I wake with a splitting headache. The entire right side of my face is swollen, and I can feel a huge lump on my head. The pain is so strong that for once, I don't feel the hunger, or the cold. It feels like a combination of a really bad hangover, and having been punched hard in the face.

That is when I remember: the slaverunners. Our fight. That boot coming down on my face.

In a sudden panic, I try to figure out where I am. I hear the familiar sound of the train moving on the tracks and feel an icy wind blowing in, and I realize I'm back in the same train car. Except now, things are different: I'm lying on my side, on the floor, and as I try to move my hands and feet, I realize I'm bound. My hands are tied tightly together behind my back with a coarse linen rope, and my feet are tied at the ankles. I squirm, try to move, but cannot. The rope cuts into my skin hard. They have tied it well.

I lift my head, looking all around, desperately trying to see who else is in here with me. I look first for Bree. There are several bodies strewn about the car floor, and at first, I can't tell who is who. There are at least ten of us in here. We're now just like first group that was thrown in here: bound. Helpless.

I'm flooded with panic as I wonder if Bree is still with me, if she's dead or alive. I look all around, in every direction, moving my body as best I can, and finally, with relief, I spot her. She is bound, too, lying there. I'm relieved that she's here, and even more relieved to see that her eyes are open, and she's staring back at me. Rolled up against her stomach is Penelope, shaking, cowering.

"Bree? Are you okay?"

She nods back, but her eyes are opened wide, and I can see the fear in her face.

"Are you hurt?" I ask. I survey her body, see no signs of injury, and as she shakes her head no, I feel even more relieved. We're lucky. I killed several of them. And all they did was bound me and the others in return.

But as I think about it, I realize maybe we are not so lucky. If they chose to bind us, to take us somewhere, instead of kill us, there must be a good reason. And that can only mean that they're bringing us somewhere to torture us. Or to use as sport. Or worse: to make us fight in another arena.

My stomach drops at the thought of it. I look around in the car, and I spot Ben and Logan, both bound. I also look over the other kids, everyone bound, lying on the floor, not moving. I can't believe I have ended up in this position again. A prisoner. I can't imagine being brought to another arena. I close my eyes for a moment at the pain, trying to block it all out.

The train ride gets bumpy, my head hits the hardwood, and jolts me awake. I realize I've drifted off.

Suddenly, I hear a loud banging on the car door. I'm confused, because the train is still moving. The banging comes again, from both sides, like hail smashing against the wood.

I roll over, up against the car door, and lift my neck, peering through the slats. I can't believe what I see.

The train slows as we enter the remnants of a city. It is a vast place, the buildings burnt out, just piles of rubble. The streets are filled with garbage, refuse, and to my surprise: people. Mutants. Biovictims. Their faces are warped and melted, their bodies emaciated. They look crazed, as if an entire mental asylum had let all its prisoners at once. They look as if they'd tear us to pieces if they could. For once, I'm happy that these train doors are bolted shut.

Mobs of them start hobbling towards the train, throwing rocks at us as we go. Some come right up to the door, slamming it with sticks. They are chanting and screaming, and I'm trying to understand what is happening.

As we pass through the city, through block after block, I realize we are being taken somewhere for these peoples' enjoyment. That we are the sport. The sound of objects striking the car is deafening.

I try to figure out what city we're in. We've been going so far north, for so long, I am guessing we must be far upstate New York. As I look out, at the city outline, I think I recognize what was once Buffalo. I see rivers in the distance, crisscrossing through the city, and am surprised to see several motorboats on them. Slaverunner boats, well-guarded, dozens of soldiers, everywhere.

That tells me something. We are being brought to them. And that can only mean one thing: a new arena.

The banging grows so loud that I fear they will smash our car doors in. At just that moment, our train suddenly dips down, like a roller coaster ride. I feel my stomach plunge. Suddenly, the city goes black. The tracks have descended, have dipped down into a tunnel, beneath the city. Now all I see are the red emergency lights of the tunnel, which we pass every twenty feet or so. Our destination can't be far.

I roll across the car, beside Bree. I want to make sure she is okay.

"It's okay Bree," I reassure. "Just stay close to me. Do you understand? Whatever happens, just stay close to me."

She nods back, and I can see she's trying to be brave, but she's nodding through silent tears.

Suddenly, the train stops. There comes the sound of our car being unbolted, the lock slid back.

Penelope barks.

"Go Penelope!" Bree screams.

