I push the knife into his skin, and a small trickle of blood runs down his grubby neck to stain his collar. “You tell people that it doesn’t matter if I belong to Jacks. I don’t need him or the Warden to protect me. I can take care of myself.”
I kick him out the cell door into the walkway. He scurries to his feet and down the hall. I take a deep, shaky breath and sheathe my knife. I turn and sit on the bottom bunk, resting my head in my hands. It was a long shot, but I’d hoped the man was telling the truth and could take me to Ken. I let out a sharp bark of a laugh at my foolishness and rub my face. I stay like this for a good long while, until I hear a voice at the door.
“Amy. You’re awake.”
My head jerks up as Jacks steps into the cell, clicking the bike lock shut after him. “You really should keep this door locked.”
“Sorry,” I say, breathing hard. I make a quick decision not to tell him what just happened. Even though I took care of it myself, I don’t want him to think he needs to protect me all the time. “I was just walking around with Pam.”
“Without me?” He looks upset.
“We survived. She wants you to do a tattoo for Mike.”
“Still, you should have waited. After what happened before . . .”
I bristle at the memory. I shouldn’t have needed Jacks to come save me. I didn’t need him just now. I know I can take care of myself.
“I don’t have time to wait,” I snap. His possessiveness annoys me. “Anyway.” I stand to confront him. “Pam doesn’t know Ken, but she told me something, about Doc.” I study him.
“What about Doc?” he asks carefully.
I don’t answer but instead stare him down. He holds my gaze for a moment but then drops his.
“Is it true? Doc’s your father?”
“Yes.” He takes a seat in a chair and motions to me to sit again. “And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. . . . I don’t really talk about it, though. Doc wasn’t ever really a father to me. My mom and he got divorced when I was just a little kid. I didn’t know why then, but my father had issues with chemical dependency. He got fired for stealing drugs from the hospital where he worked. He couldn’t find a job after that, till my uncle gave him one working here. That was part of the reason my uncle was so crazy about getting me and Layla to come out here before our trip. . . . He wanted us to make up with our dad. Do you know how long it’s been since I actually called him Dad? Years. Layla was still a baby.”
“Does he still use?” I ask, my earlier suspicion waning.
He shrugs. “He started off strong here. Even after the world ended, he had his brother, he had me and Layla. He always said he was blessed to be with his family. He asked me to be his assistant and taught me so much. He thought there was hope for us all. It took the end of the world to bring our family together. But last year a lot of women here got ill. Most didn’t make it. Doc blamed himself. He started taking pills to be able to sleep. Then after Layla died . . . Now it’s like he’s given up. He takes more and more. . . .” Jacks shakes his head. “I guess he is still an addict. I won’t make excuses for him.”
I stand and place my hand on his shoulder. He leans his head in to my side unexpectedly. After a moment, I move away.
He looks up at me. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I didn’t lie either. You have your secrets too, Amy.”
I nod. “I understand, I just . . . I didn’t know.”
He stands and reaches toward me, his hand resting on my upper arm, warming my skin. “We’re still good, right?” His breath teases the top of my head, and I’m afraid of what will happen if I look up.
“Yes, of course.” I pull roughly away from him and step toward the door. I’m all mixed up, Jacks bringing strange feelings to the surface. I push down my confusion and try to recover my wits. “So, are you ready to go out now, to look for Ken? I’ve got a lot of ground to cover,” I say, changing the subject.
“Now’s not a good time,” Jacks says.
“Why?” I’ve had enough false starts, enough dead ends. I’m also not sure I want to be in such a confined space with Jacks at the moment, not feeling the way I do, flushed and tight, like my skin is too small for my body.
When I hear shouts from outside, I welcome the distraction and hurry to the window. A crowd is gathering, pushing its way through the exercise yard.
“What’s going on?”
Jacks won’t look at me. “A trial,” he says grimly.
“A trial? What for?” Below me, the crowd is swelling, pushing toward the front wall.
“Murder.”
“Murder?” I turn around and look at Jacks. Doesn’t that happen here all the time? “And how does the trial work? Is there a judge or a jury or something?”
“There’s no judge or jury.”
“Does the Warden decide the verdict?”
He shakes his head.
“Then how will it be decided if the person is innocent or guilty?”
“Amy,” he tells me with a sigh, “they’re always found guilty.”
Chapter Fifteen