by Anne Stone
In her head, somewhere, there are dozens of exploded diagrams. She neatly filed them away, but it’s like she traced the images on onion skin paper, with lemon juice, and what she sees are a series of overlapping lines, drying into nothingness on the page.
Still, she has to try.
There is a little lock compartment on the door, hidden behind a metal flange. Dany lifts the flange and slips her hand inside the compartment and knows. In an instant. No, none of her stupid diagrams will be any use. Not against this.
Solid, simple. A bit of steel.
A padlock. They’ve used a goddamned padlock. She’s pretty sure it’s illegal, but what’s she going to do, walk over to the warden’s office and lodge a complaint?
Dany slams the thing.
The lock bangs against the hollow wall, echoing through the container. Like lab rats when the cage door is rattled, all at once, the women inside are scrabbling to get out. The tin can lights up with screams – terror, banging, begging – and Dany, heart pounding, steps back from the human alarm, melting away into the darkness.
All she’s done is touch the lock, but the sound of metal on metal is enough. The tin can is alive with terror. Dany doesn’t know what’s happening in there, but this much she does know. The screams will draw the guards.
Sure enough, she sees one coming.
Dany backs deeper into the darkness as the young soldier in uniform approaches the shipping container. He’s not much older than her. Eighteen years old maybe. The boy – she can’t bring herself to call him a man – tries, hands shaking, to open the door. But his fingers fumble and he cusses, swears. Shakes his head and tries again. He thinks he’s alone, and maybe that’s why he doesn’t hide it. His fear. Hands shaking, eyes scanning the grounds, he looks like he hopes some other person will come and take over.
His eyes alight on her, take her in, and Dany goes still. But it’s like he doesn’t see her. His eyes don’t register anything. It’s like she is invisible. An object. Part of the landscape.
By the time the kid gets the door open, Dany’s backed up halfway to the gate, her eyes never leaving the young guard.
The woman who emerges first might be wearing the orange track suit of a prisoner, but this woman has the look of Liz Greene, the same bloodied face, the same swollen eyes.
Dany freezes.
Every last instinct tells her to run, to race for the gates, to dash headlong across the six-lane and jump on Faraday’s scooter. To drive far, fast. The way is mostly clear, after all. The tarmac all but abandoned.
But for the truck.
There is a truck directly in her path – halfway between her and the gate.
And then her eyes narrow in on the truck’s cargo hold.
There, on the ramp leading to the hold, outlined in the perimeter lights, stands a single guard. A hulking shadow more than a man. In his hand, he holds a chain, and at either end, like a pair of dogs, are two prisoners. But Dany’s eyes are on the slight, dark-haired woman.
Even in the half-light, Dany would know the woman anywhere.
Seeing her aunt stumble to her knees, seeing her aunt roughly pulled up by a chain, yanked by a man who is a full foot taller, a hundred pounds heavier, a man against whom Dany has not the slightest chance – she does the only thing in the entire world that makes any kind of sense.
Seeing that huge prison guard, bludgeon in hand, taking hold of her aunt by the neck – Dany runs.
Right at the son of a bitch.
| Chapter 0 = X + 25
Dany takes the ramp in two strides – her dash ending in a wild leap. She slams into the soldier’s chest, full on, and then her nails find his cheeks.
For one instant, Dany is clinging to the guard, raking his face with her nails – and in the next, her body hits the far wall of the truck.
She slides into a crumpled heap on the floor.
The blow comes a beat later, out of nowhere – hard and solid, to her head. And when she looks up, dazed, she is somehow balanced on her knees, and staring in wonder at the fireflies.
One blow with that mag cell light, bam, and there they are. Dozens of fireflies. Little living lights.
Dany, on her hands and knees, looks up at them. Tiny luminous beings, cavorting in the air of the cargo hold. Somehow, everything in the truck’s interior has a strange hue, and yes, there are fireflies in her eyes.
