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Morgan Rice

Morgan Rice is the #1 bestselling and USA Today bestselling author of the epic fantasy series THE SORCERER’S RING, comprising seventeen books; of the #1 bestselling series THE VAMPIRE JOURNALS, comprising twelve books; of the #1 bestselling series THE SURVIVAL TRILOGY, a post-apocalyptic thriller comprising two books (and counting); of the epic fantasy series KINGS AND SORCERERS, comprising six books; and of the new epic fantasy series OF CROWNS AND GLORY. Morgan’s books are available in audio and print editions, and translations are available in over 25 languages.

Morgan loves to hear from you, so please feel free to visit www.morganricebooks.comwww.morganricebooks.com to join the email list, receive a free book, receive free giveaways, download the free app, get the latest exclusive news, connect on Facebook and Twitter, and stay in touch!

Select Acclaim for Morgan Rice

“Shades of THE HUNGER GAMES permeate a story centered around two courageous teens determined to buck all odds in an effort to regain their loved ones. But the true strength in any story lies not so much in its setting and events as in how the characters come across, come alive, and handle their lives-and it's here that ARENA ONE begins to diverge from the predictable and enters the more compelling realms of believability and strength…ARENA ONE builds a believable, involving world and is recommended…for those who enjoy dystopian novels, powerful female characters, and stories of uncommon courage.”
– Midwest Book Review
D. Donovan, eBook Reviewer

"I will admit, before ARENA ONE, I had never read anything post-apocalyptic before. I never thought it would be something I would enjoy…Well, I was very pleasantly surprised at how addicting this book was. ARENA ONE was one of those books that you read late into the night until your eyes start to cross because you don't want to put it down…It is no secret that I love strong heroines in the books I read…Brooke was tough, strong, un-relentless, and while there is romance in the book, Brooke wasn't ruled by that…I would highly recommend ARENA ONE.”
– Dallas Examiner

Books by Morgan Rice

THE WAY OF STEEL

ONLY THE WORTHY (Book #1)

OF CROWNS AND GLORY

SLAVE, WARRIOR, QUEEN (Book #1)

KINGS AND SORCERERS

RISE OF THE DRAGONS (Book #1)

RISE OF THE VALIANT (Book #2)

THE WEIGHT OF HONOR (Book #3)

A FORGE OF VALOR (Book #4)

A REALM OF SHADOWS (Book #5)

NIGHT OF THE BOLD (Book #6)

THE SORCERER’S RING

A QUEST OF HEROES (Book #1)

A MARCH OF KINGS (Book #2)

A FATE OF DRAGONS (Book #3)

A CRY OF HONOR (Book #4)

A VOW OF GLORY (Book #5)

A CHARGE OF VALOR (Book #6)

A RITE OF SWORDS (Book #7)

A GRANT OF ARMS (Book #8)

A SKY OF SPELLS (Book #9)

A SEA OF SHIELDS (Book #10)

A REIGN OF STEEL (Book #11)

A LAND OF FIRE (Book #12)

A RULE OF QUEENS (Book #13)

AN OATH OF BROTHERS (Book #14)

A DREAM OF MORTALS (Book #15)

A JOUST OF KNIGHTS (Book #16)

THE GIFT OF BATTLE (Book #17)

THE SURVIVAL TRILOGY

ARENA ONE: SLAVERSUNNERS (Book #1)

ARENA TWO (Book #2)

ARENA THREE (Book #3)

VAMPIRE, FALLEN

BEFORE DAWN (Book #1)

THE VAMPIRE JOURNALS

TURNED (Book #1)

LOVED (Book #2)

BETRAYED (Book #3)

DESTINED (Book #4)

DESIRED (Book #5)

BETROTHED (Book #6)

VOWED (Book #7)

FOUND (Book #8)

RESURRECTED (Book #9)

CRAVED (Book #10)

FATED (Book #11)

OBSESSED (Book #12)

Download Morgan Rice books on Play now!

Listen to THE SURVIVAL TRILOGY in audio book format!

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Jacket image Copyright Olivv., used under license from Shutterstock.com.

PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE

I thrash against the struggling current, lungs bursting, desperate for air. I try to propel myself to the surface, kicking furiously, treading for sunlight. I don’t know where I am or how I got here – but I know I can’t breathe, and I can’t last much longer.

With one last kick I finally manage to break the surface. I gasp, gulping the air, never having felt so dead – and so alive.

As I bob in a fast-moving river, I catch a glimpse of someone standing on the bank, looking down at me. Before a wave crashes over my head, I realize: my dad. He’s alive.

