“You’re not running now, are you?” he said.
I didn’t look at him. “What makes you say that?”
“You’re going the wrong direction.”
“I just want to see where this stream goes,” I said.
He nodded and walked next to me in silence for a while. As we plodded along the dry bed I wondered whether it had ever had water in it. Maybe it was dry because the wall blocked it.
The cold stung my fingers, now that the excitement and adrenaline were wearing off.
“Is it December yet?” I asked.
“No idea. I don’t keep track.”
Near the base of the wall, the stream disappeared into a culvert pipe, about two and a half feet wide. As we neared it, standing in the well-worn tracks of the Society’s four-wheelers, I bent over to look through.
“It’s clear all the way,” I said, confused. “You could crawl straight through, be out in a minute.”
“No,” Mason said. As I stood back up I saw him pointing. There were two cameras flanking the pipe, about forty feet to either side. They were both pointed at us.
“Oh,” I said, and gave a little wave to the cameras. “Well, that’s that, then.”
It didn’t dissuade me. If I was going to escape, I’d have to do it fast anyway. And maybe these cameras were like the ones back at the hospital where I’d worked—they weren’t being constantly monitored. They could just be recording, in case someone had a question later.
“What do you think’s on the other side?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Guards.”
“You’d think we could hear something. Those four-wheelers are loud—wouldn’t the guards on the other side have those, too?”
“They have campfires. You’ve seen the smoke.”
“Or maybe those are actually campers. Maybe it’s a campground.”
Mason snorted. “Well, if I ever get out of here, I’d rather take my chances in the forest than walk into a group of guards.”
I nodded but didn’t say anything. A Society girl, killed with a bright blue head shot, was walking through the forest and watching us. Mason slapped my shoulder and gestured for us to head back.
The school was just barely coming into view when I spoke again. I pointed across the track.
“You know what that door is?” I asked, as casually as possible. “The one by the incinerator?”
“No idea.”
“Groundskeeping can’t open it and neither can we. Maybe it’s a security thing?”
“Maybe. I think I saw Rosa go in there once.” Mason’s tone was matter-of-fact and disinterested, like he was just making conversation. I tried to match it.
“You did? Recently?”
“No. A year ago, at least. Rosa.” He glanced at me. “Isn’t she one that’s been here a long time?”
“One of the five, yeah.”
“It was before the gangs. She wasn’t a V then.”
I nodded but inside my heart was racing. Rosa. She’d been here since the beginning. She had to be one of them.
Chapter Twenty
During the next few days I made a point of looking for Rosa, but watching her only added to my confusion. If she really was an android—and she had to be since she’d been in that room—then why was she always so quiet? She wasn’t influencing anything, wasn’t trying like Jane to prevent me from leaving. She was just there, shy and in the background. You’d think that if someone went to the trouble to build an android, they’d give it something to do.
After class I went down to Becky’s office and rang the bell. It took her a little longer this time to come down from the dorm, but as usual she was smiling and happy.
“Hey, Bense. What’s up?”
“I had a couple questions,” I said, as she opened the door and let me into the office. I sat down on the couch, and she leaned on the edge of the desk.
“Go for it,” she said.
“Okay. You have all the records for all the students, right?”
“What records do you mean?” She folded her arms. “There aren’t any grades.”
“I meant that letter you have—the one Ms. Vaughn gave me to give to you.”
“Oh,” Becky said, suddenly blushing. “You want to see what it said about you?” She turned from the desk and walked to a file cabinet. I stood to watch, hoping to get a glimpse of what else was in there. There weren’t many records, but everyone had a thin file.
She pulled out the folder with my name and opened it. The envelope was inside.
“Take a look,” she said, almost laughing.
The envelope had been opened very neatly, cut with a knife. Becky seemed like the organized type.
Inside was one sheet of folded paper. I pulled it out. It was blank.
I looked up at her.
“Seriously?”
Becky nodded, grinning sheepishly. “I think that she does that so that you’ll have to find me and won’t get sidetracked. But none of the letters ever say anything. Just pieces of plain paper.”
“So, if I wanted to find something out about someone—where they’re from, how old they are—then you have nothing like that?”
“Nope,” Becky said. “Not in the files. But I’ve been here for a while and I think I know everybody. What’s your question?”
I almost wanted to tell her everything. Looking at her standing there—her smile, her hair, her skin—she was real. And I knew a little about her past. I knew that she’d had her heart broken.
But everything I could say about Becky I could have said about Jane. I’d talked to Jane far more than I’d talked to Becky. Jane had emotions and sadness. I’d kissed her, for crying out loud. If that wasn’t enough to tip me off that she wasn’t real, I don’t know what would have.
“Do you know Rosa?” I finally asked.
Becky looked surprised and a little deflated.
“Yeah,” she said. “I guess.”
“It’s for something Mason and I are doing,” I lied. “You know how I was making that chart of when everyone came to the school?”
“Oh yeah,” she said, lightening a little. “Can’t you just ask her that?”
“She told me. But you know how she is—so quiet. Now I’m trying to figure out more—where she’s from.”
I had meant for this to be easy and quick. I’d hoped that Becky could have just looked in her files and rattled off some quick information and I could be done. But now I felt like I had to soothe Becky’s feelings, for some reason.
She sat up on the edge of the desk and crossed her legs. “I think that she’s from somewhere in the South. I want to say Georgia, but I’m not sure. What’s this project for, anyway?”
“Just curious,” I said. “Boredom, mostly. And I figure that someone ought to be keeping some kind of record of this place, just in case we ever get out of here.”
Becky nodded. “I write in a journal. Every night.”
“Really?” I sat back on the couch.
“Yep. I did before, too. I wish I still had those.”
I was watching her face. She seemed to be deep in thought.
“Where are you from?”
It seemed to shake her back. She sat up a little straighter and looked at me again. “Not far from here. Arizona. Flagstaff.”
“Really? How far away is that?”
“Five or six hours.”
“And you don’t have any friends there? Someone you could contact?”
She laughed softly and shook her head. “I lived with my grandma, on an old ranch. Homeschooled. She died when I was fifteen.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” She looked down at her skirt and smoothed it with her hands. “I like that you’re collecting this stuff. When you’re done I’d like to see it. Maybe we’ll have some real records here for once.”
I nodded and smiled. “Sure.” There was so much more I wanted to say. I wanted to trust her. I wished I could.
By the way, Jane was an android.
I stood up to leave but didn’t step toward the door.
Becky watched me expectantly—or was she trying to say something to me? I couldn’t tell. Her eyes looked intense, but distant.
“I’d better go,” I finally said.
She looked into my eyes. “Okay.”