When Dany looks up, her aunt finally sees her. But Aunt Norah is staring at Dany in abject horror. Her aunt’s eyes flicker from the yellow plague jacket to Dany’s face, and something in her seems to break.
“No,” her aunt says, her voice low and distressed. “No, no, no.”
“Goddamn virals,” the guard mutters. “I swear to God, we should smoke every last one of the bastards.”
When Dany looks from her aunt to the guard, her lip curls. “Sociopath,” she says.
And in that instant, Dany has everyone’s full attention.
Her aunt’s face fills with a different kind of horror; the red-haired prisoner, chained to her, raises one eyebrow and cackles; and the guard, with a click of his mag light, aims a beam of light at Dany’s face. She squints up at the guard and swears.
“Jesus Christ,” he says, stumped. “It’s a goddamn kid.”
It’s only when the guard has lowered that beam of light to her jacket that Dany sees what the redhead is doing. A wary look on her face, the redhead is angling up behind the guard.
For a moment, all Dany sees is a little bit of darkness, a tiny gap of night, there, between the red-haired woman’s two front teeth. And then she sees the broomstick in the woman’s hand, sees that broomstick raised for a blow.
The blow is hard.
The broomstick cracks against the guard’s skull – literally – and the pieces fall to the floor of the truck bed, two splintered ends of wood. The impact of that blow on the guard’s skull should have taken him down. But the man’s head is made of rock.
The guard, rising – smacks the red-haired prisoner.
She flies against the wall of the truck, and slides down, dazed. He’s hit her so hard, so brutally, that Dany is sure the weight of the prisoner – flying against the wall – will take her aunt’s hand off at the wrist. Still, the guard isn’t done.
He turns that stupid smile on Dany.
Dany struggles to her feet, draws in a shaky breath.
His first punch lands deep in her gut, and her body is reshaped by the blow. His fist steals the wind from her lungs, ruptures a thousand tiny capillaries, tears up her guts and sends her skidding across the wet floor of the truck. Sliding across a slick of filth, to land, choking and helpless.
When she opens her eyes, he’s grabbed hold of her aunt by the hair.
Her aunt, roughly held aloft, is screaming and grasping at her hair – and he rounds on the other prisoner, there, at the end of the chain. The air is filled with a strange popping sound, a sound that crackles over the grunts, the heavy breaths. It’s only when her aunt begins to moan that realization hits Dany. The popping noises – they are the sound a fistful of hair makes as, strand by strand, it is pulled out at the roots.
Her aunt yelps with pain, and the guard turns on the redhead. He lifts the red-haired prisoner into the air with one hand – a fist around her throat – and as Dany watches in horror, the prisoner’s legs thrash out.
He’s going to kill her. There’s no doubt in Dany’s mind that the guard is going to kill her.
Dany hears the prisoner squawk in protest, but it’s strangled in her throat. He’s going to kill the redhead – right here – right in front of her. He is going to squeeze and squeeze until there is no air left in her lungs.
Dany’s hand scrambles over the floor – and what she finds is the broken broomstick. Rising – on unsteady feet – she jabs the splintered point ag
ainst the side of the guard’s neck, there, where she can see a vein, throbbing beneath the surface of his skin like a rain-fat worm.
“Let her go,” she tells the guard. “Let. Her. Go.”
The guard opens his hands, and her aunt and the redhead fall to the floor.
“Son of a bitch,” the other prisoner says, her voice a hoarse whisper.
But Dany can’t look at her – because she can’t take her eyes off the guard, not for a second. Her legs are weak, and her head throbs. The fireflies have left the cargo hold, but her legs are made of Jell-O. And she is pretty sure that her mind has somehow detached from her brain. To move too fast is to risk letting go of some essential part of herself.
And then the red-headed prisoner grabs the guard’s mag light. She grabs the mag light, smashes the long cylinder against the back of his head. Blood spouts from a cut – the guard slumps to his knees. And Dany drops the splintered broom and steps back.
