Uninvited (Uninvited, #1)(56)

It’s dark when we arrive at Mount Haven, passing through a gate set amid a tall stucco wall. As soon as we emerge from the van, they divide us. Boys to the right, girls to the left. A reed-thin, military-looking man introduces himself as Commander Harris. His head is cue-ball smooth. Light gleams off his shiny scalp. We stand beneath the bright glare of spotlights as he looks out at all of us, weighing us with hawk-like intensity for a long moment before directing the guards to take us to our quarters.

Blinking, I look after Sean and Gil, my chest growing tight with anxiety at leaving them. Gil grins and gives me a thumbs-up. I know him well enough by now to know he’s trying to be encouraging. I nod, still wishing I could have gone with him and Sean. Sean’s gaze holds mine, communicating something. What, I don’t know.

I watch Gil and Sean for as long as I can, until I’m afraid I might run into the girl in front of me. Facing forward, I mind my steps while scanning the building and grounds. There are only seven girls. A woman leads us. She’s dressed gender neutral in a khaki shirt and slacks. I haven’t seen Agent Stiles since the airport. Somehow I don’t think I’ll see her again. Or if I do, it won’t be good.

I heard one boy on the way from the airport tell another boy in the back row of the van that Mount Haven used to be a mental institution. I don’t know how he knew this, but with bars on the windows, I can believe it. Still, it’s not a gloomy place. Not like an asylum from a horror movie or anything. Nothing that grim. The whitewashed walls stand out against the star-studded night. The building is shaped like a V, two wings stretching out on either side of a rotunda in the middle. At three stories, it could house well over fifty-odd students.

“I wonder if we’ll get our own rooms,” a girl up front murmurs, looking back at me hopefully. She’s so thin, her limp blouse falls against pointy-sharp shoulder blades. I doubt she’s had a meal to herself, much less a room. I can’t help but wonder what her special skill is. Did she score perfectly on her ACT like Gil? Or is it simply that she’s a girl? Stiles mentioned the dearth of female carriers. Did my test scores really matter? Or was it just that I was female and had a pulse? But no, Coco isn’t here, so there must be something to my selection.

The line stops suddenly, and the skinny girl in front of me, too busy staring up at the building, collides with the girl in front of her. I hardly draw a breath before they’re tangled together, screaming and thrashing and tearing at each other on the ground. It happens so quickly, I struggle to process it.

The remaining girls immediately break ranks and close around the writhing figures, watching, shouting indecipherable words. Only my lips don’t move. I shake my head and look to the guard, certain she will break up the fight.

She lazily reaches for the radio on her belt. “Hey, Jensen, we got a situation with the girls.”

The reply comes back scratchy. “Stand by.”

I look back down, watching in horror as the other girl climbs atop the skinny one. She outweighs her by at least forty pounds. The skinny one arches her slim body, struggling to buck her off. It’s useless. She can’t do anything. The bigger girl grabs a fistful of Skinny’s long hair and holds her steady as she pounds her in the face with her free fist.

Still, the guard does nothing.

When I look down again, I gasp. My stomach churns sickly. I can’t even recognize Skinny’s face anymore. There’s so much blood now.

I add my voice to the din: “No. No. Stop!”

I dash at hot tears with my hands, blinking rapidly. I can’t look anymore.

“Help!” I shout at the guard.

She arches an eyebrow and nods at something behind me. I turn. Three guards approach. A baton swings in the hand of one of the men, and I quickly learn it’s not a simple baton. He reaches down and jabs the bigger girl. She shrieks and rolls off her victim. But he doesn’t stop. He presses down with his stick, sending volts of electricity into her thickset body. The girl jerks madly, flopping like a fish. She starts to bleed from the mouth and I’m convinced she’s bitten her tongue.

He leans down to address her, his voice loud enough to carry over her cries and grunts. “You will not jump another carrier again unless it’s part of a training exercise, understand?” He eases up for a moment to hold her gaze. “Understand? Another attack and there will be more of this.” He digs the prod into her side again for emphasis.

Unable to watch, I turn away. My gaze narrows in on the other guards, their faces smug, satisfied.

And suddenly I know. I haven’t escaped anything. I’ve walked right into it.


We’re led to the second floor of the building’s east wing. The elevator opens to reveal a wide lounge. A few tables help fill the space. A couch and loveseat are positioned in front of a television. I smile bitterly, imagining the seven of us watching reruns of Glee together. Unlikely.

“Welcome.” Another individual waits for us, standing in the center of the room. She’s dressed in civilian clothes and hugs a clipboard and several file folders to her chest, rocking on her heels. She smiles at us as we drift forward. Her face is so tanned and sun-weathered it’s hard to estimate her age. A pair of guards flank her. They don’t smile. It’s as if she’s the only one allowed to.

“Take a seat.” She motions to the tables. “We have a few things to go over before we give out room assignments. Count yourselves lucky. With so few girls on the floor, you can each have your own room.”