corridors looked the same, and I wondered how Jason could possibly know where he was going.
We rounded another corner and I froze at the sight of a security camera. Of course. Why hadn’t I realized there would be cameras? Why hadn’t I noticed them the last time I was here?
Jason paused and glanced back when he realized I had stopped. He followed the direction of my gaze. “Don’t worry. The night shift is too short staffed for anyone to watch the footage.”
Hoping he was right, I focused on the rest of the hallway. It was different from the others. My pulse skipped a beat as I recognized the white tile and the keypads next to the doors. We rounded another corner and there it was: the steel door I had found the last time I was here.
“The stairs are right on the other side,” said Jason. “I got a glimpse of them when I was scoping out the hallways this morning.”
Kyle headed for the keypad next to the door, and Jason slipped a notebook and pen out of his pocket. “I was a Boy Scout for six months,” he said, catching my flicker of surprise. “Being prepared was a whole thing.”
“It was Cub Scouts,” corrected Kyle, “and you got the both of us kicked out after three weeks.” He leaned down and put his face near the keypad.
“Well?” asked Jason.
“Hang on. There are a lot of different scents on this thing.”
My heart plummeted. It had been a stupid idea. It had—
“Nine . . . three . . . two . . .” Kyle turned his head and sneezed. “Four and eight.”
Jason glanced at his notebook. “That’s only five numbers.”
Kyle checked the keypad again, then straightened and shook his head. “All the buttons smell, but it’s strongest on those five.”
“Maybe one number is in the code twice.” I walked forward and nudged Kyle aside. “Read me them?” I asked Jason.
“Nine, three, two, four, eight.”
I repeated them softly and began punching in different combinations as quickly as I could. Each time I entered a code, a small red light flashed for half a heartbeat.
My fingers started to cramp and the taste of copper flooded my mouth as I bit my lip. How many strings had I tried? Fifty? A hundred?
Footsteps and the sound of someone whistling echoed down the adjacent corridor. For a horrible second, I froze, then my fingers flew over the keypad in a blur.
“Mac . . .”
I blocked out Jason’s sharp whisper. I blocked out everything but the keypad and the small flash of red.
Suddenly, there was a soft click and the light turned green. I threw open the door and the three of us tumbled inside seconds before the footsteps reached the corner.
I blinked in the too-bright light at the top of a too-white stairwell. Before my eyes could adjust, Kyle’s hands were on my back. “Move!” he hissed as he herded Jason and me down the stairs.
We reached the bottom and hurtled through another door only to find ourselves in a hallway just as sterile as the stairwell. White doors lined both sides of the corridor and each had a keypad.
We were trapped. No better than rats in a maze.
“Back,” snapped Jason, grabbing my arm and tugging me behind him before wedging us both in the small space to the left of the stairwell entrance. To Kyle, he said, “If it’s just one, you can grab him when he comes through.”
My mind full of Tasers and guns and HFDs, I started to object, but I could hear steps descending the stairs.
My heart thudded in my chest—so fierce and fast that I was sure Jason would feel it despite the layers of clothing between us.
With a soft
I pushed past Jason as the door swung shut.
Kyle held a program coordinator pinned—face-first, arms behind back—to the wall. Shards of a broken mug lay in a puddle of coffee on the floor. The man tried to twist away and I caught sight of a birthmark on his cheek: it was the program coordinator I had asked about Serena that first morning in Thornhill.
“How did you get in here?”
Kyle glanced at me and there was something cold and a little inhuman in his eyes—it was almost like the wolf was peeking out. “Go check for Serena.”
I nodded, but before heading down the hall, I stepped up to the coordinator and checked his pockets.
“Do you have any idea how much trouble you’re in?” asked the man as I took his HFD. His voice was steady and laced with authority, but his face was beet red and sweat dripped off his brow. “When the warden gets her hands on you . . .”
In response, Kyle pulled the man’s arms sharply back, eliciting a ragged grunt of pain. “Don’t look at her. Don’t talk to her. Forget you’ve even seen her.”
“Kyle . . .”
“Check for Serena.” His voice came out with the hint of a growl.
I shot a worried glance at Jason, but did as Kyle said.
The first two doors were plain and unbroken, but every door after that had a slitlike window at eye level. Each window looked in on sparsely furnished rooms lit by rectangular yellow lights over narrow bunks. The wolves in rooms one and two looked emaciated and sick—like the girl I’d seen that morning in the hall. And, just like the girl, both were hooked up to IVs.
Shayla, the missing girl from my dorm, was in the third room. Her body sprawled bonelessly on her bunk and she looked so out of it that I wondered if she had been drugged. Could you drug a werewolf?
Room four was empty, and rooms five and six both held boys.
I peered through the slit into room seven. For a moment, I thought it, too, was empty. Then I caught sight of the small figured huddled at the head of the bed.
Serena.
SERENA HAD WEDGED HERSELF INTO THE SPACE WHERE the corner of the mattress met the corner of the room. Her legs were drawn up to her chest and her forehead was pressed to her knees. Her hair had been cut short and left in unruly tangles.
I couldn’t see her face, but I knew it was her.
“Serena?” I called her name through the glass. She didn’t react. I tried the handle, but of course the door was locked. “Guys, she’s here.”
“What’s the code?” Jason’s voice, hard edged with threats, filled the hallway. Through the window, I saw Serena flinch.
“I don’t have it.”
The sharp snap of breaking bones echoed in the air and the program coordinator let out a strangled cry.
I whirled and then froze. The breaking bones had been Kyle’s. His hand was changing. As I watched, his fingers lengthened, the tips turning long and deadly. He met my gaze and quickly looked away, almost as though he suddenly couldn’t stand the sight of me.
“Think carefully,” Kyle said, voice rough, as he lifted a hand that was no longer human and placed it on the program coordinator’s shoulder. “I’m guessing life in a camp would be especially bad for someone in your position.”
I knew Kyle wouldn’t really infect him—he couldn’t really infect him—but looking at the expression on his face, it was almost easy to believe the lie.
