“Of course.” Her voice had turned a little silky, an attempt to manipulate her somehow.
“What about other dorms?”
“What do you mean?”
“Are they locked down, too?”
“Um. Yes.”
She’s catching on to my plan. “I want them released, too. All of them. I want the campus to be free with access to phone service, medical service, freedom to come and go. Call off the centaurs.” That was asking for too much, unless either Dad was some sort of really big-time mutiny kingpin—she’d be even more glad if he was—or Bowley was about to lose control of the campus anyway, which would also make her very glad. For students like the guy at the imaginary beach hotel, every minute might count. Shinta’s lips had been blue.
“Agreed. Walk outside of the building and wait.”
“I’ll wait until I see that you’re doing what you promised.”
What would happen wherever they took her? Well, Avril was going to die anyway. It wouldn’t matter. She added, “I want my phone to work all the time, even where I’m going.” She could say goodbye to Dad.
After a moment: “Yes.”
That was weird. And probably false, the stuff about the phone at least, and Bowley knew it, so making the promise cost nothing. More lies. “I’ll be outside, waiting and watching.”
She ran one flight down to her room. “Help is on its way,” she told Shinta as she grabbed a jacket. She’d heard that prisons sometimes kept the temperature cold to torment the prisoners.
“Can I call my family?”
“Yes, soon.”
In the clinic, she told them about the agreement. “I think they want to extort my dad. They don’t know him. Or me. They’re not going to get anything from this.”
Hetta frowned. “You shouldn’t let them take you.” She looked at her phone, then held it up to show Avril. “Hey, it works!”
One promise kept. “Get ready to get help.”
Avril thought about trust as she walked downstairs and tested the front doors. They opened, and she walked outside as a centaur approached. The sidewalks all around were empty. No one wanted to get near a building with a centaur guarding it. Her shoulder still hurt from the last time—and her dignity still stung, for that matter, dragged around like a piece of luggage. The robot trotted up on its mechanical legs and towered over her.
She could see some smaller residence halls nearby. “What’s happening over there at Bradley?” One of the doors of the old brick building faced Dejope. She stood and waited one, two, three minutes. Traffic sounded from far away, probably off campus, and low clouds were rolling in from the west.
The door at Bradley opened. Someone peered out, saw the centaur, and ducked back in. It was the only centaur around. If she could get it to leave, the residents could walk out freely.
“Let’s go. And I’ll walk on my own,” she told the centaur, trying to stare down whatever sensors were aimed at her. To see if someone was listening, she added, “Show the way.”
It stood still. No one was listening. She waited and seethed with anger as the memory of Drew’s death surged back. Finally, a van pulled up. The centaur took a few steps toward it, but Avril decided to push her luck.
Although the rear door of the van opened, she went to sit in the front so she could see where they were going, but waited to close the door until the centaur had climbed in the back. It would know where she was, she knew, and if she made a wrong move, it could shoot her through the rear wall of the cab. She’d pushed her luck far enough. She was on her way to somewhere, and it would be bad.
She called her dad. The line was busy, so she left a message telling him everything that had happened, describing more extortion and kidnapping to charge Bowley with. “Just so you know. Keep doing what you’re doing. Tell Mom I love her.” Say goodbye for me, really, but no one needs to hear that now.
In the short time she’d been in Madison, she had never seen the city so quiet. And never in her life had she been in a vehicle that raced so fast on city streets, heading due west to get out of town. Her shoulder ached against the seat belt when it took sharp turns, and ached even worse when it suddenly stopped dead in front of one of those boxy old buildings that had probably once been a big store.
“You know what that is,” a voice on her phone said, that gloating voice again.
Doesn’t that sadist asshole have anything better to do? Well, I won’t give him a show.
The building had no sign or markings, and it needed serious upkeep. Its fake stone exterior was crumbling, and weeds poked up through the pavement around it. They’d recently been flattened by traffic at the front door. This was a busy place.
“Let me guess,” she answered with all the scorn she could muster. “A federal facility. Political prisoners that the city and county won’t accept.”
“Good guess. Don’t expect amenities.”
Death without amenities. “Of course not.” She’d heard about those sites. “Lowest bidder, and they still skimmed off funds. You’re criminals in all kinds of ways.”
“You know what? You’re not a mutineer, you’re a mutant.” The taunting voice tried to be infuriating.
She stayed calm, still invigorated by the strength of fear. “Yeah, but I didn’t choose to be a mutant. You chose to be a sadist asshole criminal.” She tried to hang up, although she couldn’t tell if it had worked. Then she had a great idea. She peeled a sticker off her jacket and stuck a scrap of it over the camera lens on her phone. You won’t get to watch. I hope you’re disappointed.
The front passenger door of the van opened. The door to the building opened. Could she make a run for freedom? She could try—and fail, so instead
