We were within a few people of the truck now, and I started repeating my name over and over in my head as we got closer to the volunteer and the ID-scanning device. Nora White, I reminded myself. Nora White. We could do this. It would all be downhill from here. We just had to get on those trucks.
And then we were the next people in line. The male Helping Hands volunteer didn’t make eye contact as we walked up. He just raised his scanner and waited for me to raise my right hand.
“Name?” he asked gruffly.
The scanner traced over the fingerprints on my raised hand. I could feel that my palm was damp with sweat.
“Nora White,” I responded.
The volunteer looked at the small screen on his side of the scanner and then looked up at me for the first time. His beady eyes studied my face. And then he gestured me forward and toward the truck. I was in.
“Name?” I heard him ask Kory behind me. I was walking forward onto the truck, assuming Kory was right behind me, when I heard the volunteer raise his voice slightly.
“Name?” the man repeated.
I whipped around to see Kory standing dumbly, eyes wide, like a deer caught in headlights. He had blanked. It looked like the fear had gotten to him, and as every second crept miserably by, he was sinking further into panic and confusion.
The volunteer put his scanning gun down to his side and took a step toward Kory. I could see agents on either side of the line starting to notice the sudden lack of movement. Eyes were turning to face us. Kory stood there frozen.
“Silas,” I said suddenly.
The volunteer and Kory looked back at me. I didn’t want to draw attention to myself, but I didn’t see any other option at this point.
“Silas, come on.”
The volunteer narrowed his eyes as he looked up at me. But then Kory’s voice returned behind him and he spoke.
“Silas Miller,” he said strongly.
The volunteer turned back to look at Kory. He stared hard at the image projected on his scanner screen and then back up to Kory’s face. He was comparing the faces closely, obviously suspicious now, and I held my breath in anticipation.
The volunteer waved his hand toward the truck, letting Kory go by. The agents next to the line returned to their patrolling. Kory took a few teetering steps toward me, and then we were together and getting onto the truck.
A ramp led from the ground three feet up into the cargo hold of the truck. There was a row of seats built against each wall, but they were already full. People were now standing in the middle of the truck, shoved up against each other. That was where Kory and I were going to have to go.
More townspeople crammed in after us, and Kory and I stood uncomfortably in the middle of the truck for many long minutes until it was obvious that no one else was going to fit. Then the aluminum door pulled down from the top of the truck and latched shut from the outside. Suddenly the only light visible was from small airholes and slats in the sides of the truck. The truck rumbled to life, the floor beneath us vibrating. We all swayed together toward the back of the truck as it started forward, and we steadied in a mass. We were on our way.
The ride was jerky and uncomfortable. There was nothing for us to hold on to, and pretty soon people were leaning against each other to try to gain some relief from the pressure of standing. A sickly woman leaned heavily against Kory. Kindhearted by nature, he braced himself to provide support for her during our long drive.
I wanted to talk to him while we were being transported, but with so many people around us, it didn’t feel safe. If someone overheard us they might start to be suspicious, especially if they happened to realize that they had never seen us around their small town before. Ultimately, I decided to keep my mouth shut and travel in silence to be safe.
I worried slightly about how long the drive would be. If we were delayed in any way, if the truck got a flat tire or had an engine breakdown or even just got caught in traffic, then our masks would start to “melt” right here in full view of all these people.
So many things could go wrong. Although I didn’t hold it against him in the slightest, Kory had already effectively proven that even the simplest of details could be botched. And there were so many unknowns in our plan. What if immediate death awaited us once we reached the shielded expanse of woods, some sort of government plan to rid themselves of pesky poor people when factories went under? How would Nathan and the rest of Little John save us if we were doomed to die before our five hours were up? I tried to reason with myself. The regime was awful, sure, but was it that evil?
Unfortunately, I didn’t have a good answer.
After what felt like about an hour, maybe longer, the truck made a hard right turn and the road began to feel rougher and rockier, like we had moved from asphalt to dirt. I tried to examine our surroundings through the sides of the truck, but it was impossible to make out any distinguishing features. It was still gray and wet outside, and now the afternoon was bleeding into early evening. Who knew where we were now?
When we all lurched forward as the truck braked and then parked, it seemed obvious that we had reached our destination.
The townspeople began to look around anxiously. There were new sounds carrying through the air to us now. It sounded like several men were walking around the truck, stepping over gravel in heavy boots. Then the truck cabin door squeaked open and closed again. We could see figures moving past through the holes in the truck’s siding. But there were no voices, and no one inside the truck spoke either. It was silent save for the crunch of gravel and the ragged breaths of the townspeople.
Then the latch was pulled up from the other side and the truck’s door rolled up. Three men stood there. None of them were wearing Helping Hands shirts. They were wearing light blue uniforms and holding weapons. These men weren’t volunteers.
They were more Authority agents. We had walked right into a government stronghold.