She looks back at Bree and whines, not wanting to leave.

"GO! RUN! ESCAPE!" Bree screams fiercely.

Penelope finally listens, and just as the car door is opening, she turns and bolts, jumping out. She goes so fast, she flies under the radar of the slaverunners, disappears beneath the tracks. I hope she runs far from here.

We are not so lucky. Several pair of steel boots step up, into the car, and I look up, and see the faces, through the masks, staring down.

Now, we are at their mercy.

*

A slaverunner walks right for me and takes out a huge knife. I lay there, bound and helpless, and close my eyes, expecting him to stab me. I brace myself. The knife gets closer, and he leans over, and I see the blade coming down. I flinch.

But to my surprise, he doesn't cut me; instead, he slips the knife between my feet and slices the rope binding my ankles together. All around me, slaverunners are doing the same to the others. They want us to walk. They are taking us somewhere.

I'm hoping they will also free the ropes on my wrist, but I'm not so lucky. A slaverunner grabs me from behind, by the back of my shirt, and pulls me roughly to my feet. It feels good to be standing again, and I rub my ankles together, trying to soothe the rope burn. The ropes are still way too tight my wrist, bounding my shoulders, and while I can walk, I can barely move otherwise.

The slaverunners take the gags out of the other prisoners' mouths, as well. As soon as they do, a girl a couple years younger than me, cries out, frantic.

"Where are you taking us!? Where are we going? Where are we?"

A slaverunner reaches out and backhands her hard across the face. She cries out and falls back, crashing into some empty boxes. Another slaverunner yanks her to her feet.

Lesson learned. Don't talk back.

We are herded off the train, and down onto the floor of the train tunnel. My boots crunch on the gravel. At least it is dry here, no snow. But it is dark, lit only by the emergency bulbs, and it is cold, drafts whipping through the empty tunnels. We are all herded together, and I make sure I stay close to Bree. We are poked and prodded and we begin marching down the tunnel, going deeper into the blackness. I wonder where they are taking us.

We are pushed and shoved down tunnel after tunnel, a ragtag group, scores of slaverunners behind and in front of us. I walk with Bree on one side and Logan and Ben on the other. Logan is suffering, I can see, limping badly on his leg, and Ben and I do our best to prop him up between us. The other captives march like sheep, not even trying to resist.

We turn a bend, and stop before a stone wall. Before it is a single torch, and beneath that, I can barely make out the outline of a steel door. A slaverunner steps forward, unlocks it, and yanks it open.

I'm kicked hard in the small of my back and go flying, with the rest of the group, tumbling into the room. I land hard on the ground, rolling in the dusty, dirty floor, then hear the steel door slammed behind me.

But my hands are bound so tightly behind my back, it is hard for me to get leverage to get back on my feet. I lie there, beside Bree and Logan and the others, and look up, trying to figure out where we are.

We are in a huge, cavernous room, the walls lit by torches, high up. It is like a large cave. The first thing I notice is the noise. And the second is movement.

I look up, blinking dust out of my eyes, and see dozens of people swarming about the room. Kids. We are the only ones tied down, the new kids, thrown down on the floor.

As I watch, several of the other kids race forward towards us, and suddenly start kicking the teenage girl on the ground a few feet away from me. She cries out, as they kick her in every direction. Several kids get down and start rifling through her pockets, looking for whatever scraps they can find.

Just as I'm about to cry out in protest, I feel a kick, hard in my stomach. I look up and see a kid standing over me. I feel others rummaging through my pockets. Then I feel another kick.

I buckle like crazy, trying to break free, but my hands are bound tightly. I manage to swing around and with my free foot, kick one of them hard in the face: a scraggly boy, around 15. I connect hard on his jaw, and he goes down. But I immediately get another kick in my ribs. There are just too many of them.

I look over at Bree, and see, thankfully, that they haven't reached her yet. But as I watch I see a boy ran up behind her, maybe 11, with sandy brown hair and green eyes. Even in this light, I can't help noticing that he looks different than the others - noble, intelligent, kind. He is good looking, too, with freckles spread across his face.

So I'm surprised to see him pull out a knife, with that sweet angelic face of his, and aim it right at Bree's exposed back.

"BREE!" I scream out desperately.

As I watch, from several feet away, the boy lowers his knife and, to my surprise, slashes the ropes bounding her wrists. He is freeing her.

I feel another kick in my ribs, right before I see Bree yell to him: "Free her!" pointing at me.