The guard is on his knees but the redhead isn’t done.
A dozen savage blows follow – all aimed at his head. Dany sees it all. The precise moment that consciousness leaves the guard. His eyes wink out, his shoulders slump and he falls. Forward. Onto his face.
A beat later, her aunt – dragging at the chain – pulls the redhead off his unconscious body. Still, for a few seconds, the red-haired prisoner keeps swinging – blows whistling through empty air. Finally, she turns on Dany’s aunt, the mag light gripped in her fist.
“Keys,” Aunt Norah says. “Ceci, we need the keys.”
Norah snakes a hand out, but the redhead, Ceci, bats her aunt’s hand away.
“I’ve got an idea,” the red-haired prisoner says. “Why don’t you try the word please. What does it cost you?”
As Ceci searches the guard, she swears. A long crazy agglutination of a swear.
Aunt Norah flicks a look at Dany and shakes her head.
“Your mother, here,” Ceci says, searching the guard, “she’s thinks she’s some kind of princess. Thinks I’m her servant.”
“She’s not my mom,” Dany says.
“You know what, screw the keys,” her aunt Norah says. “I’d rather spend eight more weeks chained to you. You know what you are. You’re a goddamned genius.”
And then, for a good ten seconds, the two of them swear their stupid heads off.
Finally, Norah shakes her head and turns away.
The redhead stares at her aunt’s back for a few seconds. Finally, she turns back to the guard. Squatting down, she searches another pocket. “I didn’t know you and Harold here were so close,” Ceci says, her tone light. At least, Ceci sounds like she’s joking, but Dany senses something darker, a minefield in the words.
“I think we’d better go,” Dany whispers.
Aunt Norah, meanwhile, bends down to pick up the broken broomstick.
She eyes the splintered end and tosses it from her. Finally, she turns a cold eye on Dany. “What the hell are you doing?”
Dany looks from her aunt to Ceci.
Dany has the plague jacket key. The two of them, wearing plague jackets, are going to move invisibly through the camp and quietly leave. No one was supposed to even notice. No one was going to get hurt. That was her plan. Because, yes, Dany had a plan. But now, here they are, the guard knocked out – and Dany knows that life is not like television. Knows that if the guard is out, if he’s been out this long, it’s bad. It’s really bad.
But no, Dany isn’t stupid. She had a plan.
“I had a plan,” she says, stupidly.
“A plan,” Aunt Norah repeats, “a plan.”
“Not her fault,” Ceci says, glancing at Dany. “I guess she takes after you in the brains department.” Ceci has the keys now, and is trying one after another in the lock at her wrist.
Her aunt narrows her eyes at Dany.
“There will be words,” her aunt says, her voice a hiss. “You and me will have words.”
“Oh, there will be words,” Ceci says, and again, her voice hits that unsettling note, half amused, half dangerous. “And not one of those words will be please. Because your mother, here, is a goddamned princess.”
Ceci is half in a squat, fiddling with yet another key. Finally, finally, this one slides home. Ceci unlocks the cuff at her wrist – the one that chains her to Dany’s aunt.
“God that’s nice,” Ceci says, rubbing the raw skin at her wrist.
“About time,” Norah tells her. “Now me.”
“I’ve had enough of you,” Ceci says. Her voice is so calm, so emotionless, that Dany doesn’t sense the danger. Ceci leans down over the guard, and Dany hears the click.
Rising, Ceci aims a smile Dany’s way. “Enjoy your visit,” she says.
Ceci strides down the ramp and is gone.
It takes a second for Dany to understand. First, she sees her aunt Norah lunge after Ceci – only to be pulled short by her metal leash. Then, Dany’s gaze takes in the comatose guard, the one whose arm is lofting into air, the one who seems to wave, as her aunt yanks on the other end of the chain.
| Chapter 0 = X + 26
The keys, thanks to Ceci, are gone.
Dany blinks at the unconscious guard then looks up at her aunt Norah.
