In the End

by Lunetta, Demitria

  “Why?” I have to trot to keep up with her. “What’s wrong?”

  She motions back to a black sheet hanging on the door of a cell. “Black Pox. That’s a new infection. We don’t want to get too close.”

  “Could we catch it from out here?”

  “Probably not, but I don’t want to take any chances.” We’re most of the way back down the hall. “There are people who already have had the Pox who deal with the infected. Someone will come later and remove them to the back wall.”

  “What about until then?” I ask. “Are they getting food and water?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” she tells me. “They’ll get better or they won’t. We can’t do anything.”

  We walk back to Jacks’s cell in silence. I wonder how Pam can be so kind to that man with the sick son and so cold to someone else, alone and dying. But by now, I know the answer: People do what they have to in order to survive.

  Before we say good-bye, Pam leans in and whispers, “Maybe don’t mention to Jacks what I told you about Doc. It’s a touchy subject for him.”

  “Sure. . . . Why?” I ask, uncertain. Is he so attached to his boss?

  “You know”—she widens her eyes—“because Doc is Jacks’s father and all. Jacks is really sensitive about Doc’s addiction.”

  “Oh!” I nod, stunned. Suddenly it all clicks in to place. Jacks isn’t just connected through his uncle, the Warden, but through Doc as well. That must be why he’s Doc’s assistant, even though he has no medical background.

  “It’s not exactly common knowledge,” Pam continues. I think Jacks wants to keep it hush-hush . . . but, you know, I hear things. It’s not like these bars are exactly sound proof. Jacks used to talk to his sister about it . . . about forgiving Doc for whatever wrong he had done to them way back when.”

  “You knew Jacks’s sister? What was she like?”

  Pam’s face falls. “She was a sweet girl. Too good for this place. Me, I can adapt. I learned to lose my educated facade.” Her voice becomes louder, more coarse. “And act like I ain’t never lernt nuthin’ from no books.” She smiles, slipping back into her normal voice. “But that girl was never going to make it here. Jacks did what he could, and of course she had the Warden and Doc looking out for her, but you can’t expect to make someone like that happy in a cage.”

  She looks me up and down. “I don’t think you’ll be happy in a cage either. . . . But you won’t let it come to that, will you? You won’t lock yourself up in that cell and refuse to face the world. No, I think you’ll do just fine here though. Let Jacks take care of you, and make sure to take care of yourself.”

  “I will,” I tell her, unlocking the bike lock and stepping inside. I pace the room, opening and closing my fists with impatience. I need to talk to Jacks. Why wouldn’t he just tell me that Doc is his father? Unless Doc really is working for Dr. Reynolds and Jacks in on it too, charged with keeping an eye on me. I don’t want to believe it, but I can’t force the dark thoughts from my mind.

  How much can I really trust Jacks? Here I am, stuck in a horrible place with no end in sight. Another day is almost gone, and I’m no closer to getting back to Baby. I gaze out over the exercise yard, the mess of crude shelters littered across the muddy concrete. People mill and out of the shacks, trading for food, fighting, and surviving.

  This is their home—probably the only one they’ll ever know now. But where is mine? I thought I’d found one in New Hope with my mother, but instead I almost ended up dead. The fact is I have no home. Not until I can get Baby and take her to a safe place . . . wherever that may be.

  “Hey, you.” A voice cuts through the cell.

  I turn to find the man I saw lingering earlier, the one covered in dirt who brushed past me and Pam on the walkway.

  “What do you want?” I ask, my heart racing, glad for the bars that separate us.

  “I heard you asking Pam about Ken.” He leans in, his grimy face pushing through the bars. “I can take you to him.”

  I take a step back before I remember there’s a locked door between him and me. I try to make my voice sound strong. “Why should I trust you?”

  “Jacks sent me. He said you was to come right away or Ken would be gone.”

