by Keri Lake
A vibration of panic still runs through my body as I sit shivering, and when Six reaches for my arm, I startle at his touch. He lifts my hand to his face, closing his eyes as he breathes in the scent of my skin, and the sight of him takes me back to the first night, remembering how fragile he looked to me.
Through a blur of tears, I grip his nape and press my forehead against his, hands clasped between us. “I won’t let anyone hurt you again, Six. I promise.”
Dusk is falling when the supply truck finally comes to a rolling stop in front of the gate. I give Six’s hand a squeeze and push to a stand, stepping out from the bushes. Rounding the building, I take the sidewalk, so as not to rouse any suspicion, and approach the tower, where Arty sits with one other guard, drinking coffee.
“Wren? It’s almost curfew. What are you doing out here?”
I position myself in Arty’s line of view, while Six slips into the back of the truck. “I need Papa. Do you know where I can find him?”
His eyes slide to the other guard and back to me, the action setting my teeth on edge. “Sure, kiddo. Hang tight, I’ll get ahold of him. You just stay put right here.”
With a whistle, he looks beyond me and signals the truck through the wall, which slides to the side.
A hand grips my arm, and I startle, instinctively flailing back, and glance up to the Legion guard standing behind me. Another takes hold of my other arm, and I squirm and pull, twisting my arm to break their hold.
Arty raises a walkie-talkie to his face. “Where do you want her, sir?”
“Put her in the holding cells.” The voice that answers is unrecognizable, and as the wall slides closed, I catch sight of a Legion guard opening the back of the supply truck.
“Six! No! Oh, God, Six!” Tears flood my eyes, as I kick and scream, trying to break loose. My heels dig into the dirt, as the guards drag me toward the station ahead. Fighting them is futile, but the agony that washes over me won’t let me give up. “Six!”
The door shuts him out of my view, and I break into a hysterical sob.
Chapter 23
Dani
With one hand clasped over my mouth, another banded around my waist, I twist and writhe in the guard’s arm, screaming into his palm. Hands bind my ankles, swiping the floor out from under me, bridging me between the two of them. Through the dark hallway of cellblock B, they carry me toward the exit, following closely behind Ivan and Doctor Ericsson. Once through those doors, it’s only a short walk to the Ragers.
Oh, God, the Ragers!
To be burned, stabbed, shot is one thing. But thrown into a pit where I’ll be eaten alive is unthinkable. My breaths arrive hard and fast in a panic, and with snot gathered at my nose, and tears in my eyes, I can hardly suck in enough air. A numbness crawls over me, blanketing my skin, and I can only pray it’ll remain when the Ragers claw flesh away from my bones and sink their teeth into my muscles.
Maybe it’ll be quick. Maybe they’ll rip my heart from my chest, and I’ll die in seconds.
Still, I kick and squirm in the soldiers’ grip, desperate to get away. Even if they shoot me, trying to escape, it’s better than being fed alive to the monsters.
We breach the door, to where night has settled over the camp. The low hum of growls sets my heart beating faster, and our approach sends them into a frenzy. The clamor of them slamming at the fence beats down my spine in a terrifying rhythm.
An ice cold sensation settles in my chest, when Ivan grabs a staff with a sharp point that’s propped against the fence. At the opposite end of the yard, where fewer Ragers are gathered, he opens the door of the fence, prodding an approaching Rager with the stick.
I scream into the guard’s palm, sobbing.
My body flies through the air, until my spine collides with the dirt, kicking up the dust around me. Air blasts from my lungs, and I turn to the side to catch a breath.
That’s when I notice the smaller fence, fairly easy to scale at the other side of the yard that leads to the open desert.
A growl diverts my attention toward a mangled woman limping toward me, half her face scratched away. Three more block my path toward the low fence—all males, chattering their teeth in that terrifying click-click-click.
Laughter draws my attention toward Ivan, where he stands beside his father on the camp side of the barbed fence.
