I stood frozen where I was, surprised. I wasn’t sure, but it felt as though Melanie had just given me a compliment.
“Move it,” Jared barked from the other room.
I hurried as fast as the darkness and my fear would allow.
When we returned, Jeb was waiting by the blue lamp; at his feet were two lumpy cylinders and two uneven rectangles. I hadn’t noticed them before. Perhaps he’d gone to get them while we were away.
“Are you sleeping here tonight or am I?” Jeb asked Jared in a casual tone.
Jared looked at the shapes by Jeb’s feet.
“I am,” he answered curtly. “And I only need one bedroll.”
Jeb raised a thick eyebrow.
“It’s not one of us, Jeb. You left this on me—so butt out.”
“She’s not an animal, either, kid. And you wouldn’t treat a dog this way.”
Jared didn’t answer. His teeth ground together.
“Never figured you for a cruel man,” Jeb said softly. But he picked up one of the cylinders, put his arm through a strap, and slung it over his shoulder, then stuffed one rectangle—a pillow—under his arm.
“Sorry, honey,” he said as he passed me, patting my shoulder.
“Cut that out!” Jared growled.
Jeb shrugged and ambled away. Before he was out of sight, I hurried to disappear into my cell; I hid in its darkest reaches, coiling myself into a tight ball that I hoped was too small to see.
Instead of lurking silently and invisibly in the outside tunnel, Jared spread his bedroll directly in front of the mouth of my prison. He plumped his pillow a few times, possibly trying to rub it in that he had one. He lay down on the mat and crossed his arms over his chest. That was the piece of him that I could see through the hole—just his crossed arms and half of his stomach.
His skin was that same dark gold tan that had haunted my dreams for the last half year. It was very strange to have that piece of my dream in solid reality not five feet from me. Surreal.
“You won’t be able to sneak past me,” he warned. His voice was softer than before—sleepy. “If you try…” He yawned. “I will kill you.”
I didn’t respond. The warning struck me as a bit of an insult. Why would I try to sneak past him? Where would I go? Into the hands of the barbarians out there waiting for me, all of them wishing that I would make exactly that kind of stupid attempt? Or, supposing I could somehow sneak past them, back out into the desert that had nearly baked me to death the last time I’d tried to cross it? I wondered what he thought me capable of. What plan did he think I was hatching to overthrow their little world? Did I really seem so powerful? Wasn’t it clear how pathetically defenseless I was?
I could tell when he was deeply asleep because he started twitching the way Melanie remembered he occasionally did. He only slept so restlessly when he was upset. I watched his fingers clench and unclench, and I wondered if he was dreaming that they were wrapped around my neck.
The days that followed—perhaps a week of them, it was impossible to keep track—were very quiet. Jared was like a silent wall between me and everything else in the world, good or bad. There was no sound but that of my own breathing, my own movements; there were no sights but the black cave around me, the circle of dull light, the familiar tray with the same rations, the brief, stolen glimpses of Jared; there were no touches but the pitted rocks against my skin; there were no tastes but the bitter water, the hard bread, the bland soup, the woody roots, over and over again.
It was a very strange combination: constant terror, persistent aching physical discomfort, and excruciating monotony. Of the three, the killer boredom was the hardest to take. My prison was a sensory-deprivation chamber.
Together, Melanie and I worried that we were going to go mad.
We both hear a voice in our head, she pointed out. That’s never a good sign.
We’re going to forget how to speak, I worried. How long has it been since anyone talked to us?
Four days ago you thanked Jeb for bringing us food, and he said you were welcome. Well, I think it was four days ago. Four long sleeps ago, at least. She seemed to sigh. Stop chewing your nails—it took me years to break that habit.
But the long, scratchy nails bothered me. I don’t really think we need to worry about bad habits in the long term.
Jared didn’t let Jeb bring food again. Instead, someone brought it to the end of the hall and Jared retrieved it. I got the same thing—bread, soup, and vegetables—twice every day. Sometimes there were extra things for Jared, packaged foods with brand names I recognized—Red Vines, Snickers, Pop-Tarts. I tried to imagine how the humans had gotten their hands on these delicacies.