  I try not to let my desperation decide for me. What if he is lying? Why wouldn’t Jacks come himself? I look at the man again. He’s small and thin. I could easily take him in a fight. I take a deep breath. I can’t let my fear get in the way of finding Ken.

  “Back up,” I tell the man. He steps away from the bars and I unlock the bike lock. As I pull open the bars, he rushes forward. But I was ready for something like this.

  I step aside and trip him. He falls forward into the room but gets to his feet surprisingly fast. He turns and lunges at me, leading with his shoulder, trying to take me out with brute strength. I move out of his way, but in the small room, space is tight. I hit the bunk bed at full force, my hip crashing into the hard metal frame. The man pulls me to the floor, yanking at my synth-suit, leaving my arms free. I grab one of my knives and hold it up to his throat.

  His hands go still. “I didn’t mean nuthin’ by it.” He grins at me, as though he hadn’t just attacked me. I push up on the knife, forcing him to lean back, then scramble out from under him. He tries to flee, but I grab his filthy hair and once again hold the knife to his neck.

  “Some people was saying that you really weren’t Jacks’s. That you was looking for a man. That you was fair game.”

  I push the knife into his skin, and a small trickle of blood runs down his grubby neck to stain his collar. “You tell people that it doesn’t matter if I belong to Jacks. I don’t need him or the Warden to protect me. I can take care of myself.”

  I kick him out the cell door into the walkway and quickly shut and lock the bike lock. He scurries to his feet and down the hall. I take a deep, shaky breath and sheathe my knife. I turn and sit on the bottom bunk, resting my head in my hands. It was a long shot, but I’d hoped the man was telling the truth and could take me to Ken. I let out a sharp bark of a laugh at my foolishness and rub my face. I stay like this for a good long while, until I hear a voice at the door.

  “Amy. You’re awake.”

  My head jerks up as Jacks steps into the cell, clicking the bike lock shut after him. “You really should keep this door locked.”

  “Sorry,” I say, breathing hard. I make a quick decision not to tell him what just happened. Even though I took care of it myself, I don’t want him to think he needs to protect me all the time. “I was just walking around with Pam.”

  “Without me?” He looks upset.

  “We survived. She wants you to do a tattoo for Mike.”

  “Still, you should have waited. After what happened before . . .”

  I bristle at the memory. I shouldn’t have needed Jacks to come save me. I didn’t need him just now. I know I can take care of myself.

  “I don’t have time to wait,” I snap. His possessiveness annoys me. “Anyway.” I stand to confront him. “Pam doesn’t know Ken, but she told me something, about Doc.” I study him.

  “What about Doc?” he asks carefully.

  I don’t answer but instead stare him down. He holds my gaze for a moment but then drops his.

  “Is it true? Doc’s your father?”

  “Yes.” He takes a seat in a chair and motions to me to sit again. “And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. . . . I don’t really talk about it though. Doc wasn’t ever really a father to me. My mom and he got divorced when I was just a little kid. I didn’t know why then, but my father had issues with chemical dependency. He got fired for stealing drugs from the hospital where he worked. He couldn’t find a job after that, till my uncle gave him one working here. That was part of the reason my uncle was so crazy about getting me and Layla to come out here before our trip. . . . He wanted us to make up with our dad. Do you know how long it’s been since I actually called him Dad? Years. Layla was still a baby.”

  “Does he still use?
” I ask, my earlier suspicion waning.

  He shrugs. “He started off strong here. Even after the world ended, he had his brother, he had me and Layla. He always said he was blessed to be with his family. He asked me to be his assistant and taught me so much. He thought there was hope for us all. It took the end of the world to bring our family together. But last year a lot of women here got ill. Most didn’t make it. Doc blamed himself. He started taking pills to be able to sleep. Then after Layla died . . . Now it’s like he’s given up. He takes more and more. . . .” Jacks shakes his head. “I guess he is still an addict. I won’t make excuses for him.”

