Demitria Lunetta - In the End

“Exactly. Last year, a fourteen-year-old girl went missing. A rumor spread that she ran off, but then another girl vanished a few months later.”

“You think Tank . . . ?”

Jacks nods. “People die here, people leave, but we all try to keep track of the women.” He avoids catching my eye. “There aren’t a lot of you left.”

“I see.”

“After the third girl went missing, some of the men got together and led a lynch mob against Tank. Tank somehow got one of his cronies to take the blame.”

“Was there any proof?”

He shook his head. “There wasn’t any proof, no witnesses, but I’m sure Tank let that man pay for his crime. With one of the girls, Tank was stalking her for a while, showing up everywhere she went. She complained about it all the time, but her father couldn’t protect her. Then she just disappeared.”

“No one found her body? She could have just run away.”

He shakes his head. “She wasn’t the type. Tank got to her and hid the body. I don’t know how connected he was to the two other girls, but he eventually moved on to someone new. Became obsessed with her. If that’s not proof enough, he has a . . . prior record of abducting teen girls.” His voice sounds hollow and sad. “It’s why he was in prison.”

“What happened to the new girl he was bothering?”

“She died, but not by his hands. I know he would have tried eventually. There’s something not right with him.”

My stomach drops. “And now he’s taken a liking to me?”

“That’s why you need to be careful.” He sees the look on my face and quickly adds, “Hey, do you really want to be talking about this stuff right now?”

I swallow my dread and shrug. “What better way to kill time while you wait for me to change into a Florae?”

Suddenly there’s a commotion outside. A man pops his head in the door. “Jacks, we need you.”

Jacks looks at me uncertainly.

“Don’t worry, I won’t go all Florae on you.”

“Stay here. If you don’t, I won’t be able to help you if you run into someone like Tank.”

I nod as he rushes out. I hear more shouting. Footsteps running down the hall. Then nothing.

I sit up and slip off the exam table. Moving quietly to the door, I open it a crack. Doc’s voice is echoing down the hall. I inch the door open farther and look both ways, checking for Tank or any other guard. There’s no one around, the hall quiet except for the hum of the lights and the far-off commotion Jacks is dealing with. I close my eyes and try to make out what Doc is saying.

“. . . blood pressure normal . . . CBC normal . . .” Doc’s voice carries up the hall. “Now, which inoculation are we on?” he asks, then answers his own question: “F1T13.” He continues chatting away to himself. “Patient refused examination and all immunizations.”

He’s talking about me.

“I will try to convince her of the importance of having an up-to-date shot, then release her into Fort Black.” Doc continues to talk to himself, rattling off names of people who are due for an updated flu shot. Nothing sinister there, just a slightly loopy doctor going over his charts with himself.

I open the door wider and glance around the hallway. It looks clear, both ways, and I don’t hear anyone but Doc nearby. I step into the hall, closing the door with a barely audible click. Ken could be here, in these very rooms. This might be my last chance to explore unsupervised.

I make my way down the hall and try the first door I reach, but it’s another examination room. So are the second and the third. When I come to a set of stairs, I pause. Last time I did something like this was back in the lab in New Hope. My mother came to my rescue then, making sure I wasn’t discovered. Now there’s no one to rescue me.

I grab one of my knives from its sheath and hold it in front of me as I walk quickly up the stairs, my body pressed against the wall. The second-floor layout is the same as the first. I try the first door and see that it’s a file room, the musty air thick with dust. I slip inside and the lights snap on automatically, motion-activated. The sudden brightness makes me jump. After a quick scan, it’s clear there are only cabinets, a table, and some chairs strewn with files. I close the door quickly, hoping no one can see the light from outside.

I make my way to the first drawer and pull it open. The folders are alphabetized by last name, and when I look at the drawer I see it is marked A . With shaking hands, I yank open the O drawer, but his folder isn’t there. As I check more drawers and more folders, I realize these are files on the prisoners. I close the drawer and turn to leave, accidentally knocking into a chair piled high with papers.

My eyes immediately snap to the door and I hurry to hide under the table, waiting for someone to investigate the noise. I’m breathing too fast, my body tense.

After a few minutes my breathing slows as I realize no one is coming. I crawl out from under the table and am about to stand when I look down at the paper my hand is resting on. It’s a mug shot, and I recognize the face—Tank’s crony Pete. Keller, Peter M. was doing eight years for armed robbery. A handwritten note is scrawled across the top: Highly malleable personality. Recommend for guard duty w. Lawson, Ellis H., a.k.a. Tank.

When I think of Tank, I clench the paper so tight, it crumples. I debate whether to take the time to look for his file. Maybe if I knew something about him, I could protect myself better in the future. I look quickly through folders on the floor. When I can’t find what I’m looking for, I move on to the folders on the chair and quickly shuffle through them, then move to the L file in the cabinet. His file isn’t there, either.

I hate that I’m spending time on this and am about to leave the room to continue my search for more clues on Ken when I hear a loud whistling coming toward me from the hallway. I shrink against the wall, but the whistler soon passes. I can hear his heavy footsteps head down the stairs.

Curious, I slip out of the room and follow him. I make my way to the top of the stairs and catch a glimpse of the man as he trudges down the steps. He’s tall, dressed in a suit, but wearing a Stetson hat and cowboy boots. When he hits the ground floor, the whistling stops and he disappears around the corner. I follow, slowly, keeping a distance between us. He vanishes into the room where Doc’s voice was coming from earlier. The door closes. I make a dash for my examination room, freezing when I hear my name spoken in a gruff, authoritative voice, then Doc’s slightly exhausted tone.

“That’s what she said. . . . I checked in for today and already gave my general report.”

“Did you sound the alert?”

“No. I wanted to tell you first. Should we detain her?”

“Let her in,” the gruff voice responds.

“You know I can’t do that. What about . . . ?” I don’t hear what Doc says because a noise behind me takes me by surprise.

I turn to find Jacks motioning to me from the hall outside the door to my holding room. He opens his mouth in shock, then wider, as if to shout an alarm.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asks in a loud whisper, waving me to the door. “Get in here before they find you.”

I pause for just a second before I hurry back to the room. Jacks shuts the door, his face scrunched. “You’re covered in dust. Where did you go? You were supposed to stay here.”

He looks at the knife I’ve been clutching the whole time.

“I’m not going to tell on you. Put that away.”

I hesitate, then sheath it. I’ve got no choice now but to trust this guy.