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

uphill.
    But after nearly an hour of waiting, I am utterly frozen. I debate whether to just give it up and head back down the mountain. Maybe, instead, I should try to fish again.
    I decide to get up and walk around, to circulate my limbs and keep my hands nimble; if I had to use them now, they’d probably be useless. As I rise to my feet my knees and back ache from stiffness. I begin to walk in the snow, starting with small steps. I lift and bend my knees, twist my back left and right. I stick the knife back in my belt, then rub my hands over each other, blowing on them again and again, trying to restore the feeling.
    Suddenly, I freeze. In the distance, a twig snaps, and I sense motion.
    I turn slowly. There, over the hilltop, a deer comes into view. It steps slowly, tentatively, in the snow, gently lifting its hooves and placing them down. It lowers its head, chews on a leaf, then slowly takes another step forward.
    My heart pounds with excitement. It is exactly what I’d been praying for. I rarely feel that Dad is with me, but today, I do. I can hear his voice in my head now: S teady. Breathe slowly. Don ’ t let it know you ’ re here. Focus . If I can bring down this animal, it will be food—real food—for Bree and Sasha and I for at least a week. We need this.
    It takes a few more steps into the clearing and I get a better view of it: a large deer, it stands maybe thirty yards away. I’d feel a lot more confident if it were standing ten yards away, or even twenty. I don’t know if I can hit it at this distance. If it were warmer out, and if it wasn’t moving, then yes. But my hands are numb, the deer is moving, and there are so many trees in the way. I just don’t know. I do know that if I miss it, it will never come back here again.
    I wait, studying it, afraid to spook it. I will for it to come closer. But it doesn’t seem to want to.
    I debate what to do. I can charge it, getting as close as I can, then throw. But I realize that would be stupid: after just one yard, it would surely bolt. I wonder if I should try to creep up on it. But I doubt that will work, either. The slightest noise, and it will be gone.
    So I stand there, debating. I take one small step forward, positioning myself to throw the knife, in case I need to. And that one small step is my mistake.
    A twig snaps beneath my feet, and the deer immediately lifts its head and turns to me. We lock eyes. I know that it sees me, and that it’s about to bolt. My heart pounds, as I know this is my only chance. My mind freezes up.
    Then I burst into action. I reach down, grab the knife, take a big step forward, and drawing on all my skills, I reach back and throw it, aiming for its throat.
    Dad’s heavy Marine Corps knife tumbles end over end through the air, and I pray it doesn’t hit a tree first. As I watch it tumbling, reflecting light, it is a thing of beauty. In that same moment, I see the deer turn and begin to run.
    It is too far away for me to see exactly what happens, but a moment later, I could swear I hear the sound of the knife entering flesh. The deer takes off, though, and I can’t tell if it’s wounded.
    I take off after it. I reach the spot where it was, and am surprised to see bright red blood in the snow. My heart flutters, encouraged.
    I follow the trail of blood, running and running, jumping over rocks, and after about fifty yards, I find it: there it is, collapsed in the snow, lying on its side, legs twitching. I see the knife lodged in its throat. Exactly in the spot I was aiming for.
    The deer is still alive, and I don’t know how to put it out of its misery. I can feel its suffering, and I feel terrible. I want to give it a quick and painless death, but don’t know how.
    I kneel and extract the knife, then lean over, and in one swift motion, slice it deeply across the throat, hoping that will work. Moments later, blood comes rushing out, and within about ten more seconds, finally, the deer’s legs stop moving. Its eyes