Captive (The Blackcoat Rebellion #2)(30)
Author: Aimee Carter

She climbed to her feet and wiped my spit off her cheek. Several of the girls began to whisper, but with a single look, she silenced them and stalked back into her room.

With effort, I sat up, my side aching from the way her knee had dug into me. Noelle knelt beside me, even though I belatedly realized I’d managed to land in a puddle of melted snow someone had tracked in from outside.

“You really shouldn’t push her,” she said softly, rubbing circles between my shoulder blades. “It won’t do you any good.”

“Like she said, I’m no better than the rest of you,” I said, glaring at the curtain that now separated Scotia from us. “And neither is she. She had no right to talk about Benjy like that.”

“I’m sure she already feels bad about it,” said Noelle. “Scotia’s a really good person, I promise. But if you give her a reason to turn you in—”

Suddenly the door to the bunkhouse burst open, revealing a burly guard clutching a rifle. His massive frame took up nearly the entire doorway, and he lumbered into the room, his boot missing my toes by inches. “Inspection! Stand by your bunks, hands on your head, all of you.”

Noelle scrambled to her feet, pausing only long enough to help me to mine before she hurried over to the foot of her bunk. The other girls stood by theirs, all with their hands placed behind their heads. My heart pounded, and I stumbled the few steps it took to reach mine, leaning against the ladder while gingerly lifting my arms high enough to mimic their poses. The guard met my eyes, and a shiver ran through me. Was he staring because of who he thought I was, or had he been sent here to plant something on me, finally giving Knox an excuse to kill me?

Half a dozen guards stormed into the room and began to tear the place apart. Mattresses were pounded, pillows were ripped open, and though I didn’t have any personal belongings, the guards rummaged through the others’. More than once I heard paper ripping, and Noelle winced as a guard tore through the pages of a book she had under her pillow.

At last, three quarters of the way down the aisle, a weedy guard straightened. “Sir,” he called, holding up what looked like a candy bar. The girl whose bunk he was searching started to turn around, but one look from the guard and she straightened again, her face pale.

The first guard lumbered up to her. Chelsea, I remembered. Her name was Chelsea. “You’re aware that the possession of contraband substances is strictly prohibited by Article 18, Section B of the penal code?” said the first burly guard.

“It—it was a present from a guard,” she said in a trembling voice. “I thought—because he gave it to me—”

The guard snapped his fingers, and the one who had found it pocketed the candy bar and twisted her arm behind her back. “Out you go,” he said in a shrill, excited voice that made my stomach turn. Chelsea stumbled forward, her face red and eyes full of tears. Our gazes met, and suddenly all I could see was the hole in Maya’s chest.

Even though it was stupid, even though Scotia had just given me my first and final warning, I stepped into the aisle between bunks to block their way.

“It’s a candy bar,” I said. “You’re really going to throw her into the cage for that?”

Behind the guard, Noelle shook her head furiously, silently begging me to stop. I ignored her. Better not to get her involved in this, too.

“It’s an item from outside the zone,” said the first guard, the burly one who looked like he could challenge a bear and win. “You break the rules, you get arrested. Plain and simple.”

So Elsewhere was exactly like D.C., except the Shields had been replaced by the prisoners themselves, and instead of going Elsewhere, you were sent to the cage. For a candy bar, for an orange—it was all the same thing. “It’s a stupid rule,” I said.

The guard stepped up beside me, towering over me the same way he’d towered over Chelsea. “Would you prefer we not arrest her?”

“I’d prefer you have a little decency and realize a candy bar is just a candy bar,” I shot at him. “You heard her. A guard gave it to her. For all we know, it could’ve been you, for the sole reason of coming in here to arrest her for your barbaric entertainment tomorrow night.”

He narrowed his eyes and bent down until our noses were nearly touching. “I’ll tell you what, Miss Hart. I’m gonna do you a favor. Just for you, just because you think it’s unfair, I’m not going to arrest her.”

I exhaled, my tense muscles relaxing slightly. “Thank you. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Not at all,” he said, and he straightened. “Take her to the street.”

Several girls gasped, and the weedy guard shoved Chelsea down the aisle and out the door. The blast of cold air hit my face, and forgetting the other guards still searching through the bunks, I hurried after them.

The weedy guard forced Chelsea to her knees under a pool of yellow light in the middle of the street. She trembled, and a choked sob escaped her. “Please,” she begged. “Please, I’ll tell you where I got it—I’ll tell you anything you want. I’ll do anything you want. Just don’t—”

“Shut up,” said the weedy guard, and he kicked her in the spine. I started forward, but someone grabbed my collar and held me back.

“Don’t even think about it,” said Scotia, her voice dripping with venom. The burly guard chuckled as he stepped around me.

“You should listen to Scotia,” he said, giving her an enormous wink. “She knows how to handle herself, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“I’m not your sweetheart, Williams,” she said coolly, but he merely chuckled and descended the steps into the snowy street.

“Someday I’ll change your mind. But this one here…” He drew his weapon and looked straight at me. “Maybe this will help you change yours, Miss Hart.”

Before I could move, before I could think, before I could react at all, he pressed the barrel of his rifle to the back of Chelsea’s head. A gunshot cut off her strangled scream, leaving dead silence in its wake.

Her blood stained the snow red, mixing with the yellow light and appearing an eerie shade of brown. With cold efficiency, the weedy guard dragged her body to the side of the street and spoke into a device clipped to his shoulder. “Cleanup requested, Street 8, Block B.”

“All clear, sir,” called another guard from inside the bunkhouse, as if nothing had happened. Their boots squeaked against the wet floor as they headed out the door, each one brushing me as they passed.