Deliverance (23 page)

“I was checking the prisoners.”

“I've already done that. Get out of here.”

I scurry from the truck without another glance. I didn't get a chance to look at the clipboard, and now I have no clue if I'm on that truck. I bite back my frustration and move to the next truck, but as I look around for someone who looks kind enough to help me, someone shouts, “Hey, we're missing a guard on our transport. Where's Nita Kessler?”

I sigh with relief and hurry to truck number five. “That's me,” I say. “Sorry, got held up.”

The guard nods and hands me the manifest. “Hold onto this for me, will you? When we get to the prison they'll check the Lessers to make sure everyone's there.”

I nod, clutching the manifest to my chest. That means I'll be riding in the back with the prisoners. I glance at them, chained to the walls of the transporter, and swallow hard. They won't hurt me. They probably never did anything that bad, anyway.

I look at the manifest in my hands, searching for my false name. It's not my alias that catches my attention, though.

Ava Huckleberry.

My head jerks up and I scan the prisoners' faces. The last time I saw her she was doped up on pills after realizing the Greaters were keeping secrets. Now she sits at the front of the truck bed, near the cab. Her head is downcast and she stares at her feet, or maybe the floor. Dark hair hangs in her eyes.

What if she recognizes me? She could get me caught. But worse, what are they going to do with her? She's tiny, definitely not soldier material. What could have brought her here?

“Let's roll!” someone shouts.

I climb into the back of the transport truck, but I turn my body slightly away from the prisoners. If I keep my face averted then she shouldn't be able to see me. Besides that, I'm less recognizable with my guard uniform on, hat and all.

As it turns out, there's no need to worry. Ava is so doped up on—something—that she never lifts her head, not even once during the two hour drive. The transport trucks have small windows on the doors at the back, and I stand as we slow down so I can figure out our location.

We're on the east side of the city, and I can just see the skyscrapers in the distance. We rattle down a small, paved road, the last truck in the transport convoy. It's a constant stop and go. The first truck must have reached the gate at the bridge, and now we wait for our turn as they inspect the prisoners in each one.

When we reach the gate, a guard opens the back of the truck. “Manifest,” he says. I hand it over and he scans each rider, matching them to the names on the list. It's the first time I realize the prisoners have been tagged as well. I glance at Ava, sadness filling me. She'll be tagged for life—however long that is. It probably won't be long. Guilt blinds me when I realize that I never told her what I'd learned about God. If she dies, she will die without Him. I quickly turn away, blinking back tears. For the first time, I don't regret telling Kassy. I don't know where she'll end up, but at least when she dies she will die with knowledge of God.

“Now you,” the guard says. I hold out my arm and he scans me. He hops down and slams the doors, then bangs on the truck. “This one's clear!” he shouts.

After another moment, the truck lurches forward and we pull through the checkpoint. We must be on the bridge, and I itch to see what's ahead of us. Being shut in this truck is almost suffocating. The drive across the lake comes to an end. I feel the jostling of the truck as we drive over the bump in the road that connects the pavement to the old bridge.

Now we backtrack toward the prison, toward the place I saw in the distance from the restaurant in Greater City. It takes only a few minutes and we're stopped.

Someone throws open the door and I take a deep breath and step into the light.

 

 

 

 

37

 

Huge stone towers dot the corners of the fence around the prison. The fence itself is four rows thick, each one with its own tangled, barbwire defense.

Gunned guards sit atop the towers, watching us. I've never seen a gun up close. In Middle City 3 we weren't allowed to have guns. Those who tested as hunters were allowed one gun each for shooting game, and each bullet had to be registered and accounted for. I didn't know any hunters.

“This way,” Guard Nev whispers. He stands beside me now and nudges me toward the guards gathering around a man who must be the warden. The man goes on to explain the procedures of the prison, and how to get the prisoners inside the first building to registration.

I look around, realizing for the first time that there are multiple stone buildings. The first one is the smallest, and two enormous buildings stand behind it.

