, there was no plan B.

  “We’ll need to find another vehicle,” I say.

  “Way to state the obvious,” Molly says. “But we’ve been checking pretty much every car we’ve passed. There’s nothing.”

  I really don’t appreciate her attitude right now.

  “We can’t stand here,” Ben says.

  He’s right. Darkness is crowding in on us, and that means danger is getting ever closer. Slaverunners, crazies, escaped animals, if they wanted to attack, now would be the time to do it, while we’re all standing here in the middle of an open train yard.

  I look back at the ragtag bunch of followers. Bree and Charlie are clasping hands with each other. They look completely exhausted, with dark circles under their eyes and downturned mouths. Molly appears to be fuming, but getting angry and hostile has always been her reaction to negative experiences. Ben looks frantic. Even Zeke, the only actual adult here, looks like a tired, vulnerable infant. Ryan’s the only one who looks like he has any fight left in him at all.

  I realize then that they’re all looking to me. They need me to tell them what to do, to make the decisions, to lead them.

  “Let’s head for the train station,” I say, agreeing with Ben. “We can hide out there until we figure out what to do.”

  We begin walking past the rail yard toward the small station house. Zeke leads the way, zigzagging through the fallen train cars, assuming the position of leader just like he used to when we had our meetings. But leading a discussion around a table and leading a mission are two completely different things. He’s not being cautious enough, just plowing ahead. Some instinct tells me to reach for my gun.

  All at once, there’s an almighty noise of screeching metal. Everyone freezes as one of the train carriages ahead of us appears to start moving. It rocks side to side, light glittering off the metal, and in the darkness, I can see movement coming from under it. Like a swarm of ants under an overturned log, crazies start crawling out of the train carriage.

  I don’t have any time to think. I start to fire straightaway. Ryan takes up his firearm, his gunshots joining the cacophony of noise. Beside me, Ben and Molly start shooting too.

  The crazies surge forward, charging at the closest target: Zeke.

  “Run!” Molly shouts.

  We run, jumping over bits of blown-up train carriage, dashing across the yard. The only place that offers any kind of protection in the near vicin
ity is the station house, and that means racing round the perimeter of the yard in a full circle. It’s impossible to go straight ahead because that’s where the mass is coming from.

  Without question, everyone follows me.

  “Don’t look back!” I shout.

  Then I hear a scream, one that makes my bones turn to ice. It’s Bree.

  I don’t even stop to think. I turn on the spot.

  “Brooke! What are you doing?” Molly cries, coming up to me, trying to shove me on.

  But it’s no use. I barge past her easily and run back to where Bree is right at the back of the group. The crazies are so close to her they’re barely an arm’s length away.

  Like a relay race runner preparing to receive the baton, I stretch my hand back for her and get in a stance ready to run. She sees me and stretches her hand forward. The second her fingers make contact with me, I yank her forward, pulling her with me. We pelt across the yard, heading for the station house where the others have already made it.

  “Run! Brooke, run!” they’re all screaming from the door.

  I can hear the sound of hundreds of crazies’ footsteps pounding after me. There’s so many of them I can smell their odor, feel the heat coming from their skin. Bree stumbles as she runs beside me, but I won’t let her fall.

  We’re almost there. Fifteen feet. Ten feet. Five feet.

  Then we catapult in through the open door and collapse onto the ground. Ben slams the door shut behind us, locking it with bolts. We hear the sound of the crazies as they blast into the side of the building, thudding one after the other.

  Bree and I sit up, panting. She clasps onto me just like she used to when it was just the two of us in the mountains. We hold each other close in the center of our group. Everyone’s huddled into the middle of the room, looking out at the windows, where the silhouettes of the crazies bob around, banging their fists against the glass.

  We’re completely surrounded.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The sound of pounding is like a drum in my brain. The dogs are barking feverishly.

  We’re trapped in the station house. I’m still clutching Bree in the middle of the dark room, sitting on the dusty floorboards. My friends seem frozen with fear around me. The same thoughts must be running through all of our minds: this is the end, this is how we die.

  The fear I’m feeling is so consuming, I don’t even realize that Bree is trying to break free from my clasp.

  “Brooke,” she’s saying. “Brooke, look, look there.”

  Finally I let her go and turn to see where she is pointing. She scrabbles up from me and rushes over to a small hatch in the ground. I have no idea how she managed to see it in the dim light, but the relief as I pull it open and see stairs leading down into blackness is all consuming.

  “Quick,” I shout at everyone.

  Ryan is the first to rush over. He races down the ladder, disappearing into the blackness. Molly gestures for Bree and Charlie to go next, ushering them in, then dropping down after them. Zeke is quick to follow.

  Ben appears, his gun drawn and pointing at the door as he edges backward.

  “Brooke, go,” he says. “I’ll cover you.”

  But some sense of responsibility is stopping me from saving myself first. It would be like a captain abandoning a sinking ship.

  “You first,” I cry out. “Come on.”

  I grab him by the shirt and pull him toward the hole. Just as he starts descending, one of the windows smashes. I flinch at the noise and turn to see crazies climbing over one another in their haste to get to me.

  “Brooke!” Ben screams up from the hole.

  I clamber onto the ladder, pulling the heavy wooden trapdoor down with one hand and fumbling with my gun with the other. I get out four shots at the advancing crazies before disappearing into the hole and yanking the trapdoor firmly into place.

