He nods his head and looks away from me. "We left the safe area. The shed and the basement—those are safe zones, meant for the caretakers. Chipley is an isolated town, imprisoning many people from the outside. Including us."
"Isolated?" Imprisoning… Care takers?
"There's no way out. Not that I have found yet. We're surrounded by an electrified wall." Every piece of hope I had developed over the past twenty-four hours has shattered into a pile of dread. "I don't know if we'll make it out, but we're damn well going to try. And this might be the only way."
"What is the reason we are confined in this town?" I ask, unsure if I want to know the truth.
"You and I are the only two people who don't have a reason to be here. So, I can't answer that." There's no reason for why I was taken. There's no reason for why I'm confined to some compound of a town.
"And there's no reason for why you are suddenly so kind to me… I don't understand any of this, Sin. And I most definitely don't understand you." My breaths shudder as I try to compose my anger, sadness, and fear. "You've been so mean to me, but then there are moments like now, where you're nice. Why?"
"I'm angry," he says through a growl. "Your existence here has made this more complicated than it once was for me. I need to protect you. And for that, part of me feels resentment. However, the other part of me feels deeply connected to you, and for that reason…I can't fully resent you."
"I didn't ask for this," I tell him. "And you don't need to make me your problem."
"It's too late," he says as his hand cups around my cheek. Gentler than I thought capable, he presses his lips against my forehead and pulls me in against his chest. Again, I hear his heart beating—the comforting sound of not being alone. Warmth covers my body from the roots of my hair to the tips of my toes. I hate how he makes me feel so many different things at the same time. "Reese, I will do what I can to keep you safe."
"Safe from what?"
Before he has a chance to either ignore my question or answer me, I hear his name called again. "Sin," the voice shouts in a whisper. I glance over Sin's shoulder, seeing that man with the blanket again. JJ. He's limping toward us with a paper bag. Food? I pull out of sin's arms and take a few steps toward the man. I'm starving.
"Is that food?" I ask.
"Reese, no!" Sin shouts.
8
Chapter Eight
SIN
This girl is going to make my life hell. Forget that…she already has. I lunge for her, pulling her into my arms and lift her from the ground as she tries to fight me off. I get it. I understand why—I've seen what starvation does to people, and she's about to see it firsthand too. I have to get us food. "Reese, stop," I hiss into her ear.
JJ continues for us with his bag full of venom grown berries. Yeah, that's how things happen around here. When there are no weapons, people get creative.
"Who's the girl, Sin?" JJ asks. "You know what I think about another mouth to feed?" I know what he's thinking, which is why I won't let her have the bag.
"I'm starving," she groans, kicking me and slapping at my arms. "I need food. Why won't you let me eat?"
"I'll take care of this situation," I tell JJ. "She's just a runaway."
"From where?" he laughs, displaying his rotten, broken teeth.
"The Safe Hole," I tell him.
"That ain't possible, boy. You lying to me?"
I place Reese down on her feet, shoving her behind me, hoping she at least knows to keep her mouth shut as I take the couple steps up to JJ. "It doesn't matter what you think. You aren't going to do a damn thing about it. Are you?" I ask him. JJ doesn't care about the height difference. He presses his finger into the center of my chest, proving he's not worried about what I can do to him.
"I'll kill her. Then you," he grunts. I know I shouldn't laugh. I know I should walk away, but laughter mixed with rage rolls through me anyway. I thrust the heels of my palms into his shoulders and shove him backward, forcing him to trip over his feet. His bag goes flying and the berries I knew he had in there pour out. He struggles to get up, making it easy to see what the desertion has done to him—what it's taken from him. I don't know how he's managed to survive here for so long.
"Walk away, JJ," I seethe. Crossing my arms over my chest, I watch as he looks down toward the ground to where the berries are scattered. I know he won't leave them there. Defeat plays through his eyes as he drops to his knees and rakes them up into his hands. Desperation is a scary sight. Even after all of these years.
