by Morgan Rice
This doesn’t bode well. We will all be stuck together on that small landmass and forced to fight each other to the death, or fight each other to cross one of the bridges to get back to the mainland. Otherwise, there is no way out.
It is a cruel set up for an arena. All your opponents have to do is push you off the edge, and you’re dead. It leaves no room for error. None at all. And I don’t like heights.
Not to mention, no one’s given us any weapons. What is it they’ll expect us to do: fight to the death with our bare hands?
I gulp, worrying for Bree, for Logan, for Ben, even for Charlie. I’m not worried for Flo. Somehow, I feel she’s invincible.
The suspense builds as we are marched closer, and the crowd roars louder. As we get within feet of it, approach one of the bridges, a narrow rope bridge only a few feet wide, I can see over the edge. The drop-off is dizzying, at least a hundred feet. One slip will mean instant death.
“ Brooke, I’m scared,” Bree says beside me. She is looking out over the edge, and I grab her by the shoulder and pull her close.
“ Don’t look,” I say. “Just follow me. Stay close. You’ll be okay.”
A slaverunner prods me hard in the back, making me stumble, and this time, I’ve had enough: my reflexes kick in and I wheel around and shove him back. Immediately, another slaverunner steps up and backhands me hard across the face, then a third one shoves me again. I get the picture. I stop resisting, and continue forward with the others.
“ You’re wasting your energy,” Flo chides.
She’s right. I need to focus. I continue with the others, like sheep, as they prod us all onto one of the rope bridges. It sags and sways as they do, and I find myself grabbing on to the rope railing.
The crowd cheers as we all step foot on the bridge, herded towards the land mass in the center. I try not to look over the edge as the rope swings; it feels too flimsy to hold us. I reach down and hold Bree’s hand, and she dutifully holds my hand and the railing. Logan is limping, and Ben, behind me, to his credit, helps prop him. It is big of him to overcome his jealousy to help him. It’s strange: only a few days ago, those two were rivals. Now, they are helping each other.
Behind us, Flo walks, so stable that she doesn’t even need to hold the railing. She reaches out with one hand and grabs the back of Charlie’s shirt, by the neck, guiding him. She reminds me of a wolf, holding a pup in its mouth. Her game face is on, wearing a steely look of death, and I fear for anyone who gets in her way.
I step onto the land mass with relief, happy to be off the flimsy bridge. We are all herded towards the center of it. It is wider here than I thought, spanning about fifty yards at its widest. But dozens and dozens of kids are herded onto it, and soon it gets crowded. Everyone naturally flocks towards the center, as far away from the edges as they can get. The slaverunners, finished, turn and march across the bridge, back to the mainland. As they do, the crowd cheers again. Now we are alone out here.
We all stand here, dozens of us, huddled together in the center of this land mass, all nervous, unsure what to do.
Just as I’m wondering what will happen next, the crowd quiets. A path parts in the mob, and a group of slaverunners comes forward, bearing on their shoulders a huge, golden throne, borne by rods. On the throne sits a single man, with long hair, falling down to his shoulders. A long scar runs from the corner of his lip to his chin, making him look like he’s scowling. He stands and holds out his arms: he is huge, muscular, wearing a sleeveless vest, even in this cold. He looks like a mountain. I can’t tell his ethnicity: maybe a cross between Native American and Hispanic. He’s one of the fiercest looking men I’ve ever seen.
As he stands, the thousands of mutants fall silent. It is obvious that he is the leader.
“ Brothers and sisters, I present to you our newest batch of contestants!” he bellows out in his low voice.
The crowd goes crazy. They stand before a metal railing, waist high, at the edge of the canyon, and bang on it. A loud noise rises up, and I see that each of them holds a rock, which they bang on the metal.
The leader holds up his arms again, and the crowd quiets.
“ There are two ways to victory, contestants,” he says to us. “One is to make it back to the mainland. If you can cross a bridge and come back here, you will be safe forever. The other, of course, is to be the last one standing.”
