That got her attention; she shot me a startled look.
“I think they’re drugging our food,” I whispered. “I haven’t eaten the last two meals. Please quit eating the stuff they give us, okay?”
My sister’s eyebrows climbed.
“Just for a while,” I pleaded. “We’re going to get out of here—I know we are. But they’re drugging us. Please, try skipping the food—for a short while, at least. We can escape—have you seen the dragonflies?”
Becca’s face turned cold. “Guard!” she yelled.
I stared at Becca in disbelief, aware of all the eyes turning our way.
A guard, the big woman with bright yellow hair, strode toward us, billy club raised.
“Make this bitch leave me alone,” Becca said, pointing at me.
“You’re so stupid!” I shouted at Becca as the guard began pulling me away. “Listen to what I’m telling you! It’s the truth! Just think about it!”
My sister said nothing. As I scrambled, still wet, into my jumpsuit, I wondered if the seed had taken. Time would tell.
67
NATHANIEL
HE’D BEEN LYING LOW FOR a couple of weeks, trying to figure out a plan, trying to put all the pieces together. Trying to get his dad off his back. Now he knew he had to act, had to do something.
The night air was cool and quiet, and this time Nathaniel drove right through the gates on his moped. When he got to Cassie’s old truck, he could tell that something had happened here. There were the thin tire marks of a moped, and then the bigger, deeper treads of an all-wheeler and another vehicle leading off the boundary road. Nathaniel turned off road and followed the tracks as far as he could, which wasn’t far—the wind blowing over the hard, dusty ground had scoured any sign of Cassie out of existence.
In the end Nathaniel went back to the boundary road and continued driving down it, going farther than he’d ever been before. He had no idea if he would eventually fall over the edge of the world, or if he would come to a fairy-tale city or what. Probably he would go for a while and then get captured. Possibly disappeared. It wasn’t like he had any other plans—life in Cell B-97-4275 was over for him. He knew that.
It was peaceful in the quiet evening air, with just the low electric hum of his moped barely audible over the wind, the occasional bird cry, the even more occasional sound of an animal.
He saw other vehicles abandoned by the side of the road. He knew why they hadn’t been reclaimed for scrap—they were warnings. Signs that people had been here and had come to a bad end. Maybe tomorrow his moped would be found lying in the dirt, its radio gone, its chains cut. He would be the warning.
At first he thought the dark shapes ahead were low hills, or maybe shadows thrown by the moonlight. When he was much closer he saw the fence, the gate, the signs: this was a cell. A cell he’d never seen or known about, despite being only fifteen miles away from home. They might as well be on another planet.
Cautiously he drove through the gate. There wasn’t much here—some buildings, a few houses. The whole place looked abandoned, except for the few weak lights that swayed in the wind.
Thunk! A stone came out of nowhere and hit Nathaniel right above his ear. He jerked to a stop, his hand on the sting, and looked around.
Ping! Another small rock hit the body of his moped.
Whirling, Nate peered into the darkness. The main thing he could see was a typical sign that said STRONGER UNITED, showing people holding hands and smiling. But this one had been graffitied—the O had been crossed out and replaced with an A, so it read STRANGER UNITED. And someone had drawn fangs on a woman’s smile, and horns on a man’s head.
“Who’s there?” Nate called, just as another stone plunked against his foot. He saw the tiniest movement beneath the sign, which he raced toward after dropping his moped. A small boy jumped up and darted away, but Nate was taller and faster. He tackled him, and they both went down in a patch of scraggly grass.
“Oof!” The boy’s breath left his lungs in a whoosh, and they started wriggling like fish on a bank.
Nate expertly pinned the kid to the ground, twisting one small arm up behind his back and sitting on his legs.
“Get off me, you stupid ape!”
Nate pulled the arm higher, causing the boy to squeal in pain and kick his feet against the grass.
“Let go of me, asshole!”
“Not till you tell me where I am,” Nate said.
The figure stilled, though Nate could still feel the boy’s quick breathing.
“What do you mean?” the boy said. “You’re in Cell B-97-4280, duh!”
Nate eased up a little, and the boy turned to look at him.
“Hey, you’re not from here, are ya? Huh! Lemme up, schmuck.”
Slowly Nate eased up, and the boy scrambled to a sitting position, rubbing the shoulder joint Nate had stretched. He stared at Nate like he wasn’t sure Nate was human, but was fascinating anyway.
“Where you from?” the kid asked. He looked about ten or eleven years old.
“Another cell,” Nate said.
“No shit,” the kid said, frowning. “There’s only maybe two hunnert folks here—I thought you was someone else, at first. If you was from here, I’d know it.”
“What does this cell do?”
“Mining,” the boy said. “Mining coal. Then we ship it off.”
That explained why this place looked so dead—at home they were switching over to wind or water power, according to Cell News.
“Okay.” Nate let out a breath, wondering what the hell to do now. This place was no help—he didn’t know any Outsiders from here.
“Yep, mining now,” said the boy. “’Course, we used to have the prison, too.”
Nate frowned, looking at the boy intently. “Prison?”
68
“YEAH, PRISON,” THE BOY SAID. “Hey, you got anything to eat?”
Nate patted his jacket pockets and found a candy bar. He handed it over and the boy fell on it with joy.
“Real chocklit!” he exclaimed, tearing off the wrapper.
“What’s your name?” Nate asked him. “How old are you? How come you’re out by yourself so late?”
The boy spoke through a mouthful of candy bar, counting off on his fingers. “None a yer business. None a yer business. None a yer freakin’ business.”
“Tell me about the prison,” Nate said.
“What else you got?” the boy demanded, still chewing.
Nate felt his other pockets. He waved a five-dollar bill, but kept it out of the boy’s reach. “Name?”
The boy frowned, licking his fingers. “They call me the Kid.”
“Uh-huh. Age?”
“Thirteen.”
“You’re ten if you’re a day,” Nate scoffed.
“Eleven. And a half,” the Kid said, scowling. “And I’m out this late by myself because who cares? Why wouldn’t I be?” He gave a little jump and snatched the five-dollar bill, looking at it happily before stuffing it in the pocket of his grubby jeans.
“Now tell me about the prison,” Nate said.