Three

  I hoped they did not suffer long.

  Billy was still typing, tongue now sticking out of the side of his mouth.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Oops,” said Billy with a grin, striking one final key with his index finger. “Looks like the locks on cell block A through D aren’t working so well anymore.”

  More black and white images popped into view on the screen to my left—these of hallways, and doors tentatively being pushed open from the inside.

  I ruffled a hand through Billy’s hair and he waggled his eyebrows at me.

  Tucker pulled a contraption off the wall—a rope noose attached to a long pole, maybe five feet in length. I took a step back as he loosened the rope to create a larger circle.

  From somewhere beyond our cell came a dull roar. The party to celebrate the Chief of Reformation’s victories over the fallen resistance posts had begun.

  “Look.” Billy pointed to the central camera feed, where two soldiers armed with semi-automatic weapons opened a door.

  “We’re out of time,” said Tucker.

  Silently, and without delay, we followed him out of the booth to a hallway, where he stopped just before turning the corner.

  “You’re my prisoner, understand?” When I nodded, he placed the rope overhead and tightened it around my neck. He stood back, gripping the length of the pole, and despite the fact that I had allowed him to do so, I felt a hot prickle of shame inch down my spine. To anyone that saw, I was no more than a rabid dog on a leash.

  “Hands behind you,” Tucker said. “Head down.” He looked at Billy. “You think you can handle her?”

  Reluctantly Billy took the end of the pole.

  “Sorry, Ember,” he muttered.

  We walked straight down the hall, Tucker holding my wrists, Billy pushing me forward from behind. My shoulder was still exposed, the cool ventilation making my new cuts feel raw and dirty. A few turns, and we came to a juncture where a guard behind a glass shield buzzed us through without question.

  Night, and the heavy smell of moss greeted me, along with the roar of a crowd I could barely discern beneath the hair that fell forward over my face. Our time was nearly up. In just a short time, this place would be destroyed.

  “Tucker,” I whispered. “What time is it?”

  “Past your bedtime,” he said. “Now shut up.”

  In silence we continued through a grass paddock—the recreation yard—toward a fence. Just beyond it waited a sea of soldiers jeering at a site beyond the scope of my vision. My limbs grew cold, and my wrists began to tremble.

  “We’ll have to go around them,” said Tucker. “Once we’re out of this gate there’s an alley between the buildings that leads into the back parking lot. That’s your best shot.”

  “How do I get into the party?”

  His fingers dug into my forearm. “Forget the party. This isn’t the Knoxville holding cells. This place has real security. And it’s tripled because the chief’s here. Even if you find him, you’ll never get out of here alive if you don’t go now.”

  “Let me worry about that.”

  He made a noise of disgust. “I don’t understand you.”

  But I wasn’t sure that was right, because locked in one fist was a knife he’d given me.

  “You should go,” I told him, though everything in me screamed that it was wrong. “Get out of here. You’re better than this.”

  He stared at me for one long moment. Finally he shook his head.

  “I’m really not.”

  The noise of the crowd grew louder as we approached, and made my bones turn to slush. So many soldiers—their voices snide and condemning. I did not know what I would do should they turn and attack. The rope pressed against my throat, as dictated by Billy’s firm hold on my leash.

  We came to a high metal fence where an armed guard looked down from atop a watchtower.

  “You’re late,” he said. “They just took the last one through.”

  “Doesn’t look like it,” said Tucker condescendingly. He released my wrists to flash the gold star on his chest up at the soldier, who immediately turned to a control panel to his right.

  “Sorry, captain. Gate’s opening now, sir.”

  The back row in the crowd turned as the gate rolled back on its wheeled track. Some of the men, drunk with excitement, smiled slickly.

  “All right,” one said. “I didn’t know there’d be a girl mixed in.”

  “Out of the way,” said Tucker.

