In the End (Starbounders) (8 page)

“Amy. You’re awake.”

My head jerks up as Jacks steps into the cell, clicking the bike lock shut after him. “You really should keep this door locked.”

“Sorry,” I say, breathing hard. I make a quick decision not to tell him what just happened. Even though I took care of it myself, I don’t want him to think he needs to protect me all the time. “I was just walking around with Pam.”

“Without me?” He looks upset.

“We survived. She wants you to do a tattoo for Mike.”

“Still, you should have waited. After what happened before . . .”

I bristle at the memory. I shouldn’t have needed Jacks to come save me. I didn’t need him just now. I know I can take care of myself.

“I don’t have time to wait,” I snap. His possessiveness annoys me. “Anyway.” I stand to confront him. “Pam doesn’t know Ken, but she told me something, about Doc.” I study him.

“What about Doc?” he asks carefully.

I don’t answer but instead stare him down. He holds my gaze for a moment but then drops his.

“Is it true? Doc’s your father?”

“Yes.” He takes a seat in a chair and motions to me to sit again. “And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. . . . I don’t really talk about it, though. Doc wasn’t ever really a father to me. My mom and he got divorced when I was just a little kid. I didn’t know why then, but my father had issues with chemical dependency. He got fired for stealing drugs from the hospital where he worked. He couldn’t find a job after that, till my uncle gave him one working here. That was part of the reason my uncle was so crazy about getting me and Layla to come out here before our trip. . . . He wanted us to make up with our dad. Do you know how long it’s been since I actually called him Dad? Years. Layla was still a baby.”

“Does he still use?” I ask, my earlier suspicion waning.

He shrugs. “He started off strong here. Even after the world ended, he had his brother, he had me and Layla. He always said he was blessed to be with his family. He asked me to be his assistant and taught me so much. He thought there was hope for us all. It took the end of the world to bring our family together. But last year a lot of women here got ill. Most didn’t make it. Doc blamed himself. He started taking pills to be able to sleep. Then after Layla died . . . Now it’s like he’s given up. He takes more and more. . . .” Jacks shakes his head. “I guess he
is
still an addict. I won’t make excuses for him.”

I stand and place my hand on his shoulder. He leans his head in to my side unexpectedly. After a moment, I move away.

He looks up at me. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I didn’t lie either. You have your secrets too, Amy.”

I nod. “I understand, I just . . . I didn’t know.”

He stands and reaches toward me, his hand resting on my upper arm, warming my skin. “We’re still good, right?” His breath teases the top of my head, and I’m afraid of what will happen if I look up.

“Yes, of course.” I pull roughly away from him and step toward the door. I’m all mixed up, Jacks bringing strange feelings to the surface. I push down my confusion and try to recover my wits. “So, are you ready to go out now, to look for Ken? I’ve got a lot of ground to cover,” I say, changing the subject.

“Now’s not a good time,” Jacks says.

“Why?” I’ve had enough false starts, enough dead ends. I’m also not sure I want to be in such a confined space with Jacks at the moment, not feeling the way I do, flushed and tight, like my skin is too small for my body.

When I hear shouts from outside, I welcome the distraction and hurry to the window. A crowd is gathering, pushing its way through the exercise yard.

“What’s going on?”

Jacks won’t look at me. “A trial,” he says grimly.

“A trial? What for?” Below me, the crowd is swelling, pushing toward the front wall.

“Murder.”

“Murder?” I turn around and look at Jacks. Doesn’t that happen here all the time? “And how does the trial work? Is there a judge or a jury or something?”

“There’s no judge or jury.”

“Does the Warden decide the verdict?”

He shakes his head.

“Then how will it be decided if the person is innocent or guilty?”

“Amy,” he tells me with a sigh, “they’re
always
found guilty.”

Chapter Fifteen

Despite Jacks’s protests, I drag him to the trial. If this is a main event at Fort Black, and if Ken’s in the prison at all, he might be there.

