The Prey (19 page)

The idea came in the middle of the night.

I circled around the camp until I reached the barn, sneaking inside before the morning arrival of guards or inmates. I found a goat—a kid—and placed a strip of duct tape around his white muzzle. Then I carried him off into the woods until I came to a small mound of boulders.

“Sorry about this,” I said, and the goat looked at me with a fearful expression. “You'll be free soon enough.”

I pinned one of his legs beneath the rocks so it looked like he'd escaped and gotten stuck. Then I ripped off the tape and ran as fast as I could to the side of the field. As I hurried away, I heard the goat's bleating, insistent and high-pitched.

I crawled to a hiding place at the edge of the field and waited. It began to pour.

Finally, the gate groaned open and the female prisoners marched out, two dozen of them, surrounded by the same four guards as before. They all wore dark green ponchos because of the rain.

The guards took their stations and the prisoners began chopping away at the muddy, brown canals. Hope was smack-dab in the middle. Figured.

Three of the guards drew together to share a cigarette, and that's when they heard the goat. They lowered their M16s and swung them toward the woods. When they realized it was animal and not human, they relaxed, slinging their rifles back over their shoulders. The three Brown Shirts gestured to the fourth that they would go investigate.

Once they disappeared into the woods, I launched a pebble from my slingshot. It landed near Hope's foot. She seemed not to notice. I swore silently and loaded up again. This time the rock bounced off her left boot. Her head snapped up. The other inmates were oblivious.

The guard's back was turned to me, so I rose to a standing position.

Hope's eyes went round. Just as quickly she regained her composure and speared her hoe into the sopping earth. I lowered myself back down and waited. The girls worked. The rain fell. The guard watched.

Hope made a motion to the guard: bathroom break. The guard nodded brusquely, watching as the girl marched into the woods. I flattened myself behind the ridge, face digging into mud.

I heard rather than saw Hope making her way toward me. When the trees hid her from the Brown Shirt, she stopped and stared at me.

“What're you doing here?” she hissed.

“What do you think? I came back to rescue you.”

She snorted with derision. “Who says we need rescuing?”

Her words caught me off guard. So did her attitude. I thought she'd be relieved to see me. Grateful, even. Didn't she know the sacrifice I'd made to return? Instead, she seemed downright hostile.

“But I thought that was the plan,” I said. “Build a tunnel. Escape to the next territory.”

“Maybe that
was
the plan—not anymore. What's the point?”

I didn't know what to say. How to react. I wondered what happened to the old Hope—and who this imposter was.

“What's going on?” I asked. “You seem . . . different.”

Her expression changed quicker than the flick of a switch. The anger melted away and her eyes welled with moisture: big, fat tears that spilled over her bottom lids and trailed down her cheeks. When she began to speak, the words were unintelligible.

“I can't understand you,” I said, leaning in.

Again, her mouth moved, but her words were swallowed by tears.

“I'm sorry,” I said. “I still can't quite . . .”

“Experiments,” she murmured, swiping at a tear with muddy fingertips.

“Go on.”

She gulped for air. “I had a sister.”

“I know,” I said. “Faith.” I was still trying to understand. What did this have to do with anything? Was her sister missing? Did she want me to look for her?

Hope turned away and covered her mouth. I thought she was about to cough, but then I realized: she was sobbing. Her shoulders jerked up and down in a kind of pantomime. Somewhere along the way she had learned to cry silently.

I reached out a hand and touched her shoulder. “I'm sorry . . .” I didn't know what else to say.

She turned and her eyes met mine—I couldn't help but recoil. It was a look of hopelessness, of a kind of sorrow I'd never seen or experienced. I was about to speak when I noticed the guard squinting in our direction. Hope noticed, too.

“You really want to help?” Hope asked. “Then leave me alone. . . . Don't ever come back here again.”

Before I could respond, she picked up her hoe and walked back to the field.

H
OPE WORKS IN A
kind of trance the rest of that day.