I push to my knees to crawl toward them, and a larger male, whose eyeball is missing from one of his sockets, steps in front of me, twitching and jerking.
I back myself toward the building’s wall behind me, scanning it for a window that I can break. Nothing but solid concrete. The heavy tromp of feet close in on me, a tight circle surrounding me, and I tuck myself into a ball. The unified movement draws the attention of others, who also circle around me.
I’m going to be eaten alive!
Screams rip from my chest, but they sound distant, not mine. They’re foreign. So terrified and helpless.
The Ragers hover over me in a sky of frightening faces staring down at me, swiping at me with their hands that knock me in the head. My leg is lifted into the air, and I kick out to no avail, waiting for the moment when teeth sink into my flesh.
The Rager throws my leg to the ground.
A sharp burn hits my scalp, and the gravelly dirt scrapes across my spine, as one of them drags me away from the others. Without looking at me, he releases me, and walks off. The growls intensify while the circle of Ragers move as a whole, keeping me in the center of their horde.
Swatting. Smacking. Growling. Chattering their teeth.
No biting, though.
As if … they’re not interested in consuming me.
A dull thud hits my ribcage with a sharp kick, blowing the breath from my lungs, and I curl into pain. Still, nothing pierces me.
Through a gap between their twitching legs, I scramble out from beneath them, toward the low fence in the distance. A Rager approaches, chattering his teeth at me, but quickly changes direction, off my path.
Another does the same, growling and swinging his fists wildly in the air.
I dodge his punches and keep on. Not a single bite marring my skin, that I can sense.
Dashing the final steps toward the fence, I leap into the air, clutching the chain links halfway up from the ground. A hand grips my ankle, yanking me. But the moment I turn to peer down at the female Rager, she releases me and stumbles off, twitching and chattering.
The horde begins to disperse, and it’s only a matter of minutes before Ivan and Doctor Ericsson will see my bloody remains aren’t in the center of it.
With trembles wracking my body, I scale the fence, and as soon as my feet hit the dirt on the other side, I want to crumble into a pile and sob.
I can’t, though. I have to keep moving.
The adrenaline surges through my veins as I hobble away, favoring my non-aching leg. Dry heat scorches my throat, and I race in darkness, toward nothing. I’ve no idea where I am. No idea where to go. A few hundred yards away from the fence, the growls behind me quieten, allowing me a moment to catch my breath, and Doctor Falkenrath’s words from earlier filter into the chaos.
The Juniper tree.
He said to keep the sun on my right shoulder, but there is no sun. There won’t be for another six, or so, hours.
The moon is high in the sky tonight, and full enough to offer the dark silhouettes of mountains in the distance. I could run for those, but the guards would surely search for me there.
To the right, is line of steel posts and razor wire that house trucks—I recognize them as the trucks used to raid the hives. The ones that brought us here. I scurry across the dirt toward them.
Those toward the front seem to face the opening inside the camp, where I’m guessing there’s a gate within the compound that allows them free access to the vehicles. There’s a gap between the razors attached to each strand of fence wire and the ground that’s wide enough for my body, if I don’t breathe. I lie down on my belly, resting my cheek against the dirt
, and slide beneath the wires. A burn slides across my calf, and I clamp my eyes shut, silently taking in the sting of the cut, until I’m on the other side.
Voices reach my ears. Shouting. Scuffling of boots. The guards.
I scuttle the rest of the way beneath the fence and scramble under one of the trucks closest to the fence, tucking myself in the center of the undercarriage.
Vehicles fire up.
“There was nothing left of her! That’s impossible!” Ivan’s voice thunders along my nerves, and I have to screw my eyes shut, focusing on my silence. “Search every fucking inch of this desert! In the mountains! She couldn’t have gotten far.”
With trembles vibrating through my body, I lie still. I don’t move until the hush of quiet settles around me again.
And when there’s no other sound but my shaky breaths, I weep.
