In the End Read online

  I nod, unable to speak. Rice told me the same thing.

  “Maybe we should head back, let you get some rest.”

  “No! I can’t rest. I need to find Ken.”

  “Okay, then let’s go.”

  I have to pull it together. I wipe my face on my sleeve and shake out my arms. The truth is, I won’t ever be okay with everything that has happened to me. But I need to stay strong for the only family I have left.

  We head down the metal stairs to the Yard. The crowd has subsided, so we cross the yard instead of circling it on the wall. Still, we keep to the edge. Then we come to the area Jacks called the Arena, separated from the exercise yard by a chain-link fence. To one side of it is exercise equipment, muscular men using weights, and other machines used for strength training. I recognize some of the equipment; we had it in the gym in the Rumble Room in New Hope. On the other side are two sets of bleachers facing each other across a concrete square. In the center of the square is painted a red circle about twenty feet across.

  “What’s this exactly?” I ask.

  “People call it the Arena. Another blood sport. Right now the fighters are training, but once a week the Warden puts on fights to entertain the masses.”

  “Boxing?”

  “More like UFC—”

  “Get off me!” someone shrieks.

  I spin around. A boy with a shaved head stands at the entrance to the Arena. Two men have him by his arms as another, smaller man punches him in the stomach. They all look strangely similar, muscular, their heads shaved like the boy’s. Without thinking, I run toward them.

  Before I can get there, the boy jerks his legs up, supported by the men trying to hold him, and kicks the smaller man in the chest. Using that momentum, he breaks their hold.

  When I reach them, the men have circled back around him, joined by two other skinheads. I pull out my gun, but Jacks runs up next to me and pushes the barrel down.

  “That’ll only make it worse,” he says, then sprints forward between two of the men.

  I put my gun away and follow Jacks to stand next to the boy, who I can now see is a girl. I mistook her because of her shaved head and muscular build. The men still outnumber us, each one clearly fit, but none of them are nearly the beast that Tank is. I sparred with men as big as these in Guardian training. Nobody around us moves to help, just like when those men grabbed me when I ran into the Yard alone. Everyone is struggling to survive; no one wants to get involved in someone else’s problems.

  Suddenly, as if by silent agreement, the men come at us as one. I focus on fighting off the two nearest to me and hope Jacks and the girl will do okay.

  One man grabs for a handful of my hair. It’s grown out a bit since Baby cut it into a Mohawk, but it’s still short enough for me to whip it out of the way, slap his hand, and snap a punch to his jaw. The other man lunges at my middle, getting his shoulder into my ribs. I elbow him twice in the back of the neck, but he doesn’t let me go and ends up driving me toward the wall. Before he gets my back to it, I twist and run hard up against the surface, crashing him into it as I flip to my feet.

  As I watch him crumple to the floor by the wall, the first man comes at me again. I drop down and sweep his legs out from under him with a leg whip. He careens into the other man just as he’s struggled to his feet, and the two of them slam, grunting, into the wall and go down in a tangle of arms and legs.

  Looking around wildly, I see all assailants either down or bleeding. One of the men at my feet grabs my ankle weakly.

  “Do you really want to keep going?” I ask.

  The man shakes his head. Slowly, the group gets up and limps away into the exercise yard.

  I walk to Jacks, adrenaline pumping through my veins, and smile. Be strong, Jacks told me.

  I don’t have to be strong. I am strong.

  “Hey, Jacks,” the girl says, “thanks for the assist. Although I’m sure I could’ve handled it on my own.”

  “There were five of them, Brenna,” he points out.

  “Yeah, and you only helped out with one. . . . Your girlfriend at least took on two.” She gives him a wicked grin and turns to me. “I’m Brenna.”

  “Amy.” I offer her my hand, and she shakes it as though it’s a test of strength.

  “That little one”—she points to the guy still on the ground, moaning in pain—“he thought he’d jump me because I beat him in the Arena last week. It’s not my fault he’s a whiny little bitch!” she shouts toward him.

  “You fight in the Arena?”

  “Yep, it’s better than being some guy’s property.” She looks me up and down, trying to figure me out.

  “So you aren’t anyone’s?” I ask.

