Demitria Lunetta - In the End

Jacks grabs my arm. “I’m sorry,” he says.

“I get it.” I shrug him off. “Close quarters.”

He nods and steps back. “Be safe.”

“I’ll take care of her, Jacks,” Brenna tells him, and we start off. “Geez, you’d think he didn’t know you can take care of yourself. I mean . . . we saw you kick ass. Jacks is such an old woman!”

“I heard that!” Jacks shouts after us.

Brenna just laughs loudly. “I call it like I see it!” she yells back over her shoulder.

We walk down the stairs in silence, but as soon as the door to Cellblock B closes behind us, Brenna says, “Seems like I walked in on the middle of something.”

“No, it was nothing.” We skirt the edge of the yard and head to the Arena. I look around for any sign of Tank, but I don’t see him. I can’t help feeling that I’m being watched, and I try to shake off my paranoia.

“Jacks is a good guy. And there ain’t a lot of good guys around this place.” After a pause, she says, “Let’s find you a getaway vehicle.”

We walk past Cellblock A over to the Arena, where Brenna calls to a tall black man hovering just inside the fence. “Dwayne!”

“Brenna!” He walks over to us and smiles easily. He’s trim but not emaciated like some of the people who live in the exercise yard shantytown. “I should be mad at you. You made me lose a package of batteries last week on your fight.”

“You should know better than to bet against me,” she tells him with a grin. “You know I can’t be beat.” She pulls me closer. “This is Amy. She wants a bike.”

He looks me over, taking in the ill-fitting sweats that Jacks lent me.

“She got something to trade?” he asks doubtfully.

“This is Jacks’s girl. Of course she has something to trade.”

He nods and flashes a toothy smile. “All right then, follow me.” He cuts toward the back of the prison, past the cellblocks to the backyard. We walk between the back building and back wall. Out of habit, my eyes scan it, searching for Ken, but as usual, he’s not there. Just a scattering of people leaning against the far corner and a single guard escorting them one by one through a door.

All are covered in black boils. One coughs uncontrollably, while another doesn’t move at all.

“Pox,” Brenna says. “Don’t get too close.”

I nod as we walk to the far back corner, where Dwayne and Brenna slip through another door, one I haven’t seen before. My heart skips a beat. Is this a different entrance? Maybe I can get to Ken from here.

“Are you sure it’s not restricted?”

“It’s just a hall that leads to the garage in the back,” Brenna explains. “The Pox victims are quarantined to that section of the wall we passed. You won’t meet up with them here.” She’s mistaken my excitement for concern.

We head down the corridor out to the bottom floor of a parking garage. Instead of cars, it’s filled with bikes and storage containers. Dwayne walks to a nearby container, pulls out a key, and opens it. He steps inside and wheels out a light-blue bike.

“This is what I got.”

I step up and inspect it. It seems to be in good shape. I take the handlebars and wheel the bike forward. “The creatures don’t mind the noise of the bike wheels on pavement,” he assures me. “Unless there’s something wrong with the chain or something and it makes a messed-up sound.”

“Oh, okay.” Like the man’s bike I saw when I first arrived at Fort Black. “What about a trailer?” That other man’s bike had one, and it definitely would come in handy on the road.

Dwayne nods and brings one out, hooking it up to the bike and making a show of demonstrating as he hops on and does a lap around the garage. When he reaches us again, he stops and looks at me expectantly.

“Come on, girlie. I showed you mine. Now show me yours.”

I freeze until Brenna elbows me. “What did you bring to trade?”

“Oh.” I grab the bottle of vodka from my bag. Dwayne raises his eyebrows and holds out his hand. I glance at Brenna, who nods, so I hand the bottle over. Dwayne takes a swig and grins. “This ain’t the watered-down stuff. . . . Where’d you find this, girl?”

I shrug. “We got a deal?”

He considers. “It’s good, but not a bike’s worth of good.”

I take batteries and the charger from my bag and hold them up to Dwayne. “That’s a solar charger. I can give you eight double-A batteries for the bike and trailer.”

Dwayne stares at the batteries, considering. “Sixteen for both.”

I try not to panic. I have only the eight batteries. That’s all the charger holds. “Eight and the bottle of vodka for both, and that’s my last offer.” When he hesitates, I make a show of putting them back in my bag.

“Okay, okay, you got a deal. I’ll even throw in a bike lock.”

I make the trade, and Dwayne pulls out a bucket of black paint and a small brush.

“How should I mark it?” he asks.

“Mark it?” I look at him blankly.

Brenna answers for me. “Put Jacks’s name on it. That way everyone will think twice before trying to steal it.”

I look at her in horror. “Does that make the bike his, then?”

“It’s his, anyway. . . . If you’re his, which you are”—she eyes Dwayne—“then all your stuff is actually his.”

“Fan,” I mumble, shaking my head.

Brenna shows me where I can leave the bike, in a line of a handful of other bikes, all marked with writing. Only the Scrappers really need bikes, and I don’t think to ask when Brenna yells, “Here’s mine!” and points out a light-pink bike with the words Touch this and die scrawled across the seat.

When we head back inside, Dwayne is long gone. I thank Brenna, but she just shrugs and says, “No problem.” Her attention seems to be on a man walking with a teenage girl who has striking red hair. The girl glances back, her eyes stopping on Brenna, and gives her a small, barely perceivable nod.

“Who’s that?” I ask as the girl turns away.

“No one.” Brenna blushes. “Look, I have shit to do. Can you make it back by yourself?”

“Uh, sure.” I adjust my pack on my shoulders, automatically checking that my gun and knives are where they should be. “I think I can make it the hundred feet back to Cellblock B.”

“Smartass,” Brenna says, giving me a friendly punch on the shoulder with more than a little force behind it. “See ya around.”

I turn to start back when I begin to get that feeling again, like I’m being watched. I hurry forward but hear heavy breathing behind me. I whirl around to find Tank a few feet away, staring at me.

“Hello again,” he tells me, his eyes flicking from side to side, seeing who else is around.

My breath catches and I back away quickly.

“Why are you following me?” I think back to those papers and what Jacks told me about his sister. Adrenaline begins to flood my system, making my heart beat wildly.

“Fort Black ain’t that big,” Tank tells me, stepping forward. His eyes rest firmly on me now, roaming up and down my body.

“And it ain’t that small, either,” someone says from behind me. I turn to find the Warden walking toward us. “Don’t you have somewhere you need to be?” he asks Tank.

“Yes, boss.” Tank’s heated gaze has cooled, his tone sunken to a dull submission.

“Well, get, then,” the Warden tells him. Tank turns and goes through the door that leads to the parking garage.

When I look at the Warden, he’s scowling, but not after Tank. “Causing trouble, Amy?”

“No. I was just getting a bike.”

“You shouldn’t be out here on your own.” The Warden reaches out and grabs my elbow firmly. “Let’s return you to Jacks.” His fingers dig into my skin.