Hunted (28 page)

“Oh, Morgan, what am I going to do with you?” Mom murmured in my ear.

I wasn’t sure what she meant and I leaned away and looked at her, a question on my face.

“I’ve been worried sick about you,” she said, her eyes damp with unshed tears. “I didn’t know where you were. I didn’t even know if you were alive.”

I guess I hadn’t thought too much about how Mom might be feeling—I’d been preoccupied with my own problems—but now that she stood in front of me, it kind of hit me how hard it must have been for her these last few weeks. Especially with Amy locked up in my place. “I’m so sorry, Mom. I never meant for you to worry.”

She laughed softly. “One day you’ll understand that a mother never stops worrying.”

“Well, now you’ll know where I’m going to be.”

Her humor vanished. “Yes, but I’d rather you were at home.”

Then I looked at Dad and he pulled me close to him. “Morgan, it’s so good to see you. I love you so much.”

Tears filled my eyes. “I’m glad to see you too. And I love you too.”

After a moment he released me and put his hands on my shoulders. “You’ll get through this. You’ll be okay.”

His reassurance helped, but I knew he had no idea if I’d be okay. I looked at Mom and she glanced over my shoulder at the horde filming our interaction, then at Dr. Tasco. “Do you know how long you’ll be there?”

There
. Like it was just summer camp. “No.” But I feared it would be a long time. Before I’d “assaulted an Enforcement Officer” I’d been sentenced to six months. Now who knew how long it would be. And I hadn’t noticed any kind of court system where I could defend my actions. Guilty unless proven…well, just guilty. That’s how it worked here.
 

I sighed, then turned to Amy. She threw her arms around me and I pressed my cheek against hers. “I’m so glad you got out,” I said in her ear so no one else could hear.

“It’s not right what they’re doing,” she said quietly.

“What do you mean?”

“Making this big show about getting you and letting me go.”

I thought this kind of thing happened all the time—I wasn’t from around here, remember. Evidently not. “It’s okay. I can handle it.” I actually had no idea if that was true, but it sounded good. Then I pulled away and smiled at her. She smiled back and seemed a little less angry, so at least my comment had helped.

“Okay, time to get going,” Dr. Tasco said. “We have a schedule to keep.”

I didn’t know what schedule he was talking about, but figured it was the only thing he could come up with to hurry me along. My family gave me one more hug, then the Enforcers led me through the parting crowd of reporters and out to a waiting vehicle. They held the door open and helped me inside—they couldn’t be too rough with all the media watching—then put my seatbelt on me and shut the door. We pulled away from the curb a moment later—just me and the two Enforcers who had stayed by my side throughout the whole ordeal. But they weren’t my protectors. They were my jailers.

I looked at the door and verified what I expected—there was no door handle. I looked out the window as we drove away from Camp Willowmoss, remembering the last time I’d left. It had been Billy and me and we’d been on the run. I’d been terrified but exhilarated. Full of hope that I would be back to my own world very soon. Now it was completely different. The flame of hope had been extinguished with the same finality as the flame in the lantern when I’d dropped it in the tunnel. The further we got from my family and what was familiar, the more the darkness closed in on me.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

I leaned my head against the back of the seat and closed my eyes, my shoulders aching from having my arms behind me for so long. I tried to pretend I was just running an errand with Mom. Or maybe we were on the way to school—school would be heaven compared to where I was headed now. But when I heard the Enforcers start talking in the front seat, I couldn’t pretend anymore.

“Hey, Morgan,” one of them said.

I cracked my eyes open to see who was talking and saw it was the one in the passenger seat. I’d noticed his name tag said
Mills
. He looked at me over the seat.

“You’re going to love it at Camp Stonewater.” He grinned. “Lots of scum like you there.” Then he laughed and faced the front again.

So this would be more like a prison than a F.A.T. center. They’d just prettied up the name by calling it Camp Stonewater. I wondered if it would be all teenagers like Camp Willowmoss had been. Were there enough bad kids to fill a place like that?
 

I closed my eyes again, trying to hold back the tears that wanted to break through. The last thing I wanted was for these Enforcers—who obviously despised me—to see me cry.
 