Dawn filters in, and I lift my head to the first faint beams that creep over the eastern mountains. East. Which means I’m to head north. On the few times my father took me hunting, I managed a small bit of navigation, in the event we were separated, or I was to walk home by myself. My father never shied away from the fact that any one of us could be taken, plucked right out of this life without warning, which might be the only explanation I have for wanting to survive.
My belly grumbles with hunger, and thirst leaves a raspy scratch at the back of my throat that I can’t seem to itch. Not a single drop of saliva in my mouth to coat it.
The trucks from the night before haven’t returned, and there’s a good possibility they might come upon me out here in the open desert. As anxious as I am to leave this place, I can’t just go. Not until I know it’s safe.
Or relatively so.
“You could hide inside one of the trucks.” The voice arrives beside me, and I let out a squeal before slapping a hand to my mouth.
Raymond lies on his belly to the left of me, looking out over the desert, as I had a moment ago. “There’s one leaving to deliver files and pick up supplies. Every morning.”
“What are you doing here?” I whisper through clenched teeth.
“They head north,” he goes on, ignoring me. “Perhaps ten miles from here. Which means you’d have to walk about another five after that.”
“How do you know this?”
“Studied it.”
My faces bunches to a frown, and I snap my head back toward the front of the gate, catching sight of the guard’s boots, where he’s been on duty most of the night. “How did you get past the guards? Or the Ragers? How are you here?”
“I know how to get around.”
I shake my head, burying my face in my palms. “No. I’m starving. I’m exhausted. I’m thirsty. You’re not real. You’re not really here.”
“True. But, then, I was never really here to begin.”
In the heat of the rising desert sun, my blood turns ice cold. “What?”
“I’m a hallucination, Dani. Yours, specifically.”
“You’re not real.”
“Nope. Hey, you mind if I light up?” He reaches down to his pocket, nabbing a pack of cigarettes.
“I’m crazy, then?”
“Kinda silly to ask me, don’t ya think?”
“How … would I know you? To hallucinate you.”
“I was one of the first files you read in Doctor Falkenrath’s lab, a while back. Probably don’t even remember it. I passed through the morgue before you arrived in this place. The experiments they performed on me made you sick. Probably not as much as my autopsy photos. You couldn’t sleep after seeing those.”
“Then, you’re a ghost?”
“No. Every word coming out of my mouth comes from here.” He points to my temple. “You’re hallucinating.”
“Oh, my God. I should just let them take me now. Run straight into the arms of the guard.”
“Can’t do that. Baby Wren is counting on you.”
“Wonderful. My hallucination comes equipped with built-in guilt.”
The tromp against the dirt snaps my attention from Raymond, toward the gate, where three sets of boots stand in a cluster.
“All gassed up and ready.” The deep voice is unfamiliar, carrying over the rattle of the gate sliding open.
“Where are the other trucks?” a second voice asks.
“Still looking for that girl. Ain’t come back yet,” the first responds.
The boots head off to the left, stopping at either side of a truck that sits kitty-corner from my hiding spot.
“I suggest you go now.” Raymond’s voice draws my attention back to the empty space where he sat just a moment ago.
On a rush of adrenaline, perhaps a little starvation, and a haze of slight dehydration, I slide across the dirt, keeping low, and cross the gap between vehicles, toward the supply truck. Both men sit in the cab, and the engine fires up, prompting me to hurry into the back of it. Pushing back the tarp, I climb over the gate and find a place to hide behind stacked boxes.
The truck lurches forward, then comes to a stop.
“You see that girl, radio in, and we’ll let the others know.”
“Will do. Although not much hope after twenty-four hours. Ragers could’ve swiped her up and taken her back to a nest.”
“If we’re lucky!” The guard chuckles, and two thumps echo inside the back of the truck. The tarp is peeled back, and I hold my breath, ducking down to avoid the sunlight peeking in. “You’re good to go!” the guard yells, and the truck sets into motion once again, the flap shielding out the light as the guard lowers it.
