Article 5 (Article 5 #1)(26)

I nearly jumped out of my skin at the blaring buzzer that unlatched the front gate. With a lurch, it swung open.

Chase pressed the gas. And the Girls’ Reformatory and Rehabilitation Center of West Virginia faded behind us.

*



I WAS out. Away from the shack and from Brock, from the terrifying guards and the Statute classes. Everything within me wanted to push Chase aside and slam my foot down on the accelerator, but I knew that couldn’t happen.

I was out. But not free.

I glanced over to the driver. His face was set, like it had been in front of my mother’s house. This was not the Chase I’d pictured in the woods, in those seconds before I’d thought Randolph would pull the trigger. This was the soldier, and I was still very much imprisoned. Unconsciously, my wrists jerked against the restraints, making my still-sore hands even more sensitive.

We left the winding road outside the facility and joined the highway. The area was clean here. No stalled cars, no giant potholes in the asphalt. It was obviously a heavily traveled military route: The MM only paid for maintenance on the roads they used most.

As we continued, the frequency of military vehicles increased. A blue van sped past, then several more cruisers, then a bus filled with frightened new residents who had no idea what awaited them. Each sighting made my stomach lurch. If I had escaped last night, there would’ve been no way I could have snuck by all these soldiers. I’d be shot and bleeding in a ditch right now.

The radio squealed, making me jump. Irritated, Chase flicked it off. The van seemed very quiet without its consistent hum.

I glanced at the speedometer. A perfect sixty-five miles per hour. What a good soldier.

“How long will it take to get there?” I tried not to sound too impatient.

He didn’t answer, completely focused on driving.

“I’m not going to tell anyone if you speak to me,” I assured him.

Silence.

Why was he doing this? Continuing to punish me after all he’d done? I wanted to throttle him. He had seen my mother, and despite my aggravation, being near him made me feel closer to her than I had in days. I wanted to ask how she looked, if she’d been harmed, if they’d given her enough to eat. But he was adhering strictly to Brock’s rules. Any slight hope that he’d come to rescue me slipped away.

“You don’t know if she’s been doing any kind of rehab, do you?” I ventured, wondering if she had to “complete” something, like Rebecca had heard.

“Can’t you just be quiet?” he snapped. “Right now? You’re a prisoner. And I need to think.”

I blinked, instantly livid.

“Ms. Brock didn’t mean absolute silence.” I tried to keep my voice even, still hoping that being congenial might earn me some information.

“It’s not her rule; it’s mine.”

I knotted my restrained fists in my skirt. Another MM vehicle flew by. I watched Chase tense, and I felt my face heat up.

“How embarrassing it must be for you to cart around reform-school trash,” I said quietly. His grinding jaw told me I’d hit the mark.

*



WE didn’t talk for over an hour. The silence took on a physical presence, a hammer, that bruised me again and again with the reminder that, despite all my memories, I was nothing to him.

It pounded me with new fears, too. What had the last two weeks been like for my mother? And what was going to happen tomorrow morning? Images filled my mind: her dragged into a courtroom in shackles, with Rosa’s empty eyes, while a bright, accusing spotlight pinned her in place. Her hands, marked with welts like mine. I shook my head, trying to rid myself of these thoughts, and glanced over at Chase.

What was wrong with him? Was he really going to pretend like I wasn’t sitting three feet away? Like our histories hadn’t been braided together since we were children? He was a soldier now, I got that. But he’d been human once, too.

Switching between anxiety and anger was exhausting, and yet I still found myself watching him, as if at any moment he’d confess this whole thing was some sick, twisted game.

The clock on the dash said 8:16 A.M. when I felt the van decrease in speed.

“Are we getting near Chicago?” I asked him, not expecting an answer. It seemed odd. I was poor at geography but had enough sense to know our trip had been too short. Plus, we’d taken a side road about twenty miles back and hadn’t passed any MM vehicles since that time. I would have thought there should be an increase in soldiers as we neared the base.

Even so, I felt a flutter of panic anticipating that my mother might be close; I still knew nothing of her trial.

The van curved off the highway down a single-lane ramp and stopped completely before turning right onto an isolated road. The weeds here had grown over the edges of the asphalt during the summer and then died in their tracks with the winter freeze. Dead branches littered our path. This area had not been maintained by city workers in a long time.

As the van slowed, my heart rate doubled.

“We are going to the trial, right?”

He exhaled. “There’s been a slight change of plans.”

My shoulders, which had been hunched over my restraints, jerked back sharply. “What do you mean?”

“There is no trial.”

My mouth fell open. “But the summons…”

Chase bore right again on a narrow dirt road. With every bump, the van jolted.