This particular drop off is supposed to be short. That means I have to get away from these people and do some investigating without getting noticed, and I have to figure out how to do it fast. An idea formulates in my mind and I move to put it in play.

When it's time to take the prisoners inside, I step up quickly. I take one of the prisoner's arms, like I'm leading him. I swallow back the fear that my plan is faulty. This particular prisoner might be as useless as Ava. He might be docile. He might be plain stupid.

He isn't, though. Once he realizes I'm not paying attention, he grabs my Taser from my belt, exactly as I'd hoped. He whacks me in the side of the head, and I stumble, pain shooting through me.

“Stop him!” the warden shouts. A guard races toward us and knocks the man to the ground, but since all of the prisoners are chained together, they all crash into the dirt. I tumble with them.

Warm, sticky blood trickles down the side of my head and I touch it gingerly.

“Are you all right?” the warden asks, stepping toward me.

“I'm not sure. I feel dizzy.”

He growls and shakes his head like a bear. “They ought to train you people better than this. These transports are dangerous. Don't tell me it's your first run.”

I shrink back guiltily and he huffs and rolls his eyes. “You're bleeding a river over here. Let's get you inside.”

I glance at Guard Nev and he nods slightly.

I follow the warden into the first building. Electric lights buzz in the entryway. An information desk sits just inside the door behind some type of thick window.

“Taking her to medical,” the warden barks at the woman behind the desk.

The woman glances at my head and her eyes widen. “Yes, sir!” She pushes a button that makes a buzzing noise.

A door on our left swings open and the warden leads me through. We wind through the small building which must be where all of their administration is housed. HELP comps dot the walls here and there, but I notice something else, as well. Telephones. I've never seen one before, except in books. They were talking devices back in the Early Days, and they were connected by wires that could transport voices all the way across the oceans. Does the prison use the telephones? Who do they talk to?

I don't dare ask the warden. He doesn't strike me as the talkative type.

I drink in every detail I can store away, from the layout of the hallways to the people in the offices. Several women and men work busily inside, and I can't help but shake my head. These people are all aware of what's going on. Who are they? Where did they come from?

We finally reach the back of the building and the warden pushes through the door. A courtyard stretches out before us, and beyond the courtyard is a huge concrete pad. It's marked with a giant red “X” that's been painted on the ground. A sign hangs on the fence nearby that reads “Stay clear of landing pad.”

The flying machines. This is where they come and go. My mind works to consider what this means. Professor Higgins took us on a flyer to reach Lesser 6. Is the war past the outlying cities?

I realize I've slowed down and now I hurry to catch up to the warden. He leads me to the large building on the left. By now the blood seeps down the neck of my uniform. It's sticky and mingles with my sweat. “Sir, do you think we can get something to hold over my wound?”

He glances at me and grimaces. “Sure, sorry.” We stop at the check in desk, and he asks the guard who sits behind it to get a towel. The man returns and hands me the towel, watching my wound like it might drip on him.

“What happened to her?” he asks the warden.

I want to laugh and tell him I'm standing right here, but I keep it to myself.

“Prisoner got her. Can't believe they're sending newbies on these runs. I knew it was getting bad, but I didn't know it was
that
bad.”

I press the towel to my head, using one end to wipe the blood on my neck. The warden jerks his head and we move on, but my mind reels. What is bad? So bad that is would cause them to send newbies on prison runs and make the warden call it
that bad
?

Supreme Moon's office comes to mind, and the day a guard hurried in to tell him about “dissention.”

Maybe I'm not alone in my mission at all.

The halls aren't filled with cells like I would expect to find in a prison. Instead, each doorway seems to lead to large training areas. This must be where they train the prisoners to be soldiers, which means the other building is used for housing.

We pass a cafeteria first, then rooms with weights, and rooms with what appear to be weapons. The weapons must be something other than what they seem, though. Surely they wouldn't give prisoners access to anything that could harm the guards.

