IT WAS HARD enough standing in the same spot for twenty-four hours. It was harder having to watch a man die and then transform in front of my eyes into the monster of my nightmares. The greyskins haunt me. Most of the time when they’re chasing me while I’m sleeping, they each have the face of Mama. Greyskins can’t talk. But in my dreams, they call out my name. Mama calls out my name. And all she wants is my blood.
The execution was three weeks ago, and every moment of that terrible twenty-four hours still plays over in my mind. The entire camp was quiet. No one uttered a word. No one moved but the man who was dying. Every now and again he would let out a grunt of discomfort. He would groan in pain. He would shiver. Then he died. His twitching is what really got to me. The fingers moved slightly. Then his arms and legs. His neck would jerk one way and then another as if a hand was slowly entering a puppet and the fingers were getting their bearings before putting on a show.
Once the morning had broken, the man was gone and the greyskin emerged. Only minutes after the greyskin stood fully on its feet, Warden Black strolled over to it and put a bullet in its brain.
I had expected to be sent back to my cell, but to my surprise and horror, we were sent to work as though no time had passed.
I was exhausted and I felt sick. Not only did we have to watch the man die, but the whole yard gained a new smell. Not everyone had the strength to hold in their liquids, and I was pretty sure one or two must not have been able to keep in their solids either. The result of the entire night left me feeling defeated, and that hasn’t gone away since.
In the old world, before Vulture Hill, If I didn’t rest well, I could always make up for it another night. Papa called it sleep debt, and debt could always be paid back. But here, it seemed my debt mountain was growing and growing, and soon I would reach a point where I could never get it back. Today, I feel like no amount of sleep would bring me back to full strength. My arms are dead weight. My legs move as if they are thigh-deep in cement. My head feels like it’s filled with iron. This crippling defeat is dangerous when your job is to make sure all the non-moving greyskins lying in a field are, in fact, dead.
It’s the most tedious job I’ve ever done. Even Papa’s chores for me never felt like this. The only excitement in this job was when someone found a live greyskin and had to kill it. In the month or so that I’ve been here, I have only discovered two that weren’t completely dead. Even then, I wasn’t the one to finish them off.
So, the days creep by slowly. Ever since Holbrook’s visit, the guards have become more strict, so talking while working isn’t permitted unless it’s necessary. And it’s a rule the guards follow harshly. The only time I even get to speak with Nine about anything is at meal times and when we go to bed, but we’re both too exhausted to speak. Katherine and Janet hardly say a word at meals. The entire mess hall barely reaches a dull roar. It is as if watching the execution has utterly sucked out whatever energy had been trickling through the camp. That’s what Holbrook wanted. That’s what Warden Black wants.
But the caged man hadn’t been the only execution. Ten people have been gunned down by guards over the last several weeks; for what reason, we don’t know. I didn’t know any of them, but the effect was the same. Shock. Numbness.
Another five people have died on their own. I don’t want to say of natural causes because none of this is natural. I don’t know if they didn’t get enough to eat or if they just had nothing left to live for.
Whenever someone dies, a pair of prisoners are chosen at random to haul the bodies to the top of Vulture Hill to lie among the bones of the dead. After the first few deaths, I started dreaming that Papa and I would be chosen at random together. We would get to the top of Vulture Hill, dump the body, then we’d keep going and never look back.
We would be among the bones, but they would not be our bones.
We wouldn’t have supplies or weapons. We are both malnourished and wouldn’t have the strength to make it far without food or water. It would be a failure. That’s why they have prisoners do the job, I guess. Warden Black knows the prisoners will either come back or they will die just a little farther away from the prison. What’s the difference?
Today, however, things change. When we get to the fields, the guards declare that it’s time for Nine and me to take over dumping duty. My eyes go wide at the thought.
We actually get to leave the camp?
The thought excites me, but only because it will be a change of pace to my average day. There is nothing special about where we’re going. It’s a burn pile away from the camp. The thought gives me ideas of escape, but I know what fate that would bring.
There is no escaping.
It makes me wonder if Papa has thought about revealing the cure for the virus. It has been a while since I talked to him, and it seems that escaping will take a lot longer than we thought. But if they knew about the cure…
As Nine and I walk to our position at the back gate in the field, I shake my head at the thought. He can’t just give up the cure. If he tells them about the cure, and they let him go, then he has to tell them about me. If he tells them about me, then they will use me against him to get the cure. They can’t have any leverage over Papa or it’s over. In a way, I’m the one keeping us from getting out. If I hadn’t gotten caught, Papa could have given up the cure and they would have let him go.
After the interrogation by Holbrook and Warden Black, it’s obvious to me that the cure would be important to them. They are looking for Starborns, and they are looking for someone with the extraordinary ability to heal. Well, that person doesn’t exist as a Starborn, but he exists as a scientist.
He’s my father.
Nine and I stand near the back gate. The guard unlocks it for us and asks us if we know what to do. Nine nods to the guard and says she’s done it before. Satisfied, the guard leaves us alone to police the other prisoners as they slowly gather rotting bodies to load onto their carts.
