I’m not sure if I’m dead or alive. My body aches more than I could imagine, and I wonder if this is what it’s like to be on the other side. Somehow, I feel as if I’m still alive: if I were dead, I am hoping it would not be this painful.
I peel open one eye and see I am lying, face down, on a metal floor, in a darkened room, lit by red emergency lights. I look up and struggle to make out the shape before me.
“Brooke?” a voice asks. It is a male voice, and I know I recognize it from somewhere, but can’t remember where.
“Brooke?” he asks again, softly.
I feel a hand on my shoulder, gently prodding me.
I manage to open my eye a bit more, and finally recognize the face: Ben. He leans over me, gently prodding me, trying to see if I’m alive.
“This is for you,” he says.
There is the sound of plastic scraping against the metal floor, and I am struck by the smell of food. But I’m too groggy to look at it, and I don’t really register what’s happening.
“I have to go now,” he says. “Please. I want you to have this.”
A second later comes the sound of a door opening, and light floods the room. There is the sound of marching boots, chains, handcuffs being released. Then footsteps recede and the door closes, and as it does, suddenly, I realize: they have just taken Ben away.
I want to raise my head, to open my eyes, to call out to him. To thank him. To warn him. To say goodbye.
But my head, too heavy, won’t lift, and my eyes begin to shut of their own accord. Moments later, I fall back into a heavy sleep.
*
I don’t know how much time has passed when I wake again. I feel the cold metal of the floor on the side of my face, and this time I am able to gradually lift my head, peel myself off. My head is splitting, and every ounce of my body is in pain.
As I sit up, I feel a sharp pain in my ribs, now on both sides. My face is swollen, welts and bruises all over it, and my shoulder is killing me. Worst of all, there’s an intense throbbing in my calf, an unbearable pain as I attempt to straighten my leg. At first, I don’t know what it’s from, and then I remember: the snakebite.
Propping myself with one hand, I manage to sit halfway up. I look around the darkened room for any sign of Ben. But he is gone. I am alone.
There sits a tray of food before me, untouched. His food. I reach out and touch it: it is cold. I feel bad that he left it; I’m sure he needed it at least as much as me. I realize what it took to sacrifice this meal. If this was his last meal, then they’ve taken him away to fight. My heart leaps at the realization. Surely that means he is already dead.
I look down again at the tray, and it feels like the food of a dead man. I can’t bring myself to touch it.
There is a sound of boots, and the metal door slams open. In march four slaverunners, who drag me to my feet and prod me out the room. The pain is indescribable as I stand and walk. My head is so heavy, and the room spins, and I don’t know if I’m going to make it without collapsing.
I am pushed and prodded down the corridor, and as I go, the sound of a distant crowd grows louder. My heart drops as I realize I’m being led back to the arena.
If they think I can fight again, it is a joke. I can barely walk. Anyone who squares off with me will have easy pickings. I don’t have any will left to fight—or any strength, even if I did. I’ve already given this arena everything I have.
I am shoved one last time as the tunnel to the arena opens up. The roar becomes deafening. I squint at the harsh light as I am led down the ramp, counting my final minutes.
The crowd jumps to its feet as they see me. They stomp violently. This time, instead of hisses and jeers, they seem to love me.
“BROOKE! BROOKE! BROOKE!”
It is a surreal feeling. I’ve achieved fame, but for actions I detest and in the last place on earth I’d ever want it.
I’m prodded again, all the way to ringside, back to the metal ladder. I look up and see the cage open, and climb and walk in helplessly.
As I enter, the crowd goes wild.
I am still half-asleep, and this is all so surreal, I can’t help wondering if I did this before or if it was all a dream. I look down and see the huge welt on my calf, and know that it was real. I can’t believe it. I am back here again. This time, for a certain death.
They weren’t kidding when they said no survivors. Now I know there will be no exceptions.
I stand in the empty ring and survey the stadium, wondering who my next opponent will be, where he will enter from. As I do, there suddenly comes a cheer from the far side of the stadium. The tunnel opens up, and in marches another contestant. I can’t see who it is, as he’s blocked by an entourage of slaverunners. The crowd goes crazy as he gets closer. But my view is so obscured, it’s not until he reaches the very edge of the ring, until he is climbing the ladder, until the cage opens, and he’s actually pushed inside, that I see who it is.
As I do, any ounce of fight that is left in me falls away.
I am horrified.
It can’t be.
Standing before me, staring back with equal shock, is Ben.