  I stand and place my hand on his shoulder. He leans his head in to my side unexpectedly. After a moment, I move away.

  He looks up at me. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I didn’t lie either. You have your secrets too, Amy.”

  I nod. “I understand, I just . . . I didn’t know.”

  He stands and reaches toward me, he hand resting on my upper arm, warming my skin. “We’re still good, right?” His breath teases the top of my head, and I’m afraid of what will happen if I look up.

  “Yes, of course.” I pull roughly away from him and step toward the door. I’m all mixed up, Jacks bringing strange feeling to the surface. I push down my confusion and try to recover my wits. “So, are you ready to go out now, to look for Ken? I’ve got a lot of ground to cover,” I say, changing the subject.

  “Now’s not a good time,” Jacks says.

  “Why?” I’ve had enough false starts, enough dead ends. I’m also not sure I want to be in such a confined space with Jacks just then, not feeling the way I do, flushed and tight, like my skin is too small for my body.

  When I hear shouts from outside, I welcome the distraction and hurry to the window. A crowd is gathering, pushing its way through the exercise yard.

  “What’s going on?”

  Jacks won’t look at me. “A trial,” he says grimly.

  “A trial? What for?” Below me, the crowd is swelling, pushing toward the front wall.

  “Murder.”

  “Murder?” I turn around and look at Jacks. Doesn’t that happen here all the time? “And how does the trial work? Is there a judge or a jury or something?”

  “There’s no judge or jury.”

  “Does the Warden decide the verdict?”

  He shakes his head.

  “Then how will it be decided if the person is innocent or guilty?”

  “Amy,” he tells me with a sigh, “they’re always found guilty.”

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Despite Jacks’s protests, I drag him to the trial. If this is a main event at Fort Black, and if Ken’s in the prison at all, he might be there.

  When we leave Cellblock B, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to find Ken, let alone see the trial. There are too many people pushing to the walls across the Yard. In fact, it looks as if the wooden stairs might collapse against the weight of so many people. Jacks grabs my hand, and we head away from the crowd, past Cellblock C and the black building that used to be the cafeteria and visitor center. On that side of the wall, we pop through a door and circle around within the corridors of the wall to the opposite end of the exercise yard, then climb up so we’re standing on top of the outer front wall of the prison.

  If it were empty, we could see for miles outside of the prison, but the area is packed with spectators pressing for a view. Jacks slices through them and I run along behind him until, somehow, we’re at the front railing. The still-swelling crowd pins me against the iron, cutting off my breath. I can feel the three crossbars that make up the railing shifting under the pressure, and the top bar digs into my ribcage.

  As the pressure gets harder, I concentrate on breathing and pressing back, so I don’t get cut in half. Then Jacks wedges himself behind me, reaching around either side of my waist and grabbing onto the railing in order to relieve the strain.

  “Better?” he asks from behind me, his breath in my ear.

  “Yes, thanks. But I don’t know how I’m going to find anyone in this crowd.”

  All at once they begin to chant in unison. I can’t make out what they’re saying at first, but then it becomes clear.

  Guilty. Guilty. Guilty.

  “There,” Jacks says, his voice strained.

  On the corner of the wall, in the guard tower, the Warden stands.

  “People of Fort Black,” the Warden’s voice booms over the loud speakers throughout the compound. “We have good thing going here. The monsters are outside, and we’re safe in here.” He says thing like thang, laying on his Texas drawl.

  The crowd buzzes excitedly, and the Warden gives them a moment to calm down before starting again. “But we have to have some rules. We have to have some order. We’re not animals,” he spits. “A man has taken another man’s life. . . . And for what? To settle an argument? Well, the good book says an eye for an eye, and I say a life for a life!” The crowd goes wild at that, and Jacks lets out a sigh, his breath hot on my neck.

  “Let this be a lesson to ya’ll,” the Warden yells. “I don’t hold none with murderers!”

