Arena Two by Morgan Rice Page B

can,” he says.
    “ No I’m not,” I say.
    He doesn’t respond.
    I think back, wondering how we could have prevented it. I should’ve been more vigilant that night, when the mutants attacked. I never should’ve let Ben stand guard. I knew he was too fragile, too unstable. I can’t help feeling as if it’s all my fault.
    “ It’s not your fault,” Logan says, surprisingly, as if reading my mind. “It’s his,” he says, gesturing with his head back to Ben, sleeping along the back wall.
    Logan refused to allow Ben to stand guard the night before, still not trusting him. I can feel his anger and resentment towards him, but I know it is not helpful. Yes, Ben fell asleep. But even if he was awake, who knows if things would have gone down differently.
    “ You shouldn’t be so hard on him,” I say. “He just lost his brother.”
    “ That’s no excuse. He should’ve stayed awake, or if he couldn’t, he should’ve woke one of us. It’s his fault she got bit.”
    “ You’re right. He should’ve stayed awake. But even if he was awake, do you really think things would’ve gone down differently? You think Ben would have stopped them?”
    “ Yes I do,” he says. “He would have at least woken us. I could’ve responded sooner.”
    “ We were outnumbered. They were fast. Even if he woke us, I don’t know that would’ve made a difference.”
    Logan shrugs.
    “ Anyway, anger and blame won’t help us now,” I say. “Ben is sorry. We need to stick together. You guys need to get over your thing and get along.”
    “ I don’t need to get along with anybody,” Logan says.
    I look at him, wondering if he thinks his whole life is an island.
    “ Keep telling yourself that.”
    *
    The fog comes rolling in off the Hudson as I walk with Ben, our boots crunching in the snow, traversing the island in the afternoon, looking for food. The blizzard is still raging, worse than ever, the wind whipping at us in occasional gusts. It is incredible. I feel like it hasn’t stopped snowing for days. The snow reaches my knees, making each step an effort. When the wind blows, I can see maybe a hundred feet; when it doesn’t, and the fog gathers, I can barely see ten. Between the fog and the snow, I feel like our hunting today is a futile effort. I think Ben thinks so, too.
    But we have to try. We know that other deer is out there, and has nowhere to go. We have to find it, get at least one more good meal in all of us before we leave. Bree desperately needs the protein, and Rose…. Well, my heart sinks as I think of her.
    It’s hideous weather out here, my feet and face numb—but in some ways, it’s still better than being in that cave. With Rose dying, the cave has become small, tense, claustrophobic, filled with the stench of death. I had to get out. And I think Ben did, too. Logan, of course, wanted to stay put and stay guard, watching the boat. I don’t think he’d ever trust Ben to stand guard again.
    Ben holds the bow and arrows slung over his shoulder, and I have only my hunting knife. If we spot the deer, of course Ben is our best hope. But even with his skill, I don’t see how he’d possibly be able to hit. It is probably a lost cause—yet still, a welcome distraction.
    Ben and I walk in silence, neither speaking to each other. But it is a comfortable silence. I feel that he’s come out of his shell since yesterday. Maybe he feels more confident, maybe a little bit better about himself, after bringing in that deer. Now he realizes that he is not useless.
    “ Where did you learn how to shoot like that?” I ask.
    He looks at me, startled; it is the first words we have spoken, breaking a long silence.
    We continue for several more steps before he answers.
    “ When I was younger,” he says, “before the war. Day camp. Archery was my thing. I’d stay on the range for hours and hours, long after everyone left. I don’t know why, I just always loved it. I know it’s silly,” he says, and pauses, looking