“That’s all you need to do?” I ask. Did that filthy man yesterday really think I was fair game just because I don’t have a tattoo?
“Yep. All you have to do is show off your tat. . . . It works, especially when your man’s well known for his skills with a rifle”—she eyes me—“or when you belong to the Warden’s nephew. You should show off your tat of Jacks’s name. . . . It would save you some time explaining to everyone. You do have a tattoo, don’t you?”
“Oh, yeah.” I don’t meet her eyes as we walk the thirty or so feet to the entrance of Cellblock C. “Of course.”
“He must have done something special for his girl. Can I see it?” She asks me with a half smirk. She knows I’m lying. I stop and turn to her.
“Um . . . look, Pam, I don’t really have a tattoo. I . . . I’m afraid of needles. You should have seen how much trouble I had with the one on my wrist. I almost fainted,” I lie. “Jacks didn’t want to put me through the trauma. Maybe you could tell everyone you’ve seen it, though?”
She appraises me with a penetrating gaze, and for the first time I see how she must have been as an attorney. After a second the calculating look drops from her face, and she smiles kindly. “All right. I don’t know exactly what’s going on with you two, but you’re entitled to your safety. I’ll talk it up for you. I’ll just say it looks a lot like mine.”
“Thanks, Pam,” I say, relieved. Pam turns to enter Cellblock C, and I move to follow.
And then I see him outside, down a ways from where we are.
A slight man with dark hair.
I shuffle around Pam to get a better look. The man turns to glance to the side, then back, over his left shoulder. He has a large heart-shaped mole on his cheek. My mouth drops. Could it be? He looks like Kay, like the sketch Jacks had. He looks like . . . Ken.
“Gotta go,” I say to Pam, shoving the basket of clothes at her. “I’ll see you later.”
Pam shuffles the basket to her hip and grabs my arm. “Hon, you sure you want to be running around here alone?”
I shake her off. “It’s important. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”
I run through the alley between Blocks B and C, trying to catch up to the man, but there are children underfoot and men who press too closely when they pass, slowing me down. I see him skirt the corner of Cellblock C and head through the Backyard. I rush after him, my heart beating wildly when I lose him for a moment, but then I see him disappear through a door in the back wall. I rush to follow him, but an armed guard suddenly appears and blocks my way.
“No entry.”
“I’ve got to get in there,” I plead.
“There are people infected with the Black Pox in there.” He shows me his wrist: POX is tattooed in block letters. “Unless you’ve already survived the Pox, you’ll want to steer clear.”
“I just saw a man go through that door. I really need to talk to him.”
He looks at me curiously. “I didn’t see anyone go in here.”
“I know what I saw.” I know it was Ken. I’m sure of it.
He looks me up and down. “You need a man, honey?”
“No. . . .” My mind spins wildly. “I—uh . . . have a man. Jacks, who helps Doc . . . the Warden’s nephew,” I stress. Even if Jacks’s relationship with Doc isn’t well known, his relation to the Warden seems to be common knowledge. It might get me the access I need. “I have business back there.”
“Look, Jacks ain’t allowed back here neither. You go fetch Doc, then we can talk.” He hefts his gun to his other arm and gives me an amused look.
I step forward, thinking of pushing past him, but he drops his gun, all amusement gone. “I got one job, honey, and it’s a good one. You ain’t coming in here.”
If the gun were aimed at my chest and not my head, I would have a chance to push my way through. The bullet would hit my synth-suit and hurt like hell, but it wouldn’t kill me. As it is now, my head is unprotected. If I reach back to pull down my hood, will he think I’m reaching for a weapon and shoot me?
Frustrated, I decide to retreat. He’s eyeing me, but I can always come again later and watch for Ken. Leaning against the back wall of Cellblock B, I look who comes and goes. Mostly it’s coughing men, covered in sores. They make my skin crawl, but Jacks said I’d have to actually touch someone with the Pox to contract it. I rub my synth-suit-clad arms, glad for its thin layer of protection from the world.
Ken doesn’t reappear. When it starts to get dark, I give up and head back to my block. I don’t want to be caught out in the dark, alone.
As I walk back, I wonder if maybe I wanted to see Ken so badly that I imagined him being there. I shake my head. No! I wasn’t crazy in the Ward, and I’m not crazy now.
When I finally get back to our cell, Jacks is there, sitting on his bunk. He jumps up when he sees me.