“We have exactly two rules for you,” he said. He wasn’t shouting, but his voice must have carried for half a mile. It was like he was talking into a microphone. “First, you’re supposed to stay out of trouble. We haven’t felt like it was important to elaborate on this order, because in the past you’ve all done a pretty decent job of this. It’s been almost three months since one of your suicidal escape attempts, and it seemed like you’d managed to keep the peace.”
I heard Becky moving toward me. I wasn’t surprised that she’d ignored me and come back.
“We’re constantly impressed by the new ways you idiots find of killing each other,” Iceman continued. He was hardly moving—no hand gestures or even big facial expressions.
“Can I see?” Becky whispered, and I moved to let her peek through the trees.
“It’s this new batch,” he continued. “All you who tried to escape at the school. We worried that bringing too many at once was going to be a problem—you were too riled up after that disaster at the school. But I had sincerely hoped that your time in surgery would have let you cool down.”
Becky slid back against the tree.
“He’s not going to hurt them,” she said, though it sounded like she was trying to convince herself. She wasn’t looking at me, but staring straight ahead.
I peered through the trees again.
“You’re kids, and you don’t care about these things,” Iceman said. “But what we’ve just done was not easy. Thirty-three students who needed implants. A dozen more who needed lifesaving surgeries. We have limited resources.”
Someone shouted, “Screw you!”
Iceman stopped, scanning the crowd. “Who said that?”
No one made a sound.
He took a step toward them. “It would be better for you if someone answers my question.”
The crowd started to stir, a few murmurs and hushed words.
Iceman folded his arms. “Fine.”
The field erupted in screams as every student clutched his head and fell to the ground.
“We have to do something,” Becky said, her voice quavering. There was nothing controlled or brave or tough about the noise—no one was gritting her teeth and fighting the pain—it was pure, anguished shrieking.
The screams stopped as abruptly as they began, replaced with soft moans and sobs as the tortured people lay on the cold earth.
“When you’re ready to continue,” Iceman said, “please stand. I can wait.”
Becky looked at me. “Do you hear that?”
“What?”
“An engine.”
I turned back to the road. The students were slowly climbing to their feet, their faces red and tearstained. Some didn’t look like they were even going to bother.
“Get up,” Iceman said calmly. “I believe I’ve made it more than clear what happens when you disobey me.”
The other truck appeared—a red one, speckled with rust and mud—and stopped in front of the fort.
One by one everyone stood, many standing together, holding one another up. Those who were alone looked unsteady, swaying drunkenly as they tried to regain composure.
Iceman walked to the truck and talked to the driver for a moment. Then he strolled back to the group. “As I was saying, this is all difficult. We’re on a tight schedule, and frankly we don’t have time to come out here and stop you disgusting larvae from killing each other.”
The truck door opened and Ms. Vaughn stepped out. Her voice had the same amplified quality that Iceman’s did. A chill ran down my body as I heard her speak—the last time I had, my knife was at her throat and she was laughing at me.
I wondered whether this was the same Ms. Vaughn, or another android version of her.
“Now,” Iceman said, wiping his hands on his pants, “where were we? I believe I was talking about rules, and the first one was that you guys are not to cause trouble. That dead student there? That’s what I would call trouble. The attack on one of your guards two nights ago? Trouble.”
He scanned the crowd, waiting for a reaction, but no one stirred.
“We did surgery on that boy, and that takes time and resources, and you have all wasted that.”
Ms. Vaughn spoke. “Malcolm King, please come here.”
I didn’t know who that was, but the only person who moved was Birdman. He strode to the front with as much bravado as he could muster.
Iceman still spoke to the group, not to Birdman. “We’ve given you only two rules because we thought it was best. The lack of restrictions increased your morale, and it required less oversight. However, it seems we will need to micromanage a little further.”
He turned to Birdman. “You appear to be the de facto leader of this camp.”
Birdman nodded.
Iceman faced the group again. “There are going to be changes. We don’t like your meetings and we don’t like your gangs and we don’t like your secrets. From now on, there are no clubs or cabals or gangs or cliques or factions. You now have a third rule, and that’s it: no more secrets. If we have to tear down every building in this complex and put you all in one big warehouse, we’ll do it.”
Birdman nodded again, a little more nervously.
Ms. Vaughn laughed. “Kid, what are you agreeing to? You were in charge when everything went to hell.”
Birdman dropped out of sight, but the gasps and screams made it obvious. They weren’t torturing him. Birdman was dead.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
There was a shout, and the crowd split, like the parting of the Red Sea. Suddenly Mason was running from the back, screaming as he charged Iceman and Ms. Vaughn with a long kitchen knife.
They watched him come, not even turning to fully face him.
Mason fell ten feet in front of them. It was like he’d been shut off. He skidded on the hard mud, face-first and limp and dead.
“Oh …” Becky said, but couldn’t get out any more than that. They’d killed him, but it was worse than that. It was suicide. He knew what would happen—he had to know. He’d screamed, which warned them. He’d charged from the back of the group, not trying to sneak forward. He’d wanted to die.
Blood trickled out of his ear, dribbling in a dark thin line into the mud.
Becky turned and scooted back down the bank. I watched as Iceman and Ms. Vaughn cleaned up the mess, each slinging a dead teen over a shoulder as casually as if they were putting on a backpack to go to school. The two bodies were tossed into the back of Ms. Vaughn’s truck. Someone yelped and sobbed.
Ms. Vaughn drove away, leaving the field full of horrified students to stare at Iceman.
Iceman walked back to his truck and pulled a sledgehammer from the bed. All eyes were glued to him as he walked back to the fort’s gate and smashed the hinges off the wall. With every swing he shattered the wood, pulverized the adobe, and mangled the steel. The gate was broken, but more than broken—it couldn’t be hung again. The fort wouldn’t be safe anymore.
Not like it was safe before.
Without a word, Iceman dumped the sledgehammer back in the truck, hopped in, and drove off toward the barracks. I had no doubt he’d be doing the same thing to those dorms.
I turned to look at Becky. She was crouched next to the stream, her knees to her chest as her good hand dangled in the icy water.