Crazy House Page 10

  What had just happened to me? My world was turned on its head. Even without Ma, even without Pa, and yes, even without Becca, I’d still had me. I’d still had school. I’d still had my vocation. I’d had a future, a life. Now what did I have?

  This mother-lovin’ moped and an old, broken-down farmhouse. A dying farm that was too much for me to keep up. I couldn’t harvest what little crops we had all by myself. Did I even have friends? Would Steph’s parents forbid her to see me—one of the disgraced Greenfields? Everything was crazy!

  As I drove by our nearest neighbors’ house, my eye caught something black and shiny. The System-Assisted Suicide van. Mr. Preston had retired recently—the system always contacted retirees about making their retirement permanent.

  You know who else they contacted? People who had no vocation. Maybe not today, but soon I would be getting a visit from a facilitator, someone who would pat my hand sympathetically and listen to all my woes. And then, at a lull in the conversation, their eyes full of understanding, they would murmur something about other options. About making way so a new life could be born.

  Our house seemed twice as shabby as it had this morning, and I gritted my teeth as I slammed the door so hard I almost broke the glass. In the kitchen I stared into the almost empty fridge—I hadn’t been to work at the All-Ways in days and there was damn little to eat. I was probably fired.

  What had happened to me? I was Cassie Greenfield, candidate for a President’s Star! I’d been my class representative three times!

  Upstairs I stomped past Pa’s closed door and Becca’s closed door. Then I threw myself on my bed, waiting for the major tears to come, knowing that they wouldn’t end for a long while.

  But they didn’t come. Not even my tears knew what to do anymore.

  On my bed, I closed my eyes in case this was all a bad dream. Maybe even Ma and Pa had been just a bad dream. Maybe I would wake up and hear Ma making breakfast downstairs, hear Pa getting ready to head out to the fields. Hear Becca’s horrible singing in the shower.

  I popped my eyes open hopefully and listened.

  All I heard was the wind making branches scrape against my window. My fingers gripped my quilt. This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t be my life.

  I watched the sky outside turn gray, then red, then black. My stomach rumbled but it didn’t matter. While I’d been lying there, it had come to me: What I should do. What I had to do. What was my only option, at this point.

  Downstairs, I got Pa’s rifle and loaded it.

  48

  BECCA

  “ROBIN WELLFLEET,” I WHISPERED. “SHE was the best.”

  “She helped us,” Merry whispered.

  “She was good to everyone,” Diego added.

  “We will never forget her,” Vijay finished, and we all bumped fists. As long as I was alive, Robin Wellfleet would not be forgotten.

  “Becca Greenfield!”

  “What is it now?” I asked the guards as they cuffed my wrists. “More tests? More workouts?”

  “Fight,” one of the guards grunted, and poked me in the back with her billy club. I hadn’t fought anyone since Tim. My innards were nowhere near healed from my miscarriage, but that didn’t matter to anyone except me.

  “Prisoners, report to the stadium!” Ms. Strepp’s voice crackled through the ancient comm system, making everyone wince. “Report to the stadium!”

  Inside the now-familiar halls, I glanced up: no Hope. Get it? No Hope? Ha!

  When we got to the stadium the guards pushed me toward the ring. As soon as the helpers approached with my armor, I quickly shimmied out of my jumpsuit. I was learning.

  Then my armor was on, the crowd filed in, and I slowly climbed the steps to the outside ropes.

  If my opponent was Tim again, I was gonna lose another tooth, or have bones broken. But all I had to do was get through this. An hour from now this would just be a sucky memory.

  When I saw my opponent, my heart sank. Oh, no.

  It was Little Bit, one of the smallest, youngest kids here. I didn’t know her real name—maybe no one did. I had a good eight inches on her, and maybe thirty pounds. She was wearing her jumpsuit under her armor.

  This was going to be a bloodbath.

  The hateful Strepp climbed through the ropes and motioned us to meet in the center of the ring.

  “You know what you have to do,” she said.

  Little Bit nodded, fear in her dark eyes.

  Strepp’s eyes lingered on me. “Do not disappoint me, Becca.” Her tone was soft, but her meaning was icy. I gave a brief nod. If I didn’t make this good, my time was up.

