We walk back to Jacks’s cell in silence. I wonder how Pam can be so kind to that man with the sick son and so cold to someone else, alone and dying. But by now, I know the answer: People do what they have to in order to survive.
Before we say good-bye, Pam leans in and whispers, “Maybe don’t mention to Jacks what I told you about Doc. It’s a touchy subject for him.”
“Sure. But why?” I ask, uncertain. Is he so attached to his boss?
“You know”—she widens her eyes—“because Doc is Jacks’s father and all. Jacks is really sensitive about Doc’s addiction.”
“Oh!” I nod, stunned. Suddenly it all clicks into place. Jacks isn’t just connected through his uncle, the Warden, but through Doc as well. That must be why he’s Doc’s assistant, even though he has no medical background.
“It’s not exactly common knowledge,” Pam continues. “I think Jacks wants to keep it hush-hush . . . but, you know, I hear things. It’s not like these bars are exactly soundproof. Jacks used to talk to his sister about it . . . about forgiving Doc for whatever wrong he had done to them way back when.”
“You knew Jacks’s sister? What was she like?”
Pam’s face falls. “She was a sweet girl. Too good for this place. Me, I can adapt. I learned to lose my educated facade.” Her voice becomes louder, more coarse. “And act like I ain’t never lernt nuthin’ from no books.” She smiles, slipping back into her normal voice. “But that girl was never going to make it here. Jacks did what he could, and of course she had the Warden and Doc looking out for her, but you can’t expect to make someone like that happy in a cage.”
She looks me up and down. “I don’t think you’ll be happy in a cage either. . . . But you won’t let it come to that, will you? You won’t lock yourself up in that cell and refuse to face the world. No, I think you’ll do just fine here. Let Jacks take care of you, and make sure to take care of yourself.”
“I will,” I tell her, unlocking the bike lock and stepping inside. “Bye.”
I pace the room, opening and closing my fists with impatience. I need to talk to Jacks. Why wouldn’t he just tell me that Doc is his father? Unless Doc really is working for Dr. Reynolds and Jacks is in on it too, charged with keeping an eye on me. I don’t want to believe it, but I can’t force the dark thoughts from my mind.
How much can I really trust Jacks? Here I am, stuck in a horrible place with no end in sight. Another day is almost gone, and I’m no closer to getting back to Baby. I gaze out over the exercise yard, the mess of crude shelters littered across the muddy concrete. People mill in and out of the shacks, trading for food, fighting, and surviving.
This is their home—probably the only one they’ll ever know now. But where is mine? I thought I’d found one in New Hope with my mother, but instead I almost ended up dead. The fact is, I have no home. Not until I can get Baby and take her to a safe place . . . wherever that may be.
“Hey, you.” A voice cuts through the cell.
I turn to find the man I saw lingering earlier, the one covered in dirt who brushed past me and Pam on the walkway.
“What do you want?” I ask, my heart racing, glad for the bars that separate us.
“I heard you asking Pam about Ken.” He leans in, his grimy face pushing through the bars. “I can take you to him.”
I take a step back before I remember there’s a locked door between him and me. I try to make my voice sound strong. “Why should I trust you?”
“Jacks sent me. He said you was to come right away or Ken would be gone.”
I try not to let my desperation decide for me. What if he is lying? Why wouldn’t Jacks come himself? I look at the man again. He’s small and thin. I could easily take him in a fight. I take a deep breath. I can’t let my fear get in the way of finding Ken.
“Back up,” I tell the man. He steps away from the bars and I unlock the bike lock. As I pull open the bars, he rushes forward. But I am ready for something like this.
I step aside and trip him. He falls forward into the room but gets to his feet surprisingly fast. He turns and lunges at me, leading with his shoulder, trying to take me out with brute strength. I move out of his way, but in the small room, space is tight. I hit the bunk bed at full force, my hip crashing into the hard metal frame. The man pulls me to the floor, yanking at my synth-suit, leaving my arms free. I grab one of my knives and hold it up to his throat.
His hands go still. “I didn’t mean nuthin’ by it.” He grins at me, as though he hadn’t just attacked me. I push up on the knife, forcing him to lean back, then scramble out from under him. He tries to flee, but I grab his filthy hair and once again hold the knife to his neck.
“Some people was saying that you really ain’t Jacks’s. That you was looking for a man. That you was fair game.”