Crazy House Page 14

  “Now tell me about the prison,” Nate said.

  The Kid shrugged. “The bucks was for my name,” he said. “What else you got?”

  Sighing, Nate searched his other pockets and came up empty. Except—he unzipped his inside jacket pocket and felt around—it was still there.

  “Here. This is all I have.” Nate held the wrapped condom out to the Kid.

  “Now we’re talkin’,” said the Kid, peering at the condom, reading the front and back of the foil package. “This is cool! This says I got a future, you know?”

  “The prison?” Nate pressed.

  “Heh,” said the Kid. “Even better. I’ll show ya.”

  The prison turned out to be a bunch of abandoned buildings surrounded by hills and sloping cliffs, a couple miles out of the cell. Nate lay his moped down, and he and the Kid dropped to their stomachs on a cliff.

  There were no lights, no signs of life.

  “How long ago was it abandoned?” Nate asked.

  “That’s the thing,” the Kid said knowingly. “We don’t do the prison no more—they closed it ’cause there ain’t much crime in the United. But just you wait.”

  “It’s dark,” Nate pointed out. “No one’s there.”

  “Nah, hang on,” said the Kid, his bright black eyes shining like a beetle’s. “There! Looka there!”

  It was over in an instant—but Nate had seen it. At least, he was pretty sure he had: a black cloth twitching aside, revealing a stripe of bright light at one of the windows. Just for a second. As Nate looked closer, he saw that instead of moonlit emptiness behind the glass windows, there was a matte blackness. The windows were all covered.

  “So who’s in there?” Nate asked.

  “Heh,” said the Kid. “Who knows? But just watch. Ya gotta wait.”

  Waiting gave Nate all too much time to think—about his father, his mother, Becca, Cassie, the cell…

  He was practically dozing off when the Kid gave him a sharp jab to the ribs.

  “Lookit!” the Kid whispered, dropping lower into the dirt.

  Two big trucks were approaching, sounding unnaturally loud in the dark night. Their headlights were dimmed, and they had no names or logos painted anywhere.

  As Nate watched, the trucks paused in front of tall metal gates topped with razor wire. The gates screeched open and the trucks drove through.

  “Was they construction trucks?” the Kid asked archly. “Didn’t look like it. Was they food trucks? Who they feedin’ in there? Mices? Rats?”

  “You’ve seen this before?” Nate asked. “And then the trucks leave?”

  The Kid nodded: he was the source of all knowledge. “They’ll leave in a couple hours.”

  “Have you ever seen anything else?”

  Shrugging, the Kid said, “Seen a van once, with tinted windas. Once I seen a black funeral car, like what the SAS uses.”

  Nate sat back, thinking. A secret prison in the middle of nowhere? Trucks bringing supplies? Call him crazy, but this seemed like an excellent spot to bring… disappeared kids.

  Now he just needed a plan to get in.

  69

  BECCA

  “OH, HELL, NO,” I SAID.

  Tim crossed his arms over his chest and glared at me. “Wasn’t my idea.”

  The click-click of the Strepp’s heels immediately put me on edge. Or, further on edge, I should say.

  “It was my idea, Rebecca,” she said coolly. “You’ve become one of our strongest fighters. Therefore you warrant more specialized training. As our best fighter, Tim is most suited to training you.”

  Nine snide retorts popped into my brain, but since I didn’t want to get slammed with a billy club, I kept my mouth shut.

  “You will do well, Rebecca,” said Ms. Strepp. It wasn’t a prediction or an encouragement. She didn’t need to say, “Or else.” It was understood. Giving us each a last look, she left us in the small, dank room.

  Last time I’d seen Tim, he’d mashed me against a wall for talking in line. And then given me an apple. I had no idea what to expect now.

  “Drop and give me thirty,” he said.

  For a second I considered dropping and giving him thirty one-fingered salutes, but again, not eager for a beating. Gritting my teeth, I got down on the ground and did thirty push-ups without a word.