When we leave Cellblock B, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to find Ken, let alone see the trial. There are too many people pushing to the walls across the Yard. In fact, it looks as if the wooden stairs might collapse against the weight of so many people. Jacks grabs my hand, and we head away from the crowd, past Cellblock C and the black building that used to be the cafeteria and visitor center. On that side of the wall, we pop through a door and circle around within the corridors of the wall to the opposite end of the exercise yard, then climb up so we’re standing on top of the outer front wall of the prison.

If it were empty, we could see for miles outside of the prison, but the area is packed with spectators pressing for a view. Jacks slices through them and I run along behind him until, somehow, we’re at the front railing. The still-swelling crowd pins me against the iron, cutting off my breath. I can feel the three crossbars that make up the railing shifting under the pressure, and the top bar digs into my rib cage.

As the pressure gets harder, I concentrate on breathing and pressing back, so I don’t get cut in half. Then Jacks wedges himself behind me, reaching around either side of my waist and grabbing on to the railing in order to relieve the strain.

“Better?” he asks from behind me, his breath in my ear.

“Yes, thanks. But I don’t know how I’m going to find anyone in this crowd.”

All at once they begin to chant in unison. I can’t make out what they’re saying at first, but then it becomes clear.

Guilty
.
Guilty
.
Guilty
.

“There,” Jacks says, his voice strained.

On the corner of the wall, in the guard tower, the Warden stands.

“People of Fort Black,” the Warden’s voice booms over the loudspeakers throughout the compound. “We have a good thing going here. The monsters are outside and we’re safe in here.” He says
thing
like
thang
, laying on his Texas drawl.

The crowd buzzes excitedly, and the Warden gives them a moment to calm down before starting again. “But we have to have some rules. We have to have some order. We’re not animals,” he spits. “A man has taken another man’s life. . . . And for what? To settle an argument? Well, the good book says an eye for an eye, and I say a life for a life!” The crowd goes wild at that, and Jacks lets out a sigh, his breath hot on my neck.

“Let this be a lesson to y’all,” the Warden yells. “I don’t hold none with murderers!”

Everyone is screaming and I’m not sure what is happening until I look down. A man has been released out of the prison through a side door below us. He takes a few steps away from the wall, stunned, then runs back, trying to get inside.

“The people’s calls will bring the Floraes,” Jacks says.

“
This
is his trial?” I shout.

“This is Fort Black justice.”

The man is still at the door, banging desperately. His mouth is moving, and I reach up to my ear to turn on the sound amplifier.

“Please,” the man begs. “Please let me back in. I’ll do anything.” He falls to his knees, sobbing.

A Florae appears on the rise across from us, pausing at the same housing development I rested at before approaching Fort Black. I don’t have my Guardian glasses, so it’s just a speck, but I know what it is by how quickly it moves as it jumps from the edge of the development down to and across the highway. More people have spotted it, and the chanting becomes more frenzied. Closer it speeds, and still the man blubbers next to the door.

“Run!” I scream, my voice lost in the crowd. But of course it’s too late. The Florae hits him so hard, the man slams into the wall and bounces off it. He tries to push the Florae away, but it’s already feeding on his flesh. Its claws secure in his sides, its face in his stomach.

Before I can turn off my amplifier, I hear gurgling as blood spills from the man’s mouth. Then a gunshot sounds and the Florae lies still, its head blown open into the mess of the man’s stomach. Another gunshot, and the man’s body twitches, blood pooling around what is left of his head.

Some people stick around to watch the guards pick off the other Floraes attracted by the noise and blood, but, with the spectacle over, most of the crowd slips back into the prison.

“That was barbaric,” I say at last.

Jacks doesn’t answer, but drops his arms, allowing me some space.

There is another volley of shots—more Floraes, probably—but I don’t look for them. I continue to stare at the remains of the man below us.

“In the place I was before,” I say, “they would banish people sometimes, but they wouldn’t watch gleefully while the person was devoured.”

After a moment Jacks asks, “And does that make it better, not watching?”

I turn to face him.

“No. I guess not.”

He nods. “Shutting your eyes doesn’t make you a better person. It just makes you a coward. You’ll notice my uncle didn’t watch the man he sentenced to death actually die. He turned away.”

