Red Fox (21 page)

22.
 

I’m safely sitting on my bed writing in the very last book I could find that wasn’t already plastered with my scribbling—hopeful the last chapter in a saga of tragic short stories.

We are breaking out of this terrible place tomorrow. Isobelle’s performance today was excellent. Warden didn’t agree to get something for Bell to remind her of her family. She thought that idea was stupid and trivial—very unlike a B. But Warden did let it slip to Bell that she is leaving the compound tomorrow for some sort of official business anyhow. Bell and Jacob pretended to mate in his bedroom this afternoon so Senior would see Bell was doing what she’d promised Warden. Jacob is set to fight Felix, draw the guards over, and when they are distracted, we will push all of the guards against the electric fence, take the key card for the exit and be out of here.

Then I’d drawn a picture of Warden’s awful guards frying alive against the electric fence. I stare down at the page, briefly wondering what sort of monster I’ve become to be drawing such images. Then I remind myself that I was forced to become vicious.

Isobelle is sitting next to me playing a violin, which Warden specially ordered for her a week ago.

Isobelle plays the violin beautifully. No matter how she plays it, fast or slow, there is always an edge of sadness to the music but it is smooth and mellow and relaxing. Everyone in Facility One likes to sit down and listen to her play in the evenings after dinner, but only I get to see her when she really loses herself in her music and closes her eyes to hear every perfect note chime across the room. Now, she has the instrument perched under her chin and her sheet of silvery-brown hair hangs over it. Her eyes are focused on the strings but after a minute of watching her, I see them slowly slide closed and the music pauses.

“Where did you learn?” I ask her quietly. I close my book and wedge it between the mattress and the bed base for hiding.

Isobelle smiles over the edge of the instrument and resumes her playing. “Me parents taught me when I was little.”

It is the first time the girl has mentioned her parents to me. “Are they musicians as well?”

Her face falls and suddenly one of the violin strings breaks with a twang. The string could have been a tendon of her heart by the destroyed look that passes her face. She places the broken instrument down and knots her hands together. “They were… they were just musicians so they weren’t… important enough. They got put in the Ds.”

“I’m so sorry, Isobelle” I say, guilt eating me away instantly, but I can think of nothing more to say.

Over the last six weeks, Isobelle and I have become very comfortable with one another. Now, we both sit on our beds wearing nothing but our big, white sleeping shirts and our undies, like girls do during a slumber party. There are many reasons to feel awkward in the facility, but sitting in my underpants with my young friend isn’t one of them.

“I’ll get us some of that cake in the fridge,” I say finally. “I don’t think Lance has found it yet.”

As well as being an over-confident buffoon, Lance has also proven himself to be a total pig. He eats almost everything in the fridge and the chocolate cake Madison made the other day had to be hidden behind bowls of salad and fruit so Lance wouldn’t find it. I’ve come to like the redheaded man quite a lot despite my first impression of him. He keeps everyone laughing and is always true to himself: unlike me. I can’t seem to decide whether I am selfish or kind, strong or weak, brave or timid.

I get out of bed, unlock the door and head into the kitchen. The common room is very quiet, and I look straight at the security camera and wave, specifically to show Senior that my intention isn’t to escape. I go to the kitchen, my feet padding lightly on the cold floor. The fridge blasts cold air onto me when I open it and I shiver, now wishing I’d worn my jeans.

The numbing cold reminds me of winter. Even in the temperature-controlled facility, I’ve felt the weather change as the cold season melts into spring. The pansy flowers in the courtyard are bursting with life and colour. The grass, although always green, is soft and bright. The skies are often full of dark storm clouds, which is a dead giveaway that a wet spring is upon us. The air smells sweet and floral. The government obviously intended for us to be placed in this compound at the beginning of spring. Humans must have some sort of primal instinct to mate during spring, so that we have children in the warmer months.

I kneel down to search the bottom shelf for the secret cake. I see it peeking above a head of lettuce and start rummaging for it.

