Thornhill h-2

by Kathleen Peacock

  When she didn’t move right away, the guards started forward.

  Kyle pushed himself to his feet and stepped in front of us. “What do you want with her?”

  “We just need to ask her a few more questions,” said the woman with the glasses.

  I peered around Kyle’s legs. The woman’s tone had been reassuring, but her eyes were dead. Hank always said there was a world of difference between lying well and being able to lie with your eyes.

  Kyle caught it, too. “Why can’t she answer them here?”

  In response, the guards drew their Tasers. The wolves to either side of us parted like the Red Sea, and my pulse pounded so loudly that the blowback rang in my ears.

  All Kyle had done was ask a question.

  I waited for them to order him to sit or move, but there were no commands and no warnings. In the space between heartbeats, the female guard squeezed the trigger.

  I screamed Kyle’s name as he fell to the ground. I tried to reach for him but Serena held me back as he was hit by another Taser.

  Kyle’s spine bowed and I thought I heard something crack before he fell horribly still. Other than the rise and fall of his chest, he looked dead.

  Without giving either Serena or me a chance to fully absorb what had just happened, the male guard started toward us.

  Serena panicked. Her hand shattered around mine, and I pulled free of her grip just in time to avoid being scratched. I scurried back on my butt as her body tore itself apart. Fur flowed over skin and then a coal-black wolf rose shakily to its feet.

  My gaze darted to Kyle. He had recovered enough to push himself to his hands and knees. He was trying to force himself back up, to reach us.

  Suddenly, he collapsed.

  He and every other wolf in the room.

  They slumped to the floor with their hands clasped to their heads. The bones and muscle in Serena’s body snapped and tore as she shifted back. The only people unaffected were the woman in the blazer, the man in white, and the two guards.

  And me.

  Unsure what was going on, I huddled on the floor like the other teens and watched the room from under my lashes.

  “We had it under control,” muttered the female guard, holstering her Taser.

  “Of course,” said the woman in the glasses as she slipped something into her pants pocket. “This was simply . . . neater.”

  The door behind her opened and two men dressed like hospital orderlies stepped into the room.

  The redheaded guard walked around us. I heard a sharp exhalation of breath and a small grunt as he lifted Serena. Every instinct I had screamed at me to do something, anything, as he carried Serena across the room, but if I moved, they would know I wasn’t like the others. They’d know I was a reg; I’d get kicked out and wouldn’t be any help to anyone.

  There was nothing I could do but watch.

  In a gesture that surprised me, the woman in the glasses shrugged off her jacket and draped it over Serena, partially covering her nudity as the guard eased her into the arms of the orderlies. Serena was too out of it to notice. She looked small and helpless and broken.

  They carried her through the door. The sound of the latch catching slammed through me like a bullet.

  Around me, the wolves began to stir.

  Eve met my gaze from halfway across the room. A thoughtful expression crossed her face as she pressed the heel of one hand to her temple, but I didn’t have the energy or the interest to puzzle out what the look meant.

  I crawled to Kyle as he sat up. His skin was ashen and his face was covered in sweat. “Are you okay?” I whispered.

  “Think so. It felt like someone was driving an ice pick into my brain.” His voice was raw and his chest heaved as he pulled in a deep breath. “Serena?”

  “They took her.”

  “Where?”

  I shook my head as I helped him to his feet. “I don’t know.” Saying the words made it hard to breathe.

  “It’ll be all right,” said Kyle as he wrapped his arms around me. “You heard what they said. It’s just some questions. She’ll be okay.” The words were reassuring, but unease colored each syllable.

  The voice of the male guard rang across the room. “Girls through the door on the left. Boys through the right.”

  It wasn’t supposed to be like this. We weren’t supposed to be separated. I had conned my way into staying with Kyle and Serena and they were both being taken from me.

  I pulled back. “Kyle, I . . .” I wanted to tell him that I loved him, but the words felt too much like good-bye.

