The man who refuses to tell me his name pulls a gun from the back of his waistband. It’s old, and it doesn’t resemble the weapons Protectorate officers carry.
He notices me staring. “It’s a semiautomatic, from the days before the Burn.” He slides a cartridge out of the bottom. “This thing doesn’t shoot fire. These are hollow-tip rounds. They can kill you in the blink of an eye.”
“Do I need one of those?”
“Only have one,” he whispers. “Guess that means I’m going first.”
He edges his way closer as shadows move in front of the windows. I realize he’s risking his life to help me, and I wonder why.
But there’s no time. He’s already at the door using something to pick the lock. I rush to catch up, my mind racing.
How many Skinners are inside? Do we stand a chance against the kind of people who cut the skin off children?
He grabs my outercoat, his voice low. “When we get in there, we’ll only have a few minutes.” He nods at the door. “That’s the surgical room. Run past and stay to the right. They keep the kids in a box in the back. If they’re still here.”
A box?
Bile rises in my throat, but I force it back down.
“What if it’s locked?” I try not to picture my sister trapped in a box like an animal.
He hands me a thin piece of metal. “Slip this in the lock and jiggle it around until you hear a click. Then get the kids out of here.”
“What if they aren’t there?”
“If they’re still alive, they will be.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve been here before.” It’s the last thing he says before he pops the lock.
We step inside and I freeze. Metal tables and trays of crude instruments covered in dry blood dominate the room. A dirty pole with a plastic bag suspended from it looms in the corner. I don’t want to think about what they do in here.
Was Sky in here?
My stomach convulses.
“Go,” he hisses at me, pointing to the door at the end of the room.
I obey and rush to the dark corridor on the other side. I stay to the right like he told me, working my way to the far side of the building. I hear muffled voices in other rooms, but I can’t stop or think about what the Skinners will do to me if they catch me.
Instead I think about Sky. I pretend she’s only a few feet away and all I have to do is get there.
The corridor is dimly lit, but I see the rectangular metal container at the end. It looks like a rusted shipping container from a factory. The box.
When I get closer, I see the slats along the sides of the metal. The stench of sweat is everywhere, and it fills me with hope. If the kids were dead, the odor would be different. But it could also be the lingering scent of children who are no longer inside…
I slip the thin piece of metal in the lock and move it around.
Nothing happens.
I try again. This time I hear the pop, and I pull the door open, anticipating the worst.
Nothing could’ve prepared me for what I find inside.
Eight or ten children huddle together in the corner. Most of them look about Sky’s age, but some are older. They’re filthy, dressed in torn hospital gowns. But I know if I make it out of this place alive, it’s the look in their eyes that will haunt me forever—complete and utter terror.
There’s nothing else left.
I run toward them, trying to find my sister in the huddle. “Sky?”
A soft sound pushes its way forward from the back of the group. “Phoenix?”
I try to move the other children out of the way so I can find her. “I’m not going to hurt you,” I promise them.
I see a stripe of blond hair.
Sky looks up at me, her face as tormented as the others. Her eyes look less blue somehow. I gather her into my arms. “I’m going to get you out of here. All of you.”
Flashes of hope pass across their faces, though some of them seem too weak to react.
“That’s a big promise for a girl who’s in way over her head.”
My neck snaps back to the door.
A huge man stands in the doorway. His face is noticeably lighter than his hands. He’s probably used the skin of some helpless child to repair his own. But there are other thin scars—most likely made by knives—running down his neck. His brown outercoat is crusted in dry blood, and he’s holding a Protectorate-issue firearm.
I pull Sky to her feet and shove her behind me. “I—I came for my sister.”
The man stares over my shoulder at Sky. “She’s not going anywhere. We’ll get a lot for her skin. Those blue eyes too.” I shudder, and he looks me over. “Yours not so much. But if your legs are clean, you’ll be worth skinning.”
He steps into the small container, so close I can almost reach out and touch him. Another man steps inside behind him, holding an identical weapon. He moves to the corner, covering me from a different angle.
“I’ll stay. Just let my sister go.”
Both men laugh, and I want to kill them.
“I say you let them all go,” a familiar voice calls from the corridor. His expression is fierce, the patch covering his missing eye. He’s pointing his gun at the man doing the talking.
“Ransom. I was wondering when you’d come back,” the man in the bloodstained outercoat says. “Looking for work?”
“I had no idea what you were doing down here, Erik,” Ransom, the man who refused to tell me his name, responds.
Erik laughs. “The lies we tell ourselves.”
“You said we were doing experiments to help burn victims.”
The corner of Erik’s mouth lifts. “Technically, it was true.”
Ransom’s expression hardens even more. “Today it’s going to get you killed if you don’t let these kids go.”
Erik raises an eyebrow and points his weapon at Ransom. “You shouldn’t have come back. I warned you, didn’t I? And look what it cost you last time.”
Last time.
“I should’ve killed you then.” Ransom winces and his jaw tightens.
“Except you couldn’t.” Erik glances at the guy in the other corner of the container. “The odds have never been in your favor.”
Ransom’s grip on the gun tightens. “I’ll say it one more time. Let them go.”
“No one’s going anywhere. Think you can point that relic at me and I’ll hand over the kids?” Erik’s eyes narrow. “I’m gonna burn the skin off your bones. Then I’ll take your other eye and sell it to the lowest bidder.”
The man in the corner laughs. “Maybe we should give it away.”
Ransom examines the outdated gun in his hand. “This thing is my good luck charm. But I did bring some other relics with me.”
Ransom opens his outercoat, revealing a black vest covered in bricks of plastic that look like putty. He raises his free hand, holding some kind of switch attached to the vest. “Remember C-4, Erik? It’s old, but you used it to blow up plenty of tunnels down here.”
I remember when Ransom disappeared behind the screen in his shack. He must have put the vest on then.
The kids start crying.
“Why now, Ransom?” Erik taunts. “You could’ve come back here a million times. Is your mind finally that far gone?”
Ransom glances in my direction, but he’s not looking at me.
He’s staring at the wisp of tangled blond hair peeking out from behind me. Just like the blond boy’s hair in the photo on his wall.
“I’m doing this for my son. For Alex. You’re not taking him again.”
I realize he’s referring to Sky, and I’m not sure if it’s the delusions talking or if he means it symbolically.
Erik’s expression changes. He realizes he’s not going to be able to scare Ransom. Right now, Ransom is the most terrifying person in the room. And—judging by whatever he has strapped to his chest—the most dangerous.