The Prey (13 page)

The fingers that clamp across Hope's mouth smell of dirt. Her eyes snap open and she struggles for breath. Her hands go up to her assailant's wrist, but stop when
she feels the knife blade kissing her neck.

“I wouldn't if I were you,” comes the voice.

Hope lies still. Red-haired Athena is crouched over her, stifling Hope's mouth with one hand, holding a knife in the other. Behind her stand four other girls, their silhouettes edged by moonlight.

“Don't make a sound,” Athena whispers. “Okay?”

Hope nods. Fear races through her body.

“Get up.”

Hope casts her thin blanket aside and stands. Her eyes land on a sleeping Faith. Athena seems to read her mind.

“Just you.”

Hope nods in relief. Whatever kind of punishment they have in mind, it's better if they leave Faith out of it. How much more can her sister take?

Athena leads Hope to the back of the barracks. They reach the latrine, but instead of entering, Athena motions to the door on the other side of the hall—one that leads to a closet housing a hot water heater.

“In there,” Athena instructs.

To Hope's surprise, there is light in the small closet—coming from the floor. Warm candlelight emanates from behind the rusted water heater. Hope turns sideways until her entire body is in the tiny chamber. That's when she sees a narrow, gaping hole.

“Keep going,” Athena says.

Hope casts a glance into the burial chamber.
So this is where they imprison girls who don't play along,
she thinks.
Fine. I survived those years in a cave; I can survive this.

She grips a ladder's rungs and descends into the hole. She lets go once her feet make contact with the hard-packed earth . . .

. . . and can't believe her eyes.

It isn't a dungeon at all, but a long, narrow tunnel, ablaze with candlelight. It's no more than three feet wide, slightly more in height, and the sagging beams that support the archways are broomsticks and branches, even furniture. A table leg here, a desktop there. It's entirely primitive and horribly claustrophobic . . . but it's a tunnel. Right beneath Barracks B.

Athena and the other girls are crouched alongside her.

“Well?” Athena asks.

“It's a tunnel,” Hope manages. It would be too much to say the girls smile, but they come as close to it as possible. “This is what you've been keeping a secret?”

“That's right.”

“So why . . .”

“We had to know we could trust you.” Athena casts a glance at her sister. “Apparently, that's no longer an issue.”

Helen blushes.

Suddenly, things click in Hope's brain. “So that day behind the barn, Helen wasn't looking through the dirt, she was
depositing
it.”

“That's the tricky part. We dig up all this dirt and have to get rid of it without the Brown Shirts noticing. Sometimes in the gardens, sometimes on the infield . . .”

“And sometimes behind the barn,” Hope finishes.

Athena nods.

“That's why I couldn't tell you what I was doing,” Helen blurts out.

“I understand,” Hope says, trying to ease the frail girl's pain. Then she turns back to Athena. “How long've you been working on it?”

“Nearly a year. Scylla here's in charge of the engineering.”

Scylla is the silent, muscular stub of a girl who'd pinned Hope's arms behind her back. She nods, her grim expression intact.

“When do you dig?”

“At night,” Athena says. “Three-hour shifts.”

Hope begins piecing it all together, the metallic sounds she's been hearing. “And the lookouts by the latrine . . .”

“Are to let the diggers know if any Brown Shirts make a sudden appearance.”

“How long before it's finished?”

Athena looks to Scylla, who makes a series of hand
gestures. Athena translates. “We've dug about a hundred yards, but to be safe, we need to do about twenty more. So maybe another month or two.”

Hope thinks of her latest bout with whatever disease she was injected with. She isn't convinced Faith can last another two months—maybe not even two weeks.

“Who knows about this?”

“Just the Sisters of Barracks B. No one else.”

“The
Sisters
?”

“That's what we call ourselves. Because that's what we are. Sisters.” She gives a glance to the others. They return her look with affection.

“You don't trust anyone else?” Hope asks.

“Not enough to put the entire operation at risk.”

