Kathleen Peacock - Thornhill

No one uncuffed the wolves in the other line as guards ushered our group past a row of identical white jeeps and to a brick building—also white—near the gate. A small sign on the building’s door read Admissions.

Inside, we were left in a windowless room with white tile walls. Fluorescent lights were embedded in the ceiling. One bulb was on the fritz: it flickered and hummed like those lanterns people hung outside to zap bugs. The room was completely devoid of furniture except for three booths—identical black tables enclosed by floor-to-ceiling glass on all sides—along the far wall. They looked vaguely familiar. When I realized why, I shivered: the glass walls reminded me of Houdini’s Chinese water torture cell.

No one went near the booths. Instinct or mob mentality kept us pressed tightly together, as far away from that side of the room as we could get without actually stepping on one another’s feet.

After a few minutes, two guards with holsters around their waists—Tasers on one side, guns on the other—led a man into the room. The man was young with dark skin and wide-set eyes. He was dressed in white and pushed a large steel cart in front of him.

He cleared his throat. “I need you to form three lines, one in front of each booth.”

No one moved.

The guards began dividing us up, threatening to use the Tasers when people didn’t obey quickly enough.

I ended up being the sixth person in the middle line. Serena was directly in front of me. Kyle was the first person in the line on the far left.

“Walk into the booth opposite you when directed,” said the man in white, “and just follow the instructions. First group in!”

My heart twisted and I had to fight the urge to run forward as Kyle crossed to a booth, pulled open the door, and stepped inside.

After a second’s hesitation, the other two wolves entered their own booths, letting the doors swing shut behind them. There was an audible click once all three were inside—as though a deadbolt had been thrown.

The wolf in the middle cell—a girl with waist-length dreadlocks and an Emily the Strange T-shirt—tried to open her door. Her mouth stretched in a silent shout when she realized she was locked in. She raised her fists and pounded on the glass as Kyle and the boy on her right looked on.

The man in white walked to an intercom to the left of the booths. He pressed a button and leaned toward a small speaker. “The glass is shatter resistant and soundproof. Just calm down and follow the instructions. It will all be over in a minute.” He returned to the steel cart.

Shoulders shaking and fists clenched, the girl turned to the table in her booth. Kyle’s gaze locked on mine for an instant before he followed suit.

My stomach somersaulted as I stared at Kyle’s back. I was convinced that something horrible would happen, but after a few moments, he turned around, something clenched in his fist.

“Next group in,” said the man in white as the locks disengaged. The three wolves exited the booths and walked toward him. They each handed over what looked like a small plastic square and were told to wait at the back of the room.

Three groups later, it was Serena’s turn. She flinched as the door closed behind her but came out unscathed.

“Next!”

I could practically feel Kyle’s eyes on me as I walked forward and stepped into the booth. It’s okay , I told myself. If it wasn’t, Kyle would be flipping out . Nevertheless, I had to push back a wave of claustrophobia and panic when the door locked behind me. A strong smell—like bleach—filled my nostrils and burned my throat.

I glanced to either side. Mel—the girl from the coffee shop—was in the booth on my right while an unfamiliar boy was in the booth on the left. Unlike the glass door, the walls between the booths were frosted up to chest-level.

An automated voice rang out of a hidden speaker. “Take a slide from the dispenser in the middle of the counter.”

Sure enough, there was a stack of glass slides on the tabletop. I pulled one out and held it between my thumb and forefinger.

“Place the slide on the counter and then press your index finger to the red x .”

A few inches from the dispenser was a white circle with a red x in its center. I hesitated, but did as the voice said.

“Ouch!” I hissed through my teeth as something pierced my finger.

“Press your finger to the slide until a sample of your blood is clearly visible, then take a second slide from the dispenser and set it on top of the first. If you heal before you can accomplish this, simply place your finger back on the red x and repeat the process.”

Being a reg, healing too fast wasn’t an issue.

“Once you have successfully acquired a sample of blood,” continued the voice, “take an envelope from the dispenser on the side of the table and place your slide inside.”

Following the instructions, I slipped my sample into an opaque plastic envelope.

My mind whirled. Nine months ago, CutterBrown Pharmaceutical—a company run, in part, by Amy’s father—had announced they were working on a test to detect LS. Almost a year later, they still hadn’t had any major breakthroughs—at least none they had publicized.

Was it possible they had successfully developed the test and were using it in the camps?

I glanced at Mel through the glass. She was obviously having trouble getting a sample. Tears ran down her face, but she didn’t seem to notice.

Something slammed into the wall on my left and I spun. The boy in that booth was having some sort of panic attack. He shouted words that only he could hear as the muscles in his arms jumped and twitched. With horror, I realized he was on the verge of shifting.

The man in white headed for the intercom again. “The girl in the middle and the girl on the right, please exit and give me your samples.”

There was a click as our doors unlocked.

Mel stepped out, envelope held loosely in hand, shoulders hunched. I remembered what she had said about her grandmother back in the courtyard.

She had every reason to need out and I had two very important reasons to stay in.

Three more guards rushed into the room and headed for the booths. Mel paused to watch. Everyone in the room was watching. In that second, my decision was made.

As the guards flung open the door to the last booth and tased the boy inside, I backed up quickly—as though frightened—and collided with Mel as hard as I could.

Startled, she dropped her blood sample. Mine hit the ground a nanosecond later as a bolt of pain shot through my shoulder.

“Sorry!” I gasped. I crouched and scooped up the plastic envelopes before she had a chance. Trying for an apologetic smile, I handed her my sample.

Mel frowned as she took the envelope, then focused her attention back on the guards as they hauled the boy—now unconscious—out of the room. “He has trouble around blood,” she said, her voice a faint croak.

There’s an understatement , I thought.

I turned and headed for the cart.

Kyle was staring at my hand. He started forward, but one of the guards stepped toward him, Taser out, and ordered him to stay with the others. Kyle did as he was told, but didn’t take his eyes off me.

My stolen envelope suddenly felt like it weighed a ton. It was a relief to hand it—along with my first name—to the man in white.

I rejoined Kyle and Serena. Kyle opened his mouth, but then snapped it shut. We were surrounded. He couldn’t say or ask anything without being heard.

Before the last samples were collected, two more wolves had freak-outs—one because of the blood and another because she was claustrophobic. The claustrophobic wolf was given a second chance. The other was tased and dragged from the room.