“I’d rather let a Florae kill me than let that happen.” Jacks is lost behind a wavering screen of tears. I blink him back into view.
Jacks puts his hands on my shoulders and looks me in the face. “Amy, you have every right to be scared. Look at this screwed-up world. Everyone is afraid, and if they say they’re not, then they’re lying . . . or really, really stupid.” He wipes a tear from my cheek. “You just have to keep going. I know, it sucks. But you have to be strong.”
I nod, unable to speak. Rice told me the same thing.
“Maybe we should head back, let you get some rest.”
“No! I can’t rest. I need to find Ken.”
“Okay, then let’s go.”
I have to pull it together. I wipe my face on my sleeve and shake out my arms. The truth is, I won’t ever be okay with everything that has happened to me. But I need to stay strong for the only family I have left.
We head down the metal stairs to the Yard. The crowd has subsided, so we cross the Yard instead of circling it on the wall. Still, we keep to the edge. Then we come to the area Jacks called the Arena, separated from the exercise yard by a chain-link fence. To one side of it is exercise equipment, muscular men using weights, and other machines used for strength training. I recognize some of the equipment; we had it in the gym in the Rumble Room in New Hope. On the other side are two sets of bleachers facing each other across a concrete square. In the center of the square is painted a red circle about twenty feet across.
“What’s this exactly?” I ask.
“People call it the Arena. Another blood sport. Right now the fighters are training, but once a week the Warden puts on fights to entertain the masses.”
“Boxing?”
“More like UFC—”
“Get off me!” someone shrieks.
I spin around. A boy with a shaved head stands at the entrance to the Arena. Two men have him by his arms as another, smaller man punches him in the stomach. They all look strangely similar, muscular, their heads shaved like the boy’s. Without thinking, I run toward them.
Before I can get there, the boy jerks his legs up, supported by the men trying to hold him, and kicks the smaller man in the chest. Using that momentum, he breaks their hold.
When I reach them, the men have circled back around him, joined by two other skinheads. I pull out my gun, but Jacks runs up next to me and pushes the barrel down.
“That’ll only make it worse,” he says, then sprints forward between two of the men.
I put my gun away and follow Jacks to stand next to the boy, who I can now see is a girl. I mistook her because of her shaved head and muscular build. The men still outnumber us, each one clearly fit, but none of them are nearly the beast that Tank is. I sparred with men as big as these in Guardian training. Nobody around us moves to help, just like when those men grabbed me when I ran into the Yard alone. Everyone is struggling to survive; no one wants to get involved in someone else’s problems.
Suddenly, as if by silent agreement, the men come at us as one. I focus on fighting off the two nearest to me and hope Jacks and the girl will do okay.
One man grabs for a handful of my hair. It’s grown out a bit since Baby cut it into a Mohawk, but it’s still short enough for me to whip it out of the way, slap his hand, and snap a punch to his jaw. The other man lunges at my middle, getting his shoulder into my ribs. I elbow him twice in the back of the neck, but he doesn’t let me go and ends up driving me toward the wall. Before he gets my back to it, I twist and run hard up against the surface, crashing him into it as I flip to my feet.
As I watch him crumple to the floor by the wall, the first man comes at me again. I drop down and sweep his legs out from under him with a leg whip. He careens into the other man just as he’s struggled to his feet, and the two of them slam, grunting, into the wall and go down in a tangle of arms and legs.
Looking around
Jacks puts his hands on my shoulders and looks me in the face. “Amy, you have every right to be scared. Look at this screwed-up world. Everyone is afraid, and if they say they’re not, then they’re lying . . . or really, really stupid.” He wipes a tear from my cheek. “You just have to keep going. I know, it sucks. But you have to be strong.”
I nod, unable to speak. Rice told me the same thing.
“Maybe we should head back, let you get some rest.”
“No! I can’t rest. I need to find Ken.”
“Okay, then let’s go.”
I have to pull it together. I wipe my face on my sleeve and shake out my arms. The truth is, I won’t ever be okay with everything that has happened to me. But I need to stay strong for the only family I have left.
We head down the metal stairs to the Yard. The crowd has subsided, so we cross the Yard instead of circling it on the wall. Still, we keep to the edge. Then we come to the area Jacks called the Arena, separated from the exercise yard by a chain-link fence. To one side of it is exercise equipment, muscular men using weights, and other machines used for strength training. I recognize some of the equipment; we had it in the gym in the Rumble Room in New Hope. On the other side are two sets of bleachers facing each other across a concrete square. In the center of the square is painted a red circle about twenty feet across.
“What’s this exactly?” I ask.
“People call it the Arena. Another blood sport. Right now the fighters are training, but once a week the Warden puts on fights to entertain the masses.”
“Boxing?”
“More like UFC—”
“Get off me!” someone shrieks.
I spin around. A boy with a shaved head stands at the entrance to the Arena. Two men have him by his arms as another, smaller man punches him in the stomach. They all look strangely similar, muscular, their heads shaved like the boy’s. Without thinking, I run toward them.
Before I can get there, the boy jerks his legs up, supported by the men trying to hold him, and kicks the smaller man in the chest. Using that momentum, he breaks their hold.
When I reach them, the men have circled back around him, joined by two other skinheads. I pull out my gun, but Jacks runs up next to me and pushes the barrel down.
“That’ll only make it worse,” he says, then sprints forward between two of the men.
I put my gun away and follow Jacks to stand next to the boy, who I can now see is a girl. I mistook her because of her shaved head and muscular build. The men still outnumber us, each one clearly fit, but none of them are nearly the beast that Tank is. I sparred with men as big as these in Guardian training. Nobody around us moves to help, just like when those men grabbed me when I ran into the Yard alone. Everyone is struggling to survive; no one wants to get involved in someone else’s problems.
Suddenly, as if by silent agreement, the men come at us as one. I focus on fighting off the two nearest to me and hope Jacks and the girl will do okay.
One man grabs for a handful of my hair. It’s grown out a bit since Baby cut it into a Mohawk, but it’s still short enough for me to whip it out of the way, slap his hand, and snap a punch to his jaw. The other man lunges at my middle, getting his shoulder into my ribs. I elbow him twice in the back of the neck, but he doesn’t let me go and ends up driving me toward the wall. Before he gets my back to it, I twist and run hard up against the surface, crashing him into it as I flip to my feet.
As I watch him crumple to the floor by the wall, the first man comes at me again. I drop down and sweep his legs out from under him with a leg whip. He careens into the other man just as he’s struggled to his feet, and the two of them slam, grunting, into the wall and go down in a tangle of arms and legs.
Looking around
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