In the End (Starbounders) (3 page)

Chapter Eight

Tank wraps me up like a straightjacket, his massive arms squeezing what little breath I have out of my already struggling lungs.
Is this the end?
Will he kill me right now, or after some other horror that I can’t even imagine?

Remember your training.
I can almost hear Kay’s voice telling me what to do.

I go limp so Tank thinks I’ve given up. He loosens his grip just enough for me to turn slightly sideways, raise my leg, and stomp the top of his foot. He didn’t expect it and jerks back in shock, leaving my right arm free. I turn and thrust my hand upward, my palm connecting with his nose.

“Ahhh.” He lets out a wounded animal’s wail, clutches his face, and staggers back against the wall. “You little bitch!” Blood pours from his nose; the little that is visible of his face is contorted with pain and rage.

By the time he drops his hands to look for me, I have my gun out, trained on him. Earlier I was bluffing when I pulled my gun. But now my fear controls me, and I know that I can take his life, even if I don’t want to. In this moment my desire to live trumps all.

I feel a hand on my shoulder. I grab it and duck down and back, twisting it, slamming whoever it is against the wall and then snapping the gun back on Tank before he’s taken more than a step toward me.

“Back!”
I scream.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” It’s Jacks, his voice muffled by the wall I have him pinned against.

Then I see Pete just down the corridor, mouth gaping, his shotgun aimed at me.

“Drop the gun!” I yell, my voice high-pitched and strained.

Tank moans and clutches his face again. “I think she broke my nose.”

Pete’s face shows his uncertainty. I can see he’s not used to making decisions.

I keep my voice low and even. “Shoot me, and my gun will go off and kill Tank. Plus, that’s a shotgun you’re holding. From there, the pattern will take out both me and this guy.” I pop my shoulder into Jacks’s back. I can’t see his face, but I can hear his jagged breathing.

“You’d end up alone in here with three bodies. Unless you miss, and I kill you.”

“Pete,” Jacks says, “put down the gun and get Tank out of here. Then go back to your post.” Pete hesitates, and looks from him to Tank.
“Now.”

Pete sets the shotgun at his feet and grabs a fistful of Tank’s sleeve. The two of them shuffle into the darkness, Tank glaring back at me over his shoulder.

“Okay,” Jacks says calmly once they’re gone. “Now can you let me go?”

“No.”

“Look, it’s just you and me here. I understand you’re scared. Someone must have really screwed you over. . . .” I stare at the back of his head and wonder why he doesn’t struggle. He’s strong, but he doesn’t even try to break my hold.

“I’m not scared.” My shaking voice betrays my lie. “I just don’t know if I should trust anyone, really . . . especially not doctors.”

“All right. I get it. Doctors can be dicks. Believe me, I know.” He tries to adjust his position, but I tighten my grip on his arm. “Okay, okay. Listen, I’m not a doctor, I’m a tattoo artist. I just help Doc out.”

“I don’t understand what a doctor would want with a tattoo artist. That doesn’t really make sense.”

“Hey, I’m in a lot of pain here. Kind of hard to make my case . . .”

I keep his arm pinned. “I’m looking for someone,” I say. “It’s important. If I get in, will you help me find him?”

“Release the death grip and I’ll think about it.”

I can’t hold him forever. “Fine.” I let him go, stepping back out of his reach in case he lunges at me. I holster my gun, glad to be done with it. If Jacks plans to fight me, I can use my Guardian training to take him. I’m grateful when he doesn’t move toward me at all. Instead he turns slowly to face me, then backs up against the wall, rubbing his shoulder. It takes him a moment to regain his composure.

“What now?” I ask.

“That’s up to you,” he says. “Look. I’m not going to tell you that Fort Black is one-hundred-percent safe and you never have to worry again.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“But,” he continues, “I guarantee that you can keep your weapons. Clearly, you can take care of yourself. These walls will keep the Floraes out. For most people that’s enough. I can see you’re not most people, though. Just remember, if you don’t want to be here, you don’t have to be here. You can leave. No one will force you to stay.”

