Arena 3

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.

My blood-soaked knife clatters to the floor, and then, all at once, quiet descends. I stand there panting, Jack whimpering in my arms, the warm blood of the crazy dripping down my face. Slowly, I turn back to face the other guards.

They’re all looking at me in disbelief, as though they can hardly comprehend what I just did. I can’t tell if they’re scared of me or in awe of me, but the main thing is that my secret life as a killer can no longer be hidden.

I cradle Jack in my arms then slowly approach Ryan. I place the dog in his arms. His cocky expression has completely gone. His arrogance seems to have faded, too, leaving behind a stunned and slightly alarmed expression.

“Thank you,” he says, quietly. But I think what he really means is, “I get it now.” For the first time he understands what sort of world we really live in, and what sort of person it has made me.

Everyone else seems too stunned to move. I feel I have no choice but to take control of the situation.

“We should report back to the Commander,” I say, trying to hide the tremor in my voice. “That attack wasn’t accidental. It was planned. That means there might be more to come.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Twilight is breaking by the time we make it back to the fort. Up ahead I see a group of guards who must have returned from guard duty before us sitting around a bonfire, chatting away without a care in the world. They begin whispering when they notice us trudging wearily toward them.

A tall, lanky man with a goatee comes up to us.

“What happened to you lot?” he says, smirking.

“A breach,” Molly explains.

Immediately, the man’s expression changes. “What do you mean?”

“We were attacked,” Ryan adds. “By a group of crazies.”

The rest of the group begins to take notice of the conversation. They stand up from their positions around the bonfire and come over, listening intently, looks of concern on their faces.

“Did anyone get hurt?” the man with the goatee asks.

Ryan shakes his head. “Thankfully not. But if it hadn’t been for Brooke, there might have been fatalities.”

I shift uncomfortably as everyone’s attention turns to me, the stranger, taking in the sight of my blood-splattered uniform. But rather than looking scared of me like the others who’d seen me kill the crazy at the outpost, they look at me with respect. People start congratulating me, clapping me on the shoulder. Zeke, the man with the goatee, salutes me.

I can’t believe it. I’d been so worried about people finding out about me being a killer and judging me for it, it’s quite a relief for it all to be out in the open. I can’t remember the last time I felt accepted like this.

“Someone get this girl a drink!” Zeke says, before adding, “We don’t have liquor, I’m afraid, so I hope you like mint tea.”

“That sounds great,” I say, but I’m still in fight-or-flight mode. “But we should report to the Commander.”

Zeke shakes his head and rests a hand on my arm. “Don’t. It will just make him more paranoid.”

“But…” I begin, but he interrupts me.

“Honestly,” he says, passing me a mint tea. “The Commander is becoming more and more isolated. We take in fewer survivors every year. To be honest, I’m surprised he even let you guys stay. We’ve kicked kids out younger than you before. If he knows the attack came so soon after you arrived, he’ll probably blame it on you, saying you led them here. So if I were you, I wouldn’t give him more reasons to turn people away.”

The heat from the tea seeps into my skin as his words seep into my mind. It hadn’t occurred to me that not everyone within Fort Noix would be on board with the way the Commander chooses to run things. But, like the Forest Dwellers I saw earlier, it seems as though not everyone is happy with how things work here, with the Commander’s stance on not taking in outsiders. My gut instinct back when I’d met him in his office earlier this morning had been revulsion – to not take in outsiders is the equivalent of sentencing them to death. But then I’d gotten so caught up in it all, in being a guard, in protecting this precious place, that I’d let myself forget how cruel that policy really is.

Just then, I hear a voice calling me from far away.

“Brooke!”

It’s Bree. I turn and see her running along the path toward me, Charlie just a few steps behind. Neena walks a little way behind them both with Penelope on a lead. Some of the girls and women from our house are walking beside her, and the boys from Ben’s house are also coming toward the bonfire.

Bree reaches me, flies into my arms, and hugs me tightly. I hold her close.

“What happened?” she cries, moving out of the embrace. “You were gone for hours. I was worried.”

I smile at her reassuringly. “I’m OK.”

“Is Jack okay?” Bree asks, bending down to stroke the pit bull at Ryan’s feet.

“He’s fine,” Ryan says to Bree, but his eyes are locked on me. “Thanks to Brooke.”

Over Bree’s crouched figure, Ryan’s smoldering eyes burn into me. Before, I wasn’t sure what he thought about me, but now I do. He admires me. My stomach flutters at the thought.

“Where’s Ben?” Charlie asks.

Immediately, I feel guilty for letting myself feel anything toward Ryan at all. I glance around, searching for Ben. I see him sitting on a bench, alone, beside the fire. He looks just as lost back at the fort as he did out in the forest.

“There he is,” I say to Charlie. “Why don’t you go and get him some tea?”

“I’ll get it,” Ryan says, his intense gaze still fixed on me.

I falter. “Okay… thanks.”

I watch, my stomach roiling, as he disappears into the crowd.

Bree grabs my hand and drags me toward the bonfire. Charlie follows, and the three of us sit down beside Ben. Despite the danger we’ve just been in, we’re all still overjoyed to be at Fort Noix. To be warm, clothed, and cared for. To be amongst allies. But Zeke has planted a seed of doubt in my mind. Is it enough for just us to be warm, clothed, and cared for? Is it okay to sit on our laurels when others like us die out in the wilderness at the hands of slaverunners, biovictims, and crazies?