  And that was how it went. Tim was as much of a slave driver as Strepp was, but he never used the nail board, and he hardly ever whacked me with the billy club. We did weights, cardio, sparring, kickboxing—you name it. If it was heinous and sweaty, we did it. And of course once I was exhausted and as limp as corn silk, I had regular classes with Strepp. This week we were focusing on astrophysics, like how to determine the phase of the moon by only knowing the time of its setting or rising on a certain date. It was so much less fun than it sounds.

  I was assigned a fight, as usual, and dreaded it, as usual. When I saw Tim was my opponent, my heart sank. I knew he wouldn’t show me any mercy, and I knew if I didn’t give it my all, I might be executed. Rock = hard place = death.

  The bell dinged and Tim and I circled each other, our gloves raised. What was Cassie thinking, watching me? Were they really drugging our food? It would make sense. If I were an evil overlord, I would—

  Wham! Tim’s first punch slammed into my shoulder and spun me backward. I caught my balance, jumped in the air, and barreled my fist down into his face. He made a gagging sound, and then blood rushed from his nose. I smiled. And Tim… kind of smiled back. Was he proud of his student?

  The first time I’d fought Tim it had been over within minutes and he’d annihilated me. This time was much worse because I was a much better fighter. The fight went on for a long, long time, and we damaged each other more—I actually heard one of his ribs crack at one point. He nearly dislocated my shoulder and fractured my instep.

  Finally I was so whipped that I didn’t jump out of the way quite fast enough when he landed a powerhouse punch to my head, and I went down. Out for the count and for several minutes afterward. I came to when someone waved ammonia under my nose, and as soon as I could stand they brought me to the pen.

  Because that’s what Strepp did. She made you fight, and then she locked you up together in a room barely big enough to sit down in.

  They opened the door and shoved me in. Tim was waiting, one eye swollen shut, bloody and sweaty with bruises and scrapes all over. I’d done a good job of beating the crap out of him.

  The guard slammed the door shut behind me, and I heard the lock click.

  Tim and I looked at each other.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  I nodded. “You?”

  Tim nodded. Then, without saying anything else, he grabbed me. As I looked up at him, startled, he angled his head and leaned down. When his mouth closed over mine I was too surprised to react, but within seconds my body was saying, Oh, yes.

  Rising on tiptoe, I wrapped my arms around him and kissed him back, harder. I felt his lip split again, tasted his blood. When his shoulder pressed against the goose egg on my head, I made a sound. When I squeezed his fractured rib too tightly, he made a sound. But other than that, Tim and I were very, very quiet, kissing each other as wildly and as hungrily as if we were food, real food.

  70

  CASSIE

  WATCHING MY SISTER FIGHT TIM had been horrible. As hard as it was to see her get hurt, it was even harder for me to see the deadly intent behind her eyes. I’d seen Becca happy, sleepy, sick, devious, defiant, and afraid, but I’d never seen her look like she wanted to actually kill someone. She truly was a different person now.

  Of course, I couldn’t point fingers. I was a different person, too. Since I’d gotten here, I’d discovered that being threatened all the time with beatings and torture was a surefire way of getting me to do my absolute best in anything—taking tests, working out, fighting other kids. I felt like Careful Cassie was dead, and would never come back.

  “Cassie?” It was one of the younger inmates, shyly tuggin
g on my jumpsuit.

  “Yeah?”

  “Can you show me that sticks game?” she asked. “The one I saw you playing before?”

  “Yeah, okay.” I started gathering up as many small straight twigs as I could. I mean, I was still Cassie. In some form.

  But even after a few weeks, it was still a surprise to see how different these kids were, not only from me, but from each other. Other cells had different childhood games, different schooling systems, and vocations I’d never heard of. At first all I’d wanted was to escape and go home. I still wanted to escape, but would I go back home? Pa was still there… as far as I knew.

  “Geez, you haven’t changed much since grade two, have you?” Becca’s cool voice made me look up.

  “I’m teaching Peanut how to play Pick-Up Sticks,” I said stiffly.

  “You do love to impart your wisdom.”