“And Tank?”

He allows a small smile. “I think you’ve just proven he can’t stop you.”

I exhale slowly. “So what do I have to do, exactly, to get into Fort Black?”

“Doc just has to examine you.”

“No.”

Jacks holds up his right hand and puts the left on his heart. “I can vouch for Doc.”

“Yeah? And who will vouch for you?”

He drops his hands and shrugs. “You’ve got to trust someone at some point.”

I want to trust him, but I’m not sure yet. I need more time.

“Why does Doc have to examine me?”

“We’ve had an outbreak of the Pox.”

“The Pox?”

“You haven’t seen anyone with the Pox?” he asks, unbelieving.

I shake my head.

“Then you’re lucky. You must not have had much contact with other survivors.”

He looks at me again, as if he is trying to figure out a puzzle—not calculating, but curious. “We still have to test you to make sure. We also have to check you for bites.”

“Florae bites? Why?” Do they know? How could they? Only a few people in New Hope knew the truth.

“To make sure you’re not infected.”

“Infected?” I say densely.

Jacks cocks his head at me like he doesn’t know why I’m confused. But when he speaks his voice is kind. “We need to make sure that you’re not going to turn into a Florae.”

“And how,” I ask, my voice a little too high, “could I possibly turn into a Florae?”

I know I sound hysterical, but I can’t believe they know. It’s not possible, not after all I went through in New Hope to discover the truth myself. Not after all I was put through by Dr. Reynolds to make sure it remained buried.

“Amy, you’ve been out there a long time,” Jacks says slowly. “You must know what happens when a person is bitten by a Florae?”

My limbs feel heavy, all my adrenaline gone. “So you know that the Floraes are people?”

“Of course.” He frowns, looks at me, and shakes his head. “It’s not like it’s a secret.”

Chapter Nine

We walk back down the corridor to Doc’s office. Jacks motions me inside, pointing to the exam table. I sit on the edge and try to force myself to relax, but I can’t stop shifting.

“He’s just going to take some blood,” Jacks says from the doorway.

The sting of Tank’s attack is still fresh. How many people here are just like him?

My training will get me through a lot, but part of besting Tank had been him not expecting me to know how to fight. In his eyes I was just a girl, fresh meat. But now he knows what I can do. He seems like a dumb brute to me, but Jacks clearly thinks he’s dangerous.

Before I can ask Jacks more about Tank, Doc steps up and stands there in front of me with a small, tired smile. His face is lined and weathered, his salt-and-pepper hair cut military short. “Let’s just take your blood pressure for now.” He puts his hand on my wrist. “How old are you, Amy?”

“Seventeen.”

“And how long have you been on your own?”

“I don’t know. . . . I was hiding in a house. Why are you asking me?” I move to pull my arm away, but Doc holds my wrist firmly.

“Where did you come from?” he asks. “How have you survived this long alone?”

“What’s with the twenty questions, Doc?” Jacks asks from the doorway.

Doc drops my wrist, turning to glare at his assistant. “I was just trying to find out a little more about our mystery survivor,” he says in a measured voice. “Maybe she’s seen other colonies.” He turns back to me. “Have you? Been to any other survivors’ colonies?”

“No.” The lie is on my lips before I even knew why I’m saying it. My skin crawls at the thought of New Hope. “Are we almost done here?”

“I’ll just take a blood sample to test and give you a few shots to boost your immune system.” Doc looks at my arm, still sheathed in my synth-suit. “You’ll have to remove your clothing for the examination, anyway.”

I shake my head. “No.” I don’t like Doc. There is something about him that makes me uneasy, and I don’t want him touching me again.

“I’m afraid the blood test is nonnegotiable. You could carry any number of communicable diseases. You might even carry the Black Pox. If you don’t let me take a blood sample, you’ll have to leave.”

“No.”

“You’re not going to find your friend out there,” Jacks says, nodding at the outside. “Unless he’s a Florae.”

