Arena One: Slaverunners by Morgan Rice Read Free Book Online Page A

mountains, keeping to themselves, never communicating with each other for fear of being seen, for fear of becoming visible to a slaverunner. I assume that is how the others have survived as long as they have: by taking nothing to chance. At first, I didn’t understand it. But now, I appreciate it. And ever since then, while I never see anyone, I’ve never felt alone.
    But it also made me more vigilant; these other survivors, if they are still alive, must surely by now be as starving and desperate as we. Especially in the winter months. Who knows if starvation, if a need to fend for their families, has pushed any of them over the line to desperation, if their charitable mood has been replaced by pure survival instinct. I know the thought of Bree, Sasha and myself starving has sometimes lead me to some pretty desperate thoughts. So I won’t leave anything to chance. We’ll move at nighttime.
    Which works out perfectly, anyway. I need to take the morning to climb back up there, alone, to scout it out first, to make sure one last time that no one has been in or out. I also need to go back to that spot where I found the deer and wait for it. I know it’s a longshot, but if I can find it again, and kill it, it can feed us for weeks. I wasted that first deer that was given to us, years ago, because I didn’t know how to skin it, or carve it up, or preserve it. I made a mess of it, and managed to squeeze just one meal out of it before the entire carcass went rotten. It was a terrible waste of food, and I’m determined to never do that again. This time, especially with the snow, I will find a way to preserve it.
    I reach into my pocket and take out the pocket knife Dad gave me before he left; I rub the worn handle, his initials engraved and the Marine Corps logo emblazoned on it, as I’ve done every night since we arrived here. I tell myself he is still alive. Even after all these years, even though I know the chances of our seeing him again are slim to none, I can’t quite bring myself to let this idea go.
    I wish every night that Dad had never left, had never volunteered for the war at all. It was a stupid war to begin with. I never really fully understood how it all began, and I still don’t now. Dad explained it to me, several times, and I still didn’t get it. Maybe it was just because of my age, maybe I just wasn’t old enough to realize how senseless the things are that adults can do to each other.
    The way Dad explained it, it was a second American civil war—this time, not between the North and the South, but between political parties. Between the Democrats and Republicans. He said it was a war that was a long time coming. Over the last hundred years, he said, America was drifting into a land of two nations: those on the far right, and those on the far left. Over time, positions hardened so deeply, it became a nation of two different, opposing, ideologies. He said that the people on the left, the Democrats, wanted a nation that was run by a bigger and bigger government, one that raised taxes to 70%, and could be involved in every aspect of people’s lives. He said the people on the right, the Republicans, kept wanting a smaller and smaller government, one that would abolish taxes altogether, get out of people’s hair, and allow people to fend for themselves. He said that over time, these two different ideologies, instead of compromising, just kept drifting further apart, getting more extreme—until they reached a point where they couldn’t see eye to eye on anything.

Worsening the situation, he said, was that America had gotten so crowded, it had become harder than ever for any politician to get national attention—and politicians in both parties began to realize that the only way they could get the attention they needed was to take extreme positions. It was the only way that they could get the air time—and that was what they needed to rise to the top for their own personal ambition.
    As a result, the most