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Page 44

 

  I climbed the log, inching up from one dead branch to the next. It wobbled, and the fence shook, the chain link ringing against the steel posts. Up close now, the fence only inches from me, I could feel the electricity in the air, hear it hissing.

  The farther up I got, the more the log bowed and creaked.

  I paused and checked my balance so I could stand securely without hands. Then, carefully and slowly, I pulled the tarp from my shoulder. It was heavy canvas, and coated with something to waterproof it. I hoped it was as tough as it looked.

  I let it unroll, hanging down from my precarious perch. I’d been carrying it for hours, but the weight now seemed daunting. I wanted to throw it over the razor wire like a blanket over a bed, but it was heavy and awkward. I had to pull it back, fold it roughly in half, and then push it over the coils of sharp metal. It wasn’t pretty, and it was liable to slide off, but I didn’t need much time.

  As I put my weight on it, the razor wire flexed and bounced beneath me. There was no substance there, and I worried I’d fall into the center of the spool instead of climb over it. But a moment later my hand felt the steel crossbar of the fence under the tarp.

  I crawled over, and in an instant the springy coils flexed apart and I tumbled down through a mess of shredded canvas. I hit the ground on the other side with a thud, in a splash of snow, and my old injuries flared in pain. But I was over.

  The tarp was hanging on the wire, and a few tugs proved it wasn’t going anywhere. It was snagged in a dozen places, sharp razors poking through new holes.

  The whole scene left a lot to be desired. If anyone monitored this fence they couldn’t miss this huge mess. It was obvious what had happened here.

  That made time all the more important.

  I’d done the rest of this before. I knew the wall was close, and I knew how to cross it. There’d be cameras there, and I knew I would have to be more watchful for the school’s animals, but my chest swelled with confidence. I’d made it this far. I was going to make it the rest of the way.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  The snow was falling heavier when I got to the wall, sticking to my sweatshirt in big white flakes the size of cotton balls. There were cameras here, as I’d expected, and I stayed in the cover of the forest as I looked for a flaw in the security. There was a camera about every hundred feet, aimed at the top of the wall, not at the ground.

  It wasn’t like it mattered too much. My entire goal was to get sent to detention. But that was just it: I needed to get inside the school and go down into the underground complex through the detention elevator. All of the maps were created by people who went that way, and if I got caught out here then I might be hauled off somewhere else—to whatever entrance they used to get to the trucks.

  So I needed to avoid the cameras.

  I stood and pondered for a long time before finally deciding on a course of action. I couldn’t knock the cameras out of the way—whoever was monitoring them would notice that one had been moved. I couldn’t climb over the top of the camera, because each camera watched over the next one.

  My final tactic was lousy, but it was going to have to do.

  I darted across the open ground, hoping the falling snow would help hide me. I hit the base of the wall, flattening myself against it.

  I was directly under a camera.

  I felt stupid as I tried to block its view, like a little kid throwing snowballs at a stop sign. I figured that unless the guard was watching the camera at all times, they wouldn’t realize that the snow on the lens didn’t come from the blowing storm.

  It took a dozen tries before I got a direct hit, obscuring about two-thirds of the lens. It would have to do.

  Five minutes later I was over it, using the same log trick I’d used at the fence. It was amazing how much easier it was to get over the wall when a gang with a security contract wasn’t chasing me down. And when I was trying to break into prison, instead of out.

  I ran deep into the woods, away from the cameras.

  I was back. I’d fought so hard to get out of this place—but it felt strangely like home. When I ducked under the weathered pink ribbons that marked the paintball fields, I couldn’t help but feel a little nostalgic. I was trapped back then, sure, but I’d had my friends with me. I was part of a group. This time I was on my own.

  The path was easy now, but I walked it slowly, watching on all sides for animals. It was morning—if the snow hadn’t been falling, the sun would have been up. Students in the school were probably waking up and taking showers. I wondered what they’d think when I showed up.

  I could see the building, a dark mass surrounded by white lawns and trees and sky. I’d been gone for a week, but it felt so much longer.

  Moving from tree to tree, I made my way to the front of the school. There was less brush here, so I had to hide deeper inside the forest—about forty feet—at the base of a short limestone outcropping.

  Getting inside was going to be harder than climbing a wall. The windows here were bulletproof, and the doors could be opened only by someone with the right contract.

  I could run up to the doors, bang on them, and hope that whoever heard me had the ability to let me in. But if Maxfield saw me approach, I’d never make it.

  I pulled my legs up to my chest. It was cold, and I was getting wetter every minute. The snow sticking to my clothes was melting now, and I had begun to shiver. I stuffed my hands inside my sleeves and pulled up my hood. It could be a long wait.

  With nothing else to do, I overprepared. I rolled up my pant legs and used the wire to tie the powerheads to my shins. I had to hide the weapons so I could make it down the detention elevator still armed. The powerheads made me nervous. If I fell, would I shoot off my own foot?

  I hid the box cutter in my shoe. There was no place to conceal the Tasers, so I kept them in my sweatshirt.

  My fingers were starting to seize up. Too cold.

  I saw a face. Across the lawn of the school, in the bank of windows above the front door, someone was peering out. It was hard to be sure—it was far away, and the windows were a little cloudy—but it looked like a girl. Long dark hair.

  Red sweater, white collar. The Maxfield uniform.

  She was staring, hands on the glass. I knew she couldn’t see me—I was well hidden and covered in snow—but she just stood there and stared.

  Another student appeared beside her. They weren’t looking at each other—they were looking outside.

  A few minutes later a third person came, and then another.

  I knew this. Faces in the windows, watching and waiting. It was the first thing I ever saw when I got here.

  They were expecting a car.

  I gripped the shovel beside me, which was entirely covered in snow now. This was my chance.

  Twenty minutes passed, and then thirty. By the time I heard an engine, the windows were filled with faces. They were waiting to warn the new students not to leave the car, not to come inside. But something else was happening, too—I kept thinking of those two sisters. They went to the underground complex, had surgery, but never came to the town. Harvard said he saw them in the school. And Curtis had seen people who were kidnapped. Things were different now. The school had changed its procedures.

  I rose up into a crouch, one freezing hand gripping the shovel. I was debating between that and the Tasers, but the shovel had been so useful before.

  The car appeared off to my right, moving slowly on the unplowed, unmarked road. It was a large sedan, one driver in the front, two passengers in the back.