I pause, thinking, looking at Doc and Jacks. I know Jacks is right; there’s nothing left to do. “Fine,” I relent, pulling the superstretchy material of the synth-suit down over my shoulder and freeing my arm from it. “But this is it. No examination, no shots.”

As he takes my blood, the doctor keeps pressing. “I have to check you for bites or gashes that can be caused by a Florae—”

“Just test my blood,” I tell him. “I’m not infected.”

Doc frowns. “You don’t seem to understand.” He sighs, as though having to deal with me is making him very tired. “The bacteria lies dormant in the bloodstream until just a few moments before the infected begins to change. It can take up to twenty-four hours before the person shows the first signs of infection.”

“Then I’ll wait it out here.”

Doc opens his mouth to protest, but Jacks cuts him off. “I’ll watch her,” Jack says from the doorway. “I’m off work soon, and I’ll keep an eye on her till my next shift. If she doesn’t change within the next day, she’s not going to.”

Doc considers, softening as he looks at Jacks. Maybe my initial instincts were wrong about Doc.

“Okay. But if she starts to change, you have to give her the injection. . . . No hesitation.”

Jacks’s eyes flick to me before returning to Doc. “I’ll watch her,” he says. “You have my word.”

Doc has left us to have my blood tested, giving me one last, hard look before leaving the room.

“What’s in the injection?” I ask after a few minutes of silence. I scan the room for the syringe and find it resting on a metal tray on the counter across from me.

“Potassium chloride.” He pulls over a chair and sits between me and the syringe, but not too close to either. “If you start to change, I’ll have to give it to you,” he says. “It’ll stop your heart.”

I grin darkly. “Why don’t you just ask Tank to take care of it?”

“I wouldn’t want to give him the satisfaction.”

“So what’s his deal anyway?” I ask. “Are there a lot of guys like him in Fort Black?”

“Tank is . . . complicated.” Jacks looks away. “He may seem dumb, but he’s really good at manipulating people into doing what he wants.”

“Like his buddy Pete?” I ask.

“Exactly. Last year, a fourteen-year-old girl went missing. A rumor spread that she ran off, but then another girl vanished a few months later.”

“You think Tank . . . ?”

Jacks nods. “People die here, people leave, but we all try to keep track of the women.” He avoids catching my eye. “There aren’t a lot of you left.”

“I see.”

“After the third girl went missing, some of the men got together and led a lynch mob against Tank. Tank somehow got one of his cronies to take the blame.”

“Was there any proof?”

He shook his head. “There wasn’t any proof, no witnesses, but I’m sure Tank let that man pay for his crime. With one of the girls, Tank was stalking her for a while, showing up everywhere she went. She complained about it all the time, but her father couldn’t protect her. Then she just disappeared.”

“No one found her body? She could have just run away.”

He shakes his head. “She wasn’t the type. Tank got to her and hid the body. I don’t know how connected he was to the two other girls, but he eventually moved on to someone new. Became obsessed with her. If that’s not proof enough, he has a . . . prior record of abducting teen girls.” His voice sounds hollow and sad. “It’s why he was in prison.”

“What happened to the new girl he was bothering?”

“She died, but not by his hands. I know he would have tried eventually. There’s something not right with him.”

My stomach drops. “And now he’s taken a liking to me?”

“That’s why you need to be careful.” He sees the look on my face and quickly adds, “Hey, do you really want to be talking about this stuff right now?”

I swallow my dread and shrug. “What better way to kill time while you wait for me to change into a Florae?”

Suddenly there’s a commotion outside. A man pops his head in the door. “Jacks, we need you.”

Jacks looks at me uncertainly.

“Don’t worry, I won’t go all Florae on you.”

“Stay here. If you don’t, I won’t be able to help you if you run into someone like Tank.”

I nod as he rushes out. I hear more shouting. Footsteps running down the hall. Then nothing.

I sit up and slip off the exam table. Moving quietly to the door, I open it a crack. Doc’s voice is echoing down the hall. I inch the door open farther and look both ways, checking for Tank or any other guard. There’s no one around, the hall quiet except for the hum of the lights and the far-off commotion Jacks is dealing with. I close my eyes and try to make out what Doc is saying.

