Uninvited (Uninvited, #1)(74)

“Enough!” Harris shouts, pushing his way closer, his boots thudding over the ground. He looks from Jackson, bending over and spitting blood onto the ground—and what looks like a tooth—then back to Sean. As far as I can tell, there’s not a scratch on Sean, but his face is wild, flushed red in fury. He’d like another go at Jackson. “The drill is over, I won’t stand for any more fighting in the ranks. Understood?”

Jackson looks up, wiping a hand against his nose, leaving a dark streak of crimson against his face. He nods. Harris then looks at Sean. Sean grunts and offers up a nod as well.

Harris stares at Sean for a long moment as though he doesn’t quite believe him. My fists curl at my sides, fearful that he will decide to punish Sean in some way. Like by sending him away from here.

“What’s gotten into you, O’Rourke?” Harris demands.

Sean pulls back his shoulders, panting hard, saying nothing.

“They’re from the same town,” Dusty volunteers, motioning to me. Of course, she knows that. I’m sure Stiles included that in my file.

“Ah. Loyalty I admire, but I expect discipline.” Harris looks back and forth between Sean and me, before narrowing his eyes on Sean, considering him in a way that is impossible to read. “And those who can follow rules.”

Sean’s own expression reveals nothing. “Understood,” he finally says. He understands, but I can’t help noting that he didn’t promise to obey.

For a long moment, Harris and Sean stare at each other, the silence cloying and thick.

Nodding slowly, Harris turns his attention on me, studying me for a long moment. “Davina Hamilton. I won’t be forgetting that name.”





UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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* * *





From Dr. Wainwright upon Commander Harris’s appointment to director of operations at Mount Haven:


This camp serves one function, Harris. To teach killers how to obey and serve this country. If they can’t be trained, they can’t be kept around. Never forget that.





TWENTY-SEVEN




SWIVELING ON HIS HEELS, HARRIS RESUMES HIS place at the front of the group. From the corner of my eye, I mark Jackson’s progress back to his team. Sean remains near me. Forty-eight of us stand, waiting as Harris stares out at us, assessing. I fidget impatiently, anxious to be released back to our rooms before anything else happens. Suddenly, the day feels endless.

“You are all here to prove that you are worth something. That you deserve a future with freedoms and privileges.” His voice rings out over the pulsing night, floating across the stagnant air. “That you can be trusted, that you’re better than your scum brethren in the detention camps. Carriers like him.” He points to the target we captured.

My eyes widen. He’s not a volunteer then? He’s from a detention camp.

A guard shoves the man forward. He stumbles, catching himself. It’s a wonder he doesn’t fall. He’s still bound with rope.

“This man has attempted several escapes from a camp in Colorado. He incited his fellow carriers into attacking and killing two guards in order to provide a distraction for his third escape attempt.”

I assess the man, noting his thinness, his stringy, unwashed hair. It looks as though he hasn’t had a good meal or bath in a month. A testament to life in a detention camp.

“There will be no fourth attempt for him . . . no more innocent guards killed. Mercy for him ends here and now.”

Harris pulls a gun from his belt. I flinch at the sight of it even though I handle a gun every day during drills at the firing range.

My stomach bottoms out as he points the barrel at the target. The man stares straight ahead at all of us with unblinking eyes, his lips moving rapidly, saying something under his breath. I strain to hear. Is he praying? Begging for his life?

I glance around me. Everyone watches, transfixed, eyes glazed brightly.

I look back at Harris, tense, waiting for the sound of the shot. Instead, he lowers his arm.

Air slips out past my lips, relieved. Maybe he changed his mind.

He stares out at all of us, scanning the crowd until his gaze lands on me. “Hamilton,” he calls.

Everything inside me seizes, my skin snapping with sudden cold. Picking up the target’s rope, he walks toward me. Guards accompany him. My fellow carriers part until he stands in front of me. He’s very tall. I have to drop my head back to look up at him.

His eyes assess me coolly. “I believe I mentioned a reward for the winning team. Since your team came out on top today, why don’t you do the honors?”

I frown, hearing his words but not understanding.

Somewhere near me, someone gasps and I turn my head, looking for the source. I can’t identify the person, but everyone stares at me with wide eyes.

Sean looks at me intently, his eyes full of something . . . sorrow, pain?

Bewildered, I look back at Harris. “I don’t—” My words fade as I notice his hand. The gun that he now stretches toward me.

“Take it.”

I shake my head.

He sighs in exasperation and grabs my wrist, pushing the gun at me. “Take. It.” There’s no flexibility, no room for argument.