I stood up. “Leave now, and don’t come back.”
“We don’t need your services,” Becca said, advancing on her.
“We’ll never need your services,” I added, standing next to Becca.
The SAS officer drew herself up. “My dears, I don’t think you realize the position you’re in. Certainly the painless, complimentary gift of a gentle farewell shouldn’t be sneered at.”
“And yet, I am sneering,” Becca said.
“Girls, please,” the SAS officer said. “Your lives here simply won’t work now. If you choose to accept this gift, then you can have the pride and joy of knowing that you’re making way for two brand-new little babies. Isn’t that nice?”
“If you want to keep your face, you need to get out now,” Becca advised, and pointed at the open front door.
“You have no future here!” the woman cried, picking up her black bag.
“No,” I said. “You have no future here.” I gave her a fast shove out the door and we slammed it after her.
For a moment Becca and I stood there, wide-eyed and breathing hard. Then, for the first time in a long time, Becca broke down. She put her fist to her mouth, tears already streaming down her cheeks. “Oh, God,” she said. “Pa.”
Words couldn’t express everything—anything—I was feeling. I nodded, and then we stood there and hugged each other and cried about Pa.
102
BECCA
WE TALKED AND DIDN’T TALK, cried and didn’t cry. Much later, Cassie looked up from the sofa, where she was lying, holding a pillow to her chest. Then she frowned and sat up a little. “What’s that noise?”
I listened for a second. “Sirens? Geez, maybe a fire truck? Is there a fire around here?” Then it hit me. “Oh, shit,” I said. “This is it. Where’s Pa’s gun?”
“I lost it the night I got taken,” Cassie reminded me. “I told you.”
“Crap, right,” I said.
“Baseball bat,” Cassie said, and ran upstairs to get her aluminum slugger. I went into the kitchen and got a couple of carving knives.
It seemed to take a long time for them to get here. My nerves were razor-sharp; all my muscles zinging with anticipation. I felt like I was going to explode.
Cassie’s eyes were fixed on the long road leading to our house, at the clouds of dust the cars were stirring up around them.
“You know, Beck—I was thinking about when we were in prison. What were they training us to do? To be?”
“Uh—assholes? Fighters? Bullies? Psychopaths?”
To my surprise, Cassie smiled and looked at me, and right in that moment she looked so beautiful and angelic that I wanted to smack her.
“Nope. I’ve decided that they were training us to be heroes,” she said, and hoisted her bat to her shoulder.
“What?”
They were close enough for me to count: all six of our police cars were there, the Provost had his shiny gas-powered car, the SAS van was there (of course), and there were a bunch of other vehicles like Hoppers and mopeds and the bigger family cars we all called Biscuits because they were roundish and tan.
“Yeah. We can fight now—ruthlessly, even if we don’t want to,” she said as the cars turned down the smaller dirt road leading to our house. “But we still care about kids, people weaker than us. We still felt bad when they died.”
I was so hyped-up I could hardly think straight. “Heroes?” I repeated.
She gave me another beatific smile. “Yep.”
The crowd seemed to swell and grow, getting bigger and longer like a parade.
We’d closed and locked our ancient driveway gate, and shook our heads when the Provost’s car honked its horn. After it honked several times, the car backed up and rammed our gate, lifting one side right out of the ground.
“Schmuck,” Cassie said.
The Provost’s car drove up almost to the house. Two police cars hummed in after him. The driver got out and then opened the back door for the Provost. He was already scowling and tugged his suit jacket into place. The cops got out of their cars.
The rest of the crowd clustered around in the road outside our fence.
The Provost held up his hand for silence, and all the murmuring stopped.
Cassie stepped forward. “Is there a problem?”
“You bet there’s a problem!” the Provost yelled so that everyone could hear. “The two of you are trouble! You’re the definition of bad citizens!”
The crowd murmured behind him, some people looking angry.
“Can you be more specific?” Cassie asked. I was impressed—the only thing I could think of to say was a bunch of cussing. But she was holding it together.
“You’re a bad influence!” the Provost said. “You’re deserters! You left the cell! You made my son leave, too!”
I stepped forward, ready to tell him where to get off, but Cassie held up a hand.
“You’re welcome,” she said.
The Provost looked taken aback. “What?”
“First,” Cassie said, “we didn’t leave voluntarily. We were kidnapped.”
That was stretching it, but whatever.
“You were not kidnapped!” the Provost said angrily.
“We were kidnapped,” Cassie said firmly. “Just like other kids from this cell. And Nate—your son—heroically tried to save us.”
Okay, okay, I thought. This is good.
The Provost was speechless for a moment. But only for a moment.
“You led him astray! You made him leave the cell!”
Following Cassie’s lead, I said, “How could we possibly lead Nathaniel astray? You know how loyal he is to you and the cell.”
Provost Allen looked trapped. Was he going to announce that his son wasn’t loyal, in front of everyone?
“Becca was kidnapped,” Cassie said strongly. “As her only sister, I had to try to find her. Then I got kidnapped. Nate, being a good friend and an amazing person, tried to find us. And he got taken as well.”
“By who?” someone in the crowd shouted.
