“Yes, ma’am.” He peels off the hoodie and holds it out to me.
“Drop it on the floor. I’ll leave the knife.”
He looks doubtful.
“Do you want it or not?” I push. He drops the hoodie and backs away. I take the knife and throw it far down the hall, where it clatters to a stop on the concrete floor. The man shakes his head then moves slowly to retrieve it.
I quickly snatch the hoodie off the ground, pull it on over my head, and push up the hood. I crack the door then put my hand to my ear and turn on my sound amplifier to check if the coast is clear outside. It all sounds good until I catch a snippet of conversation from the exercise yard.
“ . . . I know I stabbed her.” It’s Pete’s voice, raspy from my punch to his throat.
“I told you, she was mine,” Tank’s voice cuts through. “Anyway, you must’a missed her. Did you see how fast she ran off? No one with a knife in their gut could move like that.”
And that’s what I should do again now—run. Run to my cell and lock the door. I know where Tank and Pete are now; it would be easy to avoid them. But then what? Live in constant fear? I scan the yard for either of them, but they’re out of my line of vision. I tense my body up, ready to bolt for Cellblock B. Then:
“It doesn’t matter anyway. It’s not like she has a lot of places to hide.”
“But we can’t do it when Jacks is around,” Pete croaks. “He says . . .”
I pull the hood down lower over my face and walk outside, heading in the direction of their conversation. Maybe their attack was motivated by something more than Tank’s blood lust.
“Well, doing it when Jacks isn’t around is going to be tough. She’s always with him or in their cell.”
“But that’s how Doc wants it,” Pete insists. “When she’s alone. He said the Warden will have our asses if sumpthun’ happens to his nephew.”
Spotting them across the yard, I duck behind a trampled tent, my heart racing. So Doc wants me dead. Is it because I found out about the testing and he thinks I’ll tell everyone? Or is this coming from New Hope, from Dr. Reynolds? Or from Ken?
I peek out behind the tent and see Tank and Pete still walking, their backs to me. They haven’t seen me, so I continue to trail them. It looks like they’re headed for the front wall, to the guards’ quarters.
“Doc also said to get it done by the end of the day,” Tank says, “but that ain’t gonna happen.”
Pete looks up at Tank, giving a panicked little hop as he hurries to keep up with him. “What are we gonna do? Doc’s gonna be pissed. . . . You saw him angry, what he done to Freddy that one time.”
“I saw him.”
“Made him into a damn Florae,” Pete shouts.
“I said I saw him. Shut the hell up.” Tank looks around. “Everybody in this place is going crazy ’cause they think one of those things got inside, and you’re gonna go around shouting about what we saw Doc do?”
That’s what Doc meant when he said sometimes he had to “create an opportunity” to test the vaccine. Poor Jacks. He has no idea what kind of monster his father actually is.
Pete nods. They’re almost at the wall. “I know, I know. Sorry. But if we don’t make this happen, we’re the ones gonna end up dead.”
“It’ll happen. Trust me. When Doc came to us and told us what he wanted done, I thought it was my damn birthday! I ain’t gonna let that little bitch slip through my fingers,” Tank assures him.
He opens the door and nearly collides with the Warden. “Oh, sorry, boss.”
“It’s all right.” The Warden steps out. “Did you boys take care of that thing yet?”
“Oh no, not yet boss. But don’t worry. I’ll get it done,” Tank says before they disappear through the door in the wall.
The Warden sighs and mutters, “Useless,” before continuing on his way. He’s heading straight for me, so I duck behind some cardboard boxes, crouching low, hoping I look like one of the helpless masses from the Yard.
I peek around the box to find the Warden continuing toward me, and I pull the hood down low. He pauses a few feet away from me, and my body thrums with fear.
“Did you,” his voice boom across the Yard, “just spit on my boot?”
“No, boss,” comes a frail voice. “I didn’t see you was standing there.”
“You didn’t see me?” The Warden asks, pulling the man up by his raggedy shirt. The man is so painfully thin, he shakes in the Warden’s grasp. “Or you didn’t spit on my boot?”
