Article 5 (Article 5 #1)(23)

“Tell Becca I’m sorry,” Sean whispered in my ear. A moment later, there was a shuffle and a sickening crack as Randolph hit him hard in the back of the head with his baton. I felt the reverberation through my body as though I’d been the one struck, and stared in horror at the ground where Sean lay.

Run, my feet said.

Run and they’ll shoot you, my brain answered.

I didn’t have a chance. The next moment, I had a gun to my back, and we were returning to the dorms.

*



I PACED the length of the common room for hours awaiting the headmistress’s judgment. I thought about screaming for Rebecca, but I refused to put her in danger.

My good intentions didn’t matter. As soon as curfew broke, I heard the slapping of feet against the hallway floor. This was part of the plan. She was to report me missing when she woke up.

Her hair was flattened, her cheeks pale, and there were dark circles under her bloodshot eyes. She’d been crying. Either out of fear for Sean or me. I found myself both touched at the prospect of her true friendship and torn by the betrayal I’d dealt her.

She caught my eyes, and a change came over her face.

“Don’t,” I mouthed to her. I was too late.

“Where is he, Ember?” she said shakily, approaching the lanky guard. He lifted his radio. With a lightning fast paw, she slapped it down to the floor, then kicked it aside. He laid a hand on his baton.

“Where is Banks?” The desperation was heavy in her voice.

“Rebecca!” I said sharply. She was going to ruin everything. Sean had already protected her—and me—by pretending he and I were together. If he’d agreed I was escaping, I’d be dead.

Other girls, seventeens and some of the sixteens that shared our hall, had come out of their rooms. Another guard was pushing them back as he passed.

I heard the light clicking of heels on the wooden floor and knew Brock had arrived. She entered the foyer wearing her traditional skirt and a navy sweater. There was an attendant with her, a short, plump woman who had fear strewn across her face.

“What did you do with him? Sean! Where is he?” Rebecca spouted before the headmistress could speak.

Another guard had reached us. There were three now, one beside me, two on either side of Brock. The breath was raking hard up my throat.

“She doesn’t know what she’s saying,” I tried.

“Silence, Ms. Miller,” Brock snapped. “I will deal with you in a moment. Genero, call for assistance.” Her voice never faltered.

“Where. Is. Sean?” Rebecca demanded one final time. Her shoulders were heaving.

“He’s gone,” spat Brock. “And so are you.”

“You—”

“Rebecca, no!” I shouted, just as she launched herself onto the old woman.

The next events happened very fast.

With the force of a cannonball, Rebecca took Brock to the floor. I saw a nightstick rise high and land with a dull thud on my tiny roommate’s back. The bones cracked, a sickening sound, and her scream halted prematurely.

I had been frozen up until then, but when Rebecca was hit, pure adrenaline scored through me. In a flash I saw my mother. I saw the blue uniforms pulling her toward the van. Taking her away.

My vision compressed behind narrow slits. With all my strength, I attacked the guard who had hit Rebecca. I kicked him, hit him, bit him. I felt skin gather and rip under my fingernails. Everything within me acted on instinct, as though my very survival depended on it. I saw fuzzy images, mostly blue, some gray, as Rebecca was thrown in front of me. Someone yelled. A girl screamed.

Steel arms clamped around my waist. I thrashed.

“Rebecca!” My eyes searched frantically for her. The snow was falling heavily from the thick, black sky. We were outside. One of the guards holding me slipped. I felt us plunge toward the cement steps before he righted himself. He swore loudly over the ringing in my ears. Then we were descending the steps backward, and my stomach was lurching as if I were diving into a bottomless pool. Warm blood filled my mouth. I’d bitten the inside of my cheek again.

“Let me go!” I hollered.

“Shut up!” barked one of the guards.

My shoulders hurt from where they pulled my arms. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the cafeteria pass on my left. More stairs. It took me some time to orient myself to lower campus, down by the infirmary. A metal door was pushed open. To my right I saw the fire hydrant in the gleam of the spotlights, defiantly red against the snow.

I was in the shack.

They dropped me unceremoniously on the dank cement floor. All my trembling extremities retracted into my chest. A soldier pointed his club in my face and I tucked my chin hard against my chest so that he couldn’t hit my throat as Randolph had done.

“Keep your scrawny butt down,” he commanded.

The room was small. A single overhead bulb hung from the center of the ceiling. There was a brightly lit space to my right, like a large shower, and to the left a dark closet with cement walls, but no racks or hangers. A confinement cell.

The fear was petrifying. I scooted into a corner, back to the wall, and waited.

*



LONG seconds stretched into torturous minutes. I saw their faces. Sean’s as the soldiers found us. Rebecca’s, torn with worry. What had I done to them? And worse, what hadn’t I done? I should have been on the outside now, running back toward home and my mother. What had this cost her?