The Girl Who Broke Free (Death Fields 5)

The trip to the bathroom is excruciating and I hear the impatience of my guard in the hall. I finally emerge and head to get my job for the day. I yank the slip of paper off the wall. Perfect, cell cleaning. My favorite job.

Yes, there are other prisoners here. My sister being one, as well as Avi and the Mennonite kids. I know little of what they do and never see them. We’re kept on different schedules. Sometimes I hear their voices in the hall and the longing for family and friends grows unbearable. Most of the time, though, it’s like we’re ghosts haunting the same building.

The one peek I have into their lives is when I’m assigned to clean their rooms. The space is as impersonal as my own, but I get a glimpse into the books they’re reading or the clothes provided by the guards. Jane has a lab coat that hangs on the back of her door. It doesn’t surprise me Chloe has her working on a project. No, I’m not surprised, but I am a little scared.

Avi, my sister’s scientific partner, occupies the third room. He tended to read up to three books at once, spanning cheesy-looking science-fiction novels to medical books. But there’s always the same dog-eared survival guide tucked under his pillow.

I’m well aware that the task of cleaning my friends’ cells is another attempt to crack me. It’s a simple reminder that I’m not in here alone. That my actions can and will have an effect on others.

The job today nearly breaks me. The pain in my ribs burns until I think I may pass out. I struggle through, but it takes me twice as long to complete the simplest task. I’m coated in sweat by the time the guard tells me I’m done—that my lunch is back in the room. Food is the last thing I want.

My afternoon uniform waits on the bed.

“There’s no way I can put that on,” I declare to the guard in the hall. He looks surprised to hear me speak. Normally I just do what I’m told, trying to keep a low profile. But today I know the energy alone to put on the stretchy, tight pants is more than I have.

“Then you’ll go to training in the clothes you’re wearing.” I hear the skepticism in the guard’s voice. He doesn’t believe I’m truly injured. Either that or he doesn’t care.

“Fine,” I say, gripping my side. Heat rolls off the bruise.

Cole waits in the room. Same position as usual, but today there’s agitation in his face. Clock or no clock, he knows I’m late. He enjoys our training sessions, or whatever the hell they really are.

I don’t know where he sleeps or eats. I do know he wears chains to and from this building. He’s not a free man or an active member of Chloe’s army. Our interactions may be the only ones he has all day.

The door slams behind me and the bolt slides shut. I reach for the wall to steady my feet. He assesses me from across the room, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re not dressed.”

“No.”

“And you’re favoring your left side.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” He waits a beat and then walks over. I’ve nowhere to run, other than pressing my back against the wall. “Just take it easy on me today, okay? I’ll be ready to play Chloe’s games tomorrow.”

He says nothing in return but invades my space, reaching for the hand holding my side. Clammy sweat drips down my back and I grit my teeth when he lifts the hem of my shirt. His dark eyes widen when he sees the bruise. I glance down and see the purple, mottled skin.

“It’s fine,” I lie.

His jaw tightens and I really have no idea what he’ll do. Take advantage? Give me a pass? Cole’s behaviors are erratic and disturbing. I never know who will wait for me when I enter this room. Sometimes I spot traces of the sweet boy I unknowingly crushed at my father’s lab in North Carolina. Other times there’s nothing but a cold-blooded psychopath. The man in front of me at the moment is quiet, but something brews underneath. He drops the shirt and I flinch, afraid of any sudden movement.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he says in a low voice.

“You beat the crap out of me every day. I’ve adjusted to the pain.” I avoid his stare. “I’m not a whiner.”

“This isn’t whining. You’re injured. I should have known.”

I look up at him and try to figure out what this means. Is it possible that he holds back during our matches? I know he has empathy. It’s the curse of mixing the EVI-1 vaccine with EVI-2, the chemical soup in their bodies that make them a hybrid of a Hybrid. Or a Mutt, as we call them. The Mutt can feel the human connection, but Cole? His sister has systematically tortured that out of him. His feelings for me are scrambled. A poisonous mixture of blame and betrayal fed to him on a steady diet.

“No one in here cares if I’m injured, Cole. You know that better than anyone else.”

I wobble on my feet and his hands move to my elbows. He helps me slide to the ground where I land uncomfortably and wince. To my surprise, he squats in front of me.

“Why do you think she makes us do this?” he says.

“What? Fight one another?”