A chill air raises goose bumps on her arms, and her feet radiate pain from standing so long. Despite that—despite all of it—she thinks about Book.

She questions her decision to send him away. But she's afraid of getting hurt. Afraid to put her faith in a total
stranger
, only to have him break that trust . . . and her heart. No, it's better this way, she tells herself. It's better.

She doesn't really know if she believes it or not.

They've just settled into bed when two Brown Shirts undo the lock, blue moonlight catching them in silhouette.
Who have they come for now?
Hope wonders. It's what they all wonder.

When the Brown Shirts know every eye is on them, they throw something to the floor. It lands with a skidding thud. The guards turn and exit, chaining the door shut.

Hope sits up and looks. What she sees takes her breath away.

It isn't something that was tossed to the floor, but some
one
. Helen. Frail, little Helen. She is shivering uncontrollably, and Hope's first thought is that they dunked her in the tank of freezing water. But a closer inspection reveals a series of burn marks up and down her arm, her neck, the side of her face. Helen isn't shaking from cold; it's from shock.

“Give me a hand!” Hope calls out. They take Helen to her bed, covering her with blankets, grabbing extras from their own beds to warm her up.

“You're okay,” Hope says, placing a soothing hand atop Helen's forehead. “Everything's okay.” But even as she says it her eyes catch sight of Athena's bed. Empty. A single strand of red hair coiled atop her pillow.

Gallingham took both twins after morning roll call . . . and only one returned. Hope realizes there are no more sets of twins in Barracks B.

Helen isn't the first girl to lose her sister, of course. Nor the first to be tortured. Dr. Gallingham's experiments have become more barbaric in recent weeks. There's no longer a pretense at science; it's pure sadism.
He wants to see just how much pain the human body can endure.

White light breaks through the window and splashes the wall. Not guard towers' searchlights—something else entirely.

Hope slides forward and peers above the windowsill. The front gates shriek open and a small convoy of military vehicles streams in, thick tires crunching gravel. As Hope watches them circle the infield, she notices the .50 caliber machine guns mounted in the Humvees' turrets.

Her throat goes dry as she pieces it together. The letter. Thorason's words.
Eliminate. Leave no trace.
The Brown Shirts mean to finish them off—sooner rather than later. Their days are numbered . . . unless they do something right away.

Hope turns to Diana. “How long till the tunnel's done?”

Diana's surprised. “The water's still high—”

“I know.”

“. . . and filling up again—”

“So how long?”

“I don't know. Five, six weeks.”

Hope takes this in. “How about five or six
hours
?”

Diana nearly chokes. “That's not possible,” she stammers. “There's too much water. And if we dig up too fast we're liable to cause another cave-in and you know what that's like.”

Hope does know. But it doesn't lessen her determination. “We leave tonight,” she says, looking at the other Sisters.

They can't believe what they're hearing. “But the gear's not gathered,” they say. “We only have a portion of the food.”

Hope goes on as if they hadn't spoken. “Could we reach the surface tonight?” she asks Scylla. “If we dig straight up?”

Scylla answers with a vague shrug.

“Could we?” Hope asks again.

Scylla casts a glance at Diana, then looks back at Hope. She nods yes.

Hope sighs gratefully. “Then let's do it.”

At first, no one moves. They're paralyzed—not only by this sudden change of plans but by this sudden change in Hope. It's like she's a different person. A new leader, stepping in for a departed one.

They're about to head to the tunnel when a frail, quavering voice calls out from beneath the blankets.

“Why, Hope?” It's Helen. Her first words since returning.

Hope walks to Helen's cot and sits by her side, eyeing the burn marks that spot her body. “Because we can't wait a minute longer,” she says.

They divide into groups. Some chip away at the damp ceiling. Others form a bucket brigade, passing
water up from the tunnel. Still, the water continues to rise, the black surface glinting yellow from candlelight. For every bucket they empty, two buckets seem to dribble in.

