Feast by Jeremiah Knight Page B

Alia said, flinching back.
    “What the hell was that for?” Jakob asked, glaring at Anne.
    “She’s fine,” Anne said. “Just pinch it.”
    Jakob motioned to Alia’s face. “Her nose could be broken.”
    “If it were broken, she would have screamed instead of saying ‘oww.’” She took hold of Jakob’s arm and squeezed it hard. “And we have bigger problems.”
    The intense pressure on his arm and Anne’s deep, threatening voice, which he had learned to never ignore, freed him from his mind-numbing concern for Alia. Jakob had overcome a lot of his weaknesses over the past few weeks, but his girlfriend had replaced them all. She distracted him. Put him in danger, and by extension, put the rest of them in danger.
    “The hole in the wall?” Jakob asked.
    Anne shook her head and sang, “One of these things is not like the others.”
    Jakob looked confused. “Sesame Street?”
    Anne shared his expression. “What?”
    “That song is from Sesame Street,” he said.
    “People on a street sing that song?”
    “It was a TV show. For little kids.”
    “I spent my ‘little kids’ days in a tube,” Anne said. “I’ve never seen—” But then she remembered it. The people. The strange fuzzy creatures. What the hell? “Tell me how to get to Sesame Street.”
    “Exactly,” Jakob said.
    “Brought to you by the letter H,” Anne said, her mind drifting, and then snapping back to reality. “H for hypothesis. One of these things is not like the others.” She left out the sing-song tune and looked at Carrie and John. Then turned to Willie. “How badly do you want your freedom? And I don’t mean just from this cage.”
    The old man squinted at her. “What exactly are you asking me, kid?”
    “Before we talk about getting out of here, and about who will help us once we’re free, and about how Mason and his pals can be...usurped, we need to make sure that only the right people hear the plan.”
    “No one here but us,” Willie said. “And they only check on us twice a day with food and water.”
    “What I’m asking you, Willie...” Anne said, leveling her most intense gaze into the man’s eyes. He was old enough to be her great grandfather, but was listening carefully. “...is this. To regain your freedom, for however few years you have left, are you willing to listen to me?”
    “I’m listening now, aren’t I?”
    “Are you willing to fight?” she asked.
    “Much as an old man can.”
    “Are you willing to kill?”
    “Anne,” Jakob said.
    “Same question goes for you, Jakey boy.” She turned to Carrie. “And you.”
    Silence settled into the cell, squeezing her eardrums until John leaned forward and spoke. “And what about me?”
    “I already know about you,” Anne said. She pointed at the ring on his finger. “School ring, top of the class, worn proud. Don’t recognize the school name, but you’re not stupid.” Her finger rose to his hair. “That haircut makes you look handsome to the ladies, but it was also done with a sharp pair of scissors, by someone else.”
    Carrie leaned away from John, looking at his hair. It wasn’t exactly styled, but the cut was even, bordering on professional. Carrie’s scrunched up forehead said she hadn’t noticed the hair before, but she did find it odd now that it had been pointed out.
    “Seriously?” John said. “You don’t like my hair?”
    “I don’t like your face,” Anne said, “but that’s not really the problem.”
    “Then what is?” John asked.
    “The knife strapped to your right leg.”
    All eyes shifted to John’s right leg, which was covered by dirty jeans. The fabric was wrinkled, but among the folds was the slight outline of a thin blade, easy to miss when someone was sitting cross-legged.
    John leaned forward quickly, hiking up the pant leg and reaching for the now exposed blade. It was flat and black, the handle and blade all one piece of forged metal. It looked like a throwing knife to Anne, but that didn’t mean it