Article 5 (10 page)

Other girls, seventeens and some of the sixteens that shared our hall, had come out of their rooms. Another guard was pushing them back as he passed.

I heard the light clicking of heels on the wooden floor and knew Brock had arrived. She entered the foyer wearing her traditional skirt and a navy sweater. There was an attendant with her, a short, plump woman who had fear strewn across her face.

“What did you do with him? Sean! Where is he?” Rebecca spouted before the headmistress could speak.

Another guard had reached us. There were three now, one beside me, two on either side of Brock. The breath was raking hard up my throat.

“She doesn’t know what she’s saying,” I tried.

“Silence, Ms. Miller,” Brock snapped. “I will deal with you in a moment. Genero, call for assistance.” Her voice never faltered.

“Where. Is.
Sean
?” Rebecca demanded one final time. Her shoulders were heaving.

“He’s gone,” spat Brock. “And so are you.”

“You—”

“Rebecca, no!” I shouted, just as she launched herself onto the old woman.

The next events happened very fast.

With the force of a cannonball, Rebecca took Brock to the floor. I saw a nightstick rise high and land with a dull thud on my tiny roommate’s back. The bones cracked, a sickening sound, and her scream halted prematurely.

I had been frozen up until then, but when Rebecca was hit, pure adrenaline scored through me. In a flash I saw my mother. I saw the blue uniforms pulling her toward the van. Taking her away.

My vision compressed behind narrow slits. With all my strength, I attacked the guard who had hit Rebecca. I kicked him, hit him, bit him. I felt skin gather and rip under my fingernails. Everything within me acted on instinct, as though my very survival depended on it. I saw fuzzy images, mostly blue, some gray, as Rebecca was thrown in front of me. Someone yelled. A girl screamed.

Steel arms clamped around my waist. I thrashed.

“Rebecca!” My eyes searched frantically for her. The snow was falling heavily from the thick, black sky. We were outside. One of the guards holding me slipped. I felt us plunge toward the cement steps before he righted himself. He swore loudly over the ringing in my ears. Then we were descending the steps backward, and my stomach was lurching as if I were diving into a bottomless pool. Warm blood filled my mouth. I’d bitten the inside of my cheek again.

“Let me go!” I hollered.

“Shut up!” barked one of the guards.

My shoulders hurt from where they pulled my arms. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the cafeteria pass on my left. More stairs. It took me some time to orient myself to lower campus, down by the infirmary. A metal door was pushed open. To my right I saw the fire hydrant in the gleam of the spotlights, defiantly red against the snow.

I was in the shack.

They dropped me unceremoniously on the dank cement floor. All my trembling extremities retracted into my chest. A soldier pointed his club in my face and I tucked my chin hard against my chest so that he couldn’t hit my throat as Randolph had done.

“Keep your scrawny butt down,” he commanded.

The room was small. A single overhead bulb hung from the center of the ceiling. There was a brightly lit space to my right, like a large shower, and to the left a dark closet with cement walls, but no racks or hangers. A confinement cell.

The fear was petrifying. I scooted into a corner, back to the wall, and waited.

*   *   *

LONG
seconds stretched into torturous minutes. I saw their faces. Sean’s as the soldiers found us. Rebecca’s, torn with worry. What had I done to them? And worse, what
hadn’t
I done? I should have been on the outside now, running back toward home and my mother. What had this cost her?

The door creaked open finally, and a woman slid inside. My gut twisted.

Brock.

She had changed into a fresh Sisters of Salvation uniform. There was a bandage on her right cheek. The single yellow bulb overhead made her skin appear jaundiced, but it couldn’t hide the flush of rage still blanketing her severe features.

“Ms. Miller, I am very disappointed in you.”

“What have you done to Rebecca?” I stood, my legs trembling with fear or anticipation, I didn’t know. Tears burned my eyes, but I blinked them back, refusing to let her see me cry.

“You are a very bad girl. The worst kind. The wolf in sheep’s clothing. We shall need to shed that cover and remold your interior. I see that now.”