But whenever Hope doubts—whenever she thinks the task is too big—she remembers Faith. And Athena. And the weapons the Brown Shirts just drove in. This tunnel is the Sisters' only chance of salvation.

Something else as well. Unless they manage to escape, she'll never see Book again. Never curl her body into his and share her innermost thoughts. Never find out
his
favorite memory.

She's suddenly convinced only Book can release those haunting demons that dance around her head. Only he can help her get past her guilt of losing Faith.
Oh, Faith, my sister, Faith, I tried to take care of you but it wasn't enough.

It matters that she sees Book again. She hopes it's not too late.

Scylla's knife slices up through grass, and dirt rains down on her. She takes a quick peek at the stars, scurries back down, and eases into the water.

Hope pats Scylla on the back and scales the wall of earth herself. Her head pokes through the narrow opening like some forest rodent. The nearest trees are still ten yards away; the barbed wire fence is twenty yards
behind them. Not ideal, but not terrible either.

Hope descends and faces the girls of Barracks B, their heads bobbing above the surface of the water.

“Okay,” she says. They know what to do.

One by one, the Sisters hoist themselves to the top of the opening, look around, and then scuttle to the woods. It takes far longer than Hope would like, but so far the searchlight hasn't caught a Sister midrun.

Finally, it's down to Hope. All the others have gone. She's ready to make a run for it when she realizes: There's no Helen. She's not here.

Where is she?
Hope wonders.
Is it possible she's still back in the barracks?

The Sisters wait impatiently in the woods, pointing toward the east. The sky is beginning to gray. Hope motions that she won't be long and pops back down the hole.

The water is at the ceiling now. It is cold and black and swirling. The only way to reach the other end is to swim. Assuming Hope can hold her breath that long.

She bobs once, twice, inhales deeply, and plunges beneath the surface.

It takes her longer than expected and halfway there her lungs begin to tighten—like a giant fist squeezing her abdomen. When she finally reaches the other end, she's never been so grateful for breath. Even though the air is stale and musty, she gulps it greedily.

A lone candle sputters by the ladder, allowing her to see the moisture eating away the sides. Great jags of earth separate themselves and splash into the water. There's precious little time to find Helen and get out of there.

Hope pulls herself up into the closet and tiptoes to the barracks, water pooling beneath her feet. There's a vague shape on a far bunk. Helen. Sitting hunched over, face buried in her hands. Hope hurries to her side.

“What's going on?” Hope asks. “Why're you still here?”

Helen hiccups through her tears. “You came back,” she says, not answering Hope's question. Her fingers absently tap the burn marks on her arm.

“Of course. We're family. I'm your Sister.” The words just come out. Not a denial of Faith, but rather an acknowledgment. Hope needs Helen just as much as Helen needs Hope.

A fresh batch of tears makes their way down Helen's cheeks. Through the front window, Hope sees an orange glow. Sunrise.

“But we need to get going if we're going to swim out of here in time,” Hope says. She attempts to pull Helen to her feet; Helen resists.

“I can't,” the frail girl says.

“Of course you can. What's stopping you?”

“I don't know how to swim.”

Hope can't hide her surprise.

Helen's chin begins to tremble all over again. “Does that mean I can't go?”

“Of course not,” Hope says. “It doesn't mean that at all.” Even as she speaks, her mind scrambles. How can Helen possibly make it from one end of the tunnel to the other without swimming?

“I have just the thing for you,” Hope says. She reaches in her dress pocket and fishes out a small object: the gold locket on the tarnished chain. She undoes the clasp and slips it around Helen's neck. “A good luck charm.”

Helen's expression is doubtful. “And this'll work?”

“It's kept me alive all these years. Come on, I have a plan.” As Hope eases Helen to her feet and they make their way to the back of the barracks, Hope wonders if she's really up for this.

They're about to step into the back closet when Hope takes a final glance at the barracks. She sees a small mound atop a cot. Faith's shawl. Hope doesn't let herself look at it for long. She swivels back around and she and Helen lower themselves into the tunnel.