“File out,” one of the men said roughly. The ramp was pulled back down to allow easy access to the ground, and the townspeople all began to push toward the new opening. Many were unsteady on their feet after standing for so long in poor health. I watched in horror as an older woman stumbled down the ramp and landed on all fours in the gravel below. No one bent to help her up. I pushed past others on the ramp to reach her and grabbed her gently by the forearm.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
The woman winced in pain. She looked up at me and tried to force a smile. “Thank you,” she replied in a hoarse voice. “I’m fine.”
“Move!” an agent yelled at us.
I wanted to argue with him. I wanted to grab a handful of gravel and fling it into his face. How could someone be so callous and heartless around people who were obviously ill and exhausted? Instead I kept my head down and helped the woman to her feet so we could get out of the way of the ramp.
There’d be time for fighting later. For now, we had other things to do.
Kory joined me outside of the truck, and we began to look around to get our bearings. Another truck was driving up the dirt road behind us, but we were the first to arrive and unload. There were agents milling around us and corralling people toward a large metal gate. On either side of the gate ran long, tall fences. Beyond the fence I could see a multistoried, white, windowless building. Beyond that lay a more average-looking red brick building. But the vast majority of the land beyond the fence seemed to be uncovered and open.
The metal gates swung open, and the agents led our group up to them. I looked over at Kory. We were going inside. And once inside, we would have to rely on the strength of Little John’s diversion and collection teams to get us back out.
We must’ve had less than three hours left.
30
We were scanned again at the gate. I sent Kory in front of me this time, to be safe, but he didn’t repeat his previous mistake.
And then we were inside the facility.
I scanned as many of my surroundings as I could and tried to commit
the details to memory. I didn’t know what I was looking for, so for the moment everything seemed important to remember. From the outside it had looked like the majority of the fenced-in area was open. But now that we were inside, I could see that squat, cheaply constructed buildings filled the open area. They looked like chicken coops, long wooden shacks without windows that were built in rows. The ground looked like it had once been grassy, and a few tufts of yellowing grass still grew every few paces, but now it was mostly dirt.
People were walking in between and in and out of the buildings. Barracks, I realized suddenly. They were shelters for the townspeople. Which meant at least some of the townspeople were still alive.
In the middle of the compound, directly in front of us, stood the tall, white building. It looked to be at least fifteen or twenty stories high, though it was hard to tell without any windows. No one was walking into or out of that building.
Behind it I saw the red brick building (an administrative building?) and then beyond that a few rows of barracks that looked to be better constructed and complete with windows. I assumed the guards were stationed in those, since they were better made.
The guards were everywhere. They were walking in between barracks in pairs and alone, holding long-barreled weapons, and looking over the grounds and the townspeople contemptuously.
“Nora,” Kory said.
I almost didn’t react. After all, I wasn’t used to going by that name. But he grabbed my arm, and I snapped back to reality. He was trying to point my attention to what was happening ahead of us in line.
An agent stood several people ahead of us and was making sure we were separated by sex. Women were filing to the left and men were walking toward the right. Kory and I were going to be separated.
When we reached the agent, he pointed me to the left side. Kory glanced at me as he walked toward the right. I wanted desperately to say my goodbye to him, realizing in fear that we might not get another chance, but everything was happening too fast. Soon I was walking away with a line of Dry River women toward the women’s barracks, led by an agent.
I took a closer look at the women on our side of the compound as I passed them. Few of them were speaking. Some of them were standing in line with metal buckets to pull water from a well. Some were sitting outside of their barracks on the ground in silence. The women looked tired and hungry and listless. These were the poorest of the poor, women who had lost their children to the government and their youth to the torture of factory work. And now they had lost their husbands and brothers and homes. They had lost their very freedom. What else did they have?
As I looked at the women, I noticed that the barracks were designated by towns, city names painted over the doors. I could read the names of a few barracks that we passed: Asper, Bitter Creek, Ironfield. I looked hard for the Millville barracks but didn’t see it.
Then the agent in front of us stopped and pointed wordlessly to a long and drafty building to her left. Dry River, it read over the door.
But it wasn’t much of a door. It fit poorly on its hinges and shuddered in the wind. The building had obviously been hastily constructed. The wooden slats on the side of the building didn’t match in length or type of lumber. It didn’t look like a structure that could keep anyone warm or sheltered from the elements. It looked like it provided even less shelter than the leaky and drafty apartments from the factory towns.
We dutifully filed into our barracks. Inside there were rows of bunks against both walls, each bed fitted with a small, gray mattress. There was a scratchy-looking blanket folded and placed on each bed. Women began to pick beds and sit down on them or stand awkwardly beside them. No instructions were given to us. We didn’t have a timeframe for anything. We were just supposed to wait here until further notice, it seemed.
But I had no intention of doing that.
I waited until all of the women were inside the barracks, and I waited a few minutes longer to make sure that the agent outside had moved on. Then I strolled back out of the barracks. It was time to start exploring, while I still had the chance.
