“Jamie, stop. You can’t …”
He brushed her aside and swept through the doorway.
“You people think I’m just gonna do what you want and die in a few hours, but …”
Jamie’s rage subsided as Walt and Grace parted to reveal a familiar woman on the bed, her chest covered in blood, her eyes drooping and her face awash in sweat. “What are you people doing?”
He recognized Arlene Winters, a waitress at the Denny’s a few miles outside of town, right near the interstate. His parents used to take him there for breakfast. He couldn’t get enough of the pancakes, and Arlene always made sure to provide him with an extra stack.
Walt dropped his bloody rag, firmed his left hand, and smacked Jamie across the cheek. The sickly wallop almost knocked Jamie off his feet, but he remained standing long enough for Walt to grab him by his ponytail with one hand, beneath his armpit with the other, and proceed to fling the boy across the room, slamming face-first into the wall beneath a clock that read 4:56. Jamie crumpled to the floor. Sammie yelled in protest, and Ben rushed in dismayed.
“Sheridan, contain your brother, or he’ll spend his remaining hours in the cellar. Understood? We have important work to do.”
18
J AMIE SHOOK OFF his dizziness, gathered himself to his feet, and prepared to go after the biggest target in the room. He reached for a side-table lamp, its base replicating a Grecian urn. He would have tested it against Walt’s head had Ben not come between Jamie and additional pain.
“You won’t solve anything this way,” Ben mumbled as he dragged Jamie away from the bed, where Arlene Winters offered a slight but steady moan. “Come on. We can’t stay here.”
Walt cocked his pistol. “Son, you have the slightest idea what a bullet can do to a man’s kneecap? How about both?”
“Daddy,” Sammie said. “You wouldn’t …”
“Pumpkin, this is not your concern. I won’t kill you, James. The program will take care of that. But a man can lose both his kneecaps and survive long enough for my needs.”
Grace, who was patting Arlene’s forehead with a clean rag, intervened. “That’s more than enough, sweetheart. We can’t afford to bicker. Our mission has already been compromised.”
Sammie stepped forward. “Let me talk to Jamie alone.” She didn’t make eye contact with her would-be boyfriend. “Jamie needs a friend.” Her voice cracked. “He knows he can trust me.”
Jamie’s instant, bellowing laugh bounced off the walls. Sammie’s cheeks turned red, but she didn’t back away. “There are things we need to talk about while there’s still time. Daddy, I won’t let anything happen.”
Jamie caught their knowing glance as she placed a hand near the gun behind her belt. Jamie couldn’t imagine how he’d been fooled into believing she was so sweet, awkward, and shy.
“Yeah,” Jamie mocked. “Reckon I won’t jump her, even if this is my last chance to get laid.”
Walt grumbled as he turned to his daughter. “All right, Pumpkin. Take him to your room but leave the door open. Keep him at a distance.”
Neither spoke nor made eye contact once in her bedroom, and the door stayed open. Sammie sat on the corner of her bed, her cheeks a dark cherry. She slumped her shoulders and rubbed her hands back and forth against her thighs, a nervous tick reminiscent of the girl Jamie once knew.
“I’m sure you hate me,” she said. “It’s understandable.”
Jamie wanted to rail against Sammie, yet something happened when he twisted about in fury and saw her long strands of hair falling over her shoulders, cloaking her face. Jamie’s heart sank.
“Hate?” He said. “I been so mad the last two years, I didn’t know how to get through the day unless I was freaking pissed. I don’t hate you. I feel like a chump.”
Sammie’s gaze glistened as water pooled in her eyes.
“Jamie, I never really thought it would come to this.”
“No? Tell me something. All them weekends you and your folks went to Texas and Louisiana, were they training you for this?”
“In a way.”
“What does that mean?”
“We knew there might be enemies.”
“Huh. Looks like ol’ Daddy guessed right.”
“No, Jamie. No, he didn’t. This is the worst possible ending. We thought we might have to face enemies coming through the fold. We never expected to be fighting each other.” Sammie paused. “I won’t lie to you, not now. I’m fully trained on a variety of weapons. Pistols, shotguns, rifles, automatics, rocket-propelled grenades. But so are we all, including the people who are after you.”
“Sure. Why not? So … Queen Bee is a regular Rambo?”
Sammie broke a smile. “If she wanted to be. Fact is, we’re all Chancellors … you’ve been told about us?” Jamie nodded. “Most Chancellors go through military service. If I were living in the Collectorate, I’d be a soldier in the Unification Guard.”
Jamie snapped his fingers. “Reality check, colonel. We’re living in the sticks of Alabama, and we’re in high school. We don’t get to go around playing GI Joe till we’re 18.”
“Mom and Daddy wanted me to be prepared for when we return.”
“Oh, yeah. That fold. After I get all Berserker on you. Right?”
“My parents said when we returned, a lot would be expected of me. They said I would be considered weak if I went through the fold lacking the necessary maturity. They only wanted the best for me.”
Jamie’s head was spinning. “You know, I think most folks that do right by their kids give them nice clothes or send them to really good schools. Maybe even buy them an Xbox. But they ain’t hauling them
