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by Robison Wells

Page 6

 

  Jane paused, and then looked at me, eyes wide.

  “You—”

  She collapsed, her body dropping forward. I wasn’t ready for it, and I let go of Becky’s arm to stop Jane from falling. Becky jerked in pain.

  “Carrie,” I called, then stopped myself, worried I was too loud. I laid Jane on her side—her eyes still wide-open—and peered out the hole into the room.

  Carrie was on the floor, facedown by the door.

  I swore under my breath, terror coursing through my veins. What was going on? Maybe they were all robots—turned off with the flip of a switch. I could barely stand to look at Jane; her lifeless, dead-eyed body was something I’d seen before, something I never thought I’d see again.

  I remembered what she said, though. It didn’t make sense, but I wasn’t going to take any chances. I lifted her into a sitting position, and then pushed her feet through the hole. It was awkward and clumsy—I had to straddle Becky to get any leverage—but slowly I nudged Jane out, feetfirst. I tried to hold her under her arms, to lower her into the room, but she was limp, and my arms were shaking from fatigue, from carrying Becky, and from the cut on my forearm.

  There was an engine outside—it sounded bigger than a car, too big to even be a pickup. It was getting closer.

  I grasped her wrists and gently pushed her out with my foot. When she finally crossed the edge of the opening and fell, she jerked and I lost my grip on one of her hands. She dropped to the dirt, held by only one arm, and I knew immediately that I’d hurt her shoulder. But she made no sound, no movement. She was in a pile on the floor below.

  The engine outside was louder, idling. It had to be in front of the fort.

  I took the small wood panel that covered the opening and fitted it back into place. If someone moved that picture—if they wondered why Jane was where she was, and they looked on the wall above her—we’d be sitting ducks.

  I blew out the lantern.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Moving slowly on the wooden planks so I wouldn’t make a sound, I crawled past Becky to the vent on the other side of the Basement—the one that looked out onto the road.

  A short flatbed loaded with lumber had stopped in front of the fort’s door. A man climbed out of the passenger side of the cab—and I knew him instantly. Iceman. The man who had directed us every day in the school, giving us our schedule and doling out punishments. I’d wondered whether he was a robot, like Ms. Vaughn, and he certainly looked it now. Despite the cold and snow he wasn’t wearing a coat, just the same uniform he always wore on the school’s screens.

  He pulled a chain saw from the bed of the truck and yanked on the cord. It fired up on the second try, and then he walked up to the heavy fort door, out of my view. The saw whined briefly as it cut through something, and then the engine shut off. I heard the heavy thump of the wooden door slamming open.

  Whoever was driving the truck—I couldn’t get a clear look—put it into gear and rumbled forward, down through the trees and ford, toward the barracks.

  Carefully and silently—almost too scared to breathe—I scooted back along the length of the room to the far side, to the loose board there.

  I couldn’t see Iceman in the courtyard. We were above the awning over the walkway, so while I could see all the doors on the far side of the fort, the rooms on the left and right walls, and the snow-covered courtyard, I couldn’t see anything along this front wall.

  Becky groaned, and I jumped. I slid back over to her.

  “Shh …” I whispered, my hand on her cheek. She was burning up.

  She groaned again, and her body shifted, accidentally putting weight on her bad arm.

  Her gasp was muffled by my hand, clamped tightly over her mouth. My lips were almost touching her ear now. “It’s okay, Becky. I’m here. You’re okay. ”

  She struggled, and I released my hand so she could breathe.

  “You’re okay,” I whispered, almost pleading.

  “Bense,” she said.

  “I’m here, Becky. I need you to be really quiet for a minute, okay?”

  There was a crash outside. It sounded close.

  “Where are we?”

  My cheek was touching hers now, and I was still afraid that I was whispering too loudly. “We’re okay. I’ll explain later. Trust me. ”

  “Are we safe?”

  I wished I could hug her and tell her everything was fine. I touched her hair. It was wet with sweat, but still smelled a little of her shampoo.

  “If we stay quiet,” I said.

  I listened for Iceman. I caught a footstep, or a knock, or a door opening. But there were no voices—from him or anyone else. Were they all like Carrie and Jane?

  I could tell from Becky’s breathing that she was asleep again. I sat up and touched her fevered face. I needed to go back to the wall and see what was happening, but I almost couldn’t bring myself to move the six feet away from Becky. She was so vulnerable, so helpless.

  I kissed her cheek.

  Cold air blew in the crack when I returned to it.

  Someone was lying on the ground. They were only a dark mass in three inches of snow—I had no idea who it was.

  Iceman came into view. He stepped up to a door and checked the knob. It opened easily, and he disappeared inside. An instant later he reappeared, pulling a limp body by the arms. It was a girl, wearing a short-sleeved shirt and pajama pants, and he dropped her into the snowy courtyard. She didn’t move. Iceman reentered her room.

  A moment later he left and moved on to get the kid in the next room. It was Mash, one of the Havoc guys. He’d never revealed himself as a robot back at the school. He was even at the fight at the fence, but had been on our side.

  Mash was big—tall and overweight—but Iceman didn’t have any trouble dragging him out to the courtyard and dumping him in the snow.

  After inspecting Mash’s room, Iceman moved to the next door. Two people were there—some guy I didn’t recognize, and Taylor, one of the girls from the Society. I didn’t know she was a robot either.

  Iceman was looking for us, searching each room.

  Had they seen our tracks? Had Becky’s blood dripped onto the walkways?

  He was going to find something—I knew it. And then what would I do? If I waited here they’d search until they found both of us. But maybe if I ran, they’d chase me and leave her. Did they know how sick she was?

  Iceman reappeared and moved to another door. It stuck, and he shoved it open with his shoulder.

  My heart was beating heavily. I felt hot, like I was going to throw up.

  He pulled a girl outside by one arm. He didn’t bring her as far as the others, and one foot leaned up on the walkway as her body lay on the ground. She had a coat on, but wasn’t wearing shoes. Her long hair sprawled across the powdery snow and looked like spreading blood.

  I held my breath as he walked back inside to search.

  Becky made a noise—a deep, heavy breath—but I couldn’t take my eyes off the dark, open door.

  This was all my fault, too. Maybe the people who’d followed me to the fence had done so because they wanted to—maybe—but these people in the fort hadn’t done anything. I’d shown up, and now they were being tortured and searched. We were all just trying to survive, but trouble followed me everywhere I went. No, more than trouble. Death and pain.