“What—” Even though I didn’t know what she meant, I was terrified.

“Guard, take Ms. Miller to the clean room.”

The clean room. The one that looked like a shower. One of the soldiers was already preparing the fire hose inside. Beside him, a pair of leather cuffs were chained to the floor beside his baton. He intended to strap me down and beat me, maybe even spray me with the hose. For a fraction of a second I saw Rosa, laid out across the floor, watching her blood twist down the drain while the force of the water pummeled her body.

My arms locked protectively over my body, fisting in my shirt.

“No,” I whispered.

Two guards moved forward. Dead eyes. Reaching hands.

“NO!” I shouted at them.

I spun to the wall, trying to hide my body from them. I could not go into that room. I could not let them touch me. They gripped my shoulders. My thighs. I screamed.

Just then there was a knock at the door.

The guards waited for Brock’s order. She flipped her head to the side, annoyed.

Randolph stuck his head in.

“What do you want?” she snapped.

“Sorry ma’am. I thought you’d want to know there’s a Dispatch who just arrived from Illinois. He’s come to collect her for trial.”

Several beats passed before I realized he was talking about
me
.

Brock and I must have thought the same thing at the same time. There weren’t trials for Article violations anymore.
It’s been over a month since a soldier came out here to pick up a witness,
Rebecca had said. Could Sean have misheard?

My blood turned to ice. It seemed impossibly cruel for life to offer such an illusion. But if it was true there would only be one trial I’d be called to attend. My mother’s. I tried to sort through the mixed emotions—joy that I might see her, fear, because this meant that she was still imprisoned, pure relief at the interruption.

“I thought they were doing away with those,” said Brock, annoyed.

“They still do trials in certain cases, ma’am,” said a low, familiar voice from outside. My mouth fell open. My heart thumped in my chest.

A moment later Chase Jennings entered the room.

CHAPTER

5

HE
seemed taller than before, and bigger, even since he’d become a soldier. Maybe it was the low ceilings of the shack or the company I kept. Randolph was only a few inches above my five four, and Brock was just between our heights. Chase towered over us at six three.

His face was blank, his eyes unreadable. After I got over the shock of his presence, I found myself hoping more than anything that his words were true. He had come to take me to a trial, to get me out of those gates and deliver me to my mother.

Chase removed a folded piece of paper from his breast pocket and handed it to Brock. She snatched it away, reading for what felt like several minutes.

“When must you leave?” she asked sourly. My eyes darted to the guards before me, and my arms hugged tighter around my chest. I needed to leave now. I couldn’t wait to see what they would do to me.

“Immediately. The trial is tomorrow morning, in Chicago,” Chase said.

I turned away then, fearing that my face might betray me. Of all the soldiers, of course they had to send Chase Jennings. The reason I was here in the first place. And if I looked at him now, surely one of them would see the betrayal, the questions, written across my face. And what was worse, my eagerness to get in the car with him. To get out of here.

Brock sighed irritably. “As an Article 5, Ms. Miller’s mere existence is enough to sentence the birth mother. Why the trial? Highly unusual for the offense.”

I forced myself to breathe. Why
did
the MM need me? Would my presence become the evidence they needed to condemn her? I had no idea what this trial or the sentencing entailed, but I was feeling the pressure to get there as soon as possible.

“All I have is the summons and order to transport,” Chase answered, his voice bland.

No one moved or spoke for a full minute. The only sound I heard was my heavy pulse, throbbing in my ears.

“Very well,” said Brock reluctantly. “But I’m only approving one overnight pass on account of Ms. Miller’s inability to stay where she belongs.”

For the first time Chase’s eyes floated over me. I still wasn’t looking at him, but I felt his impartial stare. I straightened, trying not to show I was afraid. I needed to maintain a cool head from this point forward.

“Is that why she’s here?” he asked, voice flat. “Her ‘inability to stay where she belongs’? I’m sure the Board will be interested.”

A ghost of a smirk passed over Randolph’s face. “More like an inability to keep her legs closed,” he said under his breath.