“Go,” her aunt says. “Get out of here. Go home.”
“No,” Dany says. She grabs hold of the chain.
Her aunt sighs. “Go,” she says.
“We go together,” Dany tells her, and takes up the slack. The guard’s arm lifts into the air, and it’s almost like he wants to make a point.
Finally, her aunt Norah takes up the chain, and together, inch by inch, they drag the two-hundred-pound soldier down the truck ramp. Dany leans away, using her weight and gravity to leverage the body.
At the bottom of the ramp, Dany scans the prison grounds.
Fifty yards back are the tin cans. The ones that, each night, the prisoners call home. That’s where most of the noise and the commotion is. And that, of course, is a good thing. Dany can see the cluster of prisoners, can see how they’ve drawn the guards there.
For the moment at least, she and her aunt are alone.
But it won’t last. It can’t. Already, in pools of darkness, places the perimeter lights can’t reach, she glimpses a flash of orange. Shadows flitting in the dark of night. Here and there, a distant shout.
Aunt Norah lets go of the chain. “Don’t you get it?” she asks. “I’m done. Finished. Just go. However you got in here, just go.”
Dany ignores her. She’ll heave the soldier the rest of the way by herself if she has to. She flicks a glance at her aunt, who is trying to catch her breath. So far, they’ve dragged the guard down the ramp, but now, Dany has to drag him across the flat prison ground. Her hands are shaking, her knees are filled with water and she’s pretty sure that, before this is done, she’s going to throw up.
No, they probably won’t make it.
And what are they supposed to do when the guard comes to?
Dany looks at the prison’s gate. It’s only thirty feet away – but all of it is illuminated by bright white lights. Even if they do it – even if they cross the distance – her aunt is chained to a soldier, who, the moment he wakes up, will kill her. Will kill them both. Or, worse, send her aunt to the judge and Dany back to the work farm. Still, they are in the shadow of the truck right now. For the time being, at least, they have a chance.
With a sinking feeling, Dany leans in once more against the chain – and for a long beat there is nothing. Her aunt takes up the chain once more and, heaving together, the guard’s dead weight slides forward another painful inch.
“This can’t work,” her aunt mutters.
“Try,” Dany says. “Please, just try.”
Dany and Aunt Norah are fifteen feet from the g
ate when it happens.
“No,” her aunt says in horror. “Why did you bring her? Why?”
Dany looks up, and sees something that makes her heart stop in her chest.
But what she sees makes zero sense.
Dany left all of them behind – Eva, Faraday, the kid. She left them all back at the house. They should be on the highway by now. They should be in that old VW Bug, heading out of the city. But here – making a beeline for the spotlights just outside of the prison fence – is her little sister, Mac.
Have they come after her? But then, where are Eva and Faraday?
The kid trots towards the pool of light, there, just on the other side of the gate. She looks to be headed to the spot, just outside the guardhouse, where the light is the brightest of all.
Mac’s holding a paper bag in one hand. On her face, she has that look she sometimes gets when working on a mechanical problem – a look of utter focus. It is the look that Dany imagined when the teacher told her that the kid took apart the fish tank motor. It’s the look Dany saw when her sister rewired the hair dryer, setting off a small supernova on their bathroom counter.
Eva and Mister Faraday are close; Dany knows they have to be close. But Mac must have slipped away. And now, holding a bag filled, no doubt, with the little metal bits that sum up into a gun, she is heading to the bright light like a suicidal moth.
Dany’s heart skips like a stone over water.
Dany, completely focused on the kid, doesn’t notice at first that Mac is on a collision course. But yes, there, exactly where the kid is headed – just outside of the gate – is the red-headed prisoner.
Then Ceci, down on her knees, starts cussing – and Dany’s gaze takes in the scene one stroke at a time. First, she sees the woman, on her knees. Then she sees the arm, drawn up behind her back. And finally, she sees the prison guard. The one who is torquing Ceci’s arm in a backwards wrench.
And her kid sister?