The boy slips in between the others, and a moment later, I feel the knife cutting the ropes off my wrists.

That is all I need. A moment later, I jump to my feet and tackle the person in front of me hard, a 17-year-old, skinny boy. I drive him back several feet, and slam him down hard on the ground, knocking the wind out of him. I jump to my feet, spin around, and kick another boy hard in the face, knocking him out.

Then I spin again, like a wild woman, ready to face the others.

But now that I am freed, and have inflicted some damage, the others seem wary of me. Of the dozen or so, only one steps forward to challenge me. A boy, missing an eye, maybe 15, but wide and fat. He scowls as he charges, reaching up with his dirty palm to smack me across the face.

I dodge at the last second, and he goes world whizzing past me. As he does, I lean back and kick him hard in the small of the back. He goes flying forward, face first, and lands on his fat stomach. Not taking any chances, I run up behind him, and kick him hard between the legs while he's down. He groans in pain, and stops moving.

I turn to face the others, but now, they are afraid. They all back off, starting to dissipate. I see that Logan and Ben are still tied down and I hurry over to them, looking for the boy that freed us. I don't know who he is, where he went, or why he did it - but now I can't find him. I stand over them protectively, and the other kids in the room back away.

I realize that these other kids are prisoners, just like us. I can't understand why they'd welcome us like this.

"They do this with all the newbies," comes a voice.

I turn to see the boy standing there, holding the knife.

"They're just trying to raid you. To take what they can. And to test you. After all, you're their competition. They want to show you who's boss."

"Competition?" Bree asks, stepping forward.

I can see by the way she's staring at this boy that she likes him. And I can see by the way he stares back that he likes her, too. He lowers his knife.

I hurry over to him. "Can I borrow that?" I ask.

He looks at me warily, reluctant to let his weapon go.

I gesture to Ben and Logan, still tied up on the ground. The boy turns, not wanting to give up his knife, and instead hurries over to them himself and cuts their ropes.

Ben quickly gains his feet; he is shaken, but not hurt badly. Logan, though, just turns over. I can see from the pain in his face that is unable to make his feet. His swollen leg looks worse.

It is warmer in here, much warmer than outside. With all the body heat in this room, and all the torches, it must be close to 60 in here. I welcome the reprieve; we need to thaw out. It's not good for Logan's leg, though. I can't help but think of Rose, of how she ended up. I pray to God the same fate does not await Logan. It's so strange to look at him now, lying there, so helpless - when just days ago he was our beacon of strength, the backbone of our mission.

"Yes, your competition," the boy continues, returning to Bree's side. "Think you're down here alone?"

"Where's here?" I ask. "Where are we?"

"You're in the cage, just like all of us. We're the entertainment now. Tomorrow, the games begin. You'll be in it, just like the rest of us. We'll all die together."

I turn and survey the room, look at all the faces. They're all kids, teenagers, just like us. They're all emaciated, survivors, rounded up from the countryside by the slaverunners. Some look sicker than others. Only a few of them are anywhere near fit. I realize with a sinking feeling that we are heading back into another arena, will soon be made to fight to the death. To kill one of the kids in this room.

I only spot one person who seems strong, and I'm surprised to see it's a girl. About my age, my height - but with a more muscular build than me. In fact, she's almost built like a bodybuilder. She wears tight, camouflage pants and a tattered green shirt, and for some reason she stands across the room, her back against a wall, and stares right at me with her big black eyes. It is a piercing, intense stare, and I wonder what I've done to get on her bad side. She looks like a formidable opponent.

"Don't be scared of her," the boy says, catching my look. "That's my sister."

I turn look at the boy, and see no resemblance.

"She's just watching out for me."

I turn and look down at the boy, and remember how he helped us. I'm so grateful.

"Thank you for saving us," I say.

He smiles back and shrugs. He is cute, innocent, with his freckles across his nose.

Brooke approaches him. "Yeah, thanks," she echoes.

He turns and looks at her, and smiles back, seeming to be transfixed by her.

She looks away, and I could swear that I see her cheeks flush.

"Want to introduce us to your sister?" I ask.

"Sure," he says.

There's a sweetness to this boy, a happy-go-lucky attitude, that surprises me, as if he is unfazed by all of this.

As we turn and follow him, Ben and I dragging Logan. Bree hurries up and walks alongside him.

"What's your name?" he asks her.