  “Look who’s talking, Queen Bee,” I said, “with your little gang of followers.” I glanced at a couple of the tough inmates Becca was hanging out with. “Does she have you fetching things for her yet? You like being a lapdog?”

  The girl’s face flushed angrily, and Becca’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you talk to her like that!” she snapped.

  I stood up. “Did I hurt your dog’s feelings?”

  The other kid lunged for me but Becca shoved her away. “You think you’re so great ’cause everyone likes you!”

  My eyebrows rose. “You want to think that last sentence through?”

  That was all it took. Becca’s lip curled in a snarl, and in the next second her fist came up and smashed me in the eye. But I’d learned a few things by now, and not only could I take it, but I could dish it out. I hooked my foot around her ankle and yanked, making Becca fall to the ground amid puffs of dust. Kids gathered around us, quickly dividing into two teams as Becca and I rolled on the ground, punching each other furiously.

  I was barely aware of guards arriving, but the first whack of a billy club against my leg made me pause, blood running from my nose.

  “You want to get tased?” a guard bellowed, and then the crowd parted for the Strepp, who was running toward us. Her face was white with anger and a strand of hair had escaped from her usually perfect bun.

  “Animals!” she yelled at us when she was close enough. Four guards had pulled us apart, but Becca and I were still trying to kick each other. Our jumpsuits were filthy, we were both bloody and bruised, and I could barely see out of my left eye.

  “You’re supposed to be sisters!” Strepp screamed. “How can you turn on each other like this?” Looking at a guard, she said, “Put them in the pen!” Glaring at us with disgust, she added, “Maybe that will teach you to get along!”

  71

  BECCA AND I STRUGGLED AGAINST being shoved into the tiny concrete room, but the guard managed to get us in and slam the door. We stood there panting and glaring at each other until the guard’s heavy footsteps pounded away down the hall.

  Then Becca gave me a slow, wide smile.

  I smiled back.

  We smacked our hands together in high fives, and then hugged.

  “It worked!” Becca said into my ear.

  “Yep!”

  That had been our plan, the one we’d thought out during our first time in the pen. This was the only place we could talk to each other without being spied on. At first we assumed we’d be signed up to fight each other again, but when that didn’t work, we’d moved on to phase two: fighting each other anyway.

  Quickly, in hushed whispers, we got each other caught up on what we’d been doing when we weren’t together. I’d been trying to track any kind of schedule, in case there was a time that we could possibly try to escape. Becca had been tracking guards and teachers, in case any of them seemed more sympathetic.

  The total sum of our knowledge was thin and depressing, and felt pointless.

  “Did you tell your roommates what we were doing?” I asked.

  Becca shook her head. “I’m being careful. You’re the only person I can really trust.”

  “Back atcha,” I said.

  “Oh, guess what!” Becca’s face was alight beneath the dirt and blood. “I made out with Tim!”

  “Wha…? Tim-the-Guard Tim?” I asked, amazed. “The one who knocked your tooth out? The one you just fought again?”

  My sister nodded, her eyes shining. “I don’t know what it meant, if anything,” she admitted. “But it was so hot.”

  “Might have been hotter if you hadn’t been covered with sweat and blood,” I mused, trying to wrap my head around this.

  “Did not stop us,” Becca said, grinning.

  “Ew. Well, I wish I had made out with Nate before I got kidnapped,” I said.

  Becca looked surprised. “Nate Allen, the Provost’s son?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. He helped me look for you a couple times. Took me to the Outsider hangout,” I reminded her. “I don’t know. I miss him.”

  “Huh,” Becca said. “You and the Provost’s son.”

  “You and the prison guard,” I countered.

  “Did you tell Nate how you felt?” she asked.

  “No. I mean, I shot his radio with Pa’s gun.”

  “You flirty vixen, you,” Becca said drily. “If that didn’t win him over, then he’s unwinnable. Anyway—enough about them. Let’s talk about us. You’ve seen the dragonflies around here?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “A couple times. Why?”

  “It occurred to me,” Becca said. “If dragonflies can get into this place…”

  “Then we can get out,” I finished. “That’s what we need to focus on next: figuring out how they got in.”

  And we put our heads together and started to plan.

  72

  NATHANIEL

  NATE DIDN’T KNOW IF THIS prison was where they took the disappeared kids. But with no other leads, he had to take a chance. The Kid had been right; last night, after a couple of hours, the trucks had driven away. Nate had slept on the hill, but there had been no other activity at the abandoned-looking buildings.

  “Do the trucks come every night?” he asked the Kid.

  The Kid positioned a blade of grass against his thumbs and tried to whistle with it, unsuccessfully. “Don’t know, do I? Ya think I’m out here every night? I gotta sleep sometimes.”

  “How come you’re not in school?”

  The Kid shot him a look of irritation. “’Cause it’s a holiday, duh! Geez, you’re a moron, ain’t cha?”

  Nate thought back, adding days to his mental calendar. “There’s no holiday right now,” he said.

  Now the Kid openly sneered at him. “Oh, yeah? When do you guys get off for Bauxite Day?”

  “We don’t,” Nate told him. “We don’t celebrate Bauxite Day. Our cell is mostly farming. So we get, like, the Harvest Festival in the fall.”

  For a second, the Kid’s armor of toughness fell away, and he was just a regular kid, amazed by something he hadn’t known before. “Huh,” he said, looking much younger than his eleven years. Then he came back to himself, and the small, pinched face hardened.

  “It’ll be dark again soon,” Nate said. “I’m going to try to get inside the prison tonight.”

  The Kid laughed. “Sure you are! You can just mosey on up—”

  “I’m gonna get closer, and when the trucks stop at the gates, I’ll climb underneath one. I saw last night—they just got waved through. No one checked anything.”

  The Kid’s black eyes narrowed. “You magnetic? How you gonna stick up under a truck?”

  “There’s pipes and axles and big bolts and stuff to hold on to,” Nate explained patiently. “We used to do it for fun under big dump trucks at home.”

  The Kid looked unconvinced, but said, “I’m goin’ with ya.”

  “No.” Nate shook his head firmly. “This is my deal—I think they have my friends. You can’t get mixed up in this.”

  “Well, screw you!” the Kid shouted, jumping to his feet. “I showed you everythin’! And th
is is how you treat me! You go jump down a mine shaft, asshole!” He raced down the hill, not looking back. Nate sighed, rubbed his eyes, and started scouting a place closer to the prison road where he could hide.

  73

  THE DEEP, SLOW RUMBLE OF the trucks made Nate blink, then quickly sit up. He’d almost fallen asleep! The trucks were hours later than they’d been last night. But they were coming, their headlights showing dust, insects, and the broken, potholed road that led to the chain-link fence.

  With his stomach grazing the ground, Nate crawled closer as fast as he could. A large rock stuck up about twenty yards from the gates; by angling himself exactly, Nate couldn’t be seen if the guard glanced over.

  At least, he hoped he couldn’t. This time two days ago, he’d been taking out the trash. Now he was about to break into a mysterious prison. When had his life gone sideways?

  The trucks lumbered to a squeaking stop at the gates, and like before, it was a few minutes until a light clicked on and an armed guard came out.

  Now! While the driver was showing his papers to the guard, Nate sprang forward, running hunched over and staying in the deepest shadows. He flung himself between the big wheels and immediately grabbed the truck’s chassis. Wedging his feet against an indentation, Nate clung tightly, sweat breaking out on his forehead.

  A slight scuffle to his right electrified his muscles and he stared wildly into the darkness—just in time to see the Kid scramble beneath the truck.

  The truck’s engine revved as the Kid peered upward, searching for something to hold on to. Nate wanted to yell at him, or at least hiss instructions, but he couldn’t make a sound. Instead he jerked his head quickly toward another bar of the frame.

  The Kid frowned, reaching up one hesitant hand as the truck rolled forward.

  Nate’s eyes almost popped out of his head—this weird little guy was about to be crushed beneath the wheels! The Kid hesitated another second, and Nate let go of one hand to point with frantic silence toward the bar.