Pete barks out a laugh and Tank gives Jacks a black look.
“My gun?” I ask, still debating if I should just run for the door.
“Hold on to it. No one will take it.” Jacks begins to walk down the corridor, deeper into the dark of Fort Black.
I hang back, thinking it through. I know it’s a risk to go with him, but what are my options? I’ve come all this way; I can’t let myself turn back now. Not with Baby’s safety at stake. I’m a trained Guardian and I’m well-armed. I can protect myself.
Pete giggles for no reason, and I’m suddenly aware I’ll be alone again with the two of them once Jacks turns the corner, out of sight. Pete is grinning stupidly at me, and Tank’s giving me that same, mouth-breathing leer.
I’m moving. Fast.
Tank laughs at my back. “See you around. When you’re all checked out, you come find me, you hear?”
Like hell I will. I stop, turn, and stare him down. I’ve survived the After. I’ve survived the Ward. I’m not going to let one repulsive man get to me.
But the look that Tank gives me chills me to the core. There is something less than human about the way he stares after me. I back away, then turn again and hurry down the corridor after Jacks.
My adrenaline is up and my heart’s pounding, but I put my gun back in its holster and try to cool off.
Jacks waits for me down the hall. “Tank’s not exactly the face of Fort Black,” he says. “And you caught him just before his shift ends.”
“Lucky me,” I say, watching Jacks. Although his voice is gruff, his posture isn’t threatening.
Jacks shrugs, his face stony. “He has his purpose. We mostly get people returning from supply runs or groups of men making their way across the country. He keeps them in line.”
“I bet,” I mutter. I think of Marcus, Dr. Reynolds’s crony in the Guardians. “Mindless muscle does have its uses.”
Jacks shakes his head. “He’s not mindless. Don’t think that for a second. If you stay in Fort Black, you’ll have to watch out for him.”
I nod and try to suppress a shudder. As if I needed such a warning.
Jacks leads me down the hall to a door and motions me through. I glance inside and see a middle-aged man sitting at a desk. His gray hair is cut short around his gaunt face, almost as pale as the white lab coat he’s wearing. I’m immediately on edge and I suck in a breath.
The smell of disinfectant hits me like a punch in the nose. Scanning the rest of the small room, I spot an examination table.
The Ward.
“Doc needs to have a quick look and take some blood—”
Not again. I can’t go back. I won’t.
I shake my head and go back into the hall. “No.”
Jacks stares at me, puzzled. “It’s just a routine examination.”
I barely hear him. I’m shaking, panting. “No needles,” I hiss between clenched teeth. “No drugs. Never again.”
“But, Amy, we’re just going to draw some—”
“You will not put me back in the Ward!” I scream as my hand goes to the knife at my thigh. All I see are white walls; Dr. Reynolds’s self-satisfied face hovers in my vision.
“Whoa . . . What are you talking about?” Jacks asks, his arms up in surrender. “There’s no ward here.”
Doc is at my side now. “Just calm down for a moment.”
I push Doc away, desperately trying to breathe. My breath is coming in short, hard gulps now. I can’t get any air.
“I’m going . . . outside. . . .”
And then I turn and am running blindly. I know I have to get into this place—it’s my only option to break Baby out. But I have to get away from that examination room.
I hear someone follow me as I run, but they’re slow and I quickly leave them behind.
The running is good—it soothes my panic, calming me down. Oxygen fills my lungs. Then, whipping around a corner, I hit a wall at full force.
It’s not a wall, though. A wall doesn’t reek of sweat and filth. A wall doesn’t hold on to your arms so you can’t escape.
And a wall doesn’t talk.
“I didn’t think I would see you again this soon, cupcake.”
Chapter Eight
Tank wraps me up like a straightjacket, his massive arms squeezing what little breath I have out of my already struggling lungs. Is this the end? Will he kill me right now, or after some other horror that I can’t even imagine?
Remember your training. I can almost hear Kay’s voice telling me what to do.
I go limp so Tank thinks I’ve given up. He loosens his grip just enough for me to turn slightly sideways, raise my leg, and stomp the top of his foot. He didn’t expect it and jerks back in shock, leaving my right arm free. I turn and thrust my hand upward, my palm connecting with his nose.
“Ahhh.” He lets out a wounded animal’s wail, clutches his face, and staggers back against the wall. “You little bitch!” Blood pours from his nose; the little that is visible of his face is contorted with pain and rage.
By the time he drops his hands to look for me, I have my gun out, trained on him. Earlier I was bluffing when I pulled my gun. But now my fear controls me, and I know that I can take his life, even if I don’t want to. In this moment my desire to live trumps all.
I feel a hand on my shoulder. I grab it and duck down and back, twisting it, slamming whoever it is against the wall and then snapping the gun back on Tank before he’s taken more than a step toward me.
“Back!” I scream.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” It’s Jacks, his voice muffled by the wall I have him pinned against.
Then I see Pete just down the corridor, mouth gaping, his shotgun aimed at me.
“Drop the gun!” I yell, my voice high-pitched and strained.
Tank moans and clutches his face again. “I think she broke my nose.”
Pete’s face shows his uncertainty. I can see he’s not used to making decisions.
I keep my voice low and even. “Shoot me, and my gun will go off and kill Tank. Plus, that’s a shotgun you’re holding. From there, the pattern will take out both me and this guy.” I pop my shoulder into Jacks’s back. I can’t see his face, but I can hear his jagged breathing.
“You’d end up alone in here with three bodies. Unless you miss, and I kill you.”
“Pete,” Jacks says, “put down the gun and get Tank out of here. Then go back to your post.” Pete hesitates, and looks from him to Tank. “Now.”
Pete sets the shotgun at his feet and grabs a fistful of Tank’s sleeve. The two of them shuffle into the darkness, Tank glaring back at me over his shoulder.
“Okay,” Jacks says calmly once they’re gone. “Now can you let me go?”
“No.”
“Look, it’s just you and me here. I understand you’re scared. Someone must have really screwed you over. . . .” I stare at the back of his head and wonder why he doesn’t struggle. He’s strong, but he doesn’t even try to break my hold.
“I’m not scared.” My shaking voice betrays my lie. “I just don’t know if I should trust anyone, really . . . especially not doctors.”
“All right. I get it. Doctors can be dicks. Believe me, I know.” He tries to adjust his position, but I tighten my grip on his arm. “Okay, okay. Listen, I’m not a doctor, I’m a tattoo artist. I just help Doc out.”
“I don’t understand what a doctor would want with a tattoo artist. That doesn’t really make sense.”
“Hey, I’m in a lot of pain here. Kind of hard to make my case . . .”
I keep his arm pinned. “I’m looking for someone,” I say. “It’s important. If I get in, will you help me find him?”