Five

Twelve’s slack-jawed, open-mouthed expression must mean she’s just as surprised to see us as I am to see her.

It’s a standoff. No one moves. My brain’s going wild with questions. What’s she doing here? How did she survive that torture? And most importantly, how the hell is she still alive?

“How?” Clara is the first to break the silence. She blinks over and over as if she isn’t seeing what she’s seeing.

“I should be asking you the same thing.” Twelve’s voice is quiet but strong.

Quickly, I scan the room. It’s even more barren than the one Clara and I shared. A rickety bed is pushed against one wall, with a single blanket tucked neatly in place. There’s a toilet and small sink on the other side of the room, without the piece of metal above to reflect her image back. A bowl of mush with an old metal spoon sits on the floor not far from her. It isn’t steaming, so either it was served cold, which isn’t the norm, or it’s been sitting there for a while. How did it get here? And how long do we have until someone comes to collect it?

Other than that, there aren’t any windows, and a single old-fashioned light hangs from the center of the ceiling, like the ones in the old movies Mom would make me watch. The bulb doesn’t know if it wants to stay on or not, so it flickers uncontrollably. The walls are rough and gray, the same color as the floor, although it’s smooth. Most importantly, there seems to be only one door, the one Clara and I came through. Like this is the end. But the end of what?

If I thought the room that Clara and I slept in was depressing, this is downright painful. It’s unbearable living with forty-eight other people, but I can’t imagine what it’s like to be completely isolated like this. And the chain connecting her to the wall looks heavy and cumbersome for her small frame. She must have to use a lot of effort to move around.

I take a tentative step forward. “Aren’t you supposed to be dead?” I keep my voice level, and while the question might seem harsh and I have a million more, I’m short on time and figure it’s best to get right to it.

Twelve shrugs. “After the incident, they brought me here. At first they had me chained to that bed, not that I could move much after what they did anyway, and now I’m stuck to the wall. Like I’m some kind of unwanted animal. I didn’t even do what they accused me of.” This time when she speaks her voice is scratchy.

When that video played, I thought that had meant she was gone. That they were trying to show what would happen to us if we stepped out of line.

Twelve shifts in her seat. “Sometimes, I wish they had killed me.”

My chest constricts. I can’t even imagine what she’s been through.

Clara’s jaw sets, a look of determination grows on her face. “Let’s get you out of here.”

I jerk my head back. “What?” Sure she’s been through hell, and living in this…place can’t be much better, but adding another member to our duo—which was supposed to be solo—would only mean more work. More chances to get caught. More trouble.

“How?” Twelve asks at the same time I do.

Clara glances at me with the most intense look in her eyes, then her face softens as she turns to Twelve. “I’m Clara, and this is Lezah, and we’re trying to get out of here. You can come, too, unless you want to stay?” Her voice lifts at the end like it’s some kind of question. But no one would choose to stay here when the chance at freedom is offered.

“You can call me Ruthie.” She reaches up and winds her matted red hair around her hand. No bracelet on her wrist. “But unless you have a key, I’m not going anywhere.” She slides her foot forward, and the heavy chain screeches against the concrete floor.

I grab Clara’s elbow and spin her toward me. “What are you doing? We don’t know why she’s here. Or why they would’ve gone through all that trouble to make us think she’s dead just to chain her up. And she doesn’t even have a bracelet. Why wouldn’t she have one?” I whisper through gritted teeth. I’m not trying to be mean, but Clara didn’t think this one through. Not that I’ve had a ton of time, either, but this girl isn’t in any immediate danger and taking her along would be a mistake.

“Lezah, look at her. She’s going to die if we leave her here. Maybe you’re okay with that stain on your soul, but I’m not. I didn’t kill anyone to get in here. Did you?” she challenges.

“Did she?” I respond instead of answering.

Clara pulls out of my grasp and turns back toward Ruthie. “Have you killed anyone?”

“Clara.” My tone is sharp.