“Good evening, Freya,” a voice comes from behind me.

I stop, hands deep in the refrigerator. The shudder that ripples up my spine has nothing to do with the cold. I didn’t even hear him approach and he wasn’t there when I came out of bedroom three. He’s been waiting for me. That silky, dangerous voice can only belong to one person, and standing in only a long t-shirt and my underpants in front of him is not safe. I didn’t lock the bedroom door for Isobelle… but he won’t be after her.

“Felix,” I say, trying to keep my voice from quivering. I brilliantly manage to keep digging through the fridge like the thought of him standing behind me isn’t terrifying. The thought of it
is
terrifying. My instincts go insane with fright but I just pull out the plate of chocolate cake and place it on the counter, ignoring the raging storm in my brain. Felix is on the other side of the kitchen’s island counter, sitting on one of the stools and facing me. His elbows are propped on the counter, and his chin rests upon his laced fingers. He’s smiling. I make a face that is neither friendly nor rude. “Want some cake?”

He grins, as if delighted by my casual response. “No, thank you. I don’t want
cake
.”

I know exactly what he means by this. He doesn’t want cake. He wants something much more wicked, but I play the fool and just shrug as I get plates and cut off two large, sticky wedges of cake for Isobelle and myself. I place the cake back in the fridge, move the lettuce back in front of it, and pick up the plates, purposefully keeping my arms pressed over my chest. Felix is still sitting on the other side of the island, and I feel safer having the counter between us.

“Right. Well, I’m going to bed. Goodnight.”

I take two steps towards my room but, and as I knew he would, Felix stands up and moves between the fridge and the kitchen island, blocking my path. My heart starts to beat faster, pumping a dose of adrenalin into my blood as my instincts sense the danger. “What’s the rush?” he asks with feigned innocence.

The twisted look in his eye and the crooked smirk on his mouth makes my stomach knot. I set my jaw and look into his dark eyes. I feel like the black abyss of them might swallow me whole. On the counter behind me there is a block of very dull carving knives but if I try to grab for one, his reflexes will be fast enough to stop me. I could just run the other way and bang on someone’s door but by the time someone wakes up and comes to the common room, Felix will have dragged me into his room and locked the door. I could just scream. Or I can fight.

Yes, fighting is what I do best.

“Move, Felix,” I say. My voice sounds low and threatening, like a snarling dog baring its teeth.

“Come now, Freya,” he says, reaching a hand towards me. I take a step back, still holding the plates of useless cake, which both shake in my trembling hands. “We have to do it.”

“Not with you,” I say and although truer words were never spoken, I regret them instantly for the sour, insulted look that steals across his face. His jaw sets in an ugly way, his eyes narrow to slits and I see his muscles coil like a snake ready to strike.

He lunges at me so quickly I hardly have time to react. With an angry growl, I throw the plates of cake into his face and dive for the knife block. The useless blades wouldn’t cut butter, a defence against suicide put in place by Warden no doubt, but I seize the two largest handles and wrench them from their sockets. My hands tighten around the hilts and I whirl around to strike, but Felix is on top of me instantly, knocking me to the ground. His hands snare my wrists so tightly I cry out in pain and my hands jar open mechanically when his thumbs dig into the tender ligament between my hand and arm. The knives clatter to the floor as my fingers spasm away from the hilts and Felix clambers off me and hauls me up by my hair.

I can smell the stink of him as he tugs my face towards his. It is sickly sweet, almost alcoholic in scent, and I gag when he crushes his mouth against mine. It tastes revolting and feels even worse. Furious, I clamp my teeth down on his bottom lip and taste blood when he gives a yelp of pain and wrenches his face away. The darkness makes it hard to see anything at all, but the dead giveaway of Felix’s fury is the glint from the whites of his eyes. His grip loosens momentarily, and I jerk away with a mixture of rage and terror. I make it to the other side of the counter, but Felix follows in one bound. His long, thin arms wrap around my body, constricting any movement and one hand knots into my hair and holds fast.