I close my eyes and think of Dr. Reynolds. He had the same depravity as the crowd, the same delight in doling out punishment for transgressions, real and imagined. I open my eyes again, looking at Jacks. I’m so tired of running. I so desperately want to trust him, to have a real friend.

“I shouldn’t have brought ya here,” he says, his tone filled with concern, his accent more pronounced.

“No. I . . . was thinking about the Ward.”

“You talked about the Ward before, then you freaked the hell out. Over a hospital?”

I shake my head. “No, it only looked like a hospital.”

He doesn’t say anything, just waits for me to go on.

“I . . .” I’m trembling, but I want to tell him. I have to. “I was placed in the Ward, a sort of institution . . . because I questioned the rules of the society I was living in. But when I was in the Ward”—I pause for a moment—“there was a girl I knew . . . I didn’t even like her, but she didn’t deserve what they did to her. They damaged her beyond repair.”

I picture Amber’s lobotomy scar. The dead look in her eyes.

“What happened to her?”

“They didn’t kill her, but they destroyed everything that she was. They . . . unmade her.” I stare down at my shaking hands. I grasp them behind my back, trying to hide them.

“Were they going to do the same to you?”

I swallow hard and nod. “I’d rather let a Florae kill me than let that happen.” Jacks is lost behind a wavering screen of tears. I blink him back into view.

Jacks puts his hands on my shoulders and looks me in the face. “Amy, you have every right to be scared. Look at this screwed-up world. Everyone is afraid, and if they say they’re not, then they’re lying . . . or really, really stupid.” He wipes a tear from my cheek. “You just have to keep going. I know, it sucks. But you have to be strong.”

I nod, unable to speak. Rice told me the same thing.

“Maybe we should head back, let you get some rest.”

“No! I can’t rest. I need to find Ken.”

“Okay, then let’s go.”

I have to pull it together. I wipe my face on my sleeve and shake out my arms. The truth is, I won’t ever be okay with everything that has happened to me. But I need to stay strong for the only family I have left.

We head down the metal stairs to the Yard. The crowd has subsided, so we cross the Yard instead of circling it on the wall. Still, we keep to the edge. Then we come to the area Jacks called the Arena, separated from the exercise yard by a chain-link fence. To one side of it is exercise equipment, muscular men using weights, and other machines used for strength training. I recognize some of the equipment; we had it in the gym in the Rumble Room in New Hope. On the other side are two sets of bleachers facing each other across a concrete square. In the center of the square is painted a red circle about twenty feet across.

“What’s this exactly?” I ask.

“People call it the Arena. Another blood sport. Right now the fighters are training, but once a week the Warden puts on fights to entertain the masses.”

“Boxing?”

“More like UFC—”

“Get off me!”
someone shrieks.

I spin around. A boy with a shaved head stands at the entrance to the Arena. Two men have him by his arms as another, smaller man punches him in the stomach. They all look strangely similar, muscular, their heads shaved like the boy’s. Without thinking, I run toward them.

Before I can get there, the boy jerks his legs up, supported by the men trying to hold him, and kicks the smaller man in the chest. Using that momentum, he breaks their hold.

When I reach them, the men have circled back around him, joined by two other skinheads. I pull out my gun, but Jacks runs up next to me and pushes the barrel down.

“That’ll only make it worse,” he says, then sprints forward between two of the men.

I put my gun away and follow Jacks to stand next to the boy, who I can now see is a girl. I mistook her because of her shaved head and muscular build. The men still outnumber us, each one clearly fit, but none of them are nearly the beast that Tank is. I sparred with men as big as these in Guardian training. Nobody around us moves to help, just like when those men grabbed me when I ran into the Yard alone. Everyone is struggling to survive; no one wants to get involved in someone else’s problems.

Suddenly, as if by silent agreement, the men come at us as one. I focus on fighting off the two nearest to me and hope Jacks and the girl will do okay.