Bree turns and looks at me, as if for permission, and I nod back.

"Bree," she says. "What's yours?"

"Charlie," he says, holding out his hand.

Bree waits a moment, then shakes it.

"Charlie," she says. "That's a funny name."

"Why?" he asks.

"I don't know, it just is."

"My sister is going to be mad," he says to me, as we get closer. "I'm just warning you. She gets mad when I talk to people. Especially if I help them. She wants us to keep to ourselves."

We get closer, and she comes into view, standing beneath a torch: she stands against a wall, arms crossed, and with her sleeveless shirt, I can see her huge muscles bulging in her shoulders and arms. She looks like a rock, like part of the wall itself. She's a humorless person, with a warrior's face. The opposite of her little brother. He was right: she is scowling.

"Get over here," she snaps at Charlie.

He hurries over, and stands at her side, facing us.

"Your brother saved us," I say to her. "Thank you."

"He should've let you die," she says.

She scowls back, meaning every word of it.

I am surprised by her response. I've never met such a hard person; she's harder than Logan ever was.

"We're not running a charity here. It's every man for himself. And if I have to kill each one of you in the games, I will," she says. "Don't think that you're getting on my good side."

"I don't even know what the games are," I say.

She stares back, cold. "You will."

"Don't be so mean to them, Flo," Charlie says.

"What games?" Ben asks, stepping forward.

She surveys him, looking him up and down, coldly summing up the competition. She looks like she decides he isn't worth the bother.

"The reason we're down here," she says. "We're bait. Everyone dies."

"Except for you!" Charlie chimes in proudly. "Tell them! She's the only who ever survived. This is her second go."

I survey her with a new respect. Somehow, I'm not surprised.

But her scowl only deepens.

"I'm not stupid enough to think that means I'll survive again. The new arena starts tomorrow. They'll watch us kill each other, until they're satisfied. Winning didn't get me anywhere. I'm right back here, where I started. There is no prize for the winner. Just a prolonged death."

"What about escape?" I ask.

She stares at me as if that's the dumbest idea in the world.

"Don't you think if it was that easy I would've done it already?"

We stand there, in the gloomy silence, and I ponder this news. It is bleak. She's right: if there were a way out, I'm sure she would have found it. We are stuck.

"Or someone else would have," Flo adds. "They bring in this riffraff by the trainloads. This rooms is always filling with them. I hate them. I hate them all. They're so stupid. They don't realize what's ahead of them. Some of them try to escape. They don't get far. It doesn't really matter: we're all going to do either way. In here or out there."

I look over and see Charlie sneaking behind his sister; he reaches out and hands Bree something furtively. She reaches out and grabs it.

"Charlie don't!" screams Flo, slapping his hand hard. But it's too late. He is caught red-handed, as he gives Bree a small piece of chocolate.

"What's the matter with you!?" she snaps at him.

"I just want to give her a small piece," he says.

"These people don't care about us," she scolds.

Charlie looks down, in shame.

You're wrong, I want to say. I do care about you. And especially about Charlie, who I already love like a brother. I will have a soft spot in my heart for him forever for helping us, and for giving Bree that piece of chocolate. Your heart has become too hard, I want to say to her. You might be surviving, but you're already dead inside.

But I don't say any of these things, because I recognize a part of myself in her. And it scares me. She is almost like the version of myself that I might have become, if I stayed along such a hard road. I remember what happened when I helped that man back on the Hudson, and a part of me gets her, and respects her - yet dislikes her at the same time.

"You can have it back," Bree says, reaching out to hand it to Flo.

Flo looks down at her, and for a millisecond, I think I see her expression soften.

Then it hardens again.

She turns her back, grabs Charlie, and yanks him around, to walk away with her. They disappear, towards a darker side of the cavernous room, clearly signaling that her time with us is done.

I watched him walk into the blackness, already missing Charlie, already feeling as if we've lost a friend.

Bree turns and holds out the chocolate to us all.

"You guys share," she says.

Ben shakes his head, and I shake mine, too, despite the pain in my stomach.

"It's yours," I say.

"Logan, what about you?" she asks. "You have to eat something."

"That's a good idea," I echo, and Ben and I each prop him up.

He looks back at her weakly and shakes his head.

But Bree breaks off a piece of her piece, and puts it in his mouth. She shoves it into his mouth, and he chews. His eyes light up, for the first time in days.

"That's the best chocolate I ever had, kiddo," he says to her.