“Medical is upstairs,” the warden says. “Can you make it up the steps?”

I nod but he scowls at me. “You aren't going to pass out on me, are you?”

“No, sir, I don't think so.”

He gives a sharp nod and leads me up a narrow staircase. The second floor looks just like the first, hallways lined with doors and rooms. We pass a library and a room filled with blue mats, and finally we come to a room marked
Medical
.

“I'll leave you here,” the warden says. “I have to see to the registration of the new arrivals. You'll be able to find your way back?”

I can't believe he's going to leave me on my own, which is exactly what I want. “Yes, sir. I kept track of which way we were going.”

He nods and opens the door. “Medic Brown?”

I glance around the tidy room, taking note of the hospital-type beds and the locked cabinets on the walls. The prisoners get better treatment here than they do in the other Lesser cities, and maybe even better than some of the Middles.

The medic comes from a different doorway, and the warden steps forward. He tugs on my arm to bring me with him, but I have to force my lead feet to move.

My eyes are bulging right out of my head—they must be. Butterflies erupt in my stomach and tears choke me.

Fischer stands in front of me, as wonderful and glorious and perfect as ever. “Yes sir, Warden sir?” He keeps his eyes trained on the warden, but he must have seen me. He's clearly handling it much better than I am.

“This guard was careless in her stance and ended up getting whacked by a prisoner. Are you OK?” he asks me, frowning.

“A little dizzy, sir,” I choke out.

His frown deepens, creating wrinkles on his forehead and around his eyes. “Take a seat. The medic will fix you up.” He looks back to Fischer. “Send her back out when you finish with her.”

“Yes sir,” Fischer says. The warden leaves and Fischer closes the door behind him. He keeps his back to me for what seems like an eternity, and then he turns.

 

 

 

 

38

 

Slowly, ever so slowly, he brings his gaze to meet mine.

All the worry, all the pain, all the risks I've taken to get to this place were worth it the moment our eyes meet. I can't hold in my joy at seeing him here and whole, and tears burn my eyes. He smiles and moves toward me.

He kneels before me, and I remove the towel from my head so he can get a better look.

“Not yet,” he says softly, pushing the towel back in place. “Just let me look at you.” He fingers my face, my hair, my shoulders and neck. He's never touched me so much, and his warm fingertips give me goose bumps.

“Are you really here?” he whispers.

I laugh nervously. “Are you?”

His gaze finds mine again. “How?”

“I found an advocate in Greater City. He helped.”

“I can't believe it.”

“How did you end up here?” I let myself consider touching him—maybe I shouldn't, I don't know. But it's too tempting to resist. I brush his forehead, pushing the dark hair from his face.

“They sent me here the day after you were promoted. This place is much worse than we thought. I've been praying that you would continue searching for answers. I prayed you would keep trying.”

Keep trying.

New chill bumps prickle my skin. “I dreamed you said that.”

His eyes are questioning, but he doesn't voice the words. Both of his hands move to my cheeks. He rises up on his heels, his face drawing closer to mine. His eyes close and I stop breathing.

He's going to kiss me.

I want him to, more than I've ever wanted anything. I close my eyes and lean toward him. The whole world can spin out of control, and I won't care if only I can feel Fischer's lips on mine.

His forehead bumps mine and he sighs. “It's too good to be true,” he murmurs.

The disappointment is immediate and immense. I swallow hard and pull my face away. “What did you mean when you said this place is worse than we thought?”

He pauses, still looking at me like I'm a freezing piece of ice in the drought of summer. “Do we have to talk about that first?”

No!
I want to shout.
Kiss me!
But how could I ever say those things? And how can I even be thinking them when I kissed Keegan two weeks ago?

Confusion swirls in my stomach and I pull away from him.

“What else is there to say?”

He rubs his thumb across my cheek the same way he did on my front porch in Middle City. “How about how much I missed you?”