fence, latched by a security gate. Its sinister embrace stretched into the woods around us.
Almost there. Almost free.
Chase slowed the van to a halt and rolled down the driver’s side window. A guard leaned out the porthole on his elbows, scowling when he saw me. He disappeared for a moment and returned with a clipboard.
“Get the papers signed?” he asked Chase, flipping through the pages. He had a bald spot right on the top of his head. His name badge said BROADBENT .
My spine straightened. I recognized his name from my phone call in the infirmary. I looked ahead at the closed gate in front of the van as Chase handed Broadbent my summons. He scribbled something on the clipboard.
“Walters!” he called outside the station. “Sweep the van so they can get moving when I’m done. Damn, you’ll be driving straight through, huh?”
“I guess so. Your headmistress didn’t approve more than one night,” said Chase. I remained silent.
Walters, clearly a merit-badge winner, opened my door and reached his hands beneath the seat. I tried to remain calm. He slammed my door and jerked open the slider, checking the empty body of the car.
“All clear,” shouted Walters. He closed the trunk.
“Good luck with that,” Broadbent said to Chase, nodding my way.
I nearly jumped out of my skin at the blaring buzzer that unlatched the front gate. With a lurch, it swung open.
Chase pressed the gas. And the Girls’ Reformatory and Rehabilitation Center of West Virginia faded behind us.
* * *
I WAS out. Away from the shack and from Brock, from the terrifying guards and the Statute classes. Everything within me wanted to push Chase aside and slam my foot down on the accelerator, but I knew that couldn’t happen.
I was out. But not free.
I glanced over to the driver. His face was set, like it had been in front of my mother’s house. This was not the Chase I’d pictured in the woods, in those seconds before I’d thought Randolph would pull the trigger. This was the soldier, and I was still very much imprisoned. Unconsciously, my wrists jerked against the restraints, making my still-sore hands even more sensitive.
We left the winding road outside the facility and joined the highway. The area was clean here. No stalled cars, no giant potholes in the asphalt. It was obviously a heavily traveled military route: The MM only paid for maintenance on the roads they used most.
As we continued, the frequency of military vehicles increased. A blue van sped past, then several more cruisers, then a bus filled with frightened new residents who had no idea what awaited them. Each sighting made my stomach lurch. If I had escaped last night, there would’ve been no way I could have snuck by all these soldiers. I’d be shot and bleeding in a ditch right now.
The radio squealed, making me jump. Irritated, Chase flicked it off. The van seemed very quiet without its consistent hum.
I glanced at the speedometer. A perfect sixty-five miles per hour. What a good soldier.
“How long will it take to get there?” I tried not to sound too impatient.
He didn’t answer, completely focused on driving.
“I’m not going to tell anyone if you speak to me,” I assured him.
Silence.
Why was he doing this? Continuing to punish me after all he’d done? I wanted to throttle him. He had seen my mother, and despite my aggravation, being near him made me feel closer to her than I had in days. I wanted to ask how she looked, if she’d been harmed, if they’d given her enough to eat. But he was adhering strictly to Brock’s rules. Any slight hope that he’d come to rescue me slipped away.
“You don’t know if she’s been doing any kind of rehab, do you?” I ventured, wondering if she had to “complete” something, like Rebecca had heard.
“Can’t you just be quiet?” he snapped. “Right now? You’re a prisoner. And I need to think.”
I blinked, instantly livid.
“Ms. Brock didn’t mean absolute silence.” I
Almost there. Almost free.
Chase slowed the van to a halt and rolled down the driver’s side window. A guard leaned out the porthole on his elbows, scowling when he saw me. He disappeared for a moment and returned with a clipboard.
“Get the papers signed?” he asked Chase, flipping through the pages. He had a bald spot right on the top of his head. His name badge said BROADBENT .
My spine straightened. I recognized his name from my phone call in the infirmary. I looked ahead at the closed gate in front of the van as Chase handed Broadbent my summons. He scribbled something on the clipboard.
“Walters!” he called outside the station. “Sweep the van so they can get moving when I’m done. Damn, you’ll be driving straight through, huh?”
“I guess so. Your headmistress didn’t approve more than one night,” said Chase. I remained silent.
Walters, clearly a merit-badge winner, opened my door and reached his hands beneath the seat. I tried to remain calm. He slammed my door and jerked open the slider, checking the empty body of the car.
“All clear,” shouted Walters. He closed the trunk.
“Good luck with that,” Broadbent said to Chase, nodding my way.
I nearly jumped out of my skin at the blaring buzzer that unlatched the front gate. With a lurch, it swung open.
Chase pressed the gas. And the Girls’ Reformatory and Rehabilitation Center of West Virginia faded behind us.
* * *
I WAS out. Away from the shack and from Brock, from the terrifying guards and the Statute classes. Everything within me wanted to push Chase aside and slam my foot down on the accelerator, but I knew that couldn’t happen.
I was out. But not free.
I glanced over to the driver. His face was set, like it had been in front of my mother’s house. This was not the Chase I’d pictured in the woods, in those seconds before I’d thought Randolph would pull the trigger. This was the soldier, and I was still very much imprisoned. Unconsciously, my wrists jerked against the restraints, making my still-sore hands even more sensitive.
We left the winding road outside the facility and joined the highway. The area was clean here. No stalled cars, no giant potholes in the asphalt. It was obviously a heavily traveled military route: The MM only paid for maintenance on the roads they used most.
As we continued, the frequency of military vehicles increased. A blue van sped past, then several more cruisers, then a bus filled with frightened new residents who had no idea what awaited them. Each sighting made my stomach lurch. If I had escaped last night, there would’ve been no way I could have snuck by all these soldiers. I’d be shot and bleeding in a ditch right now.
The radio squealed, making me jump. Irritated, Chase flicked it off. The van seemed very quiet without its consistent hum.
I glanced at the speedometer. A perfect sixty-five miles per hour. What a good soldier.
“How long will it take to get there?” I tried not to sound too impatient.
He didn’t answer, completely focused on driving.
“I’m not going to tell anyone if you speak to me,” I assured him.
Silence.
Why was he doing this? Continuing to punish me after all he’d done? I wanted to throttle him. He had seen my mother, and despite my aggravation, being near him made me feel closer to her than I had in days. I wanted to ask how she looked, if she’d been harmed, if they’d given her enough to eat. But he was adhering strictly to Brock’s rules. Any slight hope that he’d come to rescue me slipped away.
“You don’t know if she’s been doing any kind of rehab, do you?” I ventured, wondering if she had to “complete” something, like Rebecca had heard.
“Can’t you just be quiet?” he snapped. “Right now? You’re a prisoner. And I need to think.”
I blinked, instantly livid.
“Ms. Brock didn’t mean absolute silence.” I
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