Hope remembers the girl in the infirmary, the one with the eye patch. She had it wrong when she said that Barracks B didn't trust each other. They trust each other just fine; it's the rest of Camp Freedom they aren't so sure about.

“So why'd you bring me down here?” Hope asks.

Athena gives the other Sisters a long, hard look. “Because we want to know something.” She hesitates. “Are you in?”

Hope studies their faces. “Are you asking me to help you dig your tunnel?”

“That's right.”

“After the way you've treated me and my sister?”

“Yes.”

“After beating me within an inch of my life?”

“Yup.”

“How soon can I start?”

Athena actually smiles.

I
WOKE WITH A
start, my sleep interrupted by a sudden pounding. Lurching to a sitting position, I needed a moment to get my bearings. Hayloft. Camp Freedom. Early morning.

The pounding I'd heard was rain slamming against the barn roof. A spring storm. My heart rate slowed to something resembling normal.

Peeking through the barn's slats, I saw that Camp Freedom was still pretty much asleep. If I hurried, I could forage for food down below. There had to be some carrots or old apples or something I could steal from the livestock.

I shimmied down the ladder and began poking through the animal stalls, examining anything that
looked remotely edible. My pockets were nearly full when I heard voices. Male voices. From inside the barn. I pressed myself behind a large cow and prayed for invisibility. I could've kicked myself for not staying hidden in the safety of the hay bales.

“. . . resolution to the question of the Less Thans,” one of the voices said.

“Who says we need one?” the other responded.

“The Eagle's Nest.”

“The chancellor?”

“Who else?”

There was an urgency to the conversation that grabbed my attention—that made me want to hear their words more clearly.

The stall planks were old and rotting and it was easy enough to find a knothole to peek through. There stood two men, facing the barn entrance, their backs to me. One was heavyset and wore a black suit. He dabbed a soiled hanky at the corners of his eyes. The other wore a soldier's uniform and, judging by the stripes on his sleeve, was a colonel. Possibly the camp overseer—Camp Freedom's version of Colonel Westbrook. In his hand, hanging limply by his side, was what appeared to be a letter.

“When did you get this?” the heavyset man asked.

“Just today.”

“And you mean to follow it?”

“What choice do we have?”

The rain started coming down harder—in sheets—pounding the tin roof and making it impossible to hear. I realized if I wanted to hear more, I'd have to get closer. A wildly stupid idea.

I inched forward.

I whipped around the planking and eased into the next stall. And then the one after that. With each move I half expected to spy a guard with a semiautomatic.

“. . . letter saying what I think it's saying?” the heavy man asked, dabbing his eye.

“No trace.”

“Of what?”

“Everything. And everyone.”

“But my research—Dr. Samadi's research . . .”

“Still needs to be completed.”

The heavy man sighed. “And the girls?”

“Same as the Less Thans. Eliminated. Up to us, of course, as to how, but the important thing is we're thorough.”

“Leave no trace?”

“Leave no trace.”

The rain let up as quickly as it began, leaving in its wake gurgling gutters and dripping eaves.

“We can talk more about this in my office,” the overseer said, and their footsteps splashed through the mud as they exited the barn.

For the longest time I remained pressed against the stall, my knees wobbly. A million questions raced through my mind. Who was this chancellor they were talking about? Why were they looking for a “resolution to the question of the Less Thans”?

And worst of all: did “eliminated” really mean what I thought it meant?

I edged my way to the barn door and stared at the camp. Just past the barbed wire fence glinting with rain, scores of female prisoners shuffled through the mud. They had absolutely no idea what was in store for them.

And I was the only one who did. Leaving a note was no longer enough. Hope had to know about this conversation. I had to tell her in person.

What I was thinking was crazy—downright suicidal. I was going to break into a prison camp. Not
out of
, but
into
.

Had I suddenly lost my mind?

H
OPE FEELS A HAND
on her shoulder, and in the drowsiness of dreams she imagines it's the hand of Book. He has come to wake her, to jostle her from sleep, to join her even. Her body quivers at the thought.