My heart breaks at the sound of his voice, to hear how weak he has become. I think of the irony: we have come all this way because of him, and he sustained his injury while saving Bree. I feel awful. And Bree does, too.

"I need to sit," Logan whispers.

We all head to a far wall, dragging Logan with us. We find a spot against the stone where we can all sit, flickering beneath a torch, our backs to the wall. It is a good vantage point: we can survey the entire room, see what everyone's up to, make sure no one sneaks up on us.

We settle in and wait, and a heavy silence blankets us. I can't help but feel as if we are all waiting for our deaths.

*

We sit there, the four of us, our backs against the wall, looking out, watching. I don't know how much time has passed. The activity in the cave seems to have quieted down, with most of the others sitting or lying down along the sides of the cave. Few people in here cross from one side to the other, interact with each other. Most are wary and cautious, and keep to themselves. I feel as if we're in prison, and I trust no one. Especially after the reception we received.

I look over at Bree, sitting to my right, and Ben beside her. They each sit with their eyes wide open, looking shell-shocked. I look to my other side and see that Logan's eyes are closed. His breathing is shallow, and I worry for him. I reach out and brush the hair from his eyes, place my hand on his forehead. He is cold and clammy. He groans from the pain.

"Shhh," I said. "It's going to be okay."

I look down at his leg, see his wound festering, and wish there was something I could do. Some medicine, antibiotics - bandages, at least. But I have nothing. I remember the time he nursed me back to health, in the city, when I was so sick. He brought me back. He found me medicine. I feel terrible that I can't reciprocate.

I run my hand again and again over his forehead, trying to soothe him.

Slowly, his eyes flutter open. He looks at me. Weakly, he smiles. Then he closes his eyes again.

"You're not half bad," he whispers, eyes closed.

I can't help but smile back.

I feel Ben looking over at us; I can't help but feel that he is jealous that I'm giving Logan all of this attention. I don't want him to be. And I do have feelings for Ben. But I can't ignore Logan in his time of need either.

I lean back and close my eyes for a minute and wonder how we got here. I can't believe that I am in this position once again, about to enter another arena. I messed up somewhere along the way. I try to think of what I could have done differently. I should've been more careful, more guarded. Maybe we never should have stopped at my dad's after all. Maybe if we stayed on the river, like Logan said, if we never stopped, things would have gone differently. Maybe we just had to keep going. But to where? That's the million-dollar question. There seems to be nothing left in this world. Nothing, except for violence and evil and arenas, clustering in what's left of the big cities. This is what our society has come to.

I get another sharp hunger pain, and I am feeling lightheaded. I've never been this hungry in my life, and I seriously don't think I can make it through the night without another meal.

As I'm thinking this, a set of boots appears before me from out of the shadows. A large teenager, maybe 19, broad, stocky, stops before us. He looks down, puts his hands on his hips, as he looks us all over carefully. He especially looks Bree over, up and down, as if she is a thing of prey. He smiles, an evil smile.

"The new kids," he states.

My anger rises, especially as I see how he looks at my sister.

"What do you want?" I ask sharply.

Slowly, his smile drops.

"All business, huh?" he says. "I like that." He licks his lips. "Well, sweety, I came here to do you a favor. To make you a deal. You want food, right? You all do, right?"

He looks left to right, examining us.

"Well," he continues, before we can respond. "I've got some. Good food. Fresh fruit. A lot of it. As much as you can eat."

I look over this creep: he is broad and stocky and looks well fed, much better fed than the others. He looks strong, a fierce opponent. And shady, slimy. I hate the way he licks his lips at me.

"Like I said," I repeat, an edge to my voice. "What do you want?"

He smiles.

"I want to trade," he says, his cold black eyes locking on mine. "Food for sex."

I can't believe it; I am too shocked to even respond.

"You'll do," he says, looking at me. "I'll bring you back in an hour, when I'm done with you, and I'll give you enough food for all of you."

As he smiles at me, proud of himself, I've never been more disgusted in my life. I want to get up and kick him, but it's not worth the energy. Instead, I just turn my head, waiting for him to go back to the rock he crawled out from. He doesn't even deserve a response.

But then, he turns and looks at Bree.

"Or, if you give me a go with the young one here," he adds, "I'll give you twice the food."

Something snaps in me, and without thinking, I react. I push up on my palms off the ground, swing back my leg, swing it across, and kick him hard behind both of his knees, sweeping them out from under him. He lands flat on his back, hard.

