But of course, it’s not over. There will be more deformed creatures to fight. More races to run and hoops to leap through. I’m their entertainment for the evening. My only chance of survival is if I can draw the game out long into the evening, long enough for the troops back at the compound to realize I’m in trouble. Right now, I don’t care if I die in their bomb blasts. Anything would be preferable to playing this disgusting death game. Right now, a bomb strike would feel like mercy.
As the ground shakes and the maze disappears, I get my first look at the other competitors. Only three of them remain. The boy who attacked me is gone, swallowed by one of the putrid rodents. The sight makes me feel hollow, but the crowd loves it. They roar their approval, loving the entertainment and the way we are being slowly tortured to death. Of all the arenas I’ve fought, of all the crowds I’ve faced, these are by far the worst because they know better but have adopted a “rather you than me” attitude. The hatred I feel for them is all consuming.
The ground begins to shake again and when I look down, I see hot, boiling water bubbling up through the grid at my feet. It’s so hot, steam curls up with it, and bubbles pop on the surface. Then platforms rise up.
I have no choice. My instinct to survive is stronger than anything inside of me that wants to give up. I grab hold of a rope attached to a podium and start to swing across the burning water. I’m moving like a pendulum, back and forth, the whole time looking down to see what hybrid creature will be sent up to terrorize me. But instead of a creature, the water keeps on rising. My muscles scream in protest as I force myself to climb up the rope, inching myself away from the water that just keeps on rising.
At the other end of the arena, one of the boys loses his grip on the rope. He slips into the boiling water and lets out a bloodcurdling scream. I climb even quicker and manage to pull myself, stomach first, onto the platform. When I look down, I realize that the water is filled with giant, wriggling maggots, at least fifty foot long and completely see-through. Clearly, these animals evolved in hot, radiated, toxic waters.
The crowd squeals as though they find the sight squeamish. I’m so angry with them, with the way they’re treating us and the pleasure they’re deriding from our fear and misery. But the fight is leaving me. I have no energy to spare to scream at them. All that’s left in me will have to go into fighting the maggot-like creatures.
In the water beneath me, they writhe and wriggle around. More keep appearing, squirming, their disgusting transparent bodies making me feel sick. If the audience is expecting me to kill them, they’re going to be sorely disappointed. There’s no way I’ll be able to fight all those disgusting creatures; there are literally hundreds of them.
But the waters are rising, bringing them closer and closer, and there’s nowhere left to climb. I can’t get any higher.
That’s when I realize I’m not supposed to climb or fight. This is the end of the line. For the crowd, the enjoyment comes with the toe-curling anticipation of knowing one of us is about to die, of watching the terror on our faces. I have no choice but to delight them by cowering back from the platform edge.
The water begins lapping at the side of the platform. The maggoty worms are so close to me now I can see their bulbous eyes. They have rows of perforated teeth, like needles. The crowd squeals with delight as another quake begins to shake the podiums. I hear the shrill scream of a girl and know another one of the competitors has fallen into the deathly waters.
I cling on for dear life, praying that I make it out of here alive. But I know it’s futile. The end has come.
All at once, the platform tips. My grip on it tightens but I can’t hold on forever. My muscles fail me and I let go. I hit the boiling water and scream in time to the gasping crowd of thrill seekers. It feels more like fire than water. I thrash around, screaming at the top of my lungs. But something is changing in the crowd. No one wants to see me die this way; not because it’s vicious and brutal, but because it’s too cheap. Whoever is controlling the game gets the hint, because suddenly the water that had been filling the stadium suddenly begins to drain away, and before the worm creatures even have a chance to bite me, I’m plummeting down, swirling as the water is sucked away.
I hit the metal grid of the arena ground once more. The worm creatures lie all around me, flapping and gasping in the air, drowning in oxygen, no longer a threat.
The crowd bursts into applause.
I look over and see there’s just one other competitor left alive. A boy of roughly eighteen. He’s lying on the floor too, his skin red and scalded like mine.
I realize then that there will be no more creatures to fight. It’s down to the final two. They want us to kill each other.
With a clunking noise, two swords are dropped into the arena. But I can’t even move. I’m exhausted, completely spent. My body feels like it’s on fire, the scalding water making every part of me hurt. It feels like I’m back in the desert again, when my body gave up and I just couldn’t carry on. My limbs are heavy, and my mind whirring.
I can see the boy rising to his feet, picking up his sword, and, for the first time, I admit to myself that no one is coming to save me. My GPS device failed. The bombs weren’t triggered and I will die before anyone realizes too much time has passed. No one was expecting me to be hauled into the arena so soon. As far as they know, I’m still a prisoner within the compound, plotting out my plan of escape. But in reality, I’ve failed in the one thing I had to do. I will die in this place and the world will keep on turning, just as brutal as before. Children will keep being stolen and survivors will keep fighting to the death in arenas until there’s nothing left of the old human race, nothing to show for all our accomplishments. I will die and there will be hell on earth.
The boy’s face appears above me, the sword glinting. He looks mournful, like he doesn’t want to kill me but knows he has to. I lie there, unable to move. But something catches his eye. There’s something coming toward us, floating as lightly as a feather on the wind. It’s coming from the audience. Someone has thrown a piece of white cloth, or a feather, in our direction. We watch it float down. Is it some kind of peace offering? I look up and scan the crowd, trying to see the person who threw it. When I do, my heart stops beating.
There, in the crowd amongst the other spectators, are Ben and Ryan.
I don’t think I’ve ever been more happy to see them in my life. They leap over the barriers and start running for me.
“Intruders!” the commentator cries.
I try to rise to my feet, finding my legs weak beneath me. Then suddenly their arms loop beneath mine and I’m wrenched to my feet.
“What are you doing here?” I cry to Ben and Ryan.
“We’re your plan B,” Ryan says.
“We’re getting you out of here,” Ben says, holding me close.
I wince, my scalded flesh sending bolts of pain through my body where he touches me. I notice Ryan is holding a GPS device and he hits it, turning the blinking red light into a solid one. The army has been mobilized. We have five minutes to get out of here before the whole place blows.
The crowd erupts into pandemonium. Half of them seem to be loving the abrupt change in course; the other half are angry to have been cheated out of seeing me and the boy fight to death.
But the boy doesn’t seem to understand what’s happening. He must think Ben and Ryan have been sent to help me kill him. He charges us, his sword raised.
Ryan snatches up the sword that was dropped for me and turns. Their swords clang together.