The crowd roars.
The kids around me all turn, looking at the bridges or summing each other up, jittery. It is like being in a corral of horses before a storm.
The leader throws his arms wide one last time:
“ Let the death games begin!”
The crowd, screaming, bangs its rocks on the rail.
I run through in my mind Flo’s words. Stay away from the bridges. Stay close to the center. Nothing is what it seems.
Now I have a better idea of what she’s saying. But is it true advice? Or was she just lying to me to have an advantage?
Before I can figure it out, before I can strategize, suddenly, all hell breaks loose.
I feel something hard hit me on the side of my arm, and I wheel around to see that the hundreds of spectators are throwing rocks at us. Luckily, they’re far enough away that most of them miss. But a lot of rocks are landing close, and a second rock hits my leg. It hurts like hell.
Panic ensues. All around me, the dozens of kids gathered in the center begin to sprint for the bridges. They take off in all four directions, for the four equally spaced bridges around the circle, and I spot Bree begin to run with them. I reach out and grab her.
“ No,” I say. “Stay here.”
I can see on Ben’s face that he wants to run for it, too.
“ But you heard him!” Ben says frantically. “We have to make it to the mainland. We have to beat the others!”
“ No!” I yell back. I look over and see Flo standing still in the center, holding Charlie by the shoulders. I hope she knows what she’s doing.
“ But the rocks!” Logan yells, dodging one that narrowly misses his head.
Before I can respond, suddenly, I’m tackled hard from behind, and find my face planting on the ground.
I spin over to find one of the teenagers on top of me. He holds a rock up high over his head, a large, sharp rock, and begins to bring it down for my face. It is the boy from last night. The one that wanted to sleep with Bree.
He has me pinned down, and I can’t react in time. I flinch, as he brings it down.
Suddenly, right before he kills me, he stops in midair. His eyes open wide, frozen, and he collapses, limp, to the side.
I look over, and see a sharp rock jutting out the back of his neck, blood oozing from it.
I look up, and see Flo standing over him, scowling down.
“ Now we’re even,” she snaps.
I can’t believe it: she has just saved my life.
All around me in the chaos, not only are kids running for the bridges, not only are rocks flying in every direction, but also a group of kids has decided on another strategy: to kill the others.
I see one kid grab another from behind, and hurl him over the edge of the cliff. I hear him scream as he goes flying over, shrieking to his death. This same kid is grabbed from behind by another, and hurled himself. With another shriek, he plummets.
On the far side of the circle, I see another kid attacking others from behind; he kicks one hard in the back and sends him over the edge.
Another kid grabs a rock and smashes another kid in the back of the head. He collapses.
Now I realize that Flo was right. Stay in the center. Far from the edge. It makes sense. But why not run for the bridge?
I look over and see Flo lying face first on the ground, holding Charlie down. Before I can figure out why, another rock whizzes by my head, and I turn and realize the crowd has circled around, found a place that is in closer range. Now, tons of rocks hurl by us.
“ Get down!” I scream at the others.
Bree is slow to r
eact, so I reach out and grab her and pull her down in the dirt. It is lucky timing: a rock whizzes by where her head was moments ago. Logan grabs Ben and pulls him down, saving him, too, from a large rock aimed at his head.
I look up and see that one of the mercenary kids, having just hurled another kid off the cliff, turns and sets his sights on us, in the center. He charges, and I see he has his sights set on Bree.
I don’t wait. Even though rocks are whizzing overhead, I grab a large rock, stand, and charge him. I want to meet him mid-charge, before he gets anywhere near Bree. We charge each other, head on, and he swings his rock right for my face. I duck, and at the same time, smash my rock into his gut.
He drops to his knees and I smash his nose, breaking it. He collapses.
I feel footsteps charging me from behind, and realize, too late, that I left my back exposed. I turn just in time to see another one charging me and about to bring a rock down on the back of my head. I can’t react in time.