  Everyone is screaming and I’m not sure what is happening until I look down. A man has been released out of the prison walls through a side door below us. He takes a few steps away from the wall, stunned, then runs back, trying to get inside.

  “The people’s calls will bring the Floraes,” Jacks says.

  “This is his trial?” I shout.

  “This is Fort Black justice.”

  The man is still at the door, banging desperately. His mouth is moving, and I reach up to my ear to turn on the sound amplifier.

  “Please,” the man begs. “Please let me back in. I’ll do anything.” He falls to his knees, sobbing.

  A Florae appears on the rise across from us, pausing at the same housing development I rested at before approaching Fort Black. I don’t have my Guardian glasses, so it’s just a speck, but I know what it is by how quickly it moves as it jumps from the edge of the development down to and across the highway. More people have spotted it, and the chanting becomes more frenzied. Closer it speeds, and still the man blubbers next to the door.

  “Run!” I scream, my voice lost in the crowd. But of course it’s too late. The Florae hits him so hard, the man slams into the wall and bounces off it. He tries to push the Florae away, but it’s already feeding on his flesh. Its claws secure in his sides, its face in his stomach.

  Before I can turn off my amplifier, I hear gurgling as blood spills from the man’s mouth. Then a gunshot sounds and the Florae lies still, its head blown open into the mess of the man’s stomach. Another gunshot, and the man’s body twitches, blood pooling around what is left of his head.

  Some people stick around to watch the guards pick off the other Floraes attracted by the noise and blood, but, with the spectacle over, most of the crowd slips back into the prison.

  “That was barbaric,” I say at last.

  Jacks doesn’t answer, but drops his arms, allowing me some space.

  There is another volley of shots—more Floraes, probably, drawn by the noise and blood—but I don’t look for them. I continue to stare at the remains of the man below us.

  “In the place I was before,” I say, “they would banish people sometimes, but they wouldn’t watch gleefully while the person was devoured.”

  After a moment Jacks asks, “And does that make it better, not watching?”

  I turn to face him.

  “No. I guess not.”

  He nods. “Shutting your eyes doesn’t make you a better person. It just makes you a coward. You’ll notice my uncle didn’t watch the man he sentenced to death actually die. He turned away.”

  I close my eyes and think of Dr. Reynolds. He had the same depravity as the crowd, the same delight in doling out punishment fo
r transgressions, real and imagined. I open my eyes again, looking at Jacks. I’m so tired of running. I so desperately want to trust him, to have a real friend.

  “I shouldn’t have brought ya here,” he says, his tone filled with concern.

  “No. I . . . was thinking about the Ward.”

  “You talked about the Ward before. . . . Then you freaked the hell out. Over a hospital?”

  I shake my head. “No, it only looked like a hospital.”

  He doesn’t say anything, just waits for me to go on.

  “I . . .”I’m trembling, but I want to tell him. I have to. “I was placed in the Ward, a sort of institution . . . because I questioned the rules of the society I was living in. But when I was in the Ward”—I pause for a moment—“there was a girl I knew . . . I didn’t even like her, but she didn’t deserve what they did to her. They damaged her beyond repair.”

  I picture Amber’s lobotomy scar. The dead look in her eyes.

  “What happened to her?”

  “They didn’t kill her, but they destroyed everything that she was. They . . . unmade her.” I stare down at my shaking hands. I grasp them behind my back, trying to hide them.

  “Were they going to do the same to you?”

  I swallow hard and nod. “I’d rather let a Florae kill me than let that happen.” Jacks is lost behind a wavering screen of tears. I blink him back into view.

  Jacks puts his hands on my shoulders and looks me in the face. “Amy, you have every right to be scared. Look at this screwed-up world. Everyone is afraid, and if they say they’re not, then they’re lying . . . or really, really stupid.” He wipes a tear from my cheek. “You just have to keep going. I know, it sucks. But you have to be strong.”