  “Brenna isn’t a huge fan of men,” Jacks says with a smirk. “I don’t think there’s a man alive who can handle her.”

  Brenna makes a disgusted face. “I can’t imagine belonging to a man. . . . Having them touch you.” She feigns throwing up. “Why would anyone want that?” She looks at me again. “No offense, I mean, if anyone’s claimed you. It can get rough here.”

  “I’ve noticed,” I say, wincing. My hip still aches from my earlier altercation.

  “Well, you can fight, that’s for sure,” Brenna tells me appraisingly. “But it’s an easier life to be protected.”

  “Actually,” Jacks says, “Amy is mine.”

  Brenna looks at Jacks, eyebrows raised skeptically, before barking out a laugh. “Really Jacks? You claimed someone.” She looks at my arm, covered by my synth-suit. “Did you tattoo your name under her ninja getup?”

  “You know I didn’t,” he tells her between clenched teeth. “But she’s still mine, and you should let everyone know.”

  Brenna grins. “Jacks may seem all big and tough, but he’s really the sensitive type. He tries to hide it, but I know he wouldn’t want anyone to feel like his property,” she tells me. “Well, you should keep on pretending, because life is hard here for girls. Keep your arms covered, and as long as people say you’re Jacks’s, you should be fine.” She looks away toward the weight training area. “Shit, I lost my place on the shoulder press machine. I’ll catch you guys later.”

  She turns to run, and I notice a tattoo on the back of her neck, a spinal column that disappears into her shirt. That must be how she knows Jacks: his tattoo work. Watching her go, I ask, “You think she’ll be okay?”

  “Yeah. Brenna will be just fine.”

  I watch Brenna get into an argument with the man on the machine she wanted. After a few seconds he moves away, shaking his head, and Brenna takes over the machine. Beyond her I see a man lifting dumbbells, and the back of my neck goes cold.

  It’s Tank.

  He’s a machine, lifting a weight in each arm marked 50 LBS. Jacks catches me staring and follows my gaze.

  “He’s a monster,” I say.

  “No.” Jacks steps in front of me, blocking my line of vision. “He’s just a very, very sick man. And he’s not going to get to you. I’ll make sure of it.”

  I nod and follow him, but I can’t help looking back at Tank. Man or monster, he’s terrifying.

  The next day, Jacks insists that I stay in the cell while he’s at work, even though I’ve proven I can take care of myself. He seems to be scared of something—but won’t tell me.

  “But you saw me,” I cry, seething with frustration. “I know how to take care of myself.”

  “Just trust me.” He glances at me, then away. “Please. I’ll try and get back soon.”

  He slinks the gate shut. I kick the bars. I pace for a few minutes, waiting for him to leave the cellblock, then open the gate back up and call for Pam.

  “Yeah?” she says, poking her head out. “Oh, hey there, Amy.”

  “You want company today on your sewing rounds?”

  “Sure, I do. Just got to finish up a few things. I’ll come get you when I’m ready.”

  I sit on the bed, and before I can again begin to feel the frustration take over, there is the sound of
metal on metal at the door. . . . A knock? I look up to find the Warden staring at me through the bars. In his grasp is a handgun, the butt of which he used as a door knocker.

  “Well, hello, little lady.”

  “Um. Hi.” I say confused. “Jacks isn’t here.”

  “I know. Can I come in and have a little talk with ya?”

  I stand, uncertain. The last time I opened the door to a man who wasn’t Jacks, I was attacked. And that man wasn’t brandishing a gun like it was a fashion accessory. The Warden catches me eyeing his gun and holsters it.

  “I ain’t gonna hurt you, Amy.” He takes a key out of his pocket. “Here’s my spare anyway.” He unlocks the door and lets himself in. “I just want to have a little talk about Jacks.”

  “All right,” I say, backing away. Distrust is nagging at me, but I try to quiet it. He is Jacks’s uncle after all. He was nothing but kind the first day we met. The Warden comes in and sits down on the chair, putting his cowboy-boot-clad feet on the table. I stifle my unease and sit on the bed, eyeing him warily.

  “J. J. seems quite taken with you,” he says finally.

  “J. J.?”

