Uninvited (Uninvited, #1)(12)

My pulse skitters nervously. “Where are we going?”

He shoots me a disarming smile. Instead of answering, he says, “There are five others. Like you. You won’t be alone.”

I swallow. He means five other HTS carriers. And me. Until graduation. I’m not sure I wouldn’t prefer to be alone.

“You’ll get to know them well, I’m sure.”

Before the end of the corridor, he turns left and stops before a set of steel double doors and pulls out his keys. Unlocking the right side door, he steps inside. I follow, but don’t go much farther. The space is too small, occupied by a single desk. A teacher sits there, reading a magazine. He’s young, looks barely out of college. He quickly stands when he sees us, dropping his magazine.

“Ah, Mr. Tucci. Good morning. Is this the new one?” He nods in my direction, tugging on his waistband as though his wind pants need adjustment.

“Yes, Mr. Brockman, this is Ms. Hamilton. I’m sure you’ll show her the ropes.”

Mr. Brockman looks me over, his gaze crawling, and I suddenly feel exposed before him. “Not a problem, not a problem,” he says.

I cross my arms. As if that might help to shield me from his measuring look.

“Very good.” With another smile for me, Mr. Tucci departs. I wince as the heavy steel door clangs after him.

And I’m left with Mr. Brockman and the others, HTS carriers whose stares I feel boring into me.

Mr. Brockman motions behind him. “Welcome to the Cage.”

“The Cage?” I echo.

He chuckles. “Yep. That’s what the kids call it. The name kind of stuck. Even the staff calls it that now.” He nods to the wall of chain link behind his desk.

It makes terrifying sense. What better way to remove us from the general population than to stick us down here with only ourselves for company? And beyond isolation . . . we’re confined.

“The Cage” consists of chain link stretching from floor to ceiling. On the other side of the chain link there are about ten desks. Only four students occupy the desks, all staring at me with varying expressions. Maybe Mr. Tucci was wrong about the number. Or maybe number five has done something bad and is in jail.

Immediately, I see that the gate-like door is the only way in or out. Mr. Brockman moves to open it. “It’ll take them a while to round up your assignments. You’ll just have to amuse yourself for today.”

The door squeaks as he pulls it open.

I pause at the entrance, reluctant to move inside, to take the first step that will officially make me one of them. I look back at him, unnerved at how close he’s standing beside me, still looking me over in a way that makes me feel like a piece of meat.

“So you don’t actually teach us?” I ask for clarification, scanning his attire. He looks more like someone on his way to the gym than a real teacher.

He chuckles. “No. Call me a glorified babysitter. I started as a part-time sub, but they hired me full-time last year. I just turn your work in to your teachers on the outside.”

On the outside. Teachers I’ll never even meet. I realize this now.

I peer inside the Cage, eyeing the others. Three boys and one girl. She’s no longer looking at me, concentrating instead on carving something into the desk with her pen.

“That’s Coco.” He takes one more step, bringing his body closer. The soft bulge of his stomach presses against my arm. “Bet she’ll be glad for some female company. Just been her in here with the boys since last year.”

There’s something in his voice that makes the tiny hairs on my nape prickle, and suddenly I’m not sure what I’m more afraid of: the Cage and the supposed killers inside—or Mr. Brockman on the outside.

“Course you don’t have to go in just yet.” His voice falls close to my ear. “If you want you can stay out here a bit with me.”

Then I know what frightens me more. At least right now, in this moment, the answer is clear.

In the Cage, I notice Coco’s pen holds still. Her attention remains fixed on her desk, but I know she’s attuned to me. To Brockman. Her alertness reaches me, folds into my own veil of awareness.

Squaring my shoulders, I step inside the Cage.





UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers ..................................................................



* * *





Office of the Attorney General

Department of Justice Order No: 3109-09

_____________________________________________

________________________________________________

_____


By virtue of the authority assigned to me as attorney general, I, Samantha Jinks, hereby direct that all United States citizens be tested for Homicidal Tendency Syndrome, otherwise known as HTS, within thirty days of the issuance of this command. Persons who fail to comply will be taken into custody where they will submit to HTS testing standards accorded within their own locality. . . .





SIX




I SIT NEAR THE FRONT NEXT TO THE GIRL, COCO. IT’S the obvious choice. I’m not ashamed of my predictability. Two of the boys huddle together, their desks close. It looks like they’re playing some kind of card game. One boy sits by himself, his slight shoulders hunched over his desk. He’s small, hardly big enough to pass for a freshman. Face buried in a book, his long, spindly legs stretch out far beneath his desk and he reminds me of a puppy that hasn’t quite grown into his limbs and paws. Hard to imagine he’s a carrier. Maybe he’s like me. Maybe they made a mistake.