I adjust my earpiece as the man stops at the gate and calls up, “Whewy, boys. That was a close one! Think you coulda taken ’em out a little sooner? Something on my bike crapped out a while back, and I thought I could make it okay. . . . Should have known better.” He gets off the bike, plants his hands on his knees, and pants for a minute. He straightens and shoots a worried glance back the way he came, squinting up at the gate again.
“Don’t mean to be ungrateful or anything . . . that was some fine shooting. . . . But what say you fellas let me in now?” When they don’t respond, he adds, “I made a couple of really sweet finds out there. . . . You boys get first dibs, of course.” That does it. A small door next to the gate opens, and he rushes through, pushing his bike.
I take another sip of water to steel myself. I can’t stay out here forever, and those gunshots will bring more Floraes to the gates. My emitter has only a hundred-foot radius, and I should make a move while there’s a clear path. I don’t want anyone in Fort Black to see Them fleeing from me as I walk down. I’m not prepared to answer their questions.
Hefting my bag to my shoulder, I walk slowly toward the imposing walls of Fort Black and the unknown.
Eager but cautious, I take my time, careful and alert as I make my way to the gate. As I approach, someone calls out, “Halt!” I can’t see the man who barks down at me from the top of the wall.
I stop dead and consider raising my hands in the air, but I don’t. Maybe I should have moved my Guardian gun to my pack, instead of wearing it at my hip. My heart pounding in my chest, I peer up at the gray concrete wall.
“I would like entrance to Fort Black!” I yell, trying to sound strong. I hear whispers, but I’m afraid if I reach to adjust my amplifier, I’ll be shot. I try mimicking the earlier man’s tone: “And if you don’t mind, I’d really like to be inside before the next batch of Floraes arrive.”
There are a few more moments of muttered voices before the door by the gate opens. I stay where I am and peer inside. It’s almost dark in there. It’s the interior of the wall, I realize, a dank corridor that must surround the prison.
“In or out.” I see two figures waiting for me. “Now or never.”
I cautiously step inside.
Two men, armed, stand there and as my eyes adjust—the hall is dimly lit with electric lights—I see one of the men grinning as he ogles my clinging synth-suit. The corridor smells sour after weeks of breathing fresh, clean air.
The door closes behind me with a loud bang. With a shudder, I realize I’m trapped.
Chapter Seven
“It’s a girl,” the grinning one says. He’s young, probably still in his teens, with dusty blond hair and dull eyes.
The second man moves closer, into the dim light. “Looks like a woman to me.” His eyes flick up from my body to my face then back down. He licks his lips as if I’m a tasty treat. He’s older, in his thirties at least, and towers over me. Bruises, red and purple, mark his face and arms.
“Who’ja think she belongs to?” the first man asks, as though I can’t hear him. “I can’t see her arm through her clothes.”
I take a step back, but I know I can’t leave. If what Kay said was true, every minute is precious.
“I don’t belong to anyone,” I spit.
They look at me as if I’m insane. Then the second man’s eyes light up. I can see now that there is some green to a few of his bruises from fights, new and old. He’s so large, I can’t imagine anyone wanting to scrap with him.
“You’ve never been here before?” he asks, a glint of surprise in his eyes.
I shake my head.
He licks his lips again. “Well, cupcake, welcome to Fort Black. Pete, go get Jacks.”
“But I saw her first, Tank,” Pete whines.
“Go. Get. Jacks,” Tank orders through clenched teeth. Pete turns sulkily and leaves through a door behind him, letting bright sunlight momentarily stream into the corridor.
Tank takes a step toward me and almost as a reflex, my gun is out of its holster and trained on his chest in seconds. “Don’t.”
It’s not how I wanted to arrive in Fort Black. I didn’t want to pull my gun, but I need to let him know I can protect myself. It’s only an intimidation tactic, but it seems to be working.
Tank truly looks at my face for the first time. “Hold on there, cupcake.” He hasn’t even had time to raise his shotgun at me. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“No. You’re not.” I keep the gun leveled at him.
“You don’t know how it works here, little girl,” he tells me. His forehead gleams with oily sweat. I realize the rank smell is actually coming from him. “I can teach you.” His eyes gleam.
My skin crawls at the idea of him teaching me anything. I want to back away from him, but I’ll look weak. I grip the gun harder to hide my shaking hand. I’m sure I’m faster than he is—most people his size aren’t very quick—but I might not get the separation I need to escape.
If he gets to me, the pure bulk of him will overwhelm me. I can’t let him any nearer. He needs to believe that I will shoot him. I need to believe it. I narrow my eyes at him as he stares at me, smirking.
Tank and I are still deadlocked when Pete returns with another youngish man. He’s slight, only a few inches taller than I am. He eyes us warily, me with my gun pointed at Tank.
Is he in charge here? Rice isn’t much older than I am either, and he was in charge of my intake in New Hope.
This new guy wears a loose-fitting T-shirt, showing off his arms, which are covered in elaborate tattoos. As he considers us, he pushes his hand through his dark brown hair, flashing a well-developed bicep.
Not so slight after all.
“See, Jacks?” Pete asks him. “Toldja it was a girl.”
“You won’t need that just now,” he says, nodding at my gun. His voice betrays a slight Southern twang.
“I’m not giving it up.” My eyes flick to Tank.
“That’s fine. You can keep it,” Jacks says. “But, you know, maybe just drop the barrel for now?”
I stare at him as he looks at me. There’s something in his eyes—warmth and something more, honesty maybe. He watches me with a quiet understanding. His unexpected sincerity makes me listen to him. I hesitate another moment, then slowly lower my weapon but keep it in my hand.
Tank snorts and mutters, “I’ll show you a big gun, cupcake.”
“Apologize,” Jacks says without raising his voice.
Tank still stares at me, but his cruel smile has been replaced with a tight, irritated frown.
Jacks speaks again, in the same calm tone. “I could make you.”
Tank grits his teeth. “Sorry, cupcake.”
Jacks turns to me again. “Now . . . cupcake, is it?”
Tank snickers.
“Amy. My name is Amy.”
“Amy.” Jacks smiles. “Yeah, that’s better.” He shoots a look at Tank. “People call themselves all kinds of stupid names these days.” Tank bristles, but Jacks ignores him.
“Pete says you’ve never been here before. So you’ll have to come with me.” He motions to Tank and Pete. “These two are staying here. I’m guessing you could probably use some fresh air after hanging with Tank for this long.”