Suddenly, I hear a whizzing noise, and just as I prepare for the blow, instead I see the boy fall beside me. I look over and see Bree standing there, and realize she has thrown a rock with perfect aim, and hit him square in the head. It was a hell of a throw, and she saved my life. I’m impressed.
I run back over to Bree and hit the ground beside her.
The spectators cheer and scream, as they continue to throw rocks our way. Their scream morphs into an excited roar, and I look up and see the first group of kids has reached one of the bridges. A dozen of them stampede one of the rope bridges, all charging at once. They run across it single file. Soon they are halfway across, the bridge swaying wildly.
At the midway point, one of them gets the idea to attack the others; he grabs one kid from behind and throws him off the bridge. He plunges to his death, screaming. The bully grabs another one and tries to throw him-but this kid grabs the edge of the railing as he goes over, then reaches up and grabs the bully’s ankle and yanks him off with him. Together, the two of them go plunging down, screaming, to their deaths.
The dozen or so kids left on the bridge continue to run across it, getting close to the other side, to freedom. The spectators throw rocks like crazy, now aiming at them. One kid gets hit so hard that he loses his balance and falls plunging off the bridge.
But the others are making good time, and it looks like they’re going to make it. I can’t believe it was that easy. Was Flo wrong? Should we have went with them?
Then, everything changes. The crowd parts way as a group of slaverunners marches up, holding torches. Without hesitating, they hurry forward and set the rope bridge on fire. They then hurl the torches to the far side of the bridge, setting it on fire from both sides.
In moments, the rope bridge, destabilized, on fire from all directions, swings erratically. It is horrific. There is nowhere for these kids to go. Flames rise in both directions, and some of the kids are already on fire themselves. They scream and yell, trying to get the fire out, running over each other. But it is useless.
One of them jumps off the bridge, choosing suicide. Others try to put out the flames, but suddenly, the bridge collapses. The 10 or so of them left go plunging, all in flames, all screeching, down to their deaths.
The crowd cheers like crazy.
Flo was right. Her advice saved our lives.
I look over at the other three bridges, and now I wonder. A dozen kids are already charging onto one of the other bridges. They race onto it, stumbling over themselves, seeing who can get there quick enough.
But as they are halfway across, something goes horribly wrong. The ground is slipping away where the bridge was attached to the landmass. Roots and dirt go crumbling, then suddenly, one of the two ropes snaps.
The bridge swings wildly side to side and the kids all screech as they try to hold on. A few of them fall off.
Then, the other rope snaps. The bridge, attached only by the far side, goes swinging wildly, heading towards the cliff wall. Whichever kids manage to hang on go flying at full speed, smacking right into the wall. It is a horrific sound of breaking bone.
They drop like flies, plunging to their deaths, no one left.
All that remains of the bridge is a long line of rope, attached at the far end, going straight down the cliff. The crowd roars.
I look over at the other two bridges and wonder what could be in store. As I watch, a dozen kids race onto it, running at full speed, trying to cross. But they have just witnessed what happened on the other two bridges, and now they’re not so sure-they hesitate, stopping halfway, debating whether to go back. Some of them rush forward, stampeding the others, while others try to run back.
On the mainland, suddenly, the crowd parts and two slaverunners step forward with huge machetes. They raise them high, the crowd egging them on, and the kids on the bridge open their eyes wide in fear. They turn and try to make it back.
But it’s too late: the slaverunners bring down their machetes, cut the ropes. The bridge plummets and swings. All the kids go hurling and screaming, plunging to their deaths as the rope smashes into the rock wall of the land mass.
I turn away from the grisly sight. Aside from our small group, huddled on the floor in the center of the land mass, I look around and see there are now only about fifty of us left. The others lie on the ground, too, some covering their heads, all doing our best to avoid the hurling rocks. We all look over at the remaining bridge. It is our only way out. But it looks too good to be true. None of us seem to want to try. It is just another cruel trick? Do they want to see us all dead? Is there really no other way out?