In one moment, the understanding that I cannot escape him comes crashing down upon me like a wave, for I saw this same grip on Alex and how hard and how furiously she had fought to no avail. Even so, I thrash my weight wildly, I gnash my teeth and haul my body this way and that, but for all my efforts I am left breathless, bled of energy, and his grip is as tight as ever.

“Madison! Jacob!” I scream, my terror making me stupid.

Felix forces my body over the counter so I’m bent over and his torso and groin covers my back. I can see every individual line in the marble table and the reflection of my own eyes staring back at me in terror. I know Senior will be watching this happen, probably with a bucket of buttery popcorn in his lap. He isn’t going to help me. This is exactly what they warned me about. And more than likely it’s exactly what Warden wants: her prized, wild, freedom-seeking female with her favourite savage male.

“Here we go!” the hot, breathless whisper comes in my ear. I feel a hand near my thighs and Felix yanks my long shirt up, exposing my entire back and shoulders.

“NO!” I writhe against his iron grip but he slams my forehead into the counter, reopening the wound that I received at the rally weeks ago. I gasp as dizziness makes the world spin around me and for one glorious moment, I’m blissfully unaware of the man standing behind me, pressing his free hand against my bare chest and fumbling with the elastic of my underwear.

Then I hear a door fly open and the sound of many, many feet thumping on the tiled floor. A few wedges of light filter into the dark room through a couple of open bedroom doors. My neck feels cramped as I force my throbbing head an inch off the table. Felix’s grip on me loosens, but I’m too dazed to break free. Through hazy eyes, I see Madison and Jacob standing together in the doorway to their room, both looking mortified but not watching Felix or me. They look over the top of us for some reason. I see other members of Facility One, including Alex, Cameron and Isobelle, all looking at something else as well, not me bent over the countertop and sobbing with fear. Even Lance stares at something that I cannot see, the smile that is always present on his face gone. They’re all looking towards the steel entrance door.

“Help,” I say weakly, black specks whirling past my eyes. I can’t understand. I can’t understand why they aren’t trying to save me.

“YOU!” a horrible roar shatters the quiet and completely muffles the sound of my quiet sobs and Felix’s desperate, ragged breathing in my ear. “OFF HER NOW!”

The hazy film over my eyes is instantly gone, and I struggle against Felix’s grip, frantic to get away from him.

“Whil!” I cry out, unable to see who was yelling. I don’t know why I scream for Whil, or why I think it’s him. Perhaps because there is no one else who would react so violently to me being on the verge of being raped.

Felix releases me, and I whirl around, stumbling slightly, to see a figure, standing as a dark silhouette by the only exit in the facility. The figure is huge, seething with fury and holding an old fashioned rifle. It takes one more step into the room and the light from the open bedroom doors enlightens the features. It’s a familiar square face. A face I never thought I’d be happy to see.

“Seiger!” I cry out.

His gun comes up in one swift, angry movement. I look into the barrel of his rifle as he raises it to my forehead, staring up that dark, endless tunnel. The world swings out beneath my feet, and I feel as though I am falling, though I can still clearly see Seiger standing there. Even in the dim, I can see the veins popping out of Seiger’s temple and the dark shade of red raging through his face. I’ve seen this man look angry, but this is a look of pure venomous loathing. For an instant, I’m sure he is going to shoot me, but then he nods the gun at me and points it at his side.

“Freya, here!” he yells, his voice booming and furious.

Tugging my shirt down and dashing the tears from my eyes, I stumble over to Seiger. He extends a hand towards me, which I grab and hold onto like it’s a lifeline. I feel his firm, yet gentle, grip on my already aching wrist, but I don’t want him to let go. I know whatever Seiger has done to me in the past, it was never because of a personal problem between us. He never wanted to attack or harm me, but had to do his job, hateful as I found it. Still, I find it astounding that I cling to his ridiculous maroon jumpsuit for protection, my head pounding and breath lost.