One man grabs for a handful of my hair. It’s grown out a bit since Baby cut it into a Mohawk, but it’s still short enough for me to whip it out of the way, slap his hand, and snap a punch to his jaw. The other man lunges at my middle, getting his shoulder into my ribs. I elbow him twice in the back of the neck, but he doesn’t let me go and ends up driving me toward the wall. Before he gets my back to it, I twist and run hard up against the surface, crashing him into it as I flip to my feet.

As I watch him crumple to the floor by the wall, the first man comes at me again. I drop down and sweep his legs out from under him with a leg whip. He careens into the other man just as he’s struggled to his feet, and the two of them slam, grunting, into the wall and go down in a tangle of arms and legs.

Looking around wildly, I see all assailants either down or bleeding. One of the men at my feet grabs my ankle weakly.

“Do you really want to keep going?” I ask.

The man shakes his head. Slowly, the group gets up and limps away into the Yard.

I walk to Jacks, adrenaline pumping through my veins, and smile.
Be strong,
Jacks told me.

I don’t have to
be
strong. I
am
strong.

“Hey, Jacks,” the girl says, “thanks for the assist. Although I’m sure I could’ve handled it on my own.”

“There were five of them, Brenna,” he points out.

“Yeah, and you only helped out with one. Your girlfriend at least took on two.” She gives him a wicked grin and turns to me. “I’m Brenna.”

“Amy.” I offer her my hand, and she shakes it as though it’s a test of strength.

“That little one”—she points to the guy still on the ground, moaning in pain—“he thought he’d jump me because I beat him in the Arena last week. It’s not my fault he’s a whiny little bitch!” she shouts toward him.

“You fight in the Arena?”

“Yep, it’s better than being some guy’s property.” She looks me up and down, trying to figure me out.

“So you aren’t anyone’s?” I ask.

“Brenna isn’t a huge fan of men,” Jacks says with a smirk. “I don’t think there’s a man alive who can handle her.”

Brenna makes a disgusted face. “I can’t imagine belonging to a man. . . . Having them touch you.” She feigns throwing up. “Why would anyone want that?” She looks at me again. “No offense, I mean, if anyone’s claimed you. It can get rough here.”

“I’ve noticed,” I say, wincing. My hip still aches from my earlier altercation.

“Well, you can fight, that’s for sure,” Brenna tells me appraisingly. “But it’s an easier life to be protected.”

“Actually,” Jacks says, “Amy is mine.”

Brenna looks at Jacks, eyebrows raised skeptically, before barking out a laugh. “Really Jacks?
You
claimed someone.” She looks at my arm, covered by my synth-suit. “Did you tattoo your name under her ninja getup?”

“You know I didn’t,” he tells her between clenched teeth. “But she’s still mine, and you should let everyone know.”

Brenna grins. “Jacks may seem all big and tough, but he’s really the sensitive type. He tries to hide it, but I know he wouldn’t want anyone to feel like his property,” she tells me. “Well, you should keep on pretending, because life is hard here for girls. Keep your arms covered, and as long as people say you’re Jacks’s, you should be fine.” She looks away toward the weight training area. “Shit, I lost my place on the shoulder press machine. I’ll catch you guys later.”

She turns to run, and I notice a tattoo on the back of her neck, a spinal column that disappears into her shirt. That must be how she knows Jacks: his tattoo work. Watching her go, I ask, “You think she’ll be okay?”

“Yeah. Brenna will be just fine.”

I watch Brenna get into an argument with the man on the machine she wanted. After a few seconds he moves away, shaking his head, and Brenna takes over the machine. Beyond her I see another man lifting dumbbells, and the back of my neck goes cold.

It’s Tank.

He’s a machine, lifting a weight in each arm marked
50 LBS
. Jacks catches me staring and follows my gaze.

“He’s a monster,” I say.

“No.” Jacks steps in front of me, blocking my line of vision. “He’s just a very, very sick man. And he’s not going to get to you. I’ll make sure of it.”

I nod and follow him, but I can’t help looking back at Tank. Man or monster, he’s terrifying.

The next day, Jacks insists that I stay in the cell while he’s at work, even though I’ve proven I can take care of myself. He seems to be scared of something—but won’t tell me.