“. . . blood pressure normal . . . CBC normal . . .” Doc’s voice carries up the hall. “Now, which inoculation are we on?” he asks, then answers his own question: “F1T13.” He continues chatting away to himself. “Patient refused examination and all immunizations.”

He’s talking about me.

“I will try to convince her of the importance of having an up-to-date shot, then release her into Fort Black.” Doc continues to talk to himself, rattling off names of people who are due for an updated flu shot. Nothing sinister there, just a slightly loopy doctor going over his charts with himself.

I open the door wider and glance around the hallway. It looks clear, both ways, and I don’t hear anyone but Doc nearby. I step into the hall, closing the door with a barely audible click. Ken could be here, in these very rooms. This might be my last chance to explore unsupervised.

I make my way down the hall and try the first door I reach, but it’s another examination room. So are the second and the third. When I come to a set of stairs, I pause. Last time I did something like this was back in the lab in New Hope. My mother came to my rescue then, making sure I wasn’t discovered. Now there’s no one to rescue me.

I grab one of my knives from its sheath and hold it in front of me as I walk quickly up the stairs, my body pressed against the wall. The second-floor layout is the same as the first. I try the first door and see that it’s a file room, the musty air thick with dust. I slip inside and the lights snap on automatically, motion-activated. The sudden brightness makes me jump. After a quick scan, it’s clear there are only cabinets, a table, and some chairs strewn with files. I close the door quickly, hoping no one can see the light from outside.

I make my way to the first drawer and pull it open. The folders are alphabetized by last name, and when I look at the drawer I see it is marked
A
. With shaking hands, I yank open the
O
drawer, but his folder isn’t there. As I check more drawers and more folders, I realize these are files on the prisoners. I close the drawer and turn to leave, accidentally knocking into a chair piled high with papers.

My eyes immediately snap to the door and I hurry to hide under the table, waiting for someone to investigate the noise. I’m breathing too fast, my body tense.

After a few minutes my breathing slows as I realize no one is coming. I crawl out from under the table and am about to stand when I look down at the paper my hand is resting on. It’s a mug shot, and I recognize the face—Tank’s crony Pete.
Keller, Peter M.
was doing eight years for armed robbery. A handwritten note is scrawled across the top:
Highly malleable personality. Recommend for guard duty w. Lawson, Ellis H., a.k.a. Tank.

When I think of Tank, I clench the paper so tight, it crumples. I debate whether to take the time to look for his file. Maybe if I knew something about him, I could protect myself better in the future. I look quickly through folders on the floor. When I can’t find what I’m looking for, I move on to the folders on the chair and quickly shuffle through them, then move to the
L
file in the cabinet. His file isn’t there, either.

I hate that I’m spending time on this and am about to leave the room to continue my search for more clues on Ken when I hear a loud whistling coming toward me from the hallway. I shrink against the wall, but the whistler soon passes. I can hear his heavy footsteps head down the stairs.

Curious, I slip out of the room and follow him. I make my way to the top of the stairs and catch a glimpse of the man as he trudges down the steps. He’s tall, dressed in a suit, but wearing a Stetson hat and cowboy boots. When he hits the ground floor, the whistling stops and he disappears around the corner. I follow, slowly, keeping a distance between us. He vanishes into the room where Doc’s voice was coming from earlier. The door closes. I make a dash for my examination room, freezing when I hear my name spoken in a gruff, authoritative voice, then Doc’s slightly exhausted tone.

“That’s what she said. . . . I checked in for today and already gave my general report.”

“Did you sound the alert?”

“No. I wanted to tell you first. Should we detain her?”

“Let her in,” the gruff voice responds.

“You know I can’t do that. What about . . . ?” I don’t hear what Doc says because a noise behind me takes me by surprise.

I turn to find Jacks motioning to me from the hall outside the door to my holding room. He opens his mouth in shock, then wider, as if to shout an alarm.