  He pressed his forehead to mine and let out a deep breath. “Me too,” he said, echoing the response I had given in the truck.

  His hands ran over my shoulders and slipped down my back and then, suddenly, his lips were on mine, delivering a crushing kiss that tasted like honey and copper. My lips parted under his as he pulled me so close that I wasn’t sure where my body left off and his began.

  I’d been scared to say the words aloud, but he had to know they were there: they were in every second of the kiss.

  My eyes flew open as rough hands locked around my arm and pulled us apart.

  More guards had shown up. Two pulled Kyle across the room. He wrenched free but went stone still as one of the guards pulled out a Taser and pressed it to his side.

  A dark, animalistic look crossed Kyle’s face. For a horrible second, I thought he would fight back, but then the guard holding me drew her own Taser.

  Kyle’s eyes locked on mine. Any hint of resistance drained out of him, and I suddenly knew they didn’t need Tasers or physical force to make him do what they wanted: all they had to do was threaten me.

  He shot me one last, desperate look before letting them shove him through the door on the right.

  The guard holding my arm pulled me to the door on the left.

  I knew it wasn’t too late: I could tell her that I wasn’t really infected. It was what Kyle—even Serena—wanted. I could walk out the gates and call Jason. He’d pick me up and enfold me in a hug and never once say I had done the wrong thing. I would spend the rest of my life blaming myself, but no one else would blame me at all.

  I didn’t have to go through the door.

  I didn’t have to be here.

  Choice doesn’t factor into things. I remembered Jason’s words in the parking garage and imagined the look of horror that would cross his face if he knew I was using them to justify walking into a camp.

  But just because he had never intended for the words to apply to a situation like this didn’t make them any less true.

  With a deep breath, I walked through the door.

  8

  WHITE TILE WALLS. BENCHES. LICKS OF STEAM CURLING out of an archway. Of all the things that could have been lurking behind the door, a locker room hadn’t been high on my list.

  A folding chair sat in the middle of the floor and just behind it was a row of blue plastic bins—the kind Tess had for recyclables but forgot to use unless I nagged.

  If we don’t get out of here, it’ll kill her.

  And Jason.

  The twin thoughts sent a stab of pain through my chest. Before I could dwell on them, however, a female guard and two women—one short and round, the other an escapee from a bodybuilding magazine—strode into the room.

  The muscle-bound woman walked to the first bin and turned. Her tan polo shirt strained over biceps the size of cantaloupes and her skin had an orange tinge, like a faded self-tan. Her hair hung down her back in a braided whip. “One volunteer in the seat. Everyone else: line up.”

  No one moved.

  The other woman yawned and glanced at her watch. “Langley, just pick one. I’m exhausted.”

  The woman with the orange skin scowled and gestured to Eve. “You.”

  Eve walked forward with her shoulders squared and her head high, but when she turned to sit, she wiped her palms on her faded black jeans.

  Langley withdrew a pair of electric shears from the first bin
. They clicked and hummed as strands of Eve’s scarlet hair piled up around the chair. When it was over, Eve pushed herself to her feet and ran a hand through her now chin-length locks. A frown was her only concession to emotion.

  Hank would approve, I thought, and then pressed my nails into my palm. This whole thing was his fault.

  The other woman led Eve past the row of bins and raised her voice so we would all hear her instructions. One container for cell phones and electronics. Another for jewelry. The last for clothes. Nothing from outside was allowed into the camp.

  I looked away as Eve shucked her T-shirt, and my gaze fell on Amy’s bracelet. It was one of the only things I had of hers; I couldn’t lose it. Besides, Amy had always claimed it was lucky. Right now, I needed all the luck I could get.

  Using the girl in front of me for cover, I fumbled with the leather tie holding the bracelet in place, then switched the coins to my other wrist—the one with the metal cuff. A bead of sweat ran down the back of my neck as the guard walked by. Once she was past, I pushed and pulled on the band. It dug painfully into my skin, but I was able to stretch it out just enough to slip Amy’s bracelet underneath.