  “Yes, captain,” they responded. He lifted his chin while I lowered mine. If it wasn’t for the cold sweat making his grip on my wrists slippery, I would have thought Tucker was enjoying his newly earned status.

  The majority of the crowd was still focused on something happening beyond them though, and as I looked on I saw what had drawn their jeers.

  A line of prisoners, their faces covered by black bags and hands bound behind them, waited to get into the building. Some were badly injured and barely upright but were forced into motion by the chains that bound each man’s ankles to the person before him. The soldiers threw handfuls of dirt and rocks on them from across the last barrier of fence. Some were attempting to spit on them; a few succeeded in hitting their mark.

  “Wallace?” Billy said behind me.

  I lifted on my toes, trying to see over the others, but I could only catch glimpses through the churning sea of uniforms and flying dust.

  A second later the pole fell behind me, choking me, and my hand flew to my throat.

  Billy was gone.

  CHAPTER

  24

  TUCKER wasted no time snatching up the fallen pole. He gave me a sharp jerk, one which made the air lock in my lungs and my eyes nearly pop out of my head, and I fell to my knees. In a hurry, I lunged up, gasping, searching for Billy, but he had disappeared into the sea of blue.

  More soldiers began to turn around, pointing and laughing at me. I couldn’t escape it. To them I was a freak; I felt like a freak. I was exactly what they had made me.

  At that moment, the front of the group erupted into cheers. The door to the building had opened, and the guards watching the line began to order the prisoners through. With all the attention directed back on the door, Tucker pushed me to the right, leading me against the fence to a narrow juncture between two gates. If I hadn’t already been told an alley was there, I never would have seen it.

  “No,” I said. I had to go with the others. I had to reach Chase. Tucker didn’t understand—none of this mattered if Chase died tonight.

  Tucker twisted the pole, tightening the noose even further. As we approached the entrance, he pushed me within, and the weight on my neck grew heavy once again as the metal pole was finally released. I turned around, but he was facing the crowd.

  Giving me a chance to escape.

  Quickly, I shed the leash, and flung it to the ground.

  “You have to go,” I said. “By midnight this place will be flattened.”

  “Get out of here,” he hissed over his shoulder.

  I stared at his back for one final moment. A feeling close to what I’d felt before Harper had tried to kill Chase in that hospital in Chicago came over me. An unfilled well of potential. An inability to stop a train wreck.

  I turned and ran.

  As I neared the end of the alley I saw the parking lot Tucker had mentioned. A hundred cruisers, navy vans, and buses filled the lot, with soldiers in groups crossing to an entrance on the other side. I looked for anyplace I might sneak in but found none.

  A caravan of government cars stopped one by one at the gate before being allowed inside. As I watched, three soldiers emerged from a check station and began to search a van. One examined the undercarriage with a mirror attached to a long handle.

  The other two soldiers opened the doors and assisted half a dozen girls outside. They were dressed like the girls I’d only seen in my mother’s magazines from before the War. Short, tight skirts clung to every curve. One of the girls
’ tops was see-through; the others looked as though they’d been scavenged from donation bins, and ripped and tied to create a new style all their own.

  Cara’s last words came alive in my mind: “If you’re breaking into a base, make sure you dress the part.”

  The girls were patted down, giggling at the wandering hands of the guards, and permitted entry through the gate that buzzed open. Overhead, the light was fading. Night would soon arrive.

  No time left, my thoughts echoed. No time left.

  A clicking sound came from overhead, and without another thought I hit the ground, covering my head. Behind closed eyes I saw the ruins of the safe house. The burned bodies.

  No time left.

  The parking lot lights flickered on.

  Shaking, I rose, damp with sweat. I laughed to myself—a crazy sound, even to me. Maybe I had a little more time after all.

  The girls were approaching the entrance to the base. There were more now—maybe fifteen or eighteen—moving together as a group. Smart, I thought, when the sharks were already beginning to circle.