And he’s watching me.

His face is hard, though, too hard. No warmth is there – not that he was ever warm to begin with.

I push up to the surface again, fighting the power of the current.

“Dad!” I shout, fighting against the raging current. “Dad, help me!”

I’m overwhelmed with joy to see him, but there’s no emotion on his face at all. Finally, he locks his jaw.

“You can do better than that, soldier,” he barks. “I want to see you fight!”

My heart constricts. I look around me, disoriented, and it’s then that I see them: rows of spectators behind him. Biovictims with melted, tumorous faces. They are braying for blood.

I recoil in horror as the crowd begins to chant.

“Fight! Fight! Fight!”

I suddenly realize: I’m in another arena, its floor made up of water. It’s as if I’m in a giant fish bowl, with all the spectators high up on bleachers, all chanting for my death.

My fighting instinct kicks in and I tread with all I have, trying to stay above the surface. I scream soundlessly, no noise coming from my mouth at all.

I suddenly feel an icy hand on my ankle beneath the surface, trying to drag me down.

I look down and am stunned to see, beneath the clear waters, a face I’d never thought I’d see again.

Logan.

He’s alive. How can it be?

He holds onto my ankle with a viselike grip. His eyes are locked onto mine, boring into me as he pulls me deeper into the water, down into the depths.

“Fight!” my dad screams.

The crowd joins in, and as I am dragged down, I can hear their chants beneath the water, like a tribal drum pounding in my skull.

Panicking, I kick and writhe, trying to get away from the nightmare that is unfolding before my eyes. The water makes everything seem to move in slow motion, and I look down at Logan, his hand latched to my ankle and his sorrowful gaze still fixed on me. He looks at me forlornly, as though realizing that to hold onto me would be to kill me.

“I love you,” he says, his voice etched with pain.

Then he lets go, drifting away, and quickly disappears into the black depths.

I scream so loud it wakes me up. I sit bolt upright, my heart thudding so fast in my chest it feels like it could burst. I’m trembling all over. I touch my body all over as though checking that it’s real. My skin is clammy to the touch, and I’m drenched in a cold sweat.

Reeling from the horror of the dream, I wait a long while for my heartbeat to slow. It’s only then that I realize I have no idea where I am. I listen, immediately on guard, trying desperately to remember, and hear a soft beeping noise in the background. I smell the stench of antiseptic in the air.

I look around me and discover that I’m in some kind of hospital. Dawn is breaking, casting a pale red light on the clean walls, and as I look around I see I am lying in a bed, a blanket over me and a pillow beneath my head. I feel a tug on my arm and look down to see an IV, while a machine to my left beeps in time to my heartbeat.

The entire scene seems unbelievable, a place so quiet, so clean, so civilized. I feel as if I’ve gone back in time to the world before the war. I can’t help but think I’m having another dream, and half expect it to turn into another soul-crushing nightmare.

Cautiously, I get out of bed, surprised to find my legs sturdy beneath me. I rub the puncture wound on my leg, from the snake bite I got in Arena 1, now mostly healed. So this is real.

The IV is attached to a metal stand with wheels. I hold on to it and pull it toward the window with me. I open the blinds, and as they inch up, I take in the sight and gasp.

There, sprawled out before me, lies a perfectly preserved town. It looks impossibly pristine, untouched by the war. All the buildings are intact, their clean windows shining. There are no bombed out buildings, no rusting, abandoned hulls of cars.

Then my heart quickens as I see that there are people milling about, leaving buildings that look like homes, heading down paved streets toward fields and farmyards. They look carefree, clean, well fed, well dressed. I even see one smile.

I blink several times, wondering if I am dreaming.

I am not.

A rush of hope hits me as I think of the rumored town in Canada, the one Charlie and Logan both believed existed. Have we made it here?

It’s then that I think of the others. I realize I am completely alone in this hospital room. I spin around and of course see no sign of Charlie or Ben, no sign of Bree.

Fear takes hold of me. I rush to the door and find it locked. Panicking, I wonder if I’m a prisoner. Whoever put me here decided to lock me in, which doesn’t bode well.

Just as I’m rattling the handle and pounding frantically against the door, it swings open, and I stagger back as a small group of people enter.

They wear strange uniforms, and there’s something militaristic about the way they move as they swarm into my room with a brutal sort of efficiency.

“General Reece,” a woman says, introducing herself as she raises her hand up in a salute. I notice her Canadian accent. “And you are?” she demands.