“I . . . I don’t . . . know,” the man stutters out a reply.
“Well, then, clean ’em.” The Warden pushes the man to the ground. A crowd has gathered now, and everyone is staring and laughing at the unfortunate man singled out by the Warden.
“Clean ’em good,” someone calls.
He tries to wipe the Warden’s boot with what’s left of his shirt, but someone else yells, “Spit shine ’em!”
The Warden laughs and glances around the crowd. I realize this is all for its benefit, to assert his dominance. To put on a show, a spectacle. New Hope was about hiding the bad away from its citizens. Fort Black puts it all on display, and the people lap it up.
“Spit shine!” the Warden calls. “Maybe that’s what he was trying to do! I like the sound of that. You, lick my boot clean.”
My stomach drops at the humiliation the man is suffering at the hands of the Warden. Only a coward would treat such a harmless man so cruelly. The man reaches out his tongue and touches it to the Warden’s boot. The crowd erupts in shouts and clapping, laughing at the man’s embarrassment. The Warden pulls his foot away and uses it to kick the man aside. Still laughing, he walks through the crowd, which parts out of his way.
I stare after him for just a moment before I disperse with the crowd and hurry back to Cellblock B. Whether Doc has told Dr. Reynolds I’m here, he wants me dead. Even the Warden is behind him. I guess they realized I wasn’t as good a companion for Jacks as they’d hoped. I should have known they’d want to get rid of me after exposing Jacks to the truth.
My decision’s made. Fort Black isn’t safe for me anymore, if it ever was. Ken’s promise of information isn’t enough to make me stay. I need to get my pack and find Jacks.
When I get back to our cell, though, Jacks isn’t there. I don’t have time to wait for him. I grab a piece of sketch paper and a pencil. A note will have to be good enough.
I’m still staring at the blank paper, unsure of how to say good-bye, when Brenna appears in the doorway. “Jacks here?”
“No. I. . .”
Brenna takes in my wild eyes, the pack on my back. “What’s up, Amy?”
“It looks like I have to leave.”
She blinks at me. “For good?”
I nod. “I think so.”
“Where you going?”
It’s probably better for her if she doesn’t know. “Pretty far away. I guess I’m glad I at least have my bike.”
“I know where there’s a car lot and a mechanic’s shop out there,” she tells me. “I heard Dwayne bragging about it. Maybe we can get you a car.”
“A car won’t be hard to find. There are a million out there, just rusting away.”
“Yeah, finding a car ain’t the problem. . . . It’s finding a car with gas. The Scrappers have sucked all the ones around here dry.”
My eyes widen. I hadn’t even thought about the lack of gas. “Oh, Brenna. You mean you know where to find a working car. . . . That would be amazing. Can you tell me where that lot is?”
“I can take you there. When do you want to leave?”
“Right now.” A car would be a game changer. But I can’t put Brenna in danger. “Do you know how to survive out there?”
“Sure. You know, I used be a Scrapper. I make a better living at the fights, though. I’ll show you where it is. I’m real good at being quiet, when I have to be.”
“We don’t have to be quiet. I have a gadget that scares off the Floraes.” Immediately I know I�
�ve said too much. I’m not thinking—or really, I’m thinking of something else, what to write to Jacks.
Brenna is silent for a couple of seconds. “Are you serious?” she asks slowly, her brow furrowed skeptically.
I don’t answer right away. I feel like smacking myself. How could I be so careless? If word gets out about the advantages I have, I’ll be dead within a day. Though it hardly matters now; I’m leaving Fort Black for good. Who cares if Brenna blabs when she gets back? “Yes, I . . . You won’t say anything to anyone, will you?”
She takes another step closer. “Really? Like I’m gonna tell anyone,” she says with a roll of her eyes. I look her in the face, and I believe her. I have to. “But, Amy, that has to be the most valuable thing in Fort Black. Hell, on the whole planet.”
I shrug, trying to play it off. “So we’ll be safe on the way there. Fine. But, Brenna, just to be clear. I’m not returning to Fort Black. You’ll be on your own on the way back here.”