Ruthie’s brows pull together. “Um, no.”

“Like she’d tell us if she did,” I say only loud enough for Clara to hear.

“Have either of you?” Ruthie asks, but she doesn’t look scared. Maybe it’s because she’s already come so close to being killed. Or maybe it’s because she’s hiding something.

Even though it’s a fair question, I’m not sure what I did to get in here. I don’t think I’m capable of killing anyone, but what if I did? What if that’s the thing I can’t remember? It’d be a good reason why I’d want to block it out, and why I didn’t even think about taking Ruthie with us. Maybe I’m more heartless than I realize.

“No.” Clara throws her hands up, exposing that infuriating “blood not oil” tattoo again—her visible stance on what she thinks of WALTERs, which isn’t much. Clara doesn’t seem like the type to kill someone, now that I’ve spent some real time with her, but that doesn’t forgive the fact that her morals are completely out of whack. Or maybe she thinks that killing WALTERs isn’t killing at all. As if they aren’t real people, like her tattoo suggests.

My jaw clenches tight. Now’s not the time to get all political or start something.

Ruthie stands and walks toward us. Thump. Thump. Thump. The same sound we heard in the tunnel. “Maybe this’ll work.” She reaches up and pulls a pin from her hair then holds it out in her shaking hand for me to take.

I glare at Clara before I carefully pluck it from Ruthie’s fingers. Her nails are long and ragged with black gunk stuck underneath. “Where did you get this?” She claimed she didn’t steal the fork, but she mysteriously has this. It seems a little convenient, and my reasons not to trust her keep increasing.

“I found it in the sink drain. I couldn’t do anything with it, but I kept it anyway.”

Both sides of the bobby pin are rough, confirming she’s tried to use it with no luck.

“Lezah, please,” Clara begs.

Maybe it’s the way Clara says my name. Or maybe it’s because I don’t want to believe I could be responsible for someone’s death. But once we’re out of this room, I’m going out on my own. I can’t disappoint any more people in my life. “Let me see that lock of yours.”

Ruthie hobbles back to the chair. I kneel down next to her and pull up the leg of her jumpsuit. Her skin is so pale her blue veins are a stark contrast, and so dry it feels like old paper. The area around her ankle is red and caked with dried blood. She winces as I spin the lock around to get a better look.

The tiny needle still stuck in my sleeve is no match for this massive thing, but the pin might work. Using the less tattered edge, I dig inside the lock.

A bell chimes, and my gaze shoots up to Ruthie.

Her face is pinched. “We don’t have much time. A WALTER will be here soon to collect that.” She gestures to the untouched bowl of mush.

Shit. That’s right. Someone has to pick it up. “Where do they come from?” I keep digging at the lock, praying I’ll find the right spot.

“The same way you guys did.” Ruthie grits her teeth.

“Sorry,” I mutter. It has to hurt, but now I have to work twice as fast.

“It’s okay, just hurry,” Ruthie says.

Clara stands by the door to listen for anyone that might be coming. “How are we going to get out of here?”

We’ve been through there, and nothing’s on the other side except a long hall that leads us back to where we came from. Unless I missed something. But then wouldn’t Clara have known? I glance at her quickly and get back on task. No time to think about that now. “Look around.”

Ruthie winces. “I think there’s a vent or something under the bed. I can feel air pushing into the room when I slip my hand between the mattress and the wall.”

Clara doesn’t hesitate. She rushes to the bed and tries to push it out of the way. Her face turns red, and she grunts as she leans her full body weight into it. Finally she lets out a breath, the bed in the exact same place as when she started, so she slides underneath. “Yeah. There’s a vent here. It’s really small, and the leg of the frame is blocking it. But I think we should be able to wedge ourselves through if you can get the cover off.”

If it’s not one thing, it’s three. But getting this chain off comes first. “Look for something we can use to remove it,” I tell her as she slides back out.