“Brooke,” I say. “Brooke Moore___.” My voice sounds startled and breathless, weaker than I would have liked.

“Brooke,” she repeats, nodding.

I stand there, stunned, not knowing what is going on.

“Where am I?” I say.

“Fort Noix,” she replies. “Quebec.”

I can hardly breathe. It’s true. We really made it.

“How?” I stammer. “How do you exist?”

General Reece looks at me expressionlessly.

“We are defectors from the American and Canadian armies. We left before the war, because none of us wanted to be a part of it.”

I can’t help but think bitterly of my dad, of the way he volunteered to join the war before he was even called. Maybe if he’d been idealistic like General Reece and the other soldiers here we’d never have gone through everything we did. Maybe we’d all still be a family.

“We’ve created a safe society here,” she continued. “We have farms to grow food, reservoirs for water.”

I can’t believe it. I sit back on my bed, overwhelmed, feeling relief wash over me. I’d given up all hope of ever being safe, of ever living a life again where I wouldn’t need to fight.

But she isn’t about to give me time to bask in the moment.

“We have some questions for you, Brooke,” she says. “It’s important that we know where you heard about us and how you found us. Staying out of sight is paramount to our survival. Do you understand?”

I take a deep breath. Where do I even begin?

I recount my story for the General and her troops, beginning with the Catskills, the house Bree and I shared on the mountains, before going into the trauma of the slaverunners. I tell her about escaping Arena 1, about rescuing the girls who’d been taken to become sex slaves. She watches me with a grim expression as my story unfolds, our capture and ordeal in Arena 2. The only thing I leave out is Logan. It’s too painful to even say his name.

“Where are my friends?” I demand when I’m finished. “My sister? Are they okay?”

She nods.

“They’re all fine. All recovering. We had to speak to each of you in turn, separately. I hope you understand why.”

I nod. I do. They had to make sure our stories corroborated, that we’re genuine and not slaverunner spies. Suspicion is the only thing that keeps you alive.

“Can I see them?” I ask.

She puts her hands behind her back, a position I remember my dad adopting all the time. It was called “at ease” even though it doesn’t look remotely relaxed.

“You can,” she says in her clipped, emotionless voice. “But before I take you to them I need you to pledge to never speak about what you see here to anyone. Absolute secrecy is the only way Fort Noix can survive.”

I nod.

“I will,” I say.

“Good,” she replies. “I must say I admire your bravery. Everything you’ve been through. Your survival instinct.”

I can’t help but feel a swell of pride. Even though my dad will never be able to see me and tell me he is proud of my achievements, hearing this from the General feels almost as good.

“So I’m not a prisoner?” I say.

The General shakes her head and opens the door for me. “You’re free to go.”

In my thin hospital gown, I begin to take small steps down the corridor. General Reece and her soldiers escort me, one wheeling the IV on my behalf.

Just a few rooms down, the corridor opens up into a small dormitory. The first person I see is Charlie, cross-legged upon a bed reading a book. He looks up, and the second he realizes, his eyes fill with relief.

“Brooke,” he says, discarding his book, standing from the bed and coming toward me.

Movement from the other side of the dormitory catches my eye. Ben emerges into the brightening dawn light. Tears glitter in his eyes. Beside him, I see the small figure of Bree, with Penelope, her one-eyed Chihuahua, in her arms.

Bree begins sobbing with joy.

I can’t help myself. Tears spring into my eyes at the sight of them all.

The four of us fall into an embrace. We made it. We really made it. After everything we’ve been through, it’s finally all over.

As I cling to Charlie, Bree, and Ben, I let my tears consume me, shedding them cathartically, realizing this is the first time I’ve cried since the war began. We’ve all got a lot of healing to do. For the first time, I think we’re going to get the chance to mourn.

Because we may have made it, but the others didn’t. Rose. Flo. Logan. Our tears aren’t just from relief, but grief. Grief and guilt.

I realize then that the horrible nightmare I had last night is just the beginning. All of us have tortured, traumatized minds; all of us have endured more than anyone should ever have to. In some ways, our journey hasn’t ended.

It’s only just begun.

CHAPTER TWO

Our embrace is interrupted by a gentle tap on my shoulder, and I pull back from the others and turn to look behind me. General Reece is standing there stiffly. Her expression reveals to me that our outpouring of emotion has made her feel awkward. My dad was the same – he was always teaching me not to cry, to hold everything in.

“Now you’re all back together,” she says, “I’ll need to escort you to the Commander. It’s up to him to make the final decision.”

“The final decision about what?” I ask, confused.