“Don’t worry about me,” she says with a grin. “You bet your ass I can take care of myself. Maybe I can even find something good to bring back and trade.”
“Okay, then,” I say, and return to staring at the blank page, contemplating my last words to Jacks. Finally I scribble:
Jacks. I’m in danger here. I have to go. Thank you for everything. Really.
I know it’s a lame note. Especially after all that’s happened between us. The fact is, I don’t know how I feel about Jacks. But I can’t let anyone into my life right now. Not in that way.
Besides, Jacks could never go with me—not with what I have ahead. He’s too afraid of the world outside the walls of Fort Black. Too afraid of the Floraes. And I’m afraid too, but I can’t let that stop me from doing what I have to do.
I put the note on Jacks’s pillow and look at Brenna. “Get what you need and meet me in the parking garage at my bike. You have one too, right?” As I ask, I remember she showed me hers the day I got mine. I’d never thought to ask her why she needed one. If she used to be a Scrapper, it makes sense she would have one.
“Yep, and I don’t need to pack anything. It’s not far. I should be back by nightfall.”
“Oh, wait.” I remember Tank and Pete were last at the front wall. “Is there any other way to get out of here besides through the front gate?”
“Yeah, there’s the back entrance, out the garage where our bikes are. But . . . Amy, what is going on? Why are you in such a hurry to leave?”
I look at her. “Brenna, has anybody ever wanted to kill you?”
Brenna pauses and then gives me a wicked grin and raised eyebrows that say, Look who you’re talking to here. She snorts out a laugh.
“Just every damn day,” she tells me.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
..................................................................
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
After the constant noise of Fort Black, the silence on the outside is deafening.
Brenna and I leave the prison without incident. As we make our way through the garage to our bikes, I’m sure we’ll be spotted by one of Doc’s minions. But our departure is quiet, effortless. We unlock our bikes, check the tire pressure, and ride off. It’s not against the rules to leave; when I look up nervously at the top of the wall, the guard just nods and waves to Brenna. It just seems so easy.
Too easy.
We ride across the dusty flats, side by side. Before, this would be kind of a good time—the breeze rustling my hair, the sun beating down on my face. As I listen to the wind whistle in my ears, I can almost imagine everything is like it was Before. It feels . . . free.
“This is fan,” I say with a smile.
Instead of sharing my delight, Brenna responds, “Aw, shit. Look left.”
I swivel my head to where she’s pointing. In the distance, a Florae has spotted us and is making its way over, brought by the sound of our voices.
“So you sure this Florae gadget of yours is going to work?” Brenna says nervously, looking from side to side. Because of Fort Black’s intentionally rural locale, we’re forced to ride in the wide open. Aside from a few clumps of houses, there’s nothing around for miles.
“It will work. I was out here for months before I came to Fort Black and never had a problem.” I was also sure to keep it charged and turned it on before we left.
“I hope it doesn’t crap out now,” she mumbles. I can feel Brenna’s fear through her sudden silence as the Florae lopes toward us, gaining speed.
“Shit,” she says again, pedaling faster. As if that would help.
But at a hundred feet, the monster begins to tremble, its pale yellow-green skin shimmering in the brilliant light. It flinches back and veers away in the direction it came.
“There.” I breathe, slowing down. “See?”
“Holy crap,” Brenna says. “You got any more of those things?”
“No, only the one,” I tell her as she gives me a strange look.
We ride for another half hour. The deflected Florae has given Brenna confidence, and she begins to ask more about me, my past, and my family. Not wanting to reveal too much about my mother, I tell her about my father. All the things I loved about him. How he went on and on about buying organic and not wasting water.
“An eco-nerd, huh?” Brenna says. “Well, he sounds like he was a good guy.”
“He was.” There’s a tug in my chest, but the tears don’t start this time. I wonder, after all this death and sadness, if my tears just dried up. “What about you? Your family?”
Brenna just shrugs. “I never had a family, really. Hey, this car lot’s a little farther out than I thought,” Brenna says, distracting me. We stop to drink some water. I guzzle mine greedily before I hear Brenna curse.