“There’s a prison,” I said. “A prison just for kids. We were all taken there.”
More surprised murmuring. But Cassie wasn’t finished.
“And we—all of us—have to go there right now and save those kids!” she cried.
103
CASSIE
“WHERE IS THIS PRISON?” a woman yelled. “Are any of our kids there?”
“Some,” I said. “Not all of the ones who are missing. We saw Kathy Hobhouse there, and she said she’d seen Livvie Clayhill. But there’s other people’s kids there—hundreds of them. Kids whose parents are just as worried, just as frantic, as we are. Those kids need saving.”
“What are you talking about?” the Provost said. This was clearly not going the way he’d thought—I could practically hear the wheels in his head spinning as he tried to turn this to his advantage.
“There are hundreds of kids who are going hungry, who are being beaten, who are facing death every day!” I said, raising my voice. “And we, as a cell, can help them!”
The crowd looked confused. Each cell takes care of its own—that’s how it’s always been.
“If our kids were there, and folks from another cell could help them, would you want them to?” Becca asked.
More murmuring.
“We, the people of this cell, could help those kids,” Becca went on. “We might be able to return them to their own cells.”
“They can’t come here!” the Provost said. “It would throw everything out of balance!”
“These kids’ lives are more important than balance!” I said strongly, and the Provost paled as people started to agree with me, nodding their heads.
“You know the laws!” the Provost tried again. “We’re not leaving the cell unauthorized!”
“These kids’ lives are more important than laws!” Becca said.
“More important than authorization!” I added.
People in the crowd were tal
king to each other, nodding and convincing each other.
“Who’s with us?” Becca shouted, raising one hand in the air. “Who will take the risk of going to save these children’s lives?”
No one said anything.
“It won’t be easy,” I said. “It’s a scary thought for all of us. There’s a lot to like about staying home, safe and sound.” Nods, looks of relief. “Except we aren’t safe!” I cried. “Our own kids have been taken with no warning! Who knows who will be next? Will it be one of your sons or daughters? Will someone you love end up in that nightmare? We’re not safe in this cell! We won’t be safe until we break up that prison!”
This was it—now or never. I waited, muscles as taut as a pulley rope. And then one person raised a hand, tentatively.
Then another person raised her hand.
And another.
And another.
“Let’s go find this prison!” a woman yelled.
“Let’s go find those kids!” a man agreed.
I looked at Becca, saw the disbelief in her eyes.
“Heroes,” I whispered.
104
THERE WAS A CONVOY. BECCA and I had gotten everyone riled up. A line of cars, trucks, and even a few tractors swarmed toward the boundary gates. I couldn’t believe it. Everything was changing. We were changing it.
Despite the Provost lecturing about the dangers of leaving the cell, only a few people turned back. It felt like everyone had been asleep, and had just woken up. It was amazing.
Becca and I jumped in the back of a pickup truck. I was feeling a sickening mixture of hope and dread, excitement and fear. I’d never wanted to go back to that prison. I’d never wanted to get anywhere near the place. But I was ready to take it by storm. Just thinking of the kids inside—setting them free…
Becca nudged my knee with hers. “Can’t believe we’re going back—voluntarily.”
I nodded. “Yeah. But we have all these people with us—Strepp can’t take us with all of them here. We have to try.”
Becca nodded, but she didn’t look completely convinced. She’d told the lead driver where she thought the prison was, based on our return journey. I was glad she’d been paying attention, because there was no way I’d ever find it again.
After a long time, shouts up ahead made us stand and look over the truck cab. A sudden panic gripped me: there it was. I’d recognize it anywhere—the collection of broken-down gray buildings, the tall chain-link fence with razor wire on top. I couldn’t believe I was back here. Then I thought of the beaten, hungry kids inside.
The last time I’d approached this place, I’d been looking for my sister, determined to find her at any cost. Now I grabbed her hand, felt her fingers tighten around mine. We’d made it this far together. We could go farther.
My breath caught in my throat as I imagined the confrontation we’d soon face. Would Strepp be there? Would she sic the guards on us? Our cell was made up of farmers: the most extreme argument I’d ever seen had been Mr. Fenston yelling at Mrs. Parker to “move her gol’ dang tractor” out of his cornfield.
“I hope this isn’t a huge mistake,” I muttered to Becca. “Maybe we should have thought this through more.”
“Too late, Careful Cassie,” she whispered. “Time to be heroes.”
Within minutes we’d arrived at the gates.
It didn’t take more than a couple seconds to see that my fears were justified. Something was very, very wrong.
105
BECCA
CASSIE AND I WERE STANDING in the back of the pickup, holding on to its metal frame. The closer we got to the crazy house, the more the hairs on the back of my neck stood up.
“What the hell?” I said, as our convoy came to an ungraceful stop at the gates.
I’d expected guards with machine guns. I’d expected gates shut and locked with heavy chains.
These gates were wide open. Wide open, and hanging off their hinges, as if they hadn’t been used in a long, long time.
Cassie and I jumped down from the truck and ran closer.
Someone got out of a Hopper and looked at us. “Is this the place?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I don’t know what’s going on.”