  Without another thought I ducked behind one of the cruisers and ran to the second row of cars, situating myself between two vans. I could hear the girls laughing now, shouting their taunts to the soldiers, who whistled and catcalled back.

  I needed to break into that group; if I made it to the middle, I might be able to get into the building without anyone noticing my shredded, muddy, bloodstained outfit. Just as I was about to chance joining them, I caught my reflection in one of the vans’ side mirrors. My cheek was still an angry red, like my neck where the Lost Boys’ rope had rubbed. But my gaze drew lower, and my knees weakened, because on my shoulder where I’d been marked a member of Three were now two more slashes, these ones ugly, gaping, condemning. Five hash marks, forever branding me an Article violator.

  The MM found a way to twist everything.

  I covered it quickly with my torn collar, knowing the red stain on the fabric would do little to hide what lay beneath. The group drew closer, moving through the rows of cars toward the entrance. I stood, still unseen, but before I could join them one of the girls—a redhead with a shiny blue skintight gown—dropped something that rolled across the ground in my direction. Her heels clacked against the asphalt as she chased it.

  “Hey!” I called softly. She looked up, rose, and tucked the tube of lipstick back into her purse.

  “Someone there?” she asked tentatively, fluffing her hair. She glanced back to the group, continuing on without her.

  “Over here!” I said. She appeared around the backside of the van, her eyes widening in surprise.

  “Girl.” She whistled. “They already worked you over good, didn’t they?”

  I covered the wound on my shoulder with one hand and tried to look meek. It worked—she moved closer, until we were both out of sight from the front gate.

  “I need to get into that party,” I said.

  She crinkled her nose, stretching the dark freckles across her cheeks. “Haven’t you already had enough? I mean, the pay is good, but it ain’t that good.”

  No time left.

  “I’m sorry.” I withdrew the knife from my pocket. The blade was still stained with my blood. “I’m going to need your dress.”

  * * *

  TWO minutes later I was jogging toward the entrance of the building, unsteady in the girl’s high heels and trying in vain to stretch the fabric to cover both my bra and my thighs. I’d left her my clothes beneath a car two rows away. If she wanted them she’d have to crawl out half-naked and get them. I got the impression she wasn’t stupid enough to call a soldier’s attention to help—she’d have to wait until everyone was inside.

  Under other circumstances I would have felt bad about that.

  As I neared the entrance I opened her clutch and searched through the contents. Lipstick, eyeliner—things my mom had kept hidden beneath a loose floorboard underneath her bed. Contraband items, apparently deemed acceptable by the MM when it came to their parties. I thought of Sarah the first time I’d seen her in Tent City. A pretty girl in a pretty dress, pregnant and naïve, and in desperate need of safety. I hoped she would find it now in Tampa.

  The last of the girls was being checked before going inside. I watched her remove her shoes at the door guard’s request, and hold her arms out to the side as he patted her down. He checked her purse, but left her shoes alone.

  As subtly as possible, I bent down and slipped off the high heels. I dropped the knife into the toe of one, and carried them by the strappy heels toward the door.

  At the door, a soldier with pudgy cheeks and an extra chin smirked at me, running his thick tongue over his bottom lip. I kept my head lowered, trying to look coy as I cocked one hip out to the side, but was tense beneath his wandering stare. I might as well have been naked, so much of me was exposed. The dress was barely long enough to hide the puncture wound in my thigh where I’d gotten stuck in the fence at the printing plant. At least it covered my shoulder.

  Behind him on the wall was a clock. The time was 10:37 P.M. Less than an hour and a half until midnight.

  A bead of sweat dripped down the side of my face. I didn’t have enough time. We weren’t going to make it.

  I had to try.

  He stood and slid his heavy hands over my shoulders, back, stomach, lingering in places that made my muscles twitch and my stomach turn. I tried not to stare at the shoes, which I’d set on the ground beside me, even when he separated my toes.

  “Good. No needles,” he grunted. “No razor blades up top, I hope.” He thrust a hand through my hair, eyes pausing only a moment on the welt on my cheek.

