Despite Jacks’s protests, I drag him to the trial. If this is a main event at Fort Black, and if Ken’s in the prison at all, he might be there.
When we leave Cellblock B, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to find Ken, let alone see the trial. There are too many people pushing to the walls across the Yard. In fact, it looks as if the wooden stairs might collapse against the weight of so many people. Jacks grabs my hand, and we head away from the crowd, past Cellblock C and the black building that used to be the cafeteria and visitor center. On that side of the wall, we pop through a door and circle around within the corridors of the wall to the opposite end of the exercise yard, then climb up so we’re standing on top of the outer front wall of the prison.
If it were empty, we could see for miles outside of the prison, but the area is packed with spectators pressing for a view. Jacks slices through them and I run along behind him until, somehow, we’re at the front railing. The still-swelling crowd pins me against the iron, cutting off my breath. I can feel the three crossbars that make up the railing shifting under the pressure, and the top bar digs into my rib cage.
As the pressure gets harder, I concentrate on breathing and pressing back, so I don’t get cut in half. Then Jacks wedges himself behind me, reaching around either side of my waist and grabbing on to the railing in order to relieve the strain.
“Better?” he asks from behind me, his breath in my ear.
“Yes, thanks. But I don’t know how I’m going to find anyone in this crowd.”
All at once they begin to chant in unison. I can’t make out what they’re saying at first, but then it becomes clear.
Guilty. Guilty. Guilty.
“There,” Jacks says, his voice strained.
On the corner of the wall, in the guard tower, the Warden stands.
“People of Fort Black,” the Warden’s voice booms over the loudspeakers throughout the compound. “We have a good thing going here. The monsters are outside and we’re safe in here.” He says thing like thang, laying on his Texas drawl.
The crowd buzzes excitedly, and the Warden gives them a moment to calm down before starting again. “But we have to have some rules. We have to have some order. We’re not animals,” he spits. “A man has taken another man’s life. . . . And for what? To settle an argument? Well, the good book says an eye for an eye, and I say a life for a life!” The crowd goes wild at that, and Jacks lets out a sigh, his breath hot on my neck.
“Let this be a lesson to y’all,” the Warden yells. “I don’t hold none with murderers!”
Everyone is screaming and I’m not sure what is happening until I look down. A man has been released out of the prison through a side door below us. He takes a few steps away from the wall, stunned, then runs back, trying to get inside.
“The people’s calls will bring the Floraes,” Jacks says.
“This is his trial?” I shout.
“This is Fort Black justice.”
The man is still at the door, banging desperately. His mouth is moving, and I reach up to my ear to turn on the sound amplifier.
“Please,” the man begs. “Please let me back in. I’ll do anything.” He falls to his knees, sobbing.
A Florae appears on the rise across from us, pausing at the same housing development I rested at before approaching Fort Black. I don’t have my Guardian glasses, so it’s just a speck, but I know what it is by how quickly it moves as it jumps from the edge of the development down to and across the highway. More people have spotted it, and the chanting becomes more frenzied. Closer it speeds, and still the man blubbers next to the door.
“Run!” I scream, my voice lost in the crowd. But of course it’s too late. The Florae hits him so hard, the man slams into the wall and bounces off it. He tries to push the Florae away, but it’s already feeding on his flesh. Its claws secure in his sides, its face in his stomach.
Before I can turn off my amplifier, I hear gurgling as blood spills from the man’s mouth. Then a gunshot sounds and the Florae lies still, its head blown open into the mess of the man’s stomach. Another gunshot, and the man’s body twitches, blood pooling around what is left of his head.
Some people stick around to watch the guards pick off the other Floraes attracted by the noise and blood, but, with the spectacle over, most of the crowd slips back into the prison.
“That was barbaric,” I say at last.
Jacks doesn’t answer, but drops his arms, allowing me some space.
There is another volley of shots—more Floraes, probably—but I don’t look for them. I continue to stare at the remains of the man below us.
“In the place I was before,” I say, “they would banish people sometimes, but they wouldn’t watch gleefully while the person was devoured.”
After a moment Jacks asks, “And does that make it better, not watching?”
I turn to face him.
“No. I guess not.”