I hear a whimper to my left and turn to find a child peeking out of a tent—he’s hardly more than a toddler, tears smearing his face. I dive for him and pull him out just before a man crashes through the tent, dragging it behind him as he runs.
The child clings to me and my heart leaps into my chest. He can’t be any older than Baby was when I first found her. I search for a parent or anyone who can protect him, but everyone is concerned with their own safety, with fleeing or finding and killing the Florae. I carry the child to the wall, weaving around debris and bodies. Smaller fights are breaking out all over the yard as neighbors accuse one another of being infected.
I climb the steps to the top of the wall and find several others who’ve come up to escape the violence below. A woman clutching two children eyes me, her face wild with terror. I half-expect her to bolt when I approach her, but she just squeezes her children to her more tightly.
“Are these your children?” I ask.
“Yes, we were caught outside the cellblock. They wouldn’t let us back in. My husband’s a guard; I thought to come up here—”
“That’s fine. Can you look after him?” I place the little boy down onto his feet and move him toward her.
“What?” she asks, taking him despite the hesitation in her voice. “Is . . . Is he yours?” She sounds like she’s in shock, but she cradles the boy’s head against her breast.
“No. I don’t know who he belongs to. But he needs you.”
I look around the top of the wall and wonder why more people haven’t come up here. Out of the corner of my eye I see a man running toward us. I step out of the way and realize too late what he means to do. He takes a flying leap off the wall, landing on the ground outside with a sickening thud.
I turn back to the woman and see that she has crouched down and drawn the little boy and her two children tightly into her arms. “Now,” she says, “we’re going to play a little game and see who can keep their eyes shut the longest. No peeking or you lose.”
I back off and run along the wall for a better view of the exercise Yard. Looking down at the erupting violence, the absolute disorder, I realize that it’s a kind of madness. A Florae-fueled riot, without the Florae. I scan every inch of Fort Black within my vision and can’t find a single creature.
I go back down the stairs and make my way along the wall of the exercise yard, keeping my eyes peeled for the phantom Florae and avoiding the many fights that are still breaking out throughout the Yard. I’m halfway to Cellblock B when an announcement comes over the loudspeaker.
“Fort Black. This is the Warden. There is no longer a Florae threat. Please, stand down. The Florae has been dealt with.”
The announcement does nothing to lessen anyone’s aggression, and the riot continues to rage on. I’m even more convinced now that there was never a Florae, that it was all a mistake—or a calculated lie.
When I arrive at the cellblock, it’s a different place. People have locked themselves in their cells and wait patiently for the commotion to end. When I reach my cell, though, it’s empty. I should have stayed with Jacks. I’m debating whether to go find him, when he arrives at the cell door, breathless.
“Amy!”
I pull off my hood. “Jacks, I’m sorry I left you. . . . I thought I could help, but it was a false alarm.”
He stares at me for a second, then rushes to me and folds me in his arms. I’m startled, but as confusing as it feels, it also feels good.
“I should be sorry. I acted like . . . I should have gone with you. You could have been hurt.” He holds me tighter. Through my synth-suit, I can feel his arms, his chest. We’re the right size for each other—our bodies fit together perfectly.
“If something had happened to you . . .”
He pulls away and looks at me for a moment, studying my face; his dark eyes shine with a fierce intensity. And then it happens. Jacks is kissing me.
I can’t say I haven’t thought about what it would be like. Lying in my bunk at night, listening to him breathing, or watching his flexed back, marked with tattoos. I’ve thought about kissing Jacks. Even though I knew I shouldn’t. Any distraction is a bad distraction. And then there’s Rice, who creeps into my thoughts unbidden. I don’t know where I stand with Rice—he hasn’t tried to contact me, hasn’t kept his promise of keeping Baby safe.
But these thoughts vanish because now Jacks’s lips are on mine, his tongue uncertainly searching. And I can’t help it. I press into him, kissing him back, hard. It feels good. Right. And something happens to my legs—left to stand on my own right now, I know I’d drop to the floor.
He pulls me closer, his arms moving down my back.
“Ahem.” Someone clears his throat loudly and I jump back out of Jacks’s arms. My legs do work, but the skin on my face, my body, is hot and tingling. A man stands in the doorway, smirking. “Sorry to interrupt. That looks like it could have gotten . . . interesting.”
“Who the hell are you?” Jacks demands.
“I’m here for Amy.” He looks at me. “That’s you, right?”
“Yeah? What do you want?” I ask, my voice shaky.