Emotionlessly, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world, the General says: “To decide if you can stay.”

My stomach twists at her words, at the sudden realization that we might be forced back out. I’d been an idiot to assume our staying at Fort Noix was automatic. Of course we wouldn’t be accepted just like that.

Ben’s hand reaches for my arm and squeezes and I realize he must be thinking the same thing. Likewise, Bree grabs the fabric of my gown, twisting it anxiously into her fist, while Charlie stares at me with wide, terrified eyes. Penelope whines with anguish. None of us want to go back out there. None of us can leave this place now that we’ve seen it. Even the thought of it is too cruel.

A nurse, tending to someone on the far side of the dorm, looks over and scowls at General Reece.

“My patients are still weak,” she said, glancing at my IV line. “They need to be allowed to rest for a few days. Sending them back out there like this would be a death sentence.”

It would be a death sentence in any state, I think.

Almost as soon as she says it, I become immediately aware of all the aches and pains in my body. The adrenaline of finding myself alive and safe, of being reunited with my friends and sister, has been the only thing carrying me this far; being reminded of everything my body has gone through brings the pain flooding back.

“Then they will die,” General Reece replies firmly, matter-of-factly. “The decision lies with the Commander. I follow the Commander’s orders. You follow mine.”

The nurse looks away, immediately obedient, and the General, without another word, turns on her heel and marches out.

We all look at each other anxiously and then, prodded by the soldiers, we follow the General, flanked by her equally obedient soldiers.

It’s difficult to walk down the corridor. There are aches in muscles I never knew I had, and my bones seem to creak and grind as I walk. Sharp pains race through my neck and spine, making me wince. Moreover, I’m absolutely famished. Yet I don’t feel able to ask for food, worried that it may sway General Reece or the Commander, make them think that we’re demanding or spoiled. If we want to survive, we need to give off the best impression we possibly can.

Ben keeps glancing at me with a worried expression, and I can see his anxiety, his fear that we might be expelled from Fort Noix and left to fend for ourselves all over again. I share his fear. I’m not sure any of us would survive that again. It’s as if I’d been bracing myself all these years, steeling myself to survive this world, knowing that no other option existed. But now, seeing all this, seeing what is possible, the thought of going back to it is just too much.

We reach the end of the corridor, and as General Reece pushes open the two double doors, morning light floods in so bright I have to blink.

As my eyes adjust to the brightness, Fort Noix appears before me. It’s a fully functioning town, filled with people and buildings, military trucks, bustle, noise, and laughter. Laughter. I can’t even remember the last time I heard that. I can hardly believe my eyes.

It is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

The General’s voice breaks through my reverie.

“This way.”

We’re led along a sidewalk, past groups of kids around Charlie and Bree’s age playing in the streets.

“We don’t have many children at Fort Noix,” the General tells us. “The ones that are here are educated until the age of fourteen. Then we sort them according to their abilities and assign them work.”

Bree looks at the children with longing eyes: the prospect of four years of school is beyond tempting for her. Nestled in her arms, Penelope immediately reads the change in Bree’s emotion and licks her face.

“What kind of work?” Charlie asks, curiously.

“All forms of labor are needed to keep this fort operational. We have farmers, fishermen, hunters, builders, tailors, and then we have more administrative duties, like assigning rations, taking registers, and the like. We have professionals, too: teachers, soldiers, doctors, and nurses.”

As we’re led through the town, I find myself more and more impressed by what I see. Fort Noix runs on solar power. All the buildings are only one story high, so as not to be visible from afar or attract any attention. Most of them have grass on their roofs – something the General explains is for both insulation and camouflage – and tree branches covering them.

As we stroll along, the sunlight grows warmer and brighter, and the General explains the history of the place. It seemed to come about through a combination of fate, chance, and a whole lot of luck. There were already a number of military bases peppered along the powerful Richelieu River. Due to its geographical location between New England and New France, the river had been a key pathway in the French and Iroquois Wars in the seventeenth century and, later, the French-English battles of the eighteenth century__. Because of its rich military history, those who, like General Reece, opposed the brewing American civil war were drawn to it, and helped turn it into a safe zone for defectors.

The second bit of luck was that the river flowed from the distant Green Mountains bordering Vermont. When the war finally broke out in New York, the mountains sheltered the fort from the winds carrying nuclear radiation. While the rest of the population succumbed to the radiation and disease that resulted in the biovictims, the military personnel hiding out in Fort Noix were protected. At the same time, the good source of clean running water provided them with an abundance of fish, so that when supply routes were blockaded, bridges blown, and villages leveled, the people in the fort survived.

