Arena One: Slaverunners. Morgan Rice

seconds later I reach the house, and run past it, right to the road, hoping to catch them. I already know the house is empty.

      I’m too late. The car tracks tell the story. As I look down the mountain, I can see them, already a half-mile away, and gaining speed. There’s no way I can ever catch them on foot.

      I run back to the house, just in case, by some remote chance, Bree has managed to hide, or they left her. I burst through the open front door, and as I do, I am horrified by the sight before me: blood is everywhere. On the ground lies a dead slaverunner, dressed in his all-black uniform, blood pouring from his throat. Beside him lies Sasha, on her side, dead. Blood pours out her side from what looks like a bullet wound. Her teeth are still embedded in the corpse’s throat. It becomes clear what happened: Sasha must have tried to protect Bree, lunging at the man as he entered the house and lodging her teeth in his throat. The others must have shot her. But still, she did not let go.

      I run through the house, room to room, screaming Bree’s name, hearing the desperation in my own voice. It is no longer a voice I recognize: it is the voice of a crazy person.

      But every door is wide open, and everything is empty.

      The slaverunners have taken my sister.

      Four

      I stand there, in the living room of my Dad’s house, in shock. On the one hand, I’ve always feared this day would come; yet now that it has, I can hardly believe it. I am overcome with guilt. Did last night’s fire tip us off? Did they see the smoke? Why couldn’t I have been more cautious?

      I also hate myself for leaving Bree alone this morning – especially after we’d both had such bad dreams. I see her face, crying, pleading with me not to leave. Why didn’t I listen to her? Trust my own instincts? Looking back, I can’t help feeling that Dad really did warn me. Why didn’t I pay attention?

      None of that matters now, and I only pause for a moment. I am in action mode, and in no way prepared to give up and let her go. I am already running through the house so I do not lose any precious time in chasing down the slaverunners and rescuing Bree.

      I run over to the corpse of the slaverunner and examine him quickly: he is dressed in their signature all-black, military uniform, with black combat boots, black military fatigues, and a long-sleeved black shirt covered by a tightly-fitting black bomber coat. He still wears a black face mask with the insignia of Arena One – the hallmark of a slaverunner – and also wears a small black helmet. Little good that did him: Sasha still managed to lodge her teeth into his throat. I glance over at Sasha and choke up at the sight. I’m so grateful to her for putting up such a fight. I feel guilty for leaving her alone, too. I glance at her corpse, and vow to myself that after I get Bree back, I will return and give her a proper burial.

      I quickly strip the slaverunner’s corpse for valuables. I begin by taking his weapons belt and clipping it around my own waist, fastening it tight. It contains a holster and a handgun, which I pull out and check quickly: filled with ammo, it appears to be in perfect working order. This is like gold – and now it is mine. Also on the belt are several backup clips of ammo.