I turn back to the woman and see that she has crouched down and drawn the little boy and her two children tightly into her arms. “Now,” she says, “we’re going to play a little game and see who can keep their eyes shut the longest. No peeking or you lose.”
I back off and run along the wall for a better view of the exercise Yard. Looking down at the erupting violence, the absolute disorder, I realize that it’s a kind of madness. A Florae-fueled riot, without the Florae. I scan every inch of Fort Black within my vision and can’t find a single creature.
I go back down the stairs and make my way along the wall of the exercise yard, keeping my eyes peeled for the phantom Florae and avoiding the many fights that are still breaking out throughout the Yard. I’m halfway to Cellblock B when an announcement comes over the loudspeaker.
“Fort Black. This is the Warden. There is no longer a Florae threat. Please, stand down. The Florae has been dealt with.”
The announcement does nothing to lessen anyone’s aggression, and the riot continues to rage on. I’m even more convinced now that there was never a Florae, that it was all a mistake—or a calculated lie.
When I arrive at the cellblock, it’s a different place. People have locked themselves in their cells and wait patiently for the commotion to end. When I reach my cell, though, it’s empty. I should have stayed with Jacks. I’m debating whether to go find him, when he arrives at the cell door, breathless.
“Amy!”
I pull off my hood. “Jacks, I’m sorry I left you. . . . I thought I could help, but it was a false alarm.”
He stares at me for a second, then rushes to me and folds me in his arms. I’m startled, but as confusing as it feels, it also feels good.
“I should be sorry. I acted like . . . I should have gone with you. You could have been hurt.” He holds me tighter. Through my synth-suit, I can feel his arms, his chest. We’re the right size for each other—our bodies fit together perfectly.
“If something had happened to you . . .”
He pulls away and looks at me for a moment, studying my face; his dark eyes shine with a fierce intensity. And then it happens. Jacks is kissing me.
I can’t say I haven’t thought about what it would be like. Lying in my bunk at night, listening to him breathing, or watching his flexed back, marked with tattoos. I’ve thought about kissing Jacks. Even though I knew I shouldn’t. Any distraction is a bad distraction. And then there’s Rice, who creeps into my thoughts unbidden. I don’t know where I stand with Rice—he hasn’t tried to contact me, hasn’t kept his promise of keeping Baby safe.
But these thoughts vanish because now Jacks’s lips are on mine, his tongue uncertainly searching. And I can’t help it. I press into him, kissing him back, hard. It feels good. Right. And something happens to my legs—left to stand on my own right now, I know I’d drop to the floor.
He pulls me closer, his arms moving down my back.
“Ahem.” Someone clears his throat loudly and I jump back out of Jacks’s arms. My legs do work, but the skin on my face, my body, is hot and tingling. A man stands in the doorway, smirking. “Sorry to interrupt. That looks like it could have gotten . . . interesting.”
“Who the hell are you?” Jacks demands.
“I’m here for Amy.” He looks at me. “That’s you, right?”
“Yeah? What do you want?” I ask, my voice shaky.
“I’m here to take you to Ken Oh.”
Chapter Twenty-one
“You can’t go,” Jacks says, turning back to me. “Not now. Not with all those people killing one another out there.”
“I’ll be fine.” I don’t look at him. My face is still burning, but I’ve snapped out of the spell. “I’m not a Florae.”
“Do you think that matters anymore? They’re out for blood. No one is safe.”
“I’m going,” I say forcefully. I can’t waste time right now. This is the chance I’ve been waiting for.
“What if it’s a trap? What if Doc sold you out to that Reynolds guy?”
The thought had crossed my mind. “It’s not, Jacks. Doc said Ken would be contacting me. This is it.” And if it’s not . . . I’m willing to take the risk.
“Then I’m coming with you,” he says.
“Sorry,” the man from the doorway says. “I was told to bring her only.”
“I’m ready,” I say. Jacks grabs my arm, but I wrench it from him.
“I won’t let your feelings get in the way of what I have to do. You know what I’m here for.”
Jacks steps back, that stony look returning. “Yeah. I do. Because you don’t let me forget it for a second.”
“Well, maybe for a second,” the messenger chortles, listening. “She seemed to be concentrating pretty hard on you when I got here.”
“Let’s go,” I say, before things get uglier. I look at Jacks. “I’ll see you later.”
“Sure,” he says with a cold nod.
I follow Ken’s messenger down the stairs and out into the Yard. Things have quieted down a little, though it looks to me as though nearly all the makeshift homes have been demolished. The messenger leads me away from the Yard, back between the cellblocks. There are more agitated people here, and their screams echo off the concrete. Two men wrestle on the ground and I skirt around them.
We go all the way to the back wall, where the messenger nods to a guard and opens a door, the same door I saw Ken disappear through a few weeks ago. The door through which they take the Pox victims. I expect to see a dark, dank holding cell, filled with the dead and the dying. Instead, when I step inside, I am blasted with cold air. Air-conditioning. The door thunks shut behind me. The corridor is well lit and smells of lemon cleaner. Standing here, you have no idea of the turmoil raging outside.
“Where are all the sick people?” I ask the messenger.
He tilts his head, considering what I’ve asked. For a moment I think he’s going to ignore my question, but then he relents. “We have beds for them in the rooms back here. We try to keep them comfortable.” He holds up his arm, showing me the POX mark above the square tattoo on his wrist. “I tend to the weak and nurse the survivors back to health. What survivors there are, anyway.”
I nod. “And Ken?”
“This way.” The messenger leads me past several doors until we reach the one he wants. He pushes it open and motions me inside.
Inside is an office, much like Doc’s. The man sitting at the desk looks up at me. He’s Asian and has a heart-shaped mole on his left cheek.
The door snaps shut behind me.
I’m filled with so much joy, I can’t help but grin. My pulse is up so high, I think I’m going to rocket out of the ceiling.
Finally.
“You’re Ken?” My voice is shaking with anticipation.
He taps his pen on his desk. “Yes, and you’re Amy. You desperately needed to see me. What do you want?”
His abruptness throws me off. “I . . . I’m friends with Kay.”
“Friends? Right.” His lip curls meanly. “Because of you, my sister was demoted. I was briefed all about you when you escaped from the Ward last month. You’re paranoid delusional with a disposition toward violent outbursts. You killed an orderly, and somehow my sister was blamed for it all. You are not Kay’s friend.”
I take a deep breath. “I know what they probably told you, but I didn’t kill anyone. The orderly’s death was a lie,” I say, making myself speak in short, calm sentences. Losing my cool now would only make matters worse. “I’m not delusional. I was placed in the Ward because I found out about the Floraes, information that you all don’t want New Hope to know. Dr. Reynolds wanted me silenced. He wanted me out of my mother’s thoughts. He wanted me gone. I had to escape. Kay helped me because she cares about me.”