Without pausing, I jump to one knee, lean over him, and take my thumb and forefinger and dig them deep into pressure points on his throat.

He looks up at me, his eyes bulging, gasping for air. He grabs my hand, trying to remove it, but I have him pinned down, and the strength that overcomes me keeps him there. I think of what he said about Bree, and I want to tear him to pieces. I make him struggle for every breath.

"I'm only going to say this once," I growl, through clenched teeth. "You come near my sister again, or even look her way, and I'm going to kill you. Do you understand? I will kill you."

Slowly, he nods, and I let go. He sits up, gasping for air, then jumps to his feet and trots away.

He turns back and looks at me as he runs.

"You're dead!" he screams out, in a whiny voice. "Tomorrow, in the arena. I'm going to get you. You're dead!"

And with that, he disappears into the darkness.

I turn and look at the others. Bree looks scared, and Ben sits there, fists clenched.

"You okay?" he asks.

I nod back, breathing slowly, my heart still pounding. I lean over, and kiss Bree on the forehead.

"Was he going to hurt me?" she asks.

"Don't worry, love," I say. "No one's ever going to hurt you. Not while I'm around."

I slowly lean back, and I see Logan grinning at me.

"Nice move," he says, his voice hoarse. "Of course, I would've swept him differently."

I can't help but smile back. I am about to answer, say something witty, but my thoughts are interrupted.

A loud buzzer sounds, and I look over and am surprised to see a huge hole open up in the ceiling of the cave. A bright spotlight shines straight down, and suddenly, all the other kids are on their feet, racing, running towards the light in the middle of the room. I don't understand what's happening - until suddenly, I see something fall from the ceiling, land on the floor. It pours straight down, and I don't understand what it is. And then I realize: food.

Slop is being poured down, straight down to the dirt floor, buckets and buckets of it. It looks like oatmeal, and it hits the dirt floor with a splat.

It is gross-looking, but the other kids are racing for it, pouncing on it, grabbing it by the handful and shoving it in their mouths.

Up above, leaning down over the edge, are dozens of faces of humans, laughing at the spectacle. They throw more buckets in, and some of it lands on the backs of the kids as they eat on all fours. They laugh harder.

I waste no time. As gross as it is, it's feeding time, and my stomach decides for me. Ben and Bree also jump to their feet, not needing any prodding.

We all rush to the center, and reach the pit of kids who are elbowing each other out of the way; I get closer, and people viciously elbow me left and right. After taking some hard bruises, I get to the center, get down on all fours, and grabbed a handful of the slop. I cram it into my mouth, and chew it.

It is slimy, and perhaps the grossest thing I've ever eaten. It tastes like raw barley, barely cooked. But it is food, and I grab handful after handful. I look over and see Ben getting a handful, but see Bree getting edged out. I grab a handful for her and put in her hand; then I grab two more and do the same.

As I'm looking over at her, I spot something: a few feet away is Charlie, on his hands and knees, grabbing a meal. He doesn't see the person creeping up behind them - a skinny boy, maybe 16, with curly black hair and lots of acne. He creeps up behind Charlie, and in one quick motion, he reaches down and grabs the knife from his sheath.

He then raises it up high, and I see that he's taking aim: he's about to plunge it into Charlie's back.

Without thinking, I leap into action. I tackle the kid, a second before he stabs him. I drive him down hard to the ground, and the knife goes flying. I spin him over, planting his face in the ground, and twist his arm behind his back, all the way, nearly breaking it. He screams out in pain.

Charlie, beside me, looks down and realizes what I've done.

I look over at the floor, for his knife, and am surprised to see it's already gone. I look up, and see Flo standing there, holding it.

"Let him go," she says, coldly.

I lift my knee off the kid's back, and back away. This is her fight now.

Flo grabs the kid by the back of his head, and without hesitating, reaches the knife around and slashes his throat, quick and clean, muscles rippling in her arms and shoulders. The kid hardly has time to scream, as blood pours out of his neck. He dies.

Flo stands erect, looking all around her to see if anyone will challenge her. Nobody does; they quickly turn back to eating. I see the remorseless look in her eye, and finally realize she is a natural, trained killer.

Flo takes two steps forward, and puts the knife back into Charlie's sheath firmly. She grabs him by the shoulders and looks him in the eye.

"Never leave yourself exposed again. Do you hear me?"

Charlie nods back, dazed.