The wars that had raged around these parts had another unlikely outcome. Since most of the local towns were flattened, the surrounding forests had a chance to grow. Soon, a thick barrier of evergreens surrounded Fort Noix, reducing its chances of being found to virtually nil, while providing wood for fires and game for hunting.

Once the sound of bombs stopped and the fort’s residents knew the war was over, they sent out scouts and quickly realized the human race had obliterated itself. After that, they cut themselves off completely and set to work expanding the fort into a town, and building civilization again from the ground up.

By the time General Reece has finished her story, I’m in awe of her. Her calm and military steeliness reminds me of my dad.

As we walk, I can’t help but feel overwhelmed by every little detail. It’s been so long since I’ve seen civilization. It’s like stepping back in time. Better, even. It’s like stepping into a dream come true. The people milling around me look healthy and well cared for. None of them have endured starvation. None of them have had to fight to the death. They’re just normal people like the ones who used to populate the earth. The thought makes a lump form in my throat. Is it possible to start again?

I can tell the others are as overwhelmed as I am. Bree and Charlie stay close together, side by side, looking around with awe. They’re both clearly excited and happy to be in Fort Noix, yet also anxious at the thought of it all potentially being taken away from us.

Ben, on the other hand, seems a little dazed. I can’t blame him. To step out of our brutal world and into this one is beyond disorienting. He walks slowly, almost as though in a trance, and his eyes glance furtively from side to side, trying to take everything in. I realize as he walks that it’s more than just being overwhelmed. It is like how my body could only reveal to me how exhausted it was once I was safe. Ben’s mind, I’m sure, is revealing to him just how much he’s been through: the death of his brother, fighting in the arena, every near-death experience. I can almost see that his mind is preoccupied with thoughts as he sifts through his memories. I have seen people suffer from post-traumatic stress, and his face bears the same look as they’d had. I can’t help but hope that his appearance doesn’t hamper our chances of being accepted here.

Soon, we’re off the main street and walking down some smaller, winding roads that lead through the forests. This time, it’s Charlie who starts hanging back, trudging a little way behind the rest of us. I drop my pace and draw up beside him.

“What’s wrong?”

He looks at me with terrified eyes.

“What if this is a trap?” he says under his breath. “What if they’re taking us to another arena?”

His question makes me wonder whether I’m being too trusting. I think back to the man who stole our supplies when we were on the run from the slaverunners. I’d trusted him and I’d been wrong. But this time it’s different. There’s no way Logan would have directed us toward danger.

I put my arm around Charlie’s shoulder.

“We’re safe now,” I explain. “You don’t have to be scared anymore.”

But as we go, the canopy thickens above us, blocking out the daylight and making dark shadows crowd in around us. Something about walking this long, dark path reminds me of the arenas, of walking those corridors knowing that a horrible, painful death was all that awaited me. I can feel my heart begin to hammer in my chest.

The sky gets darker and darker as we go. Bree must notice something is wrong, because she snuggles into me.

“You’re sweating,” she says.

“I am?”

I touch my brow and find that I’ve broken out in a cold sweat.

“Are you okay?” Bree adds.

But her voice sounds strange, distorted, like it’s coming from far, far away.

Suddenly, there’s a hand on my arm, and I scream as I see Rose’s black, wizened hand latching onto my arm. I lash out, pushing her away, scratching at her hand with my fingernails.

Then all at once the panic is gone. I come back to the present and realize that it wasn’t Rose’s hand on me at all. It was Ben’s. He’s cradling it against his chest, and deep scratches run along it. He looks at me with an expression of pure anguish while Penelope yap-yap-yaps her distress. The soldiers around us politely avert their gazes.

I look down at Bree and Charlie, my heart hammering.

“I’m sorry,” I stammer. “I thought… I just…”

But my words disappear.

“Maybe we should take you back to the hospital,” Ben suggests in a soft, persuasive voice.

“I’m fine,” I say, sternly, frowning at their worried expressions. “I thought I saw something is all. It’s no big deal. Come on.”

I stroll ahead, leading the pack, trying to gain back some sense of myself. I’m not the sort of person who crumbles in the face of adversity and I’m not about to become the sort who is haunted by the past.

Yet as I continue to walk, I’m not so sure I can leave the past behind.

We turn a bend, and I see it: the short, squat building that must contain the Commander’s office. I brace myself, heart pounding, as we walk.

The outcome of this meeting, I know, will determine if we live or die.