The Glass Arrow(15)

Solitary was a bad idea. I’ve kept myself off the auction block, but at a huge price. None of the other Drivers have come back here before. No one at all comes back here. But now that this crazy boy has found out I’m here, unable to escape and without so much as a fence for protection, who knows what he’ll try.

But for now, the Watcher is distracted.

My mind springs back into action, and I know it’s reckless, and I know it’s too soon and I should stick to the plan, but I can’t let this chance pass me by.

Much as it revolts me, I fake a sob and bury my face into my guard’s rock-hard arm. I don’t even have to force a tremble; my body is still reeling. I feel his shoulders move as he looks down at me slowly.

“He tried to kill me!” I say, moving subtly so my face is against his chest.

And before the Watcher can figure out what to do next, I slide my hand into his utility strap and latch my fingers around the small metal cylinder beside his wire. The key to my bracelet.

He knows what I’ve done when I jerk ever so slightly as I pull away. In a flash, he’s lifted me off the ground. One hand squeezes my shoulder in a vicelike grip. The other is clutching my throat.

I can’t breathe. I struggle, kicking my legs out at him, and drop the key on the ground so that my fingers can peel away his grasp. But though my nails dig into his thick leather gloves, they cannot release his hold.

My spine pops as my weight pulls me down and stretches my back. I begin to panic. I can no longer see his cold stare; my eyes are beginning to slip out of focus. He’s going to kill me. The Driver needed a knife to do it. The Watcher just needs his bare hands.

An instant later I am weightless. Light as a feather. And then I collide with the plaster wall against the back of the office. A bright explosion of color bursts before my vision, and instantly everything is clear. The Watcher has thrown me, and now he is picking up the key I have dropped on the ground. Straight before me is the Driver. Staring. One of his hands reaches towards me, but it’s empty.

And then I slump to the ground, and everything goes black.

*

IT’S THE POUNDING IN my head that wakes me up. At least it’s dark; that helps a little. I groan, and slip a hand around my neck. The skin is sensitive, like it’s been rope burned, and my throat is dry. The muscles ache as I rotate my head in a slow circle.

The memories come back in one sharp pang. The Driver barn is quiet, and the boy is nowhere to be seen. I think of hiding on the other side of the office, but I’d rather take my chances back here than face the Watcher again. Still too dizzy to stand, I crawl away from the wall, filling the stretchy fabric of my skirt with small rocks and then placing them in a wide half circle around me. It’s not much of a trap, but anyone trying to sneak up will trip over them in the dark. I gather a hunk of chain in my hand—it’s heavy, but if someone gets close enough I can use it to defend myself.

My eyes close again, and the trickle of the water in the stream reminds me of home, where the moon changes shape and only hides behind clouds, not this nasty haze from the city. I listen to these sounds until the hammering in my brain filters in the other noise as well: the metallic clang from the factories in the business district, the soft thump of club music from the bars and brothels in the Black Lanes where the Virulent live. And if I focus, the faraway scream of sirens from the housing sectors of Glasscaster. The more I focus on it, the more my head hurts.

Beside me are a water bottle and a metal bowl with three pills inside. The Watcher must have brought it when I was out. Guess he doesn’t want me dead after all.

I grab the bottle and drink greedily. It took time to become accustomed to this tepid water. Even though it shows mountains on the label, it’s hardly fresh; I can taste the bitter tang of the pipes it’s flowed through. Then I grab a pink pill the size of my thumbnail and swallow it. It’s a meal supplement. The very thing they suspect makes the city girls infertile. If it worked, I’d take a hundred a day just to poison my babymaker so nobody would want me anyway. But Daphne says it doesn’t matter because my body’s already developed.

As my stomach begins to swell with the overdue lunch pill, I rotate another pill between my fingers and think about the Driver boy. I can’t figure out that look on his face in those last moments after the Watcher threw me. He was probably still confused over why his knife didn’t hit the mark. I can’t believe the Watcher didn’t kill him. If we were in the rec yard, the boy would have been arrested, and at the very least fined.

Maybe the Governess really does want me gone.

There are two pills left. The Pips always give me one and a half pills per meal. Most of the other girls get only one, but I can’t keep on weight. That’s because I eat a whole ration only when I’m sure a Pip is watching. They say rotten pills, the outdated ones that turn yellow, make you sick—give you what the city people call plague. It makes your eyes bleed. The Pips screen our pills to make sure they’re good, but I trust them about as much as I trust the Governess. I’d rather starve, thank you very much.

Why people don’t just eat real food—something you can chew—is beyond me.

When I’m sure the Watcher hasn’t moved, I crawl to my boots and drag them towards the backside of the building. It’s been three weeks since I was last in solitary, and no one else has been brought in the meantime. Carefully, I count ten hand lengths from the corner of the plaster wall and dig.