The Fall of Crazy House (Crazy House 2)

“Momento,” I said, holding up one finger. The others had climbed down, but Bunny was still halfway on the platform.

“What,” she said.

“There’s something else,” I said. “Closer. Something this gun could have hit even with its sights covered.”

Bunny climbed back up and took my seat. I helped her point the rusted metal in the right direction. “Gol’ dang,” she breathed.

“It’s a United outpost,” I said, stating the obvious.

“It’s small,” Bunny said, her eyes narrowing as she thought.

“We need to go there,” I said, lowering my voice.

Bunny nodded, then pointed downward and mouthed, “Nate.”

I nodded. He was a problem.

We climbed down, hitched up our gear, and I told Nate about the freakishly huge city.

“Are we headed there now?” he asked.

“No. We’re headed toward Cell B-24-23,” I said, and explained why. He was silent for a while, amazingly enough.

Then he said, “Who was the gun aimed at? The cell or the city?”

I’d wondered that. Had this been self-protection for the Resistance? Or a tool for the United to help squelch troublemakers?

“I don’t know,” I said.

We walked on in silence—we had four miles to cover before we could rest or eat. Nate kept up, despite still being pale, despite being in obvious pain. Hm, I thought. Not bad for a Provost’s son.

52

CASSIE

TIM LAY ON HIS STOMACH on the floor, looking out one of our four small windows. Neither of us felt like working or doing twenty-minute workout breaks or anything productive. It was more like we just sat there and tried to turn our brains off.

I lay next to him, pushing him to move over. Once again I was reminded of the differences between him and Nate. Tim was bigger, heavier, more physical. Nate was muscular—after Crazy House, everyone was. But he was more finely built, less bulky. He felt just right when I held him close. Tim would feel like I was hugging a statue. Not that I would be hugging him.

Below us in Regular Land, we saw recruits in training, marching up and down or running past us in formation. I heard Ms. Strepp barking at them through a bullhorn, telling them to move their lazy asses, etc. I sighed. Good times.

Out of sight we heard gunfire and shouting but we were used to that. One way to make recruits pay extra attention is to use live ammunition. It has a distinctive sound.

“I feel stupid, being up here like this,” he said. “I should be down there, where I could do some good. Up here, I’m just—”

I got to my feet, resigned to working my way through one more box, one more bag, one more pile. “You’re my manly brawn,” I said.

He gave me a look. “You can lift and move anything up here.”

I tried again. “You’re my entertainment.”

“That’s awesome. That’s what I want to be. That’s what I trained so hard for.”

His voice was bitter. I was saying all the wrong things.

“I don’t mean entertainment,” I said, thinking quickly. “I mean… look. I’m stuck up here because I got good grades in school. I assume. Basically Ms. Strepp looks at me and thinks ‘librarian.’ That’s not what I want, either. You might not be doing all the writing or cataloguing, but I mean it, Tim. If I can’t be with Becca and Nate, then I’m really glad I’m with you. You… make me feel less scared.”

I hadn’t meant to get all gushy, and I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea.