The pain blasts through me like a lightning bolt, and my entire body seizes. Every nerve, every synapse is on fire. I am burning from the inside out. I bite down on the piece of leather in my mouth, wishing I were dead, that the excruciating agony would stop. I wait to lose consciousness, but the pain continues, burning my nerves and melting my skin.
At last I wake in a cold sweat, clutching my gun desperately. I can hear Jacks’s steady breathing below me. I roll onto my back and close my eyes.
I am not in the Ward. I am not in New Hope. I’m in a prison, but I’m not trapped.
Or am I?
I think about Rice. His piercing blue eyes filled with kindness but often covered with his shaggy blond hair. What would he think of Fort Black, of Jacks? Not much, probably. Rice is so smart and Jacks is . . . well, Jacks is Jacks. Hard but still kind. At least they’d have that in common. Rice just wanted to protect me. And, what’s more, he promised to watch over Baby.
My heart aches as I think of my sister. Kay’s words echo hauntingly in my mind.
Dr. Reynolds has Baby.
I shouldn’t even be sleeping—I don’t have the time. Yet I can barely move. As I drift off, I make Baby a promise:
Tomorrow I’ll find Ken. And we’ll get you out of there.
Chapter Fourteen
Someone shakes me awake and I dart up, my legs dangling off the side of the top bunk. Jacks is looking up at me, his arm resting on the bed, not quite touching my leg. Light streams in through the tiny window.
“Is it morning?” I ask.
“Afternoon. It’s been almost two days.”
“What?” I rub my hands over my face. “Two days?” How could I have let myself sleep for so long?
I move to get down from the bed, but my muscles ache from disuse. I didn’t know I was this exhausted, but it makes sense. I hadn’t slept for days before setting out on my twenty-mile trek to Fort Black. How often had I even stopped to rest?
Jacks tilts his head. I can see the tattoo of the snake, where it peeks out from under his collar and winds around his neck. “You were having nightmares. Whimpering in your sleep. I was almost afraid to leave you when I went to work yesterday, but Doc said that your body needed rest. That’s why you shut down.” He hands me a fork and a can of baked beans. “I thought you should eat.”
“Thanks.”
I’m ravenous. I pull the can tab, my mouth watering at the sweet, tangy smell, and begin to shovel the beans into my mouth. Every bite is delicious.
Jacks takes a step back and sits at the small table. The room looks a little less messy today. Although the walls are still covered with sketches, the floor has been cleared up.
I pause midbite. “Where’s my pack?”
“Here.” He retrieves it from under the bed and tosses it up to me. “I didn’t look in it or anything.”
I put down the can and quickly check. Nothing missing. The emitter is safe. Its battery is dead, so I switch it off and quickly close the bag. I’ll have to remember to charge it. It’s solar-powered, so I’ll just need to place it in the window during the day.
I go back to my beans and begin to eat, more slowly this time. “Sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to accuse you or anything. I see you’ve cleaned up.”
“Yeah, it’s good you slept so long. It took me awhile.”
I think of Baby again, my stomach turning. I hate myself for wasting so much time.
“Well,” I say, “I’ve got to get out there. Ken’s not coming to me.”
“Wait.” His tone surprises me—almost nervous. I glance up, and we lock eyes for a moment. “I got you something.”
Jacks picks up a large book from the table and hands it to me.
I touch the smooth, worn cover. “The Complete Works of William Shakespeare,” I mumble. I open it and thumb through the pages, stopping at one of my father’s favorite plays, The Tempest. My eyes catch a line that gives me chills. “Hell is empty and all the devils are here.”
I close the book and stare at the cover, desperately trying not to cry.
“Thanks,” I manage, shaken by my conflicting emotions of happiness and fear. Love and heartache. “Where did you find this?”
“The prison library. Well, it’s not the library anymore—people live in there—but all the books are just stacked against the wall. You sounded really sad when you told me that line. I didn’t know it, so I asked the old dude who used to be the librarian. He showed me the book and which pages to read.”
“You read Macbeth?”
“Well, I do know how to read,” he tells me with a hint of a smirk. I look over, thinking I might have hurt his feelings, but he’s impossible to decipher. “Anyway, I thought it would remind you of your dad. I know”—he pauses and looks out the window—“it’s good to have reminders. That’s all.”
I stare at the cover again. “I love it. Thank you.”
“No problem. I should probably admit that I read that part about courage, but then I gave up. It’s kind of hard to understand.”