The third member of their group was a tall, doughy boy from Spruce named Jordan. Gabi figured he must have been big due to some glandular problem, because Spruce was at ground zero where the Strain had first taken hold, and food was scarcest there. Though Unitas policy was to distribute all rations equally among the branches, Spruce was made up of western Wyoming, northern Utah, and eastern Idaho—areas easily cut off from supplies by weather. Nothing grew there, not even in greenhouses, so everything had to be brought in by the trucks or Witness teams on their way to the coast. Jordan looked at Gabi with shy interest when his name was announced, which Gabi returned with a friendly nod. When the counselors announced the name of his “buddy”—a short, freckled kid with fidgety hands named Peter—Gabi thought Jordan might collapse into a boneless pile with relief. Peter looked a little shifty and weasely, but he didn’t exude the suppressed violence of a true bully. Obviously Jordan was no stranger to the Bradley Fiskes of the world.
“Your dorms and bunk numbers are posted on the wall,” Ruth said after the last teams were announced. “Take some time to get settled in and get to know your teammates. We’ll have a predinner activity back here in the lodge at four thirty, so please be on time. Everything counts!”
There it was. The reminder that although the atmosphere was relaxed, undercover Witness team recruiters were among them, evaluating their every move. Not everyone wanted to serve the fellowship as a Witness. It was arduous, scary, and often deadly work, but everyone wanted to be asked. It was both common and easy to flub the exam to avoid serving, but not being recruited was a badge of mediocrity. The buzz quieted at the subtle reminder of the recruiters’ presence. The campers filed past the notice board for their rooming assignments in nervous silence.
THE GIRLS’ dorm contained orderly rows of bunk beds with brightly colored numbers affixed to the ends. These faced in toward the narrow walkway that stretched from the entrance to the communal bathroom on the other side. Pairs were given numbers that allowed them to sleep side by side, supposedly so they could whisper their innermost secrets to each other after lights-out. The volume rose as the room filled with the excited banter of new friends. At least one of the counselors assigned as their dorm monitor was surely a recruiter, and no one wanted to be caught slacking on their assignment to bond. Gabi didn’t have any idea how to proceed, and Marian didn’t seem the least bit interested in making the first move. Gabi scanned the objects littering Marian’s bed for a conversation starter.
There were some wrinkled clothes in various shades of black, gray, and navy blue, a leather-bound journal, a small zippered pouch that Gabi guessed contained Marian’s supply of eyeliner and mascara, and a flat, tarnished case the size of a hand. Gabi sucked in her breath, bolstered by the growing ease with which she was now able to command it. “I like your case!” She had to shout to be heard, and Marian jumped in surprise.
“Jesus!” the girl yelped, looking like Gabi had just burned her with a match. Gabi looked nervously toward the dorm monitors. Taking the Lord’s name in vain was antidoctrine, and punishable by reduced rations. Marian’s gaze followed Gabi’s. “Oh, relax. They can’t hear a thing, and if they did, they would never suspect Brother Lowell’s sainted daughter of breaking the rules. I’m the black sheep in this herd.” Marian sat on the edge of her bed and leaned back on her elbows. “That is for sure the loudest sound I have ever heard come out of your mouth, Lowell, but I still didn’t catch it.”
“I said I like your case.”
“What, this?” Marian picked up the metal tin from the bedspread and turned it over in her hands.
“Yes. What’s it for?”
Marian’s head snapped up, eyes flashing. “None of your business, is what.”
Gabi recognized the conversation-ending cut in Marian’s tone, but if Gabi couldn’t at least keep the girl talking, she would fail at the very first task she’d been given in full view of the counselors. Since niceties weren’t going to work, Gabi changed tactics.
“Is that where you keep your cigarettes?”
“Why? You want one?”
“Sure, why not?” Gabi wished she could have taken a photo of Marian’s expression. She would treasure it forever as a reminder that she, Gabi Lowell, was full of surprises.
“Don’t you have a lung thing?” It was Gabi’s turn to be surprised. Not only did Marian know who she was, but she knew about her illness. That was something.
“I’m getting better. It’s no big deal.”
“Yeah, well, never mind,” Marian said brusquely. “My stash is precious, unless you have rations to trade. Anyway, I don’t want to be responsible for making you pass out or have some kind of fit.”
“I don’t have fits,” Gabi snapped.
“Well, that’s what it looks like when you get all wheezy and blue, is all I’m saying.”
“You don’t know anything about me.”
“Right. Let’s keep it that way, shall we?”
Gabi was losing the struggle to keep Marian engaged, and they still had ten more minutes of forced bonding time before they were supposed to meet up with Jordan and Peter for more of the same.
“Why are you even here, Marian?” Gabi asked in a last stab at drawing her out. Marian rolled onto her back and put an arm over her eyes. “I mean it. Why did you come to Consecration Camp? Do you even care if you get called or recruited? Because it’s not gonna happen if you act like you do in school.” Gabi