  “Jackson Junior. He didn’t tell you? The man that everyone just calls Doc is my brother, his father,” he tells me the information as if it should be a shock, and if Pam hadn’t already outed him, it would be.

  “Oh, yeah. Jacks told me,” I say. The Warden looks disappointed by this fact. His face drops slightly.

  “Well, I just have his best interests in mind.” He kicks his feet off the table and sits up, adjusting his Stetson hat. “I wouldn’t want him to find out certain things about you. . . . Things that might hurt him in the end.”

  “What things?” I ask carefully, studying his face. He stands suddenly and hovers over me.

  “Now, Amy, you and I both know you ain’t what you seem.” His hand reaches up and grabs a strand of my short hair. He tugs on it. “I wouldn’t want you doing anything to hurt Jacks.”

  “I wouldn’t.” I say, swallowing hard. The Warden is too close, and I have no idea what to do. I want to lash out, to fight, but what will happen then? And he isn’t actually hurting me, just being vaguely threatening. I decide to go against my impulse and do nothing. I stand still, though every nerve in my body screams to push him away.

  “I will protect him,” he tells me.

  “Like you protected Layla?” I ask. I don’t know why. It just slips out.

  The Warden’s grasp on my hair tightens, pulling my head closer. “A girl can die really easily in here. Especially a sweet little thing like you. Watch your step. Do you understand?” He gives my hair another tug, and it feels as if he may pull the roots from my scalp.

  “Yes.” I say, gasping.

  “Yes, Warden,” he tells me.

  “Yes, Warden,” I repeat.

  “Amy.” He backs away, his anger gone replaces with a teasing smile. “You’re practically family. Call me Johnny.”

  I nod, uncertain of what has just happened but grateful he’s stepped away from me.

  The Warden smiles. “See ya later, Amy.” He dips his hat and saunters out.

  I lock the bike lock behind him and walk to the sink, putting cool water on my flushed face. My hands shake, and I clench them in to a fist. Did the Warden pay me a visit just to intimidate me? I think of everything Jacks has told me about him: his corruption, his greed for power. Was he just trying to get the upper hand? Or was he trying to insert himself between me and Jacks, make me rethink asking Jacks’s help? I sit on the bed, confused. And what does he know really about me? Was he bluffing or does he know about New Hope?

  After a few moments Pam’s voice carries across the cell. “What was that about?”

  I shrug, unable to answer.

  “Are you shaken, honey? Do you still want to come along with me?”

  “Oh, yes. Please. I need to get out of the room.”

  “Well, come on then.”

  I spring out of the cell and grab her basket of clothes.

  “I’m making deliveries to the next cellblock over—Block C,” she explains as we walk down the stairs to first floor.

  “Did you hear the whole thing?” I ask Pam, and she gives me a nod. “What do you think the Warden came for?”

  “Oh, you mean Johnny?” She asks with a half smirk that makes me feel better. “I think he just wanted to show you who’s the big boss. Maybe he thinks Jacks is getting too attached to you. Have you asked him to miss work or do anything the Warden might think of as going against him?”

  “No . . . I . . .” I did ask him to help me find Ken. He told me at first he didn’t want to, but I pushed him. That can’t be it, can it?

  We step out of Cellblock B and into the shantytown that was originally the exercise yard. I know Pam makes the trip all the time by herself, and I quiet my unease.

  As we leave Cellblock B, a greasy-looking man stares at us, eyes narrowed. Pam flashes her tattooed arm at him. He backs away.

  “That’s all you need to do?” I ask. Did that filthy man yesterday really think I was fair game just because I don’t have a tattoo?

  “Yep. All you have to do is show off your tat. . . . It works especially well when your man’s well known for his skills with a rifle”—she eyes me—“or when you belong to the Warden’s nephew. You should show off your tat of Jacks’s name. . . . It would save you some time explaining to everyone. You do have a tattoo, don’t you?”

  “Oh, yeah.” I don’t meet her eyes as we walk the thirty or so feet to the entrance of Cellblock C. “Of course.”

  “He must have done something special for his girl. Can I see it?” She asks me with a half smirk. She knows I’m lying. I stop and turn to her.