Once he's collected every last berry, he limps off with the bag and settles himself back down into the dirt against one of the sheds, mumbling obscenities under his breath. One problem avoided. For now.
I turn back to face the other problem. "What the hell were you thinking?" I scold her.
"I'm starving," she grits.
"Want to die today?" I ask.
"What kind of question is that?" For someone who was locked up and didn't speak for years, she certainly has a way of expressing her opinions without missing a beat.
"A simple one. Do you want to die today?"
"Obviously not," she snaps.
"Good. Then don't take shit from anyone. Got it?"
She narrows her eyes at me as her nostrils flare slightly. I laugh silently to myself, realizing the angrier this girl gets, the cuter she is. And I shouldn't be considering this fact. She's dangerous to be around. She's a hazard. A damn, beautiful hazard. "Do your good moods have an expiration date or something? Because they only last about thirty seconds before you turn into a raging asshole again," she says.
"Don't confuse my ability to be nice for being in a good mood." Irritated, hungry, and pretty ticked off, I take her by the elbow and drag her along. "Let's get you some food, princess." I can feel her glaring stare burn into the back of my neck and the thought makes me smile a bit. She's sort of fun to piss off.
We stay along the backside of the sheds, keeping out of sight from the rest of the starving people until we reach the end of the row. Slowly, we turn the corner, keeping tight to the side of the last shed where our path opens up into a large pit.
Looks like we've arrived just in time to watch the crate descend from the chopper above. The prisoners all stand silently, watching. Waiting. Most are wide-eyed with their mouths hanging open. Although, no one knows how much or how little is in the crate this week, they just know there is something inside. "What is that?" Reese whispers into my ear.
"Food," I tell her, feeling the tips of her fingers dig into my bicep. An ounce of sadness runs through me as I realize she doesn't understand the likelihood of seeing what is inside the crate. "How many people do you think are out there?" I ask her.
She looks around for a moment before taking a guess. "I don't know, fifty or sixty people?"
"Close," I tell her. "How much food do you think can fit into that crate?"
She shrugs at my question and I see her hopefulness melt away with each passing second. "Can we try to get something?" she asks, moving beside me in an attempt to walk toward the pit.
I place my arm up to stop her. "It doesn't work like that."
She quiets down as the crate hits the ground. Everyone quiets down as the crate is released. The air feels stale and the volume of the wind seems more prominent now. I've never had to fight for my food as these people have. Being inside of the hospital, meant things were different, but not necessarily better than out here. In confinement, I was treated more or less the same way Reese was treated—bread and fruit, twice a day.
The chopper lifts back up and takes off in the direction it came, leaving us alone with this one parcel filled sparingly with food. The people all move tentatively at first, but it's not for the purpose of being respectful to thy neighbor. It's to look into their peers' eyes and learn them—their moves and tactics. Their weaknesses. With no tools or weapons within the compound, the first struggle is opening the crate.
"What are they doing?" Reese asks.
I don't answer her. She'll figure out
exactly what they're doing. Men and women use their fingers to pry the wooden boards apart. We're not close enough to see, but they will do so until their fingers bleed. Rocks are thrown against the crate, sticks are swung, broken slats of wood from old sheds are used as bats—the innovativeness here is sometimes endless and never surprising. "Things are going to get ugly," I tell her, keeping my eyes fixed on the scene.
It takes less than two minutes for the crate to crack apart. "They're going to hurt each other. Aren't they?" she asks.
Again, I let her question go unanswered. There is no sound to the chaos. People don't scream or yell, grunt or even cry. The only sound we hear are bodies being thrown, shoved, and used as weapons. Small paper bags sealed with plastic fall from the crate like a candy from a piñata.
Men are usually the first to grab handfuls, but there are some women who have become strong enough to fight against the weakening men. Those who are lucky enough to obtain a bag hold it closely to their bodies and run back toward their sheds. Not all of them make it.
