I had already looked. I had already seen the cuffs. I . . .
The realization slammed into me, and my knees threatened to buckle. Impossible. It wasn’t the cuffs that had Jason staring at Serena like she was something amazing and terrifying, it was the skin around them. It had been rubbed raw from straining against the restraints, so raw that strips of flesh seemed to half hang off her wrists. Blood trickled out in a slow but constant flow, dripping onto the bed.
Serena hadn’t struggled while we had been in the cell. Her wrists should have started to heal, but they hadn’t.
With a sick lurch, I noted bloodstains on the blankets—easy to miss because the fabric was a dark russet- brown.
Jason edged closer to the bed, trying to get a better look at her hands.
Serena seemed completely oblivious to his presence, but she stopped tapping her head against the wall and uncurled herself by small fractions as he slowly advanced.
Her entire body tensed as Jason took another step.
He held up his hands, trying to convey that he wouldn’t hurt her. “Serena?”
She suddenly bolted from the bed, knocking him off balance and sending him crashing onto his butt.
“Serena!” I stepped toward her, but she shoved me away. My palms and forearms slapped the tile wall, and I just managed to keep from dashing my brains out. It hurt, but not nearly as badly as it should have.
I spun in time to see her lift her manacled hands and fling the chain around Jason’s throat.
“Stop it, Serena!” I screamed for Kyle as I tried to force her arms up. Her muscles were rigid with strain and her skin was scorching to the touch.
Jason managed to get his fingers under the chain and pushed against it in an effort to keep her from crushing his windpipe. When that didn’t work, he threw his weight back, trying to knock her off balance.
Serena let out a horrible sound—like a cornered and wounded animal—and pulled the chain tighter.
Jason made a gurgling, choking noise as his oxygen was cut off completely.
A string of swear words emanated from the doorway, and I glanced over my shoulder as Kyle shoved the program coordinator into the room.
Kyle’s eyes widened as he took in the scene. His nostrils flared and his gaze darted to the bloodstained blanket before locking on Serena. “Watch him,” he ordered me as he circled to approach Serena from behind.
I placed myself between the program coordinator and the door. The man took a step to the left. “Don’t even think about it.” I wasn’t infected, but you’d never know it from the growl in my voice.
Kyle grabbed Serena from behind.
She let out a wordless howl as he forced her hands up and away from Jason’s neck. He moved back, hauling her with him, folding his arms over her chest like a straight jacket.
He was too late: Jason had already passed out. Without the chain and Serena’s body to hold him up, Jason crumpled. I dove forward and barely managed to keep his head from splitting open against the tile floor.
Too late, I realized my mistake as the program coordinator darted past me and out into the hall. An alarm sounded before I could so much as think about going after him.
Hands shaking, I checked Jason’s pulse: weak but steady. We had to get him out of here. We had to get them both out of here.
Serena stopped struggling and sagged in Kyle’s arms.
We had to get them out of the room and up the stairs without Serena losing it again. If we could manage that, then maybe we’d have a chance. If we could get her out of the building, we could sort out whatever was wrong with her afterward.
There was a loud thud—audible even over the alarm—and then shouting filled the corridor outside the cell.
Kyle let go of Serena and pushed her behind him, putting his body between her and the door. His gaze darted to mine.
Looking into Kyle’s eyes, I saw fear and desperation—not for himself, but for the rest of us. He knew there was nothing we could do. We were out of time and luck.
I glanced down at Jason. His chest rose and fell steadily, but there was a ring of red around his neck where the chain had pressed against the skin. I pulled his head onto my lap.
It was over. All over.
Guards flooded the cell.
Two pulled Jason away from me and dragged him into the hallway. I surged to my feet only to be forced to the nearest corner. My shoulder blades collided with the tiles as I heard Kyle shout my name.
He and Serena were rushed by another group in blue.
Kyle tried to protect her and collapsed as a Taser took him full in the chest.
A scream shredded my throat. I tried to move forward, but the guards blocked my way and penned me in.
The electricity coursing through Kyle’s body stopped. He tore the darts from his chest and staggered to his feet.
The voice of a female guard rang through the cell. “Keep resisting, and we’ll tase the girl.”
Half the Tasers in the room swung in Serena’s direction.
Kyle didn’t have a choice: wordlessly, he held up his hands in surrender.
We were both herded into the hallway. There was no sign of Jason, and instead of turning toward the stairs, guards forced us in the opposite direction.
Serena started screaming and her cries chased us down the detention block. I covered my ears, desperate to block out the sound.
It wasn’t until we were shoved through a door and into an old, untouched part of the psych ward that the cries fell away.
I shivered and tried not to stumble over the debris covering the floor.
Here, there were no white tile walls or rooms that smelled of bleach. Instead, the corridors reeked of mold and looked like the setting for one of those shows where B-list celebrities went ghost hunting. Half the doors were off their hinges, offering glimpses into abandoned rooms filled with broken furniture, shredded paper, and graffitied walls.
Kyle and I were flung into the last room on the left: a cell with peeling green paint and a single lamp that hung down from the ceiling like a flying saucer. There was one window above the door; all of the other walls were solid.
The door slammed shut. For the second time since leaving Hemlock, we had been locked in a room without hope of escape.
SOMETHING SCURRIED IN THE CORNER AND DARTED behind a mildew-stained mattress. With a small shudder, I moved a little farther down the wall. I wasn’t sure how long we had been in the cell—long enough for my legs to ache from standing—but there was no sign that anyone was coming for us anytime soon.
“Why a camp?” Kyle paced the room. “If the government was working on a cure, they’d do it at the CDC or some secret lab. There are better ways. Easier ways.” He shook his head. “And they wouldn’t need to pay the Trackers to bring wolves in—not when the camps are full of them. Sinclair has to be doing it on her own.”
I bit my lip and chipped flakes of paint off the wall with the edge of my thumbnail. “Finding a cure for LS would take way more resources than a warden and a handful of program coordinators. You’d need labs. Doctors.