My teeth clenched. I remembered the way he’d grabbed me outside, ready to share in Sean’s supposed fun, right before he planned on shooting me. Again, a hot, misdirected shame filled my gut, as though I were dirty and tainted. I hated him.

“Don’t be crass,” Brock snapped. “There is at least
one
lady present.”

She grabbed a pen from Randolph and scribbled her signature on the bottom of the summons.

“Sergeant, I’m assuming you’re new to this line of work, since I haven’t seen you before, so I’ll make this clear,” she directed to Chase. “These girls are federal property and under my authority, even when temporarily removed from campus. Therefore, you must abide by my treatment recommendations, do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Chase answered respectfully.

“Observed one-to-one contact at all times. No release from restraints except during restroom breaks. No extra rations, and do
not
speak to her under any conditions.” She passed a threatening look down her nose at me.

“We’ll continue this
conversation
when you return, Ms. Miller.”

We would not. I knew that much. I wasn’t coming back.

In a hurry, I was ushered outside and back up the stairs to the main hall. My stomach was pinching uncomfortably, but not from hunger. Soon I was standing beside a navy blue MM van with Chase and Randolph.

The morning was dreary and still. The snow had stopped, but the freeze still scraped my cheeks and iced my throat as I gulped down breath after breath.

Chase opened the door but blocked my entry, first removing a double circle of thin green plastic from his pocket. A zip tie.

“Hands,” he ordered, holding the restraints out expectantly. I’d known this had been coming, but I still felt a wave of claustrophobia staring down at the cuffs. They immobilized my arms. I wouldn’t be able to run, defend myself, or even go to the bathroom unless Chase released me. I was, for all general purposes, trapped. But I needed to be trapped in order to achieve freedom. The process seemed too twisted to be real.

I balled my hands into fists to prevent the soldiers from seeing them shake. Chase’s eyes paused on the thin, criss-crossed welts that were now turning white in my exertion to hold still.

“Make sure they’re nice and tight,” Randolph said. I bit my lower lip hard to keep quiet.

Chase snorted, snatched my forearms, and jerked me closer so he didn’t have to reach. My breath caught—I had never known his touch to be harsh—and I looked deliberately away. But as he secured the loops, Chase did something unexpected. Subtly, he slipped his first two fingers within the tie beneath my wrist, where my pulse beat like the wings of a hummingbird, while simultaneously tightening the strap with his other hand. The space didn’t allow me to get out, but it impeded the tie from cutting off my circulation.

I felt a flutter of anger, deep in my stomach. He couldn’t think this made up for everything he had done. But before I had too much time to think about it, he’d shoved me roughly up the two steps into the van’s front seat, purposefully blocking Randolph’s view of my noncompliant restraints.

A moment later the door was slammed shut, Chase was in the driver’s seat, and the key brought the ignition to life.

*   *   *

MY
fingers wove together on my lap, as they could do little else within the restraints. We pulled down the lane, passing the dorms on my right and the cafeteria below on my left. The van picked up speed, leaving the last of the main campus buildings.

I am never coming back,
I promised myself.
Never.

“It’s her, isn’t it? My mother. Is she okay?”

A dark expression spread across his face. “Quiet. We’re coming to the gate.”

I glared at him. No one was listening now, why couldn’t he talk to me?

We slowed as the road turned to gravel, and a small check station came into view. It was a single brick cottage, nestled right against the side of the road. Beyond it, I saw the high steel fence, latched by a security gate. Its sinister embrace stretched into the woods around us.

Almost there. Almost free.

Chase slowed the van to a halt and rolled down the driver’s side window. A guard leaned out the porthole on his elbows, scowling when he saw me. He disappeared for a moment and returned with a clipboard.

“Get the papers signed?” he asked Chase, flipping through the pages. He had a bald spot right on the top of his head. His name badge said
BROADBENT
.

My spine straightened. I recognized his name from my phone call in the infirmary. I looked ahead at the closed gate in front of the van as Chase handed Broadbent my summons. He scribbled something on the clipboard.