“This is weird. There’s no tire tracks,” Cassie said, pointing to the dirt and tumbleweed-covered ground.
“What is this?” someone asked. “This place is abandoned!”
“No,” I said. “It just looks that way. Let’s see what’s inside!” As I led the way to the main building, I noticed the Provost standing outside his car, leaning against it. He’d looked pretty panicky when the mob had insisted on coming here. Finding this seemingly abandoned building had cheered him up.
I stopped dead about ten feet away from the main door, which was also open. Bits of trash were blowing around, and dust had filtered inside. Cautiously, expecting to be set upon at any second, I peeped inside. Cassie joined me, a confused frown on her face.
“It looks completely different. Unused,” she whispered, shaking her head. “But this is definitely it.” She reached out and hit a light switch. Nothing happened.
We took several steps inside, still waiting for alarms to sound, guards to come running. But the place was as silent and empty as Pa’s bedroom at home. The air was stale and dry, the only sounds were the wind whistling through deserted rooms and the echoes of our feet as we continued to search.
We found nothing. No prisoners, no Strepp, no classrooms, nothing. Just one empty room after another. The auditorium held bleachers but no canvas-floored ring, no stains of blood. The mess hall held only a few overturned chairs and tables, some broken windows, and a bird’s nest above one air-conditioning duct.
“The tunnel!” Cassie cried, and we ran through the kitchen to the hallway beyond. It was just the same, with rows of doors, but when we got to the end, the very end, there was no door at all. Just a blank wall.
Scowling, I went back to the last door and opened it, in case we were remembering wrong. This room was empty. No crates and certainly no hole in the wall.
Outside in the hallway, Cassie and I just looked at each other, and then I slammed my fist against the wall where the door should have been. “Goddamnit!” I cried. “This is impossible! It doesn’t make sense!”
“You’re right,” said the smooth, oily voice of the Provost as he walked down the hallway toward us. “This is impossible. It doesn’t make sense.”
I gave him my best slit-eyed glare, but inside, my brain was reeling with the craziness of it all. We had just been here. We really did have those experiences. I still had a lump on my head from a tree root, and Cassie’s finger had been fractured from punching Strepp. So what the hell was happening?
106
“ADMIT IT!” PROVOST ALLEN SAID. “You are lying!”
“We aren’t lying!” I snapped. “I don’t know what the deal is, but we aren’t lying! I have no idea why that prison seemed unused, because believe me, it’s been used.”
I glanced over at Cassie. Since we’d gotten back to town, she’d been oddly quiet. Even more than me, she seemed shocked by what we’d found. Now as we were getting yelled at in the Provost’s office, it seemed like she was somewhere else.
“I don’t know what you were hoping to accomplish by that stunt,” the Provost said with a sneer. “But I’m glad that you were publicly shown to be liars and manipulators. In the morning the Overseer Committee and I will decide on a proper course of action. But between you and me, I’m sure a quick mood-adjust will help you both become the upstanding, productive citizens you should be. In the meantime, you’ll be guests of the United—in our cozy jail, right here in the Management Building.”
Cassie blinked and sat up straighter. “No.”
The Provost pounced on her eagerly. “No?”
“I’m not going back to jail,” Cassie said flatly. “And neither is Becca. We’re going home.” She stood up as the Provost’s face started turning red.
“You’re not going anywhere
!” he said with barely controlled fury. “Except to prison, where bad citizens and traitors belong!”
I stepped closer to Cassie, rage boiling up inside me. “Listen, old man,” I ground out. “Either one of us could easily beat the shit out of you—we’ve been trained to. Both of us together and you’ll never find all your teeth. If my sister says we’re going home, then we’re going home. Got it?”
The Provost opened his mouth, and I held up a finger. “Go ahead,” I said. “Call the guards. We’ll take them on, too. It’ll be fun.”
The Provost looked like he was about to have a stroke. “Then you’re under house arrest!” he hissed. “My guards will take you home and make sure you stay there until tomorrow morning’s hearing!”
Cassie shrugged.
“You’re the worst kind of citizen!” the Provost added. “The best kind for a mood-adjust!”
“Like your wife?” I said, meanly.
I’d never seen anyone go from purple to green in just a few seconds, and I watched his face with interest.
“Guards!” he shouted. Immediately the door burst open and two guards ran in. “Take them to their house. You and another unit will be on guard tonight. Make sure they don’t leave.”
“Yes, sir!” the guard said, then motioned me and Cassie out the door.
Whatever. We wanted to go home, anyway.
107
CASSIE
THE GUARDS NUDGED US OUT of their cars and up onto the porch. One of them wanted to follow us inside, but Becca stopped him with a glare.
“Forget it,” she said flatly. “You’re staying outside.”
With a sour look, the guard motioned to the other three to surround the house. He made a big show of standing at attention, his rifle at the ready. I had no doubt he was hoping that Becca or I would try to run away.
Feeling beaten all over again, Becca and I trudged upstairs.
“How could the prison—” I started, but Becca held up her hand.
“There’s no way,” Becca said bitterly. “You know and I know that that prison was there, that we went through all that shit, and that we aren’t crazy. But besides that? I got nothing.”
Crazy House Page 20