Come on. I dig harder into the lock, pushing deeper. It’s got to be right here. With a click, the pin finally gets into the exact spot I need. Just a little more pressure and it should pop open. Snap. NoNoNoNo . The useless thing broke off, leaving only half of a pin left in my hand. What’s worse is that the other part is now stuck inside.

My eyes lock on Ruthie’s. This can’t be happening.

“Just leave me.” Ruthie sounds crushed.

“How about this?” Clara holds up the spoon, oblivious to what’s going on.

I nod, and she slides back under the bed. “Maybe if I just…” I clench my jaw. “This is going to hurt.”

Ruthie grips the edge of the chair, the bones of her knuckles sticking out. I whack the side of the lock, hard. Once. Twice. Come on. I slam my palm against the heavy metal, and Ruthie lets out a painful cry. “I’m so sorry.” I let go. Her ankle smacks the leg of the chair, and the lock pops open.

She reaches down to remove the chain as I slide on my belly to meet Clara under the bed. Her elbow comes back just as I move forward and slams into my face. It happens so fast stars blur my vision. Blood gushes from my nose. I use my sleeve to wipe it away.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry.” She jerks up and smacks her head into the underside of the bed. “Holy Mother…”

At least she didn’t knock herself out. Bumps and blood I can deal with, but unconsciousness is way too complicated. “I’m fine. How about you?” I grab the spoon from her as she rubs the back of her head.

“Okay, I guess,” she grumbles.

One screw is already on the floor, so I get to work on the next. It’s tight, but not tight enough that I can’t get any traction. The next one comes out easy. It’s about time something went my way.

Thump. Something heavy hits the ground. Clara and I lock eyes before I pivot to look back. Red hair is sprawled on the floor. Ruthie’s completely out.

“What the heck happened?” I ask, checking to see if there’s anyone else in the room.

Clara slides out and pushes her fingers into Ruthie’s neck. “She’s still alive.” Clara taps her cheek, trying to wake her.

Great. We don’t have time for this. I get back to work on the last screws, because if I can’t get them off, it’s a lost cause anyway. The third one hits the ground as I listen to Clara shake Ruthie and say her name over and over.

The bell sounds again. But I don’t stop. I dig the tip of the spoon into the top of the screw and use both hands to twist with everything I’ve got. It twists right along with me, but I’m not giving up. The sound of the last screw hitting the floor is better than any sound in the world right now. Digging my nails along the edge of the vent screen, I yank it off. “Let’s go.” I slide out from under the bed.

Clara glances at me. “What about…” We could leave Ruthie here. It’s the first thought that runs through my head. But like Clara said, my soul couldn’t take that kind of stain. I wipe away another streak of blood from my face. “You’re bleeding.” There’s concern in Clara’s voice, which is sweet, but there’s no time for sweet.

“I’m fine. Listen. One of us has to go feet first and help pull Ruthie while the other pushes.”

Clara bends down to peer beneath the bed. “I’ll go first.”

Without wasting any time, she slides under while I grab the collar of Ruthie’s jumpsuit and drag her. She weighs a lot more than I thought she would. Or maybe it’s just that I’m already so tired.

Clara inches her way inside the vent feet-first, then takes a hold of Ruthie’s jumpsuit to pull her inside while I push. What did Ruthie say about that WALTER coming to check on her? We can’t possibly have much time left.

As soon as her feet clear, I squeeze my body through the small space and crawl inside the vent. The air is musty, like wet earth, and it’s warmer, too. It feels nice against my cheeks and nose, and helps warm the tips of my fingers that I hadn’t even realized were as cold as they are.

When my feet clear into the dark metal tube I take a quick glance back. I wish I could turn around and at least prop the vent cover against the wall, but the space is smaller than the inside of a casket. No. Don’t think that way. We’re getting out. I fix my gaze back ahead of me and press on. I’m a good five feet in when I swear someone enters the room we just came from, but I don’t mention anything to Clara.

It could be nothing. Or they could find us any second.