Flo turns and looks at me. Slowly, her scowl subsides.

"You saved Charlie's life," she states.

I shrug. "I just reacted."

She looks me up and down, nodding, as if with a new respect.

"I owe you one," she says. "And that's not something I take lightly. Follow me. All of you. Leave the food. I've got plenty."

I turn and look at Ben and Bree, who look back quizzically; we all follow her.

I grab one more handful of slop for Logan, and hurry over to him. I reach out and put one in his mouth. "Chew," I say.

He chews. Then Ben and I lean down, pick him up, and begin to drag him across the cave, to Flo's corner.

Flo and Charlie have set up camp in the far corner of the cave. We follow her to the farthest reaches of it, twisting and turning, until we reach it. I'm impressed by their setup. I guess this is what Flo gets for being the victor. It is a large section of the cave, surrounded by stone on three sides so her back is guarded from every direction. She has a nice fire going, and a large chest filled with slop.

Bree walks over to Charlie, and he to her, and I can see that they're happy to be reunited. They each take a handful of slop and chew.

"It's not as bad as it seems," Charlie says. "You get used to it."

"I think it's awful," Bree says. "But I'm so hungry, I would eat anything."

"I remember once, when the world was good, I had a stack of pancakes," Charlie says. "Five of them, with butter and maple syrup and whipped cream. Oh my God. It was the best thing I ever had. Can you imagine eating that?"

"Charlie, stop," Flo reprimands. "That's not helpful."

"It's ok," Bree defends him. "I actually like it. I haven't thought of pancakes in forever."

"Living in fantasy is how you get yourself killed," Flo snaps.

I think about that. On the one hand she's right. But on the other hand, what's so great about reality? Isn't fantasy all we have left?

We set Logan down beside Flo's fire, and as we do, she looks at his leg.

"I have medicine," she says.

My heart leaps as I look at her.

"Spoils to the victor. When you win, they give you a box of stuff. Food, mostly. But some meds, too. Basic stuff. They want you in shape for the next round. I've got some syringes with stuff in them. I'm guessing it's for wounds, for healing. Maybe penicillin, or something like it."

"Please," I say. "I would give anything."

She reaches into her chest and pulls out a fresh, unwrapped syringe and throws it to me. I tear it open, examine the clear liquid. I hope it's what he needs.

I hurry over to Logan, kneel by his side, look at him. He is sweating.

"You want me to try?" I ask. "I don't know what's in it."

"Do it," he says, weakly. "I have nothing to lose."

I lean over and insert the needle as gently as I can into his leg and inject the serum. He winces.

"They gave me some treats, too," she adds. "Does someone like marshmallows?" she asks, looking at Bree.

Bree looks up at her, eyes open wide.

"You're joking," she says.

"She's not," Charlie says. "She's really got them. She must really like you. She hasn't even given one to me. She said she was waiting for a special night."

"This is it," Flo says. "Tomorrow, they begin. This could be our last night."

"I don't understand," Bree says to Charlie. "If you have food here, why were you in the pit, fighting for slop with the others?"

"Flo wants me to fend for myself," he answers. "She says it makes me stronger."

Flo reaches into her bag, takes out a handful of fat marshmallows, and puts one into each of our open hands. She hands out sticks, and we place them on the sticks and roast them over the fire.

The smell of roasting marshmallows makes me salivate. I pull mine out, nearly black, and chew slowly, savoring each bite. It fills my every pore. I would eat a thousand more if I could.

My thoughts drift to tomorrow, the arena. My stomach drops, as I wonder what's in store for us.

"Tell us what it's like," I say to Flo, who sits opposite the fire, chewing. "The arena."

Flo is silent a long time; finally, she shakes her head.

"Tomorrow, they'll come for us early," she says. "Be ready. The first day of fighting, it's not what it seems. It's more about survival than fighting. You won't understand until you see it for yourself. But there are ways to live, and ways to die. I'll give you some good advice. Don't go for the bridges. And stay away from the edges. Don't try to escape. That's the mistake most people make. They want to escape. Stay calm. Don't think about fighting, or winning. Think about surviving. Just remember: things are not what they seem."

I'm grateful for her advice, but as I try to take it all in, I find it confusing and overwhelming. Her advice is too ambiguous; I'm not really sure what she's talking about.

"I don't really understand," I say.

"You can't," she says. "But once you're there, you will."

