I looked away as Eve shucked her T-shirt, and my gaze fell on Amy’s bracelet. It was one of the only things I had of hers; I couldn’t lose it. Besides, Amy had always claimed it was lucky. Right now, I needed all the luck I could get.
Using the girl in front of me for cover, I fumbled with the leather tie holding the bracelet in place, then switched the coins to my other wrist—the one with the metal cuff. A bead of sweat ran down the back of my neck as the guard walked by. Once she was past, I pushed and pulled on the band. It dug painfully into my skin, but I was able to stretch it out just enough to slip Amy’s bracelet underneath.
A sliver of copper peeked out from under the cuff, but I didn’t think anyone would notice—not unless they were looking for something out of the ordinary.
The line advanced and then, suddenly, it was my turn in the chair.
I stepped forward and sat. The woman with the shears, Langley, seemed to delight in yanking sections of my hair, and I struggled not to grimace as chunks of blond fell to the floor.
“Done.”
I reached up as I stood. My stomach gave a strange flip-flop as my fingers grazed the ends of my hair. For the first time I could remember, it was above my shoulders.
The other woman led me down the row of bins. I walked right past the one for jewelry, but any triumph I felt at keeping Amy’s bracelet was crushed under a wave of humiliation as I was ordered to strip.
I angled my body and kept my arm pressed to my side as I slipped out of my clothes. I still bore souvenirs from my final encounter with Branson Derby: bright pink scar tissue and a row of stitches on my forearm. The fact that the gash was still healing would instantly mark me as either a reg or as someone who hadn’t gone through the thirty-day LS incubation period.
Either way, they’d probably retest my blood. Just to make sure I was infected.
Keeping the cut pressed to my side, I walked into the showers and headed for the spot farthest from the door and the other girls.
Needles of ice water hit my skin as the guard patrolled up and down the room. It felt like a prison scene in some horrible movie, and I was hit with an urge to cry so strong that the muscles in my chest ached. I reminded myself that there was another locker room on the other side of the wall; I couldn’t see him, but Kyle was going through the same thing a few feet away.
I sucked in a deep breath and grazed the wet tile with my knuckles. It wasn’t so bad. No one had actually hurt me. I just had to keep thinking about Kyle and Serena.
A voice bellowed, “Everyone out,” and we trudged, shivering, back into the locker room where we were each handed a stack of clothing and a pair of white canvas sneakers.
“You swapped, didn’t you?” hissed Eve as she took a place next to me. Another girl shot us a curious glance, but the words were vague enough that it wasn’t obvious just what Eve was talking about.
I quickly pulled on underwear and a pair of gray cargo pants. “Yeah.”
“Idiot. If Curtis knew, he’d be furious.”
A soft, bitter laugh escaped my lips. “He wouldn’t care. In case you haven’t noticed, he’s the reason all of this happened.”
Eve’s newly shorn hair swished around her face as she shook her head. “He didn’t know we’d be raided.”
Maybe not, but if Hank had just let us take Kyle and go—if he had listened when I told him Jason wasn’t really a Tracker—we’d have been on our way back to Hemlock hours before the raid.
Eve gave me a long, evaluating look. “Why Mel?”
I shrugged. “She seemed to need it.” I pulled on a heavy sweatshirt—gray like the pants—and tugged the sleeves over my wrists so that they hid my arm. A black logo on the front of the shirt drew my gaze. A circle of twisted vines surrounded a single word: Thornhill.
I frowned and bit my lip. How could we be in a camp that wasn’t supposed to open for another six months?
Before I could give it any real thought, we were rushed through dressing, and then herded back through the admission building.
Outside, Langley and her partner took the lead while the guard took the rear. There was no sign of Serena as they marched us across the pavement and past the old three-story building at the other end of the courtyard. Nor was there any sign of Kyle or the rest of the boys from the raid.
We reached a path and made our way through the camp, passing what had to be at least two dozen one-story structures, a few of them still under construction. All of the buildings had signs painted on the outside indicating their purpose. Dorms. Classrooms. A dining hall.
I’d been expecting overcrowding and riots and death—all the rumors I’d grown up hearing—but this place looked more military school than concentration camp.
“Orientation is in three hours,” said Langley’s partner as we stopped between two dormitories. “I suggest you all get some sleep.” She pointed at Eve and me. “You two are in dorm seven. Head straight through the common room to the sleeping quarters. Just claim an empty bunk for tonight.”
Orientation? I wanted to ask, but one glance at the impatience on Langley’s face and I mutely followed Eve into the building on our right.
We wove through a moonlit room crowded with armchairs and sofas, and then stepped into a long, narrow space filled with two rows of metal bed frames. Jane Eyre would have felt right at home. A few girls stirred as we passed, but no one spoke.
I counted the beds as I walked. Thirty, if you included the two empty ones at the far end of the room.
It was easy to see why no one else had claimed them. They were practically right on top of the bathroom and neither had sheets or blankets.
With a sigh, I chose the first bed and stretched out on my side. The mattress was almost as comfortable as a blanket laid over cracked asphalt; it made the beds back at the motel look luxurious.
I squeezed my eyes shut and thought of Jason.
I remembered the way his eyes had locked onto mine just before the truck door slammed shut. Stomach knotting, I pictured him going back to our room. I imagined him flicking on the light and staring at the empty beds as he tried to figure out what to do.
It was probably too much to hope he had gone back to Hemlock. He’ll be okay as long as he doesn’t do anything crazy, I thought, and then wondered who the hell I was kidding. Jason was recklessness personified.
Eve’s low voice pierced my thoughts. “Back in that room . . . when we all hit the floor . . .”
I opened my eyes and watched as she stretched out on the other bed and searched for a way to ask if I’d been affected without any of the wolves in the room picking up on it. “No,” I said.
She nodded as though I was just confirming what she already suspected. “That could be useful.”
“Maybe.” I shrugged halfheartedly. She might be right, but I sure as hell hadn’t been very useful earlier.
“Curtis will think of something,” she said suddenly. “The Trackers and the LSRB have never snatched more than four Eumon at a time. Last night, they nabbed thirty-one of us and burned down Curtis’s club. He’ll retaliate. He’ll find a way to get us out.”
It was the same conviction she’d shown in the truck.
“What’s the deal with you two?” Hank would never chase a teenage girl—one of the few standards he did have—and I couldn’t figure out their connection. For some reason, not knowing bothered me.
Eve hesitated. “A year and a half ago, Curtis found me on the streets and took me in. I was . . .” She bit her lip. Discomfort and uncertainty crossed her face and she looked suddenly young in the semidark. “I was in a bad spot. He got me out. Curtis let me stay with him and brought me into the pack. He looked out for me when I didn’t have anyone.”