  A sliver of copper peeked out from under the cuff, but I didn’t think anyone would notice—not unless they were looking for something out of the ordinary.

  The line advanced and then, suddenly, it was my turn in the chair.

  I stepped forward and sat. The woman with the shears, Langley, seemed to delight in yanking sections of my hair, and I struggled not to grimace as chunks of blond fell to the floor.

  “Done.”

  I reached up as I stood. My stomach gave a strange flip-flop as my fingers grazed the ends of my hair. For the first time I could remember, it was above my shoulders.

  The other woman led me down the row of bins. I walked right past the one for jewelry, but any triumph I felt at keeping Amy’s bracelet was crushed under a wave of humiliation as I was ordered to strip.

  I angled my body and kept my arm pressed to my side as I slipped out of my clothes. I still bore souvenirs from my final encounter with Branson Derby: bright pink scar tissue and a row of stitches on my forearm. The fact that the gash was still healing would instantly mark me as either a reg or as someone who hadn’t gone through the thirty-day LS incubation period.

  Either way, they’d probably retest my blood. Just to make sure I was infected.

  Keeping the cut pressed to my side, I walked into the showers and headed for the spot farthest from the door and the other girls.

  Needles of ice water hit my skin as the guard patrolled up and down the room. It felt like a prison scene in some horrible movie, and I was hit with an urge to cry so strong that the muscles in my chest ached. I reminded myself that there was another locker room on the other side of the wall; I couldn’t see him, but Kyle was going through the same thing a few feet away.

  I sucked in a deep breath and grazed the wet tile with my knuckles. It wasn’t so bad. No one had actually hurt me. I just had to keep thinking about Kyle and Serena.

  A voice bellowed, “Everyone out,” and we trudged, shivering, back into the locker room where we were each handed a stack of clothing and a pair of white canvas sneakers.

  “You swapped, didn’t you?” hissed Eve as she took a place next to me. Another girl shot us a curious glance, but the words were vague enough that it wasn’t obvious just what Eve was talking about.

  I quickly pulled on underwear and a pair of gray cargo pants. “Yeah.”

  “Idiot. If Curtis knew, he’d be furious.”

  A soft, bitter laugh escaped my lips. “He wouldn’t care. In case you haven’t noticed, he’s the reason all of this happened.”

  Eve’s newly shorn hair swished around her face as she shook her head. “He didn’t know we’d be raided.”

  Maybe not, but if Hank had just let us take Kyle and go—if he had listened when I told him Jason wasn’t really a Tracker—we’d have been on our way back to Hemlock hours before the raid.

  Eve gave me a long, evaluating look. “Why Mel?”

  I shrugged. “She seemed to need it.” I pulled on a heavy sweatshirt—gray like the pants—and tugged the sleeves over my wrists so that they hid my arm. A black logo on the front of the shirt drew my gaze. A circle of twisted vines surrounded a single word: Thornhill.

  I frowned and bit my lip. How could we be in a camp that wasn’t supposed to open for another six months?

  Before I could give it any real thought, we were rushed through dressing, and then herded back through the admission building.

  Outside, Langley and her partner took the lead while the guard took the rear. There was no sign of Serena as they marched us across the pavement and past the old three-story building at the other end of the courtyard. Nor was there any sign of Kyle or the rest of the boys from the raid.

  We reached a path and made our way through the camp, passing what had to be at least two dozen one-story structures, a few of them still under construction. All of the buildings had signs painted on the outside indicating their purpose. Dorms. Classrooms. A dining hall.

  I’d been expecting overcrowding and riots and death—all the rumors I’d grown up hearing—but this place looked more military school than concentration camp.

  “Orientation is in three hours,” said Langley’s partner as we stopped between two dormitories. “I suggest you all get some sleep.” She pointed at Eve and me. “You two are in dorm seven. Head straight through the common room to the sleeping quarters. Just claim an empty bunk for tonight.”