"I'm going to escape," Charlie says, as he sits beside Bree, roasting her marshmallow for her, and chews his. The site makes me think of summer campfires, when we would lie under the stars for hours, when everything was safe.

"What do you mean, escape?" I ask.

"I'm going to find a way out of here. The train tunnels. I saw, coming in, where they go. When they first brought me here, I slipped out. I ran for a while before I got caught. I saw where they lead. There's a back exit. Outside the city. I saw their boats. I know how to get there."

My heart leaps at the possibility.

"Stop talking nonsense," Flo snaps at him harshly.

Charlie's face falls, and there is a tense silence.

"I'm just trying to tell them - " Charlie begins.

"I've heard enough of your stories," Flo said. "It's ridiculous. You can't escape here. Even if you made it out, they'd hunt you down and kill you in two seconds. That's a sure death. Fighting in the arena, at least it gives you a chance. And where would you go anyway? You think there's some great world out there waiting to be found?"

Charlie looks down to the floor, disappointed; but then he looks back up, eyes filled with hope.

"You remember what dad said? About that town? In Canada?"

Immediately, I am on high alert, and sit up straighter. Logan and Ben and Bree do, too. I am shocked. Is this town for real? Or is it just a persistent rumor?

"Charlie," I say. "What did you just say?"

He turns and looks at me, unsure. "About Canada?""

"How do you know about it?" I ask. "Is it true?"

"No, of course it's not," Flo snaps.

"Yes it is!" Charlie insists.

"It was just another one of dad's fantasies," Flo says.

"No it wasn't!" Charlie says. "He knew it. He was there. He wasn't lying. All we have to do is get up the river. To Canada. We can find it. I know we can. He said it was by the river."

Charlie seems so certain, and his story does seem to line up with Logan's. It makes me wonder if maybe that town really does exist.

Flo shakes her head.

"Like I said," she says, "you can either live in fantasy or reality. And you can die in either, too."

I think about that.

"Well if we're going to die either way, why not live in fantasy?" I ask her.

She locks eyes with mine, and I can feel the coldness in her eyes, and it goes right into me, like a winter breeze. I force myself to look away, seeing death in those eyes, and knowing that, soon, it's coming for me, too.

*

I lay awake in the darkness, late into the night, Bree curled up in my arms, Logan beside me, Ben on the other side. Sitting next to Bree is Charlie, and their heads rest on each other's. A few feet apart is Flo. Everyone is asleep, except for me. And Flo. Her eyes are wide open, staring into the dying flames of the fire. Cold, hard, unflinching. I see that being awake is her natural habit of being. A warrior to her last breath, always on edge.

Me, I want to sleep, but I can't, because my mind won't stop racing. I keep trying to think about tomorrow, about what it will be like. If only I could be prepared, it might go better. But Flo doesn't seem to want to tell me any more and I have to just appreciate what she's already told me. I turn her words over and over in my mind. Don't go for the bridges. Stay away from the edges.... I don't know what it all means.

I'm determined to survive. I'm determined for Bree to survive, Ben, Logan. I look over at him, and he seems more relaxed than before, and I have a good feeling that the medicine helped. I won't know until the morning.

At least it is warm in here, and we have been fed. Ironically, the slaverunners catching us probably saved our lives. I know that another day in the wilderness and we would have been dead for sure. Ironically, they've given us life. At least for now.

I look at Bree, curled up in my arms. I want so badly to protect her, to shield her from all this, to force the slaverunners to keep her out of it. But I know it's useless. I rack my brain, thinking of what I can do. But I keep reaching dead ends.

I sit there for hours and hours, knowing I should sleep, knowing that I need rest for tomorrow. But I can't. I try as hard as I can, and a few times, I feel my eyes getting heavy, my chin nodding - but then I immediately lapse into fast, troubled dreams, of dad, yelling at mom. And I wake quickly, on guard, finding nothing but blackness and silence.

As I stare into the blackness, I could swear I see my dad's face, becoming more vivid, staring back at me. It is hard and firm, as it used to get when he was trying to make me tough.

"Brooke, you're a soldier," he says. "Just like your dad. A Marine. You may not wear the uniform, but that doesn't mean you don't have a Marine's heart. A Marine's valor. It means you don't give up. And if you die, you die. But you die like a Marine."

It is as if I feel him right here, with me, in the room. In some strange way, it's comforting. I feel less alone. For the first time in years, I miss him. I really miss him.

I hear you, dad, I say back in my head. And I love you.