I exhale a shaky breath.
Whatever happens next is yet to be seen. Perhaps they’ll find me back here. Maybe they’ll shoot me on sight. Maybe I’ll have to fight them.
For now, I’m just going to breathe.
I peer out through the tarp, at the ground whipping by behind the truck. About ten minutes have passed since we left the compound, based on the minutes I’ve counted off inside my head, which I estimate is approximately the ten-mile mark.
I’m trying to decide whether, or not, to jump.
If I’m lucky, they won’t see me in the side-view mirrors.
The longer I stand here, the more I’m thinking this wasn’t a good idea. All around is open desert, with nowhere to hide, aside from a field of creosote bushes off in the distance.
“Raymond, what were you thinking?” I cringe at the words, praying my earlier encounter with him was nothing more than dehydration and starvation—two things that still plague my body, making me thankful for the shade of the truck. I’ve already rifled through the boxes—nothing but files. Patient files that I could hardly stand looking through. I don’t even want to know what’ll happen when it all comes crashing down. When reality forces me to look at the last few months, and I’m no longer hiding behind a daily dose of new horrors.
The vehicle comes to a stop, and I scramble backward, falling into my hiding spot behind the stacked boxes. Two slams of the door. Boots thudding across the dirt. The tarp peels back, and I duck lower, ensuring that I’m out of sight. The creak of the truck’s tailgate crawls down my spine.
“Hotter than two field mice fuckin’ in a wool sock,” one of the guards says, lifting a box that he hands off to the other. He reaches for a second box, and both men disappear. I count off the seconds, my muscles thin with tension, until they return.
Eighty.
Just over a minute.
They lift two more boxes situated toward the front. Four more, and they’ll discover me back here, so I have to pay attention. Be ready.
Again, I count off the seconds.
Ninety this time.
The guard stretches his arm over the gate, for the next round of boxes and I breathe through my nose to control my heartrate. The second they disappear, I dart out of my hiding spot, standing at the gate, where I can see their backs walking toward a building about twenty yards away.
I hop off the gate to the side of the truck and hold myself flat to the wall of it, waiting for their retur
n.
Eighty-six. Eighty-seven. Eighty-eight.
A nearby thump tells me they’ve returned.
“Hey, you see the new kid they brought into S block? Bastard took out three Legion, when they held him down to tattoo him. Docs say he’s strong for the alpha gene.”
I concentrate on the close proximity of the guard’s voice and move a few steps along the truck to distance myself.
“Don’t know why they don’t just throw all those savage fuckers into a pit and burn them. Keep lettin’ ‘em breed, and we’re gonna have a war on our hands before we know it.”
“Don’t look so tough when they’re strapped to a bed screaming, after their balls been chopped.” Both guards chuckle, and a loud thunk rattles my nerves.
Hands clenched in fists, I wait, listening for the boxes that slide across the gate.
At the sound of footfalls against the dirt, I take off on a dead run for the creosote. Hot sand burns the soles of my feet, but I keep on, and the moment I reach the patch, I slide onto my belly.
Seventy seconds. From behind the creosote bush, I watch them set down the boxes and return to the truck. Any movement would alert them, so although the sand is hot against my skin, I lie flat as I can and wait.
The second their backs turn to carry the final boxes, I army-crawl backward, deeper into the bushes.
Movement out of the corner of my eye sends a jolt down my spine, as a black-spotted lizard darts out from beneath the bush. I slap a hand to my mouth, and while shaky breaths through my nose keep me from screaming, I clamp my eyes shut and pray the men will soon leave.
At least an hour passes, I can no longer tell. I stopped counting seconds the moment the men sat on the back of the gate, lighting up cigarettes and tipping back silver flasks of something.
I lick my lips, so parched and dry, it’s a wonder they haven’t cracked off my face altogether. The sun beats down on my shaved head, blistering it with the sweat that beads across my skin. I’m surprised there’s any water left in me to sweat out.