“My water bottle’s got a hole in it.” She holds it up. A few drops fall from a pin-sized hole in the bottom of the bottle and onto the ground, splattering the pavement.
I shake my canteen, but I’ve drunk all my water. “Hang on,” I say. Water’s usually not hard to find, if you know where to look. I stop, flip my pack from over my shoulder, and check my supplies. “I’ve got a filter, but we’ve got to find a source.” I scan the horizon with my binoculars. “There’s a farmhouse over there,” I say, pointing. “Maybe there’s a stream or a well. If you think we have a few miles, maybe we should hit that.”
“You think it’s safe?”
“Safer than you passing out in this heat and me having to wheel your ass around. Let’s go.”
We make our way quickly over the parched, scorched ground, slowing down as we get close to the farm’s gate. Before, it must have been a lovely home. The gingerbread trim is still intact, as is a porch swing, drifting back lightly in the almost nonexistent breeze. But it’s only a shell of a house now. The paint is peeling, and the windows have all been shattered. Trash litters the yard—empty cans, wooden chairs, an old trampoline. Brenna leans over and picks up a pink hairbrush.
“Think I can trade this for something?” she asks, rubbing her shaved head.
“Well, I don’t think you’ll be using it,” I say, grinning. “Hey, let’s stay away from the house. There might be a well back here.”
“Hell, no,” Brenna says, walking up on the porch. “Let’s see what else is inside.”
“Brenna, I’m telling you, the place could be—“
Quick as a flash, a figure shoots out the door. Before Brenna can move, the attacker has her by the neck and holds up a rusty kitchen knife. It’s a woman, heavy, with dark rings under her eyes.
“Occupied,” she whispers hoarsely. She’s so filthy, it’s impossible to tell her age, but she looks at least as old as my mother. Her hair is plaited in two greasy gray braids.
Brenna yells in frustration and struggles to free herself. The woman holds the knife closer to her neck.
“Be quiet, girl,” she shrieks between clenched teeth. “Do you want those things to come? I have
nothing to lose by killing you.”
“Except that I’ll kill you,” I say purposefully loud. The volume puts her on edge.
The woman narrows her eyes and looks at me.
“How?” she sneers.
“It will take me exactly one second to take out my gun.” I lay my hand on it at my side.
The woman grits her teeth but holds tightly to Brenna. “What do you want?”
“Water,” I say. “That’s it.”
She looks at me warily.
“I’ll stay right here with your friend while you get it,” she says. “And don’t think about going inside. My man’ll kill you in a second.”
“Well, she’ll kick his ass,” Brenna says. “I’ve seen her level dudes bigger than whoever you’ve got back there.”
The woman looks at me again. I notice that her hand is shaking. She’s terrified of us, that we’ll bring the Floraes.
I nod and slowly make my way around the house. The well, like she said, is easy to spot. When I look inside, the water is murky but filterable. “Found it!” I yell.
There’s a grunt from the front of the house. When I look in the direction of the noise, I let out a small breath. The entire back of the house has been burned away. There’s no way anyone could be inside.
“It’s just gonna take another minute,” I call, then silently make my way to the house. Without taking the time to look around, I walk through to the front and rush through the door, grabbing the woman’s arm and yanking the knife away from Brenna’s neck.
The woman doesn’t scream as she tears at me. She’s survived this long by being quiet. But within a second, Brenna has her pinned to the floor. To my surprise, she doesn’t struggle at all. She just lies there, limp, on the rotting porch. Up close her face is red and cracked, her nose permanently red, as if she’s been crying for years.
I check the front windows to make sure there’s no one lurking around. Through one of the downstairs windows, I can see one of the rooms survived the fire. Purple walls and what looks like a poster of a teen star from Before. I can’t help but smile when I realize who it is—Kay, holding a microphone, her eyes shut, her short hair streaked with blue and her body wrapped in a spangled leotard. It’s hard to think of the Kay I know as the same person as this clichéd teen superstar. My eyes dart around the rest of the room. It’s mostly trashed, but I can make out some other items. A broken princess mirror, a canopy bed, on its side.
In the End Page 15