The sun was beginning to go down outside, the compound lit with dusky streaks of pink and orange that could’ve been really beautiful under any other circumstances. But here they were painful reminders of a beauty and comfort that these people weren’t able to experience. Here we were nothing but prisoners expected to sit quietly and obediently on our beds. And who knew for what reason?
I made eye contact with a guard and turned quickly away from the barracks door. But the agents didn’t seem to mind the bored wanderings of the townspeople. It looked like many people were wandering about aimlessly in their boredom or despair. The guards probably only cared about keeping people inside the fences.
But why? It looked like Helping Hands was just collecting townspeople for no discernible reason. Why take them from their homes? Why keep them in these hovels?
I walked back toward the center of the compound, passing the well as I walked. A woman was struggling to lift a bucket of water, pulling in vain at the chain over the well with her thin and tired arms. None of the women behind her in line were moving or reacting to the scene. These people looked too tired and sick to expend any excess energy on human niceties. I wanted to walk right past her and not draw any attention to myself, but as the chain pulled away from her and started spooling back into the well, I ran over to help. I grabbed the chain and nodded at her. She smiled and stepped back, and I pulled slowly and evenly until the water bucket appeared over the edge of the stone well.
The woman unhooked her bucket and grabbed it in her pale hands. She smiled at me once more before stepping away. I noticed that a guard was looking closely at me, so I handed the chain to the woman behind me in line, then pressed on. Anything could draw attention to me in this strange and frightening place, including my relatively good health, and I didn’t need to risk that.
I started reading town names as I passed additional barracks, matching them up to the things I knew—and the things I needed to know. Bitter Creek and Ironfield I recognized. But towns like Asper and Dustmont didn’t sound familiar to me. Was it possible that even more towns were being evacuated than Nathan knew about?
A selfish part of me was looking closely for the Millville barracks. I visualized myself seeing the Millville shack in the distance and then finding the strength to step inside of it. I imagined a woman who looked just like me recognizing me immediately and running forward to embrace me. I imagined escaping with her, taking her back to Edgewood to begin the multigenerational family that I was so excited to have. But I knew that was just a pipe dream. There was no guarantee that my mother was even in the compound. Furthermore, I couldn’t imagine that I would be able to recognize her. And she definitely wouldn’t recognize me as Nora White. And maybe she wouldn’t even be excited to see me if we did find each other. Maybe I had just been an unnamed extra mouth to feed when I was with her and Culver. Maybe my presence would be too painful a reminder for her. I didn’t know. And I simply didn’t have the time to find out right then. Focusing on that could offset Little John’s entire mission when they were relying on us the most.
I had to put my own needs on the backburner. And I would have to hope for another chance to find Juno before Little John started the diversion.
I walked past the barracks and began to move toward the buildings in the center of the compound. The administrative building seemed like an obvious choice for exploring; surely there were files or removable hard drives inside that I could snag for further investigation back in Edgewood. But there were armed guards all around it. It looked like a hub for the guards. I thought back to what Nathan had said, that we should look for places we weren’t supposed to go. That certainly looked like one of them, but it also looked like a suicide mission. I decided against it.
I turned to the nondescript white building instead. It was a strange design architecturally. Just a plain rectangle of white. I spotted a small side door without a door handle that must’ve o
nly opened from the inside. There were steps leading up to the front of the building, which was obviously the main entrance, but no one was going in or out, and an armed guard was keeping post outside. Then on the other side of the building, a sloped driveway led up to large garage-style doors. It looked like supplies were unloaded there. But what kind of supplies, and why?
Oddly, I also noticed a large pool of townspeople standing at the foot of the main entrance steps and just… waiting. They were sitting on the ground or pacing around like they were anticipating some event. But I couldn’t imagine what it would be.
So far it looked like my best option to do more exploring. I needed to get into that building somehow.
I walked up to the townspeople at the foot of the steps and tried to understand why they were waiting. I thought about just asking; after all, it wouldn’t have been too out of character for Nora White, the Dry River factory worker, to wonder what was happening in this strange new place she had been brought to.
Before I even had time to ask, the front door was opening and a man was walking out with a speakerphone. The townspeople around me all began to perk up and look in his direction. It seemed like this was the moment they had been waiting for.
“Attention,” the man said, his voice amplified and staticky. “We have open slots for factory reassignment now available. Interested parties should line up.”
The two or three dozen people around me pressed forward suddenly in a mass. I felt myself being swept up again in the wave, and we stormed up the steps together.
“Single file!” the man ordered through his speaker.
People smashed into line again, and I scrabbled to push myself forward. I needed to get into this building in any way possible. Though, I didn’t feel good pushing these people out of the way. This seemed like a good opportunity for them. And maybe this was the actual reasoning for this entire operation. After all, it matched what Helping Hands had been telling people in their promotional materials and the way they were operating within the holding centers. Maybe they were just goodhearted people with a lot of money who were trying to help these people find better jobs when their factories closed down.
The Child Thief 5: Ghost Towns Page 28