  “Um . . . look, Pam, I don’t really have a tattoo. I . . . I’m afraid of needles. You should have seen how much trouble I had with the one on my wrist. I almost fainted,” I lie. “Jacks didn’t want to put me through the trauma. Maybe you could tell everyone you’ve seen it though?”

  She appraises me with a penetrating gaze, and for the first time I see how she must have been as an attorney. After a second the calculating look drops from her face, and she smiles kindly. “All right. I don’t know exactly what’s going on with you two, but you’re entitled to your safety. I’ll talk it up for you. I’ll just say it looks a lot like mine.”

  “Thanks, Pam,” I say, relieved. Pam turns to enter Cellblock C, and I move to follow.

  And then I see him outside, down a ways from where we are.

  A slight man with dark hair.

  I shuffle around Pam to get a better look. The man turns to glance to the side, then back, over his left shoulder. He has a large heart-shaped mole on his cheek. My mouth drops. Could it be? He looks like Kay, like the sketch Jacks had. He looks like . . . Ken.

  “Gotta go,” I say to Pam, shoving the basket of clothes at her. “I’ll see you later.”

  Pam shuffles the basket to her hip and grabs my arm. “Hon, you sure you want to be running around here alone?”

  I shake her off. “It’s important. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

  I run through the alley between Blocks B and C, trying catch up to the man, but there are children underfoot and men who press too closely when they pass, slowing me down. I see him skirt the corner of Cellblock C and head through the Backyard. I rush after him, my heart beating wildly when I lose him for a moment, but then I see him disappear through a door in the back wall. I rush to follow him, but an armed guard suddenly appears and blocks my way.

  “No entry.”

  “I’ve got to get in there,” I plead.

  “There are people infected with the Black Pox in there.” He shows me his wrist: POX is tattooed in block letters. “Unless you’ve already survived the Pox, you’ll want to steer clear.”

  “I just saw a man go through that door. I really need to talk to him.”

  He looks at me curiously. “I didn’t see anyone go in here.”

  “I know what I saw.
” I know it was Ken. I’m sure of it.

  He looks me up and down. “You need a man, honey?”

  “No . . .” My mind spins wildly. “I—uh . . . have a man. Jacks, who helps Doc . . . the Warden’s nephew.” I stress. Even if Jacks relationship with Doc isn’t well known, his relation to the Warden seems to be common knowledge. It might get me the access I need. “I have business back there.”

  “Look, Jacks ain’t allowed back here neither. You go fetch Doc, then we can talk.” He hefts his gun to his other arm and gives me an amused look.

  I step forward, thinking of pushing past him, but he drops his gun, all amusement gone. “I got one job, honey, and it’s a good one. You ain’t coming in here.”

  If the gun were aimed at my chest and not my head, I would have a chance to push my way through. The bullet would hit my synth suit and hurt like hell, but it wouldn’t kill me. As it is now, my head is unprotected. If I reach back to pull down my hood, will he think I’m reaching for a weapon and shoot me?

  Frustrated, I decide to retreat. He’s watching me now, but I can always come again later and watch for Ken. Leaning against the back wall of Cellblock B, I watch who comes and goes. Mostly it’s coughing men, covered in sores. They make my skin crawl, but Jacks said I’d have to actually touch someone with the Pox to contract it. I rub my synth-suit-clad arms, glad for its thin layer of protection from the world.

  Ken doesn’t reappear. When it starts to get dark, I give up and head back to my block. I don’t want to be caught out in the dark, alone.

  As I walk back, I wonder if I wanted to see Ken so badly, I imagined him being there. I shake my head. No! I wasn’t crazy in the Ward, and I’m not crazy now.

  When I finally get back to our cell, Jacks is there, sitting on his bunk. He jumps up when he sees me.

  “Amy, where the hell have you been?”

  “I was out with Pam to take sewing to Cellblock C, but right when we got there, I thought I saw this guy. . . . He looked exactly like your sketch,” I tell him, still irritated that I let Ken get away. “I followed him to the back wall, but I wasn’t allowed in. I waited for him, but he didn’t come out again. Maybe I should go back and wait some more. Maybe Ken lives there.”