  Orientation? I wanted to ask, but one glance at the impatience on Langley’s face and I mutely followed Eve into the building on our right.

  We wove through a moonlit room crowded with armchairs and sofas, and then stepped into a long, narrow space filled with two rows of metal bed frames. Jane Eyre would have felt right at home. A few girls stirred as we passed, but no one spoke.

  I counted the beds as I walked. Thirty, if you included the two empty ones at the far end of the room.

  It was easy to see why no one else had claimed them. They were practically right on top of the bathroom and neither had sheets or blankets.

  With a sigh, I chose the first bed and stretched out on my side. The mattress was almost as comfortable as a blanket laid over cracked asphalt; it made the beds back at the motel look luxurious.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and thought of Jason.

  I remembered the way his eyes had locked onto mine just before the truck door slammed shut. Stomach knotting, I pictured him going back to our room. I imagined him flicking on the light and staring at the empty beds as he tried to figure out what to do.

  It was probably too much to hope he had gone back to Hemlock. He’ll be okay as long as he doesn’t do anything crazy, I thought, and then wondered who the hell I was kidding. Jason was recklessness personified.

  Eve’s low voice pierced my thoughts. “Back in that room . . . when we all hit the floor . . .”

  I opened my eyes and watched as she stretched out on the other bed and searched for a way to ask if I’d been affected without any of the wolves in the room picking up on it. “No,” I said.

  She nodded as though I was just confirming what she already suspected. “That could be useful.”

  “Maybe.” I shrugged halfheartedly. She might be right, but I sure as hell hadn’t been very useful earlier.

  “Curtis will think of something,” she said suddenly. “The Trackers and the LSRB have never snatched more than four Eumon at a time. Last night, they nabbed thirty-one of us and burned down Curtis’s club. He’ll retaliate. He’ll find a way to get us out.”

  It was the same conviction she’d shown in the truck.

  “What’s the deal with you two?” Hank would never chase a teenage girl—one of the few standards he did have—and I couldn’t figure out their connection. For some reason, not knowing bothered me.

  Eve hesitated. “A year and a half ago, Curtis found me on the streets and took me i
n. I was . . .” She bit her lip. Discomfort and uncertainty crossed her face and she looked suddenly young in the semidark. “I was in a bad spot. He got me out. Curtis let me stay with him and brought me into the pack. He looked out for me when I didn’t have anyone.”

  I shook my head. “Hank doesn’t help people. Not unless he’s getting something out of it.”

  All trace of emotion and vulnerability left Eve’s face. “He told me what he was like before. He’s different now. He lost you when he became infected. Losing a kid—it changes people.”

  Abandoned, I wanted to say, not lost. But it was like a shard of glass had lodged itself in my throat. Why? Why would Hank ditch me and then take care of some other girl? I felt a pinprick at the corner of my eyes but forced it back. It had been a long time since I had cried over my father and I wasn’t going to start now.

  Finally, I managed to speak. “If Hank had really told you what he was like before, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. You’d know that anyone who counts on him always gets hurt.” I turned over onto my other side before she could respond. I didn’t need to be told who my father was or fed some fairy tale about how losing me had been the low point that made him turn his life around.

  I’d spent my childhood watching Hank lie, cheat, and steal. He could be anything to anyone—as long as it suited him.

  The man Eve thought she knew was as fake as the name he was using.

  We were on our own.

  “Remember that ghost story? The one Grandpa John told us the week we spent at the cabin?”

  My eyes sprang open as Amy leaned over me and whispered in my ear. Her breath left a thin layer of frost on my cheek and I cringed away.

  Hurt flashed across her face. She pulled back and I tried not to feel guilty. In life, I had never been scared of Amy. In death, I didn’t want her touching me.

  I sat up and swung my legs over the side of my bunk. It was daylight and we were in the dorm room. Each of the other twenty-nine beds had been neatly made, but there was no one in sight. The faint smell of smoke hung in the air.

  “He told us dozens,” I said, wondering where this was going.