But when she opens her eyes, it's Scylla she sees. Grim Scylla. Gesturing that it's time for her shift. Hope nods gruffly and sits up.

On the cot next to her, Faith sleeps soundly. Hope doesn't bother to wake her. Maybe it's the shock at how thin her sister has gotten—her arms aren't much thicker than twigs and her eyes have sunken into her face.

In any case,
Let her sleep,
Hope thinks, tucking the blanket beneath Faith's chin.

She tiptoes through the maze of sleeping girls, her
footsteps drowned out by pounding rain.

“All quiet?” Hope asks Helen, who stands watch.

Helen doesn't say a word; she just gives a tight-lipped smile and drops her eyes. Scylla, too, seems in a bigger hurry than usual.

What's going on?
Hope wonders. She can't understand it.

She steps into the closet and descends into the tunnel. The rumble of the thunderstorm is replaced with the clinking of digging. Other sounds too. The
whoosh
of arrows rushing down the length of the tunnel. The Sisters have constructed a number of primitive crossbows and practice when they can. They're not half bad.

But when Hope steps onto the tunnel floor, everything comes to a dead stop.

“What's happening?” she asks.

Red-haired Athena steps forward, her face rigid. “This. This is what's happening,” she says, her eyes motioning behind her.

There sits the Less Than named Book, his hands tied behind his back.

Hope's heart gives a lurch. On the one hand, she's happy to see him—she hasn't stopped thinking about him since the day they met. Her dream was proof of that. But at the same time, she can't figure it out. Why is he here? Why is he
tied up
?

“We found him snooping behind the mess hall,”
Athena says. “Said he needed to speak to you.”

Hope feels the blood rushing up her neck. Athena goes on.

“Thank God we're the ones who found him and not the Brown Shirts.” Athena's eyes narrow. “You know him?”

“I met him once, yeah.”

“And you talked to him?”

“That's right.”

“Where?”

“In the barn.”

“And you didn't tell us?”

Hope tries to give a casual shrug, realizing her fellow Sisters are eyeing her with outright suspicion. Here she's finally worked her way into their good graces and now Book has made a mess of it.

“What's to tell?” Hope says. “He wanted to know how to get out of the territory and I told him.”

Athena runs her hand impatiently through her hair. “And you didn't think that was worth sharing?”

“You weren't speaking to me, remember?”

“But later? When we showed you the tunnel?”

“Guess I forgot to mention it.”

“Yeah, I guess you did.”

Athena stares at Hope. Hope stares back. Finally, the red-haired leader turns to Book. “How'd you get in?”

“There's a small opening,” he says. “In the fence. I
noticed it the first time I was here.”

“Why'd you come back?”

“I was going to leave a note for Hope.”

“A note, huh?”

“Check my pocket if you don't believe me.”

Athena nods to Scylla and the muscular girl fishes a slip of paper out of his front pocket. She hands it to Athena, who reads it aloud.

“‘Headed to Brown Forest. See you there? Book.'”

All eyes turn to Hope. She tries to will away the flush creeping up her face.

“So you and Hope are pretty chummy,” Athena says. Book doesn't respond. “Are you alone?”

“There're eight of us. We escaped from Camp Liberty.”

The tunnel goes suddenly silent. All they can hear is the steady
drip drip
of water from the ceiling.

“Where are they now?”

“On their way to the next territory. I'm going to catch up with them.”

Athena waves the note in his face. “And this? Why didn't you just leave it in the barn?”

“I was going to. . . .”

“But?”

“I overheard something—a conversation. I needed to tell Hope.”

“Okay—here she is. Tell her.”

“Alone.”

Athena's jaw goes rigid. “You tell it to everyone or you tell it to no one.”

Book gives an appealing look to Hope, but Hope just looks away. If he's hoping she'll stand up for him, she can't do it. Not under these circumstances. Not with her Sisters already thinking she's some kind of traitor.