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The clearing was surrounded by five bunkers positioned in a circle, all facing out. Rosa sat cross-legged in the middle, about forty feet away from me, looking bored.

This must be a trap.

I watched the other four bunkers for movement, but didn’t see any. Rosa hadn’t seen me.

If I remembered the rules right, I only had to touch her. I just had to get to her before I got shot.

If she hadn’t seen me, then maybe no one else had either. If I made a run for it, they’d have to take a few seconds to react. Even if this was a trap, I had to have a few seconds.

How fast can I run forty feet?

I set the gun down in the dirt. I wasn’t going to need it. Either I got to her and won, or I didn’t get to her and I was dead.

I took one last look for Lily. She wasn’t anywhere.

I was on my feet before I realized it, running at full speed toward Rosa. I couldn’t see her eyes through the glare on her mask, but as I neared, she shielded her body with her arms.

Gunfire erupted from everywhere and I felt the impact of dozens of balls hitting me in the chest, arms, and head. I tried to stop running and tripped into the dirt.

“Nice one, Fisher,” said a voice I recognized. “Did you really think we didn’t hear you ten minutes ago?”

I rolled over and saw Oakland standing at the door to one of the bunkers, his gun still trained on me. There were people in two other doors, and one in a ghillie suit in the tall grasses at the edge of the clearing. I’d never seen any of them.

Clumsily, I stumbled to my feet, raised my hands over my head, and called out “hit.”

Another shot slapped the back of my head, and the wet trickling paint felt like blood. I spun to see Mouse.

“Hit!” I shouted again.

Another ball snapped into my back, just below my shoulder blade, and I turned back to face Oakland. Where was the ref?

“Think you’re pretty awesome?” Oakland shouted, and fired five more shots. They would have hit me in the groin if I hadn’t moved an instant before. I was glad that he couldn’t see my face, because I was having trouble hiding how much it hurt.

An instant later a Society ref appeared in the clearing, blew her whistle, and looked me up and down