Amber rolls her eyes.
“I’m serious. If you have a chance to hurt one of these men, do it. Bite hard and don’t let go.”
“Quinn, do me a favor, okay?”
“What’s that?” I ask, backing up.
“If this fantasy of yours comes true, I want to be the one to kill Byron.”
That’s the spirit. “I’ll do my best to see that that happens.”
—
“Don’t talk,” Reed says when he comes back, not alone: Edwin is with him. “From now on, you are not to say one word. If the other inmates talk to you, ignore them. Otherwise they’ll be punished. If a guard gives you an order, don’t acknowledge it, just follow it.”
Shit. This is bad.
They untie us enough to feed us and let us use the bathroom, then stuff thick wads of cloth in our mouths and seal our lips shut with several layers of tape. Keeping our hands bound behind our backs, they walk us to the cell block and seal us in for the night. The other women ask us questions, but we do as Reed said, and offer no reply. Eventually they give up and go to sleep.
All except Jacqueline: she stands at her cell door, watching me. When everyone else goes quiet and snores echo through the cold halls, she kicks one of the iron bars until I look up at her.
“Quinn, I’m sorry,” she whispers. “But Isabel…”
I nod, wishing I could tell her I understand. Part of me wants to get up, turn around and give her the finger, but I won’t — I’m better off saving my anger for Prescott and Byron.
The next morning, the guards take everyone but Amber and me to the workshop. Reed gets us fed and cleaned again, then leaves us in our cells, bound to our beds.
All I can do is stare up at the tiny window atop the wall, but as I do, I start to hear something: a high-pitched beeping, followed by a deep, low rumbling.Trucks?
Soon I start hearing loud voices and loud buzzing.Chainsaws!
Construction.
Work on the prison’s new wing has started.
I wish I could see out the window, but even if I could stand up, it’s too high up for me to get a good view. Still, I can hear lots of men outside, and multiple vehicles — earth movers, dump trucks — probably all kinds of equipment. Sometimes I’ll hear a loud yell, followed by a crunch — felled trees. This goes on all day long.
The next morning brings new sounds, particularly the rhythmic thumps of hammers pounding nails. They’re building something, I’m sure of it, but how is that possible? It can’t be the new building — they’ve only just gotten started. Byron may have a lot of workers here, but it’s not an army. How long does a project of this magnitude take? Months, at least. So what are they doing?
Fucking dammit!
I wrench around, trying to loosen the ropes binding me to the bed, but it’s no use. There’s so much going on right now, and I have questions that need answers. Have the workers been inside the prison yet? Have they seen the women, or been given a chance to violate them? Are the women out there working?
To calm down, I remind myself that when the women get back later, they’ll talk — if not to me, then to each other. I’ll just have to listen.
However, that moment never comes. Before the inmates return from their work, Edwin and Hunter come for me and Amber. Though I’m scared about what’s going on, it is a relief to be let out of bed. My body feels stiff from just lying around.
When we get out of here, I’m going to start running. Not for exercise, but because I’ll be able to. I haven’trunanywhere in weeks. I’ve walked, slowly — and never by myself. As much as I love Reed, I look forward to spending time alone — without being locked in a box. Free to do anything, or to do nothing. It’s hard to appreciate how important that is until it’s lost — I hope that I never take it for granted again.
As we move along, I realize we’re headed down a corridor I’ve been through only once. My heart races, realizing we’re headed outside.
The lake?
Sounds of revelry hit us immediately: loud conversation, raucous laughter, the snap of beer cans being opened. It’s a fucking party, and it’s as bad as I imagined: dozens of workers, all big men with plenty of muscle. They drink and joke and smile like everything is right with the world, while the inmates of the Walker Work Center — even Jacqueline — watch from thirty feet away.
Naked, gagged and shivering in the cold breeze, the women are tied to wooden posts driven into the ground in a single continuous row. At the end of the row stands a small, wooden stage. Some of the workers walk up and down the row, inspecting and taunting the girls. When they shy away from an unbidden caress, the men hoot and cackle.
Fucking animals.