  Then she left the ring, and Little Bit and I went to our corners.

  Ding!

  Little Bit didn’t have a chance. She was brand-new and her inner rage had not yet ignited. She was well behind me in the roiling, seething resentment department. My very first punch clocked her, but she got up after the six-count. Ten seconds later she almost managed to hit my side, but I snapped my foot out and cracked her knee, making it buckle. She was down again.

  This time when she got up, there was fire in her eyes. She came at me like a tumbleweed, bouncing and spinning across the canvas. She got in a not-shabby jab to my kidney, but I whirled and slammed my glove against her head. Her eyebrow split open, and within moments blood streamed down her face.

  I circled and grabbed her jumpsuit, yanking on it the way Tim had done to me. Little Bit let out a whimper as the seams dug into her skin beneath her armor.

  Between the blood and the pain, Little Bit’s swings became wilder, made contact less. It was easy to skip away from her poorly aimed kicks.

  Leaping in back of her, I smashed the same knee. It buckled again, she went down again. This time my fist followed her down, the blow landing solidly on her shoulder. She cried out in pain.

  All of my pain was gone. My insides didn’t hurt, my empty tooth socket didn’t ache. All I felt was victory, reaching out to fold me into its embrace.

  Little Bit staggered to her feet.

  “I’m really sorry about this,” I murmured, and put everything I had into my uppercut. It slammed her head back, her eyes fluttered, and then she dropped like a sack of wheat.

  The crowd didn’t clap. I would have been pissed if they had. Instead I stood panting as Strepp climbed through the ropes again. I started to think about being in the pen with Little Bit, how I would apologize.

  Ms. Strepp picked up one of Little Bit’s limp hands. “I declare this girl the winner!” she said.

  For a moment I was stunned, speechless. But just for a moment. “Are you nuts?” I screamed. “Did you not see that fight? Are you a complete idiot?”

  An awed silence swept the stadium, but I was too far gone to recognize it as a warning. Instead I hauled back my bloodied glove and aimed a powerhouse punch right at the woman I hated more than anyone.

  Strepp was quicker than she looked, and she bobbed to the side. I missed, my glove whistling past her ear. The crowd gasped.

  Two high spots of color appeared on Strepp’s cheeks. Looking at her, I saw the knowledge in her eyes. I had just signed my death warrant.

  End of game.

  End of Becca.

  49

  CASSIE

  THE NIGHT AIR WAS STILL and chilly. My moped was almost silent as I took the route out to the ring road. From here, the boundary road was six miles away. It would have been faster to cut across the cell, but there were fewer people on the ring road, and it was darker.

  When I got to the gateposts, I barely hesitated—just putt-putted through as if I’d been coming and going my whole life. I could have cut the fence farther away and walked through, like I had with Nathaniel, but didn’t want to take the time. Right now it didn’t matter if anyone spotted me. It was too late for them to do anything.

  Nathaniel. I hadn’t talked to him—hadn’t seen him at school during the eight minutes I was there this morning. By now he must know that I’d been expelled and had no vocation, no
future. If he was the old Nathaniel, he would sneer at me in the street. What would the new Nathaniel do? I might never know.

  Last night I hadn’t noticed how far out the truck was on the road. It seemed like I should have reached it by now, and I started to worry that my last link to Becca had been taken. Five more minutes, I told myself. If I don’t see it by then, well, I guess I’ll just stop anyway.

  Then it was there, a shape in the darkness. You could hardly tell that it was red.

  I pulled up next to it and opened the driver’s side door for the last time. I would never see this truck again. I would never be out here again. Hot tears, the tears that hadn’t come before, streaked through the dust on my cheeks.

  I loved this truck so much. For a moment I let myself drift back in time, seeing Pa behind the steering wheel, the sunlight flashing across his suntanned skin. When we were little, when Ma was happy, we’d gone on picnics in this truck. If the ground was too wet or muddy, we sat in the truck bed, our picnic blanket spread there instead.