  From below, the hands of my friends reach for me. I’m lifted clean off the ladder by Zeke and Ben, and set on the ground. Above us, the crazies pound on the trap door.

  My heart beats wildly as I look around. Molly’s lit her flashlight and is shining it around, lighting up the place. We’re in a tunnel, stretching on as far as the eye can see. It seems like some kind of storage place, with wooden crates stacked haphazardly around. It’s made of brick and is dank, molded with mildew. It stinks of rat and death down here.

  Though we have no idea where it is leading us, we have no choice to but to follow the tunnel. The crazies will get through the trapdoor sooner or later. Going forward is the only way to avoid certain death.

  We run through the tunnel as fast as we can, our flashlights lighting the way, bouncing and making shadows dance all around us in a crazy flashing pattern. It’s like we’re in some kind of nightmare discotheque.

  From the other end of the tunnel, the way we’d just come, we hear the sound of cracking wood, followed by thuds as the crazies drop through the trapdoor to the ground. Once again, the hunt is on. I can only pray that there isn’t more danger at the other end of this tunnel.

  I can hear the crazies’ footsteps gaining on us. My whole body is tense, pumping with adrenaline. I don’t want to die down here in this dark, smelly tunnel.

  As my feet pound against the cement floor, I feel something brush past my leg. My first instinct is a rat, but it was far too big for that. It’s then that I realize Jack is heading back the way we came, running straight for the crazies. Penelope is running right after him, eager to join the fight too. I turn my flashlight on them and see them both baring their fangs, aiming for the crazies’ throats. The sight is so gruesome it turns my stomach. I’m also terrified for their safety. They’re both so small and fragile in comparison to the crazies.

  I fire off some rounds of ammunition to help out, but I know it’s not enough. If I want to stop the crazies from pursuing us, I’ll have to think of something drastic.

  “Guys!” I shout ahead. “We need to create a blockade with the crates.”

  “We can’t stop!” Zeke shouts back. “They’re too close.”

  But I know we’re not going to make it if we keep running. We still can’t see the end of the tunnel. We don’t even know what’s at the end of it. It could be leading us to a brick wall for all we know.

  Ignoring his warning, I start knocking the crates with my arm as I go. They tumble down to the ground, splintering and spilling their contents onto the floor. Coal. Stacks and stacks of it. Seeing it gives me my second burst of inspiration.

  I keep knocking down the crates, hoping that the crazies will find it harder to reach us with the obstacles in the way. At the same time I rip a strip of cloth from my uniform, hold it between my teeth, and fumble in my bag for matches. Finally, I find them. I light the end of the fabric, stop, turn, and throw it into the strewn coal and splintered wood. The splinters act like kindling and the fire spreads quickly. But it’s too low. The heat might slow the crazies but it’s not enough to stop them.

  Jack and Penelope dart toward us, sprinting past the fire and back to the group. They’ve managed to cause a lot of damage between them, but there are still crazies standing and they’re getting very close. I grab one of the crates and throw it with all my might at the fire.

  The others finally realize what I’m doing. They all stop too, quickly building a waist-high barricade with spare crates. The fire catches, and at last we have a barrier. Some of the crazies run straight into it, setting themselves alight.

  “Come on,” I say. “Let’s keep going.”

  We leave the flaming barricade behind us and sprint along the tunnel. Jack is right by my heel and I’m so grateful for his bravery back there. He slowed the crazies down long enough for me to collect my thoughts and come up with a plan.

  Smoke is starting to thicken in the tunnel as more and more coal starts to smolder. It’s thick, making it difficult to breathe. The kids start coughing.

  “We have to get out of here!” I yell.

  “I can see a ladder!” Zeke shouts
from up ahead.

  We all hurry toward him and see a rusty, half falling apart metal ladder screwed into the wall, leading up to a round metal cover. It’s a manhole, presumably leading out to the streets of Toledo.

  Zeke’s up it quicker than I can blink, slamming his shoulder into the cover at the top. It opens and cold evening air blasts us. He disappears out the top, then his face reappears.

  “Come on!” Zeke cries, holding his hand down.

  We pass up Charlie and Bree. Molly starts climbing, with Penelope under one arm. The ladder groans under her weight. The screws in the wall seem loose and they rattle with every step she makes.

  “Brooke,” Ben says. “You’re the lightest, you should go next.”

  I look from him to Ryan. I can’t go up knowing one of them will be last, that the ladder might not hold out for one of them and send the other plunging to his death. But I don’t get a choice, because Ryan suddenly sweeps me up in his arms and shoves me onto the first rung. He pushes from behind, and I have no choice but to climb.

  I grab Zeke’s outstretched hand and he yanks me up into the street through the hole. The cold air shocks me after the stuffy, stinking, smoky tunnel. I start coughing, and Bree runs over, flinging her arms around me. But it’s not over yet. Ben and Ryan are still down there, down in that horrible, dark place.

  Black, acrid smoke billows out the hole as I race over beside Zeke and stretch my hand down. Jack is shoved into my arms by Ryan. I heave him out and plop him down behind me. He runs over to Penelope and Bree for some much needed pampering.

  Ben is next. I help pull him from the hole. He’s completely soot covered, his face streaked with black, looking like a miner emerging from the mines. But as he pops out the hole, the ladder screeches and disintegrates behind him.

  “Ryan!” I scream, as twisted bits of metal fall down around him, clattering to the ground.

  From the bottom of the hole, Ryan looks up at me, looking lost and terrified.