The crowd cheers, and I see a huge, satisfied smile on the face of their leader. I wish I could kill them all.
“ Is that bridge a trick?” I ask Flo, who’s lying a few feet away from me.
“ What do you think?” she snaps back, cynical.
Of course, I know the answer myself. It can’t be that easy. Or could it? Maybe it’s some sort of sick reverse psychology.
Apparently, several of the other kids have the same idea. They suddenly jump to their feet and race for the final bridge. There must be ten of them, brave souls. They race for it at full speed, one of them tackling the other from behind as they go, apparently still thinking that killing each other off is the way to go. Another punches the other, and one throws another off the cliff.
The others continue to run, hit the bridge single file, and I’m shocked as I see them race across it easily, making good time. There’s nothing wrong with this bridge, and I’m kicking myself now. It looks like they will make it. They were the brave ones, the ones willing to risk when others weren’t-and they are being rewarded for it.
Then, everything goes wrong. The kids are only feet away from the mainland, when they all stop. I can’t understand why; they stand there, frozen, as if glued to the bridge.
As I look closely, as I hear their screams, I realize what has happened: thousands of small blades popped up from the bridge, through their feet, through their hands on the railings. The kids are pierced with knives, blood gushing from them as they are literally stuck to the bridge. I am so grateful we didn’t go for it.
I swallow hard, and look around. There are only about forty of us left. All the bridges are gone, and the crowd is screaming like crazy.
“Kill! Kill!” the crowd chants at us.
I look at our opponents, and they look back. At the same time, it seems to dawn on everybody that the only way left is to kill each other.
A wild look starts to come on the faces of the survivors, as I see them getting ready, grabbing rocks, preparing to fight. Then, it happens. Seemingly all at once, the forty or so kids jump to their feet, and charge each other. The crowd goes wild.
I jump to my feet, sheltering Bree, as kids charge and hand-to-hand fighting erupts all around us. I watch Flo step up, take a rock, and smash a boy in the face right before he can hit Charlie. Then Charlie reaches down, grabs a rock, and chucks it at a tall boy racing towards Flo. It is a perfect strike, ri
ght between the legs, and the boy drops to his knees, groaning. In the distance, I see a boy pick up a girl over his head, race towards the edge, and hurl her off the cliff. She goes down screaming.
The crowd is screaming like wild.
I suddenly feel someone approaching me from behind, and I turn and spot it just in time. A large boy charges and jumps up on my back. But I bend over as he does, and in one smooth motion, flip him. He lands flat on his back, the wind knocked out of him. I step up and kick him hard once in the face, knocking him out.
I see Ben tackled hard from behind, driven to the ground; Logan, beside him, reaches around and elbows the attacker in the back of the head, knocking him off Ben.
But then Logan himself is kicked, right in the ribs, and he keels over. A second boy jumps on Logan, pinning him down.
Bree picks up a huge rock and brings it down on the back of Logan’s attacker. He rolls off of him. I’m surprised by Bree’s fierceness.
Logan rolls onto his back. He breaks free of his second attacker, knees him in the gut, and throws him off. He then manages to reach around and grab him in a chokehold, choking him until he passes out.
Dozens more of kids are fighting all around us, and many more are racing our way. Rocks are still hurling through the air, and a rock from a spectator hits a kid hard in the temple, knocking him out. The crowd screams like wild.
I realize quickly that this is a no-win proposition. We can’t survive long like this. Soon, we’ll all be dead. There has to be another way out. There has to be. There has to be a way to reach the mainland without killing each other.
I look again at the four downed bridges, studying them-and suddenly, I see a pattern. Two of them-the way they collapsed. One was severed from our side, the rope still attached at the mainland, and one was severed from the mainland, the rope still attached to our land mass. The rope dangles straight down, like a ladder down to hell. I get an idea.
“ Follow me!” I scream to the others. “I see a way out!”
“ What are you talking about?” Flo screams.