  I’d had a family once. I’d been happy. It felt like a very long time ago. Now I was seventeen and my life was over. No family, no high school diploma, no vocation. My other option—to find someone to marry me—had just taken a nosedive. Who would get involved with the last of the notorious Greenfields?

  The sky above me was a deep, deep navy and sprinkled with so many stars that I and my problems suddenly seemed tiny. Maybe when we die, we become stars. Maybe Ma was a star up there, winking down at me. Maybe Becca was.

  Maybe it was time to join them.

  I had Pa’s rifle, after all. But I couldn’t flub the job, like Pa had. I couldn’t end up like him. I’d have to do a better job of aiming, is all.

  The wind began to kick up then, blowing fine, silty sand against me. I had no idea wind could make so much noise—was there a storm coming? The sky was clear.

  With my very next blink, the world around me exploded into light so bright that I couldn’t see a thing.

  “Cassie Greenfield!” a voice thundered. “Put down the rifle and put your hands up!”

  Oh, hell no, I thought, and leaped for the moped, throwing my leg over the saddle and grabbing the handlebars. By touch alone I jammed it into life, gunned its tiny motor, and raced away.

  50

  BECCA

  “PRISONERS! REPORT TO THE RING! Report to the ring!”

  Diego, Merry, and Vijay all looked at me with sympathy. Half an hour ago, I’d actually taken a swing at Strepp. I’d screamed at her in public, had called her an idiot. We all knew what was coming.

  “Been great knowing you,” I said, trying to sound normalish.

  “Oh, Becca!” Merry said, starting to cry.

  I attempted a brave smile, but inside I was shrieking. “It was only a matter of time,” I said. “There was no way I could keep my mouth shut much longer.”

  Both Diego and Vijay had tears in their eyes.

  “I can tell you one thing I won’t miss,” I said. “I know damn well Diego won’t be stinking up heaven!”

  My roommates did smile a tiny bit then.

  “Or hell, whatever,” I went on. “Either one. Actually, if it’s hell, then I’m sure there’ll only be the one john, and that Diego will be with me.”

  That reaped a few small chuckles.

  “That will be my eternity. Me, Diego, and a toilet.” I was almost laughing myself now, and my roommates looked much better.

  The jail block alarm sounded, and all of our barred doors slid open at the same time. Prisoners streamed out of their rooms and headed toward the stairway. Guards stood around, clubs and Tasers at the ready.

  “Weird,” I muttered as we filed out into the crowd. “Usually they would have come for me first. I guess they’ll just pull me out when we get to the ring.”

  Merry linked her arm in mine.

  My throat closed then, and my eyes got hot. My one regret? Cassie. I would never see Careful Cassie again. I’d never steal her clothes or her truck again. I’d never sneak so much sugar into her coffee that she spit it out into the sink. I’d never belt out songs in the shower, extra loud because I knew it made her crazy.

  I was about to die. I was glad I knew why—because I’d mouthed off to my jailer. I’d taken a swing at an enemy. It was so much better than not ever knowing, like Robin.

  Ma, I miss you. I’ve always missed you.

  Pa, I wish I’d said good-bye. Even if you couldn’t hear me.

  Cassie, I’m sorry. You know I love you. I’ll miss you forever. You were always my favorite sister.

  In the stadium I headed toward a guard, expecting him to grab me and haul me up onto the canvas, where a gurney was waiting.

  “Sit down!” he yelled at me, and pointed to the bleachers with his club.

  Diego, Merry, Vijay, and I exchanged puzzled looks, but I sat with them on the bench.

  The lights dimmed and Strepp ducked through the ropes of the ring. Two assistants were there, checking the monitors and the IV machine. I sat on the edge of my bench, heart pounding and mouth dry, waiting to be called. I hoped I could die without crying. I would try hard.

  Then… a guard brought Little Bit up to the ring! They’d wiped most of the blood off her brow, and the split was held together with a butterfly bandage. Even from here I could see the bruises I’d given her, could see how she limped from where I’d smashed her knee.

  Until the assistant helped her up on the gurney and started to lock her in, I had no idea what was going on. No idea if she was there just to watch me die. But there was only one gurney on the canvas, and Little Bit was on it.

  She was being executed.