What seemed like an hour later we pulled up to a gate. I sat up straighter, trying to get a good look at this place. A chain-link fence topped with razor wire stretched out in both directions. The guard shack at the entrance was manned by two well-armed Enforcers. The driver of the car showed an ID and was waved through. As we drove through the gate, despair and hopelessness settled over me like a shroud.

We drove to the side of the building and stopped next to a door. Mills got out and opened the door next to me, then reached in and grabbed my upper arm, pulling me out. His partner had gotten out and stood watch next to the door. Once I was out of the car they each grabbed one of my arms and walked me to the building door.
 

We entered a hallway that looked just like the one at Camp Willowmoss had looked the night Hansen and Dimples had brought me in. But instead of taking me to an office to check me in, they brought me to a room with a table, three chairs, and a large mirror. I’d watched enough television to recognize an interrogation room.
 

Mills undid my handcuffs and I rubbed my wrists to try to restore the circulation, then glanced toward the mirror, wondering who was on the other side. Without a word, Mills and his partner left the room. When they shut the door I heard the click of the lock, so I didn’t even bother checking to see if I could get out. Where would I go anyway? To the guard shack at the gate? Yeah, I’m sure they’d let me waltz right out.

I sat there, alone, waiting for something to happen. The more time that went by, the more on edge I became—which was certainly their plan. Finally the door opened and a woman walked in, a bright smile on her face. I’d gotten used to the fake smiles of the F.A.T. center workers, so I hardly registered hers.
 

She looked like she was around thirty and her shoulder-length brown hair was pulled back with a clip. “Good Morning, Morgan.” She sat in one of the empty chairs across the table from me. “My name’s Holly. Can I get you anything? Something to eat or drink?”

Since I’d thrown up my breakfast, I was pretty hungry. “Sure.”

She stood. “Great. I’ll be back in a minute.”

True to her word, only a few minutes later she was back, tray in hand. She set it down in front of me and I stared at the three power bars and the glass of water. Several squares of ice floated in the water, making me realize how thirsty I was. I picked up the glass and gulped down half of the water. My stomach rumbled at the site of the power bars. As hungry as I was though, I worried about eating them on an empty stomach. I had vivid memories of the way I’d felt after eating the power bars on an empty stomach before. The compliance drug had hit me hard, making me feel drunk and out of control—not a feeling I wanted to have in a place like this.

“Go ahead, Morgan,” she said, motioning to the tray. “They’ll take away your hunger.”

As well as other things, I wanted to say. “I’m okay.” I smiled to show that as much as I appreciated the offer, I was still in control of what I put in my body.

She slid the tray out of my reach. “Okay. Maybe later.”

My stomach churned painfully and I really wanted to eat just one power bar, but kept my hands in my lap.

“Is there anything else you need?”

“I’d like to go to the bathroom.”

“Of course. Follow me.”

She brought me to a bathroom and waited outside while I went in. It was a small, windowless room with a single toilet and a sink. I looked at the vent high on the wall, remembering the escape I’d made with Billy, but it was too small for me to climb through—assuming I could even get to it. My shoulders slumped as I accepted the fact that I wouldn’t be escaping this place right now. And if I was honest with myself—which I was loathe to be—I had to admit that the possibility of escaping this place at all was even less likely than I’d thought.
 

“You almost done in there?” Holly called through the door.

“Just about,” I called out. A moment later I came out.

“We need to go back to the room,” she said. “There are some people who would like to talk to you.”

Seeing how I didn’t have a choice, I walked with her back to the room and sat down.

“They’ll be with you in a little while.” She smiled. “Make yourself comfortable.”

I nodded and she left.

I felt self-conscious as I sat there, figuring there must be people watching me. After what seemed like a very long time, I pulled the tray closer to me and drank more water—someone had topped it off while Holly and I were gone. I stared at the power bars as my stomach growled. I imagined biting in to one and my mouth watered. To distract myself, I thought about other things—Mom, Dad, Amy, home, Billy—I even stood and paced the room, but my thoughts kept drifting back to the three power bars laid out neatly on the tray.
 

