The Fall of Crazy House (Crazy House 2) - Page 9

Then Becca hugged Tim, whispering stuff to him, and I faced Nate, who looked deeply unhappy. He was my first real boyfriend. My first real love. He might also be my last. Just realizing that made me want to shriek like a banshee. Us fighting side by side hadn’t bothered me. Now we were getting split up. We might never hold hands again, never kiss again, and it felt like my heart was getting ripped out of my chest.

As if he could tell what I was feeling, Nate smiled bravely but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll be back,” he said firmly.

I couldn’t even pretend to believe that, be sure of that. I wanted to say so many things, tell him I loved him, assure him that we would get married someday, but all I could come up with was, “Don’t—don’t do anything stupid. You and Becca stick together, got it?”

A pompous look came over his handsome face and he put on his most annoying son-of-a-Provost voice. “I’m incapable of doing anything stupid.” Then he grinned at me, a bit wobbly, and crushed me to his chest. “I’m going to come back to you,” he whispered.

I nodded, but inside I thought, We’re all going to die. And I’m never going to see you again.

Over Nate’s shoulder I saw Strepp looking at us, her eyes narrowed. What an inhuman bitch. Didn’t she know that separating Becca and me weakened us both? Didn’t she know that Becca would fight better with Tim at her side?

Maybe Ms. Strepp wasn’t human. Maybe she was a cyborg.

It was the only explanation that made sense.

16

TIM AND I SILENTLY WATCHED the various groups head out of the compound, knowing they would split up to head in different directions. My chest ached with wanting to be with them. My biggest fear wasn’t that Becca or I would die—but that one of us would die without the other. My throat hurt and I knew if I tried to speak it would come out in a bitter croak.

I barely noticed that other soldiers, armed with clipboards instead of weapons, had started hustling some of us remaining losers off to our new jobs—KP duty, watchtower shift, maybe advanced weapons training. In case we might ever actually need to use weapons.

“You,” a voice said, and I looked up to see a tall, wiry girl with red hair and freckles standing in front of me. She held a rifle and wore a thin purple armband—she was a guard, as opposed to a soldier. Guards were enforcers, answerable only to Ms. Strepp.

“What,” I said, matching her narrow-eyed gaze.

“You two come with me,” she said. “Ms. Strepp is waiting for you.”

Right then I could have cheerfully told Strepp to go screw herself, but Tim fell into line behind the guard, his large hands curled into fists. Sighing, I followed him, my jaw clenched with fury and my neck stiff from tension.

Once inside the main building, the guard led us to a door and rapped it firmly.

“Come in,” said that horrible voice.

The guard opened the door and motioned us through, then stood behind us at attention.

“Thank you, Havers,” Ms. Strepp said, and the guard turned smartly and marched out the door, closing it behind her.

Once the three of us were alone, Ms. Strepp looked us up and down, nodding to herself. Suddenly she caught my eyes with a sharp, knowing look.

“Still pissed?” she asked.

“Yep,” I said, deliberately looking away.

“You bet,” Tim said, his voice hard.

“Sorry about that,” she said briskly, not sounding sorry at all. “But I need you here. I made the right decision.”

It took all my willpower not to say, “Whatever.”

Quickly she crossed to her office door and locked it, very quietly. Then, motioning at us, she led us to another door and opened it, revealing a short, dark hallway. It led to a crummy, old-fashioned bathroom, apparently just for her personal use.

Oh, my God, I thought in despair. I am here to literally scrub toilets. My contribution to the Resistance would be sparkling toilets. My heart sank and I wanted to both shriek in rage and break down crying.

We stood in silence, looking at the bathroom. It was small and rough with a chipped, rust-stained sink and an old-fashioned pull-chain toilet. The walls were crumbling brick, their layers of paint showing tan, blue, then institution green.

I refused to be the first one to speak. Tim, beside me, was practically vibrating with anger and disappointment.

With the three of us crowding in, Ms. Strepp closed and locked this door, too. For the first time, a flicker of fear edged into my anger. This was not a good situation. If Tim and I suddenly disappeared, not a single person would notice or care. Shit. What was happening?

Tags: James Patterson Crazy House Mystery
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