“Embrace today and be happy,” Nine says.
“Why?” I ask.
“Because it’s easier to pull greyskins off of a cart than it is to load them onto a cart,” she says with a smile on her face. “You’re about to step outside the camp for the first time since you got here.”
“Makes me want to run for it,” I answer, watching the prisoners loading.
“I understand the feeling,” she says. “But without knowing where you’re going, you’ll wander aimlessly and die out there. If you don’t die of thirst, you’ll get bitten by a greyskin. You’ll end up back in our pile here. Then the burn pile.”
“So, you’re suicidal?” I ask. “You’ve given up on trying to escape? Seems sudden.”
She shakes her head. “It’s suicidal to make a run for it if you don’t have a plan.” She turns to look at me. “The best way to plan is to know the future.”
“And how am I supposed to do that?”
She smiles at me and shrugs.
The first person to come to us with a cart is Natasha, and neither of us is surprised. Even with a lack of nutrition, she seems to be able to keep a significant muscle mass. When she reaches us, she scowls.
“I’m going with you,” she says. “I’ve got permission.”
“The guards will have to tell us,” I say before I think.
Natasha looks down at me, her scowl turning into a soft grin, though not a happy one. She leans down to meet my eyes, her long nose just a few inches from mine.
“You know I could break you in half, right? And the guards wouldn’t even blink twice.” She stands upright and scratches the end of her long nose. “I can’t stand staying in the fields.”
“Neither can we,” Nine says. “Are you suggesting one of us stays behind? Usually, they only let two go out.”
Natasha shakes her head. “Big loads today,” she says. “More loads than usual.” She motions to the field, which indeed has a more significant number of greyskin bodies than usual.
“Sorting must have their hands full,” Nine says. “The more the merrier, I think.”
Natasha studies Nine for a moment as if she doesn’t believe her, but she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she pulls her cart forward and then takes a full cart from another prisoner. Together, the three of us walk through the back gate.
The haul from the fields to the burn pile is a long one, and it doesn’t seem as much like a break as Nine made it out to be. I quickly learn that the burn pile is so far away because of the horrible smell. I thought greyskins smelled terrible, but this was worse. I have smelled it before when the wind shifted in the camp, but not like this.
There is nothing like the smell of a rotting corpse on fire. It was like smelling the most potent roadkill cooked with boiled eggs until there was nothing but ashes.
During the first few hauls I nearly throw up. Two of the times my body heaves, I bet it would have produced a proper spew if I had anything in my belly.
I feel some reprieve when we start our seventh or eighth haul. The air cools, and the wind rushes against me with a near-toppling force. Dark clouds roll in across the horizon and flashes of lightning streak across the sky. I look at Nine who is also staring at the sky.
“That’s no good,” Natasha says, her teeth clenched. “This job’s about to get a bit more dangerous.”
I look to Nine for an explanation.
“People get careless when it’s raining,” she says. “They don’t pay attention to what they’re loading as much. Easier to accidentally load a live one.”
“That’s why we’ve got to pay attention,” Natasha says. She taps the sharp stick set inside the cart when she says this and it reminds me of my first day when she sent her spear into a woman’s skull.
The rain hits us hard. It’s cold and chills us to the bone. It would be a refreshing change if it didn’t pelt us so hard and if it didn’t muddy the ground so severely that I can hardly stand. With each step, mud surrounds my ankles making loud suction noises. How are we supposed to be more careful when we can barely stand?
It takes the three of us to move one cart at a time, and even then we move about a foot every ten seconds. The fields are going to be so backed up with greyskin corpses the guards will have to get more people to help with the burn pile. Of course, now it’s just going to be a pile since any effort to burn the bodies during this downpour would be pointless.
The hauls need to be lighter than this. The greyskins even tower over Natasha’s head making a pile about twice as high as me. The three of us push with our shoulders against the back of the cart, barely moving it an inch. Natasha counts to three, and we push again. Another inch. Another. And another. We can’t keep doing this. We have to make the load lighter.
Nine says it first, and Natasha agrees. She climbs to the top of the pile and starts throwing greyskin bodies off the top, carving her way down until the three of us can move the cart again. On the count of three, we shove our shoulders into the back of the cart, and it slides forward. The muck resists our efforts, rocking it backward causing a body to slip off the top and onto me.
I can’t help but scream out as the rotten creature slides over me. Its face is inches from my skin, its body that of a grown man long dead. Drooping skin and slime fall from its cheek. I try to shove it off of me, but it’s too heavy to move by myself.
Nine and Natasha scramble to me, but not before I hear the slightest grunt come from the greyskin’s throat. Fear grips my heart, threatening to rip it out of my chest. This thing is still alive!
I let out a scream of terror, one I didn’t even know I could make, but that only seems to waken the monster even more. With just the slightest bit of movement, its jaw closes, and its teeth sink into my shoulder.