  When he was satisfied, he opened a metal box on a podium beside him, and I forced myself to apply a layer of lipstick in the way I’d seen my mother do when I was young. My hands were trembling. I hoped I was hitting the right spots.

  “Two now, two at the end of the night. Pending your work is satisfactory.” He handed me two slips of paper—rations vouchers—which I stuffed into the handbag.

  “It will be,” I guaranteed. I slipped on the shoes, waiting until he looked away to slide the knife back into my purse.

  I followed the crowd until I caught sight of the group of girls who had come in from outside. They ignored the men in the hallway, seeming to have their minds set on something else. I watched the way they walked and tried to swing my hips as they did. I placed one hand on my waist and stuck my chest out. Despite my best efforts to look confident, my ankles would not stop wobbling in the stupid high heel shoes. I hurried to the back of the group and clung close to the others while the soldiers called for me to give them a chance.

  “Are we going to the party?” I whispered to a skinny girl with short, black hair. Her eyes darted around the hall, never landing on mine.

  “First timer?” she guessed.

  I tried to smile.

  “Piece of advice.” She lowered her voice. “Officers give good tips, but they think they can do whatever they want for it.”

  I checked to make sure the knife was still in my purse.

  A girl in the front gave a giddy yell and clapped her hands, and soon the others had joined her. My heart beat faster, keeping time with the cadence of their applause. We were ushered through two double doors, which gave way to a large courtyard, brightly lit by fluorescent overhead lights.

  I was bumped and jostled on my way toward the center, and held onto the girl beside me so I didn’t fall. Around us swarmed more soldiers than I had ever seen in one place—more people than even in the Square in Knoxville. The closer we got to the center of the courtyard, the denser they were packed and the louder they became. I lifted my eyes overhead as a roar took the crowd. Surrounding us on all sides, and stretching up at least ten stories high, was the rest of the Charlotte base.

  Each floor had an inner track that allowed viewers to look down into the courtyard. Soldiers lined the railing, gawking, raining their cheers down into the courtyard. I couldn’t help
but be awed by their numbers—thousands, maybe more. All the soldiers each region could spare, here to celebrate the FBR’s victory.

  This was where Three would attack.

  Finally, we reached the center of the courtyard, where several rows of chairs surrounded a square chain-link cage. Two soldiers dragged a man’s limp body out of the gate while those nearest called for the girls to join them. On a high platform to the right was a table, and seated in the center was the Chief of Reformation. He was flanked by two soldiers on each side, men like him—older, with stars on their jackets. Surrounding them was a blockade of guards standing shoulder to shoulder, leaving a distance of ten feet between the crowd and the table.

  A few of the officers pointed in my direction and I immediately lowered my head, fearing I’d been caught.

  “Send the girls up,” called the chief. “And refill these drinks!” He slammed a glass down on the wooden table while those nearest to him laughed. The party had already begun.

  A few of the bravest pushed to the front of the line, and after being patted down climbed the steps up to the platform. Most of the other girls hung back, making their way through the three rows of seated soldiers that surrounded the cage.

  On the opposite side the prisoners, their identities hidden by the black canvas bags over their heads, were dragged to a stand. Still latched together, they stumbled across the cement paddock in front of the cage gate. The soldiers on the floors above booed and shouted their insults, a hateful melody that made my ears ring.

  Two men from the line, beige prison uniforms already clinging to their backs with sweat, were thrown into the center of the arena. I tried to get a closer look as those in the seated rows stood to watch the spectacle.

  “Traitors!” called a man nearby.

  “Dogs!” shouted another.

  The hiss of a microphone cut through the noise, and then the chief’s sinister voice, amplified from the speakers positioned at the corners of the courtyard, filled the night air.

  “My fellow soldiers, a week ago, these two men wore the same uniform as the rest of us.”

  The crowd hurled their insults.