Children of Ash (Meridian Six 2)

I jerked back out of his grasp. “You don’t know me.”

“I know that you use tough words to hide your fear. I know that you want nothing to do with fighting. I know that you fight anyway because it’s not in your nature to surrender.”

I looked away, my cheeks heating with shame.

“You wouldn’t have done it,” he said.

“How do you know?” I asked, looking at my feet.

“Because you could have killed yourself a thousand times while you were in the hands of the Troika. And since then, you know damned well no one could stop you if it’s what you really wanted.” He let those words sink in for a few moments. “But I also know that even if I’m right about Saga and Icarus, you will still find a way to claim the freedom you want so badly.”

I laughed, but the sound had no humor to it. “Oh yeah? How will I manage that?”

He shrugged. “Only one way to find out—unless you’re too scared to try.”

I’d only known Zed for a couple of days, but already he’d figured out the best way to motivate me. I hated him for that as much as I appreciated the kick in the ass. No matter what happened once we reached the camp, I wouldn’t let anyone tell me how to live anymore. I just had to survive long enough to be able to flip everyone the bird before I walked away.

Fifteen

Bravo

The train arrived at sunrise two days later.

I’d just started getting used to the reverse sleeping schedule, so when Matri shook me awake just after dawn, I had trouble reaching full consciousness.

“Rise and shine,” she whispered. “We have to take some of the children and go unload the train.”

The train meant meat, clean uniforms, and other rations. It was daytime, so our work unloading the cars would be overseen by some of the human guards, who I’d discovered were more sadistic than the vampires.

Since my talk with Matri, we’d been busy studying ways that we could make an escape possible. This involved stockpiling some supplies under the floorboards of the barracks and informing the other prisoners that they needed to be on the lookout for signs a breakout was imminent. The only problem was I had no idea what form those signs would come in—or when.

Beyond that, I’d spent most of the previous two days keeping an eye on Mica. Matri had made sure he hadn’t been drained of too much blood for his first bleeding, and also got him extra rations to restore his strength quickly. Granted, those extra rations were just extra potatoes, but it was better than what most of the prisoners had.

The human guard Matri called Judas stood outside the barracks with two other guards to lead us to the warehouse next to the train track. It wasn’t a long walk to the depot, but the guards took us through a part of camp I’d yet to see. The entrance to the mines was located in the northernmost quadrant. We passed nearby, and for the first time I saw the yawning black hole that swallowed most of the camp’s workers every night and day. Even though most of the activity in the camp happened at night, the miners dug and scraped and hauled twenty-four hours a day.

As we passed, a train that looked vaguely like a centipede was chugging toward the hole. Workers, their skin perpetually blackened from coal dust, packed the seats and stared grimly into the mine, which gaped like an empty eye socket.

The previous shift emerged from the hole in a single-file line. Their hair, their skin, and their uniforms—all black. Only their eyes, painfully white, gave any relief to the all-black canvas.

My steps faltered as I gawped, but I quickly received the stab of a gun muzzle to my back as a reminder to keep moving. Honestly, I was relieved to leave them behind. Those artificially bright orbs set in pitch-black faces would haunt my dreams. Even if they got free from the camp, there’s no way they’d live long enough to enjoy their freedom. They were the walking dead.

Soon enough, we reached the warehouse that was set on a raised platform next to the train tracks. The last time I’d been there was the day we arrived at the camp in cattle cars. This train wasn’t here to deliver people, but supplies, so they were all solid metal shipping cars.

A handful of humans whose camp jobs fell under more administrative labor were standing on the platform with clipboards bearing shipping manifests. They directed the workflow for us and all the other prisoners who had been recruited to unload the train. Matri took a small group of children toward the livestock car to begin the process of counting heads of pigs and chickens. Meanwhile, I was instructed to take my group of children toward a car filled with uniforms. We were to count the boxes inside and report them to the administrators before delivering the uniforms to the warehouse for storage.

The door to our car was already cracked open. I thought nothing of this as I pushed it open and shooed the children inside, eager to get started. I’d spent the previous day helping the youngs pick potatoes, and the change of pace appealed to me.

I’d taken two steps inside when a high gasp sounded from one of the children. Before I could locate the source of the sound, an arm wrapped around my throat. Then a woman’s voice—low and mean—hissed in my ear. “Do not scream.”

I swallowed against the knot of fear in my throat but managed to nod.

“Good. Now tell the brats to calm the fuck down. We’re not going to hurt you unless the guards come running.”

I looked across the way to where the three children I’d brought into the car huddled together, whimpering. I held a finger to my lips. Meanwhile, my brain was spinning, trying to catch up. If this person was worried about the guards comi

ng then she wasn’t a friend of the Troika’s. But was she an ally?

“I’m Bravo,” I said.