I’d been eating six per day—two at each meal—for several days and now my body craved the addictive drug that had been cooked into them. Against my better judgement, I picked one up. I turned my back to the mirrored wall—I didn’t want them to see my weakness—and pretended to read the packaging. But in reality I held it close enough to my face to let the scent reach my nose. Something in my brain
craved
that power bar and after holding back as long as I could, I ripped open the packaging and took a small bite.
 

The familiar delicious taste filled my mouth and I gobbled the rest of it down. Somehow, when I had these at each meal, I’d been able to manage my desire to eat them—probably because I’d had other food alongside them, making me less hungry and able to think more clearly. Now, however, I was famished, making it harder to resist the temptation.

I sat down and ignored the mirrored wall, and tried to ignore the tray, but the other two power bars were just begging to be eaten. After holding out as long as I could, I ate them too, then finished off the glass of water. Once they were gone, shame that I hadn’t been able to control myself drifted over me like a dense fog. But that was soon replaced by a feeling of carefree indifference. Who really cared if I ate them or not? What did it really matter?

I floated on the feeling of apathy, and stared into space. A few minutes later the door opened and a man in a suit walked in. He reminded me of Dr. Tasco—tall, thin, glasses—and I vaguely wondered if he ran this place.

He sat across from me. “Hi, Morgan. I’m Fred.”

I thought about the man named Fred who had given me a ride in his beat-up old truck. He’d had long gray hair and an unkempt beard and had even had a couple of missing teeth. This man looked nothing like him. I laughed. “No you’re not.”

He seemed taken aback. “Actually, I am.”

I threw my hands up. “Whatever.”

“We’d like to get you settled, but first we have a few questions we’d like to ask.”

I leaned back in my seat—what did I care? “Ask away.”

“Are you Morgan Campbell?”

What kind of a dumb question was that? He must not be too smart, I thought. Hadn’t he watched the news from this morning? “Duh.”
 

He smiled. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Do you have a sister named Amy?”

I kind of felt sorry for him—hadn’t anyone told him what was going on? I decided to try to be patient. “Yes.”

“And is your mother named Susanna?”

This question confused me. Of course my real mother’s name was Roxanne, but there had been that other woman who pretended to be my mom.
Her
name was Susanna. “No,” I finally said.

“I don’t understand.” He had a look of puzzlement on his face. “That was the name of the woman who brought you to Camp Willowmoss and she said you were her daughter.” He paused. “Are you saying she’s not your mother?”

“No.” I was glad I could shed some light on his confusion. “She was just
pretending
to be my mom.”

“Oh, I see.” But he still looked confused. “Why would she do that?”

I laughed—wasn’t it obvious? “I couldn’t have my
real
mom bring me in and say my name was Hannah Jacobs.”

He seemed to get it now. “Oh, yeah. That makes sense.” He paused. “Who’s idea was this, anyway?”

I didn’t even hesitate. “Jack and Dani’s.”

“Who are Jack and Dani?”

I leaned forward, like I had a secret. He leaned toward me. When I spoke, it was in a whisper. “They don’t think the F.A.T. centers are a good idea. They want to change everyone’s mind about them.”

He whispered back. “Do they belong to a group?”

I sat back up and in my normal voice said, “I guess.”

He did the same. “Do you know what they call themselves?”

Now I was confused. “Jack and Dani, of course.”

“But do they belong to a group?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did they ever have meetings with other people?”

I pictured the room in Jack’s house where we met sometimes. They’d called it the meeting room, but I’d never seen anyone besides our little group—and the time Susanna came. “No.”

He paused. “But you spent time with Jack and Dani?”

“I lived with them.”

That really got his attention. “And where do they live?”

Later, when I was completely sober and I thought about this conversation, for once I was grateful for my terrible sense of direction. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean? You said you lived with them. Where did you live?”

I really had no idea. Brynn had picked Billy and me up at a high school somewhere near Fox Run, and then she had driven us to Jack’s house, and I had no idea where that was. Even when Susanna had brought me to Camp Willowmoss, I’d been so worried about what would happen I hadn’t paid any attention to where I was. “I lived with Jack and Dani.”