  I was going to live. At least for now.

  Little Bit started crying when they hooked up the IV.

  When the bright green blips on the monitor slowed and then flattened out, when Little Bit’s bruised face went slack, her eyes still open a slit, that was when it felt like someone had buried an axe in my chest.

  It had been bad—really goddamn bad—when Robin died.

  But I hadn’t killed her. She hadn’t died because I’d beaten her in a fight.

  I didn’t look away, forced myself to acknowledge the small, hard life that I’d helped to take. And damn if it didn’t seem like Strepp was searching the crowd until her gaze caught mine. And damn if she didn’t smile at me, just a tiny bit.

  51

  CASSIE

  ONCE THE LIGHT WASN’T IN my eyes, I could see where I was going. I had no idea who was after me, or how many of them there were. Taking a gamble that my moped was nimbler than whatever they had, I suddenly veered off road and headed out into the hard-packed wasteland that lay behind the trees.

  It was dark out here, and I kept my headlight off. Motors revved behind me and then bright, arcing lights swept the scene. A sudden, shallow gully caught me off guard: the moped skidded, I braced myself with one foot, and then tore down the gully. It was too narrow for a car, too narrow for a truck. No idea where it led. Didn’t care much.

  Of course, even gunned, the moped went—say it with me—twelve miles an hour. It took barely moments before a dark, non-electric car was roaring along on one side of the gully and a jacked-up all-wheeler was spewing dirt on the other side. Their headlights bounced as the vehicles crossed the rough terrain. I crouched over my handlebars, trying to stay out of the raking searchlights.

  I just barely saw the fork to the left and wrenched my handlebars over without thinking. This wasn’t a gully; it was a deep, rough ditch, ridged with old roots from the trees that had reached this far. Time seemed to slow as the car, still heading straight, hovered right over my head. I saw the axle and the transmission column, and then there was a loud, metallic crunch as it plowed head-on into the far side of the ditch.

  That was lucky, I thought, and winced as I hit another big root.

  The all-wheeler had been on the other side of the gully, but it must have nosed down one side and up the other because it soon took the car’s place, easily
pacing me despite hitting tumbleweeds and having to avoid big rocks.

  Praying for another unexpected fork, I gripped the handlebars as hard as I could. Roots twisted my front wheel left and right, and more than once I almost ran into the high, dirt sides.

  “Cassie Greenfield! Stop your vehicle!”

  I ignored them, tensely trying to see what lay ahead of me. They knew exactly where I was—might as well use the headlight. With my thumb I hit the switch, and the anemic, diffused beam told me my battery was getting low. Crap.

  Then it was there ahead of me, only feet away. There was no time to stop, nowhere to turn, and I slammed tire-first into the old, gnarled tree trunk. My moped crumpled against it like tinfoil, and I watched almost calmly as my body flew slowly through the air and hit the ground so hard the wind was knocked out of me. Pa’s rifle was beneath me and my spine cracked against it as I slid in the dirt.

  The world lit up again: the all-wheeler was right on top of me. Its driver saw me at the last second and stood on the brakes, making the vehicle skew sideways and missing me by less than three inches. I heard swearing and tried to suck in air, tried to stagger to my feet, prepared to run.

  “Stop right there!” a voice shouted.

  I raised Pa’s rifle and found my voice. “I have a gun!” I wheezed.

  Several figures passed through the high beams. They were circling me.

  “I have a gun!” I yelled again, more strongly, and set the rifle to my shoulder.

  In one short day I had gone from a President’s Star hopeful to… what? A murderer? Was I really threatening to shoot another person?

  I tipped the front sight up a bit and fired into the air, knowing the bullet would whistle over their heads.

  Crack!

  Something plowed into my chest, sending a starburst of pain radiating through me. After a moment of wavering I fell backward, the night sky losing its stars as my consciousness melted away.

  I couldn’t breathe. Lying on the ground, I blinked, the world narrowing to a pinpoint above me. The last few stars twinkled, seeming to move, almost seeming alive. Just as the final black curtain was drawn over my face, I saw the stars align… into a dragonfly. A diamond dragonfly in the sky.