Formerly the Fort Black Correctional Facility, the walls of Fort Black jut up, cutting into and marring the blue-white sky. The sides of the great prison are three hundred feet high, at least, and laced at the top with two rows of barbed wire. There are few windows, and the ones that are visible are covered in thick metal bars. Around the Fort, there’s nothing but brown dusty earth.
I pull my canteen from my pack and take a long sip of water, then look back and forth, surveying the area and the sun-scorched ground around the walls. A long ribbon of broken asphalt leads off to my left, linking the jail to the highway, which curves out of sight over the distant hill. I study the road from the top of that hill until it slips beneath me, under the overpass where I now rest, and disappears around the bend to my right. There are no Floraes that I can make out, yet my hand goes automatically to the emitter.
The feel of the small plastic device comforts me. I reach into my pack for my Guardian sunglasses—standard-issue, but better than the best binoculars. I adjust the zoom until I can see Fort Black as if I were standing next to it.
The place is humongous, its gray concrete more formidable than I’d originally thought. Men patrol the high, broad walls, armed with rifles. At each of the guard towers rests an immense crossbow on a thick post. Even from here, I can feel the hum of too many people living in a small space. The noise sets my skin tingling. It’s strange to hear it, after all the miles I traveled alone and in silence. Now that I’m so close, I can’t bring myself to walk the last stretch. I rummage inside my bag, allowing myself another sip of water and a bite of food. I don’t know when I’ll get to eat again, or if my food will be confiscated or stolen inside those dark walls.
I stand again, narrowing my eyes at the massive, dark structure. My mission: find Ken. He’s the only way to save Baby. I know it won’t be easy, but there’s a chance, a sliver of hope. And Kay will help if she can by contacting me on my earpiece. My hand goes to my ear to reassure me it’s still there, the one thing that can keep me in touch with Kay. It’s small, like one of those micro–hearing aids from Before. There are three buttons: The top one turns the earpiece on and off, the middle one activates the sound amplifier, and the bottom one calls in. When I was a Guardian, the earpiece was set to automatically call all the Guardians, but there’s a central hub in New Hope where all the earpieces are programmed. Gareth is a bit of a hacker and has mine deactivated remotely . . . until Kay needs to contact me.
A glint on the scorched landscape catches my eye and I snap my head up. A shape is moving quickly over the road toward the prison. I crouch down and turn on the sound amplifier on my earpiece, then quickly drop my hand to my Guardian glasses and zoom in on the figure.
It’s not a Florae. It’s a man.
Chapter Six
The man is on a bicycle, pedaling furiously. Something is wrong with his bike, though, and every few seconds it makes a grinding sound, like metal moving against metal. Behind his bike is a hitched trailer, the kind parents used to haul their kids around Before. The trailer is filled to the brim with bundles of cloth and canned goods.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see movement, and then I see Them. Two Floraes have topped the rise on the highway. Their pea-green skin almost fades into the baked landscape, their milky, yellow eyes useless, but their heads move, searching for sound. The man’s bike makes that horrible grating noise again, and the Floraes focus their attention, quickly sprinting down the road to the prison, hot on the cyclist’s heels.
From the prison wall, an arrow flies through the air, narrowly missing the nearer of the two Floraes. Another arrow hits the second Florae in the shoulder, slowing it down slightly, but doing nothing to lessen its hunger, its craving for the man’s flesh. The first Florae is a few feet away from the cyclist. Just when I’m certain the guy doesn’t have a chance, the first Florae drops to the ground. Because of its incredible speed, it skids a few feet before stopping completely. The second Florae is taken down just as I hear two loud cracks echo toward me.
I adjust my earpiece as the man stops at the gate and calls up, “Whewy, boys. That was a close one! Think you coulda taken ’em out a little sooner? Something on my bike crapped out a while back, and I thought I could make it okay. . . . Should have known better.” He gets off the bike, plants his hands on his knees, and pants for a minute. He straightens and shoots a worried glance back the way he came, squinting up at the gate again.
“Don’t mean to be ungrateful or anything . . . that was some fine shooting. . . . But what say you fellas let me in now?” When they don’t respond, he adds, “I made a couple of really sweet finds out there. . . . You boys get first dibs, of course.” That does it. A small door next to the gate opens, and he rushes through, pushing his bike.