I look back at Reese, gauging her reaction, curious of her strength after watching this. As much as I figured she'd have her hands covering her eyes, instead she seems enamored by the animalistic display. "Are you okay?" I ask her.
"We're going to starve to death. Aren't we?" she asks.
It's a strong possibility. I don't know where Dad retrieved his rations from, but being a caretaker meant he had food. It's just from where, I don't know. "I told you I will protect you. That means avoiding starvation," I tell her. I grip my hand around her shoulder, pulling her attention away from the massacre. "Look at me." I wait for her focus to slowly meet mine, seeing the red veins in her eyes darken as she struggles with acknowledgment. "I want you to stay here." The look on her face tells me that's the last thing she wants to do. "Don't move, and don't let anyone see you. If anyone does, you run toward the trees." I move my hand from her shoulder and cup her it around her chin, crouching down to her eye-level. "Do you understand?"
Her brows bend toward her nose as she nods slightly. "Don't leave me, Sin."
"You'll be okay," I tell her, pulling her small body into my chest. "You'll be okay."
"Please," she begs. It's a weakness I haven't seen in her yet and it kills me. But she'll starve to death if I don't do this, so I release her and press her up against the wall. "Just stay here."
With a deep breath, I crack my neck to each side and stalk toward the people. I'm larger than most of them thankfully. I had hope that my training with cardio day in and day out from within my cell would help when I got out—I knew I would have to fight. I saw everything from my cell window. Everything.
I keep my eyes on the crate, witnessing more fights than bags being retrieved. I haven't seen more than a dozen people walk away with bags, which tells me there must be more. As I approach the crowd, I use my force to push most of the people out of the way, ignoring the fingernails slicing against my flesh and the hands pulling at my clothing, tearing it in places. Small arms close around my neck in an attempt to strangle me, but whoever it is has no strength. Although it was enough to cause a distraction, causing vulnerability as I'm pelted in the back by what feels like a wooden plank. The wind from my lungs escapes me briefly, but I quickly recoil, moving forward again—becoming close enough to almost reach the crate.
I can see there are still bags inside, but not many. As I consider making the plunge, another object hits the back of my head, forcing me to my knees—the last place I should be. Black spots float in front of my eyes, causing a slight blur. I clench my eyes shut to regain my focus and balance, working to push myself back up, but it seems impossible with the weight on my back. Is someone on top of me? I struggle against the force, feeling another crash against my head. This time I fall flat to the ground. People are stepping on me, trying to hold me down, keeping me from the food.
When I open my eyes, I see a bag in reach. Slowly and careful not to attract attention, I slide my arm along the dirt, reaching for the bag. My fingertips sweep across the rough paper as I use every ounce of strength I have to pull myself forward the additional two inches I need.
I finally grab the bag and pull it beneath my chest, looking in each direction for an opening. There isn't one. My head is throbbing and the spots in front of me are growing in density and in color. Nausea waves over me, confirming the extent to my injury, but I have to get out of here, and with this bag. Reese is probably scared out of her mind. She probably saw me fall down and not get back up.
Clawing my fingers into the dirt, I pull myself at a slow pace as sweat drips from my forehead into my eyes—the salt burns, hindering my vision even more. It takes several more minutes to move inches from where I was, but now I see an opening, or rather a break in between brawls. I pull myself up to my knees, still hugging the bag tightly against my chest. Like a player with a ball, I run head first into the remaining crowd and turn back toward where I left Reese, who is no longer by the shed.
My heart drops into my stomach, fearful of someone attacking her—the outsider no one has seen before. Unsteady, I run toward the trees where I told her to go if she was threatened. I still don't see her, though. But how could I? She's wearing the same colors as everything we're surrounded by in this God forsaken compound. We're all covered in dirt, camouflaged with the land.
"Reese," I shout in a whisper. Although it seems useless because I'd see her if she were close enough to hear me. Regardless, I continue running toward the trees, which seemed much closer than they are. Or maybe it's just the seconds that feel like minutes right now. I let her down. I broke my promise. I told her I'd protect her, and I didn't.
I know I shouldn't care where she is. I should take this food and run, eat it and satiate the burning hunger pains that have grown in my stomach over the past three days. But I care. I care way too much about her, and it's probably going to get me killed.
I reach the trees, walking into the shadows from the thick brush of overhanging leaves. It's like a maze of mirrors in here with each tree perfectly aligned in straight rows. "Reese," I call out again. Nothing. Weaving in and out of every tree from one side to the other, a pit in my stomach grows from fear of what might have happened to her. I'll kill someone if they touched her. I should have warned her about these people. I should have told her where they're from and why they're here. I should have told her she'd be safer in the common area of a male penitentiary with no surrounding guards. I should have told her how many people die here every day.
But I didn't. And now I'm afraid she's going to find out on her own.
9
Chapter Nine
REESE
It's like watching a car accident happen in slow motion. I want to help him, stop him, plead with him to come back, but like a driver inside of a car, he wouldn't hear me.
Watching as Sin walks toward the savages of this town, I silently pray for his safety. He didn't ask me if I would rather him jump into the riot and fight for food, or if I would be okay with starvation. I would have told him I'll starve. Asshole or not, he saved my life. Asshole or not, he's the only friend I have right now. Although, I doubt he would refer to himself as my friend since I'm pretty sure he hates me.
Sin walks into the crowd as if they had parted ways for him. Except they didn't. He parted ways for himself, and within a blink he was swallowed up in the crowd. Why are these people acting uncivilized? How long have they gone without a normal supply of food? Why are they even here? I've tried to ask these questions, but I'm rationed answers when necessary. It's something I've had to accept.
I press up on my toes, keeping my grip firm against the side of the shed. I still can't see much, but I see people flying in the air as if they were merely sacks of potatoes, landing with a thump and a grunt before the silence returns. Women are beating other women, and men are beating both men and women. This is what starvation does to a person. I want to know who is supplying the food, and I want to know why someone would purposely hold all of us hostage here in
this town. I'm not sure what we did to deserve this type of treatment.
A man separates himself from the crowd, holding a brown bag as he runs down the path toward the other sheds. Another man follows him with a bag tucked tightly within his grip. I wait and watch to see who will be next, wanting to hold my breath until Sin makes his way back here.
I feel cold inside, despite the blazing hot sun still burning every inch of my exposed skin. I'm not sure how long it's been since he walked into the crowd, but I know there isn't a line of people just waiting for their food. Because I see blood and unconscious bodies lying still on the ground. Sin is larger than most of them. He must be over six feet and more than two-hundred-fifty-pounds. He has to be strong enough to make it through. He has to be.
I drop back down onto the soles of my feet and wrap my arms around my body, needing to comfort myself from the fear of what might happen if Sin doesn't return. With so many unanswered questions, I feel like my likelihood of survival here won't be good.
With my eyes still glued to where the crate should be, a tight grip squeezes around my shoulder. I fling around, startled to find JJ standing before me with his paper bag of berries pressed against his side. "Where's your boyfriend?" he mutters. "Stealing my food?"
"He already told you to leave us alone," I tell him. Knowing that won't suffice, I take a step backwards toward the pit where I know I shouldn't be heading.
I could run, but I don't think I'm fast enough to get away from him—I would surely lose this chase. I could cause a scene, but that may force the riot to shift their attention toward me, and that wouldn't end well either.
"Sin isn't here," he scowls. He leaps toward me and grabs my arm, bringing a scent of rotten trash along with him. Holding me tightly and pulling me against my will, I try to fight him off, but I'm reminded of how weak my muscles really are. He's dragging me away toward the tree line where Sin told me to meet him if something happened. It's the only hope I have right now.
Locked In: No Way Out Series - Book One Page 4
