I expected us to be separated into our usual rooms, but instead we were taken to a hall that was new to both of us. It was smaller than the others, lower ceilinged and darker, as if it never saw fresh air or light.
I tried not to look at Becca as the guards shoved us toward the end of the hall. As we approached, rats scattered with angry squeaks, and I felt a chill penetrate down to my bone marrow. I’d been beaten up, seen executions of innocent kids, been tested to within an inch of my life—and here I was, finding that Strepp had found an even lower level to sink us to.
Glancing around, I saw that most of these rooms were empty. The few kids that were here looked more neglected: skinnier, more ragged, their eyes more hopeless, if that was possible.
The guard had trouble sliding open the rusty barred door, but finally it was barely wide enough for us to get through, and we were pushed inside. This cell had no bunks and no open toilet—just a bare concrete floor and a plastic pail. I was shaking but trying not to show my fear. On the wall across from us, a rusted sign hung by one screw. I could barely make out the words ORDER + DISCIPLINE = A HAPPY, HEALTHY CELL.
With effort the guard closed our door and made a show of locking it. She sneered at us, showing cracked, yellowing teeth, and then marched down the hall. For a minute Becca and I stood silently, seeing the rats start to cautiously come closer.
“Shit,” Becca breathed, barely loud enough for me to hear.
I nodded in agreement. Shit, indeed.
The one bare bulb halfway down the hall flickered out, leaving us in almost total darkness. I reached out and felt for Becca’s hand. Her grubby fingers interlaced with mine.
We were facing something even worse than we’d had so far, but at least we were together again. Too scared to keep up the pretense of being enemies, we simply stood in the darkness and waited, listening to the scurrying rats and the slow drip of water somewhere.
Then a voice floated across the hallway to us: “Cassie? Becca?”
75
BECCA
CASSIE AND I IMMEDIATELY PRESSED our faces to the peeling, decrepit bars, peering into the darkness. Across the hallway a figure stepped closer to the bars of the opposite cell.
“Nate!” Cassie gasped.
“Nate?” I echoed in surprise.
“Who’re those chicks?” said a voice next to him, and then a smaller figure appeared. I couldn’t make out what he looked like, but he was just a kid, one of the youngest I’d seen in this hellhole.
“Nate, what are you doing here?” Cassie asked. I remembered her saying she’d wanted to make out with him.
Nate shrugged, though his face was tense. “Skipping out of a hybrid corn test.”
My sister smiled, her teeth almost luminous in the dimness.
“So what is this joint?” the little kid asked.
“The crazy house. It’s—” I started to answer him but was interrupted by the harsh buzzing of the alarm. Cassie and I knew what to expect, stepping back fast so our fingers wouldn’t get pinched by our door opening automatically. But Nate and the kid looked startled, snatching back their hands at the last second.
“What’s happening?” Nate asked.
All down the hallway, doors opened with grinding creaks. Cassie and I had to push against ours, but finally got out and filed down the dank hall with the other kids.
“Well…” Cassie began reluctantly.
“It’s… actually, it’s an execution,” I said quietly. “This is a prison just for kids. It’s death row for everyone. And… kids get executed pretty often.”
Nate looked horrified and the little kid’s pale, pinched face grew whiter, if possible.
“Whaddaya mean, executed?” the kid asked.
“I mean… killed,” I said. “Put to death. Usually for no reason at all.” No sense in prettying it up—they’d have to get used to the idea, and the sooner the better.
“Wait,” Nate said, shaking his head as we streamed upstairs and down another hall, heading to the ring. “What are you talking about?”
Cassie looked at him with pity. ?