Arena Two by Morgan Rice Page A

you feel better to talk about it.”
    I watch him as we walk. He looks down, as if thinking, then finally shakes his head no.
    I tried. And I respect his privacy. I’m not sure I’d want to talk about it either, if I were in his shoes.
    We reach the far end of the island, the trees opening to an open shore, covered in snow. I walk out to the tip and from here I have a sweeping view of the Hudson, in every direction. It is like a vast sea on all sides of us, huge chunks of ice hardening all around, snow falling down on it. It looks surreal, primordial. As the wind whips me in the face, I feel for a moment as if we’re the only ones left, castaways in a vast sea.
    I scan the shores in every direction, looking for any signs of structures, of motion, movement. But I see none. It is as if the wilderness, without man left to impose upon it, has returned back upon itself.
    As I stand there, on the shore, I notice something on the sand, sticking up through the snow. I take a few steps forward, reach down, and pick it up. It is green and glowing, and as I pick it up, I realize it’s a bottle—a large, glass bottle that must’ve washed up on shore.
    I scour the rest of the shoreline, and see something else, glistening, bobbing in the water, brushing up against the shore. I hurry over and pick it up. It is an old, aluminum can.
    I don’t know what to make of these things—it is hardly the treasure chest I hoped to find. But still, I’m sure we can make some use of them, and it’s at least something to bring them back.
    I take a deep breath and turn around, preparing to head back. This time, I lead us back along the other side of the island, through a different grove of trees, in the hopes of finding something, anything.
    We trudge silently back through the woods, and I feel disappointed that I didn’t find anything of use, yet also relieved that we have the island to ourselves. I begin to let down my guard as I realize that soon I will be back in the warmth of the cave. My hands and feet are becoming more frozen as we walk, and I bunch them and release, trying to circulate the blood. My legs are weary, and I’ll be happy to sit in the cave, and relax by a fire.
    This makes me realize that we’ll need supplies to start a fire. I happily remember the matches and candles I salvaged from dad’s. But I realize we’ll also need kindling—dry branches, pine needles, whatever I can find. I also realize we should bring back pine branches to make the ground more comfortable for everyone.
    “ Look for branches,” I say to Ben. “Dry branches. Small ones. Higher off the ground, not covered in snow. We need kindling. Also look for large branches with soft pine needles, to use on the floor.”
    Ben walks a few feet behind me and doesn’t respond, but I know he’s heard me because he steps up to a tree, and I hear the cracking of a branch.
    I spot a tree myself with a dry branch sticking out from it, and I reach up and snap it off. It’s perfect. With an armful of these, we can have a fire going all night.
    Just as I’m walking to another tree, suddenly, I hear a twig snap. Ben stands right beside me, so I know he didn’t do it. My heart stops. We are being watched.

S E V E N
     
     
    I spin around, in the direction of the snap, and I see motion. I freeze, my throat dry, as I realize what it is.
    I can’t believe it. There, in plain sight, not even twenty yards away, are two deer. They stop and lift their heads and stare right at me.
    My heart is pounding with excitement. This would be enough food to feed us all for days. I can’t believe our luck.
    Without thinking, I grab my knife, step forward and hurl it, remembering the last time this worked.
    But this time, my hands are too cold, and I miss. They take off, sprinting away.
    I quickly pull the bow off my back, place an arrow between my fingers, and fire at the fleeing deer. But I’m even more clumsy with the bow, and the arrow lodges into a tree, nowhere near the