“Yes,” I say quickly. “Not biological, though. I found her after everyone else died. She was a toddler, wandering around in a supermarket. But we’re very close. We may as well be sisters.”
Jacks is quiet for a moment. I can’t read the look on his face.
“So you let yourself get attached to someone weak,” he says, his attitude suddenly fierce. “And you let her get hurt. Not exactly smart.”
“Excuse me?” I’m surprised by his dramatic change in demeanor. “I protected her for years,” I snap defensively. “And I’ll save her again. Like you saved me today, when you rescued me from that guy in the yard.” I look away. “Why are you looking after me, anyway?”
“It’s my job to make sure you don’t turn into a Florae, remember? I’ve got potassium chloride duty.”
“You didn’t have to offer to watch out for me.”
“Maybe you remind me of someone. Someone who needed protection and didn’t make it.” The tone in his voice tells me not to ask any further questions, but it didn’t need saying. He’s talking about his sister, Layla.
Jacks crosses the cell and clears off the top bunk, then throws up a pillow and an old sheet. “I need to get some sleep.”
“I could sleep some too,” I say. Like, for a week. I’m exhausted.
I also have to use the bathroom. Jacks catches me eyeing the toilet.
“Okay,” he tells me, moving to the cell door and stepping outside. He turns and shuts it, then locks the bike lock. I feel a flash of panic before he tosses a key to me through the bars in the door. “I’ll give you some privacy,” he says. “Should, um, fifteen minutes do it?” he asks.
I nod, relieved I’ll get some alone time. I look around the hastily rearranged room, packed to the brim with art supplies. I should probably look for something that would tell me more about Jacks, but he has so much stuff, I wouldn’t know where to begin. I clean up in the bathroom area, then sit on the bed and think about how I can find Ken. How much can I trust Jacks?
When he comes back, I’m waiting in my bed, and I unlock the bike lock for him, then climb back up in my bunk. He shuts the door and relocks it, then hands me the key.
“This is my spare. You can keep it, just in case,” he tells me with a shrug, then starts getting ready for bed.
I stare at the ceiling as Jacks settles in on the bottom bunk. Nice as he’s been to me, I take my knife and hold it again with the hilt to my chest. Like Jacks said: Just in case.
I feel like I’ve barely closed my eyes when I awaken to a series of gunshots. I fly off the top bunk, crouching low on the floor, knife held in front of me.
“Holy shit!” It’s dark in the cell, but there’s just enough murky light to see Jacks staring at me, wide-eyed, from his bunk. “Amy, what the hell?”
“I heard gunshots.”
“Oh. It’s just the guards.” He rolls over and puts the pillow over his head. “Look out the window,” his muffled voice instructs.
I go to the window. I must have been asleep longer than I thought; it’s already nighttime. The darkness is cut by bright beams of light streaking across the sky. More gunshots ring out.
“What are they doing?”
“Fishing,” he says again. When I look back at him, I find him peeking out from under his pillow. “They do it once a week to help out the Scrappers.” He sits up and rubs his face. “They bait all the Floraes to the prison and shoot them, leaving the surrounding area clear.”
I look back down to the exercise yard, which is filled with a warm glow. “What’s that light? I thought there was no electricity in most of the prison.”
“Candles.”
I think of all that cardboard and plywood. “Isn’t that a fire hazard?”
“Yeah, there was a fire last year.” Then, almost in a whisper: “A lot of people died.”
“And what was done so it won’t happen again?”
“Nothing,” he says after a long time. He lies down again. “I’m going back to sleep.”
I climb back up to the top bunk.
“Does the knife make you feel better?” he asks through the mattress between us.
“A little bit,” I admit.
“Just don’t kill me in my sleep.”
“I’ll try not to,” I say. “No promises.”
He lets out a small huff of a laugh, and I can’t help but smile.
I try to go back to sleep, but just when I think they’ve finally stopped, gunshots crack the night again. How does anyone sleep here? Eventually I sheathe my knife and remove my gun holster, trying to get more comfortable. I make sure the safety is on and place my gun under my pillow, for easy access.
It can’t protect me from my memories, though: When I do drop off again, I dream of the Ward.
Dr. Reynolds’s face hovers over me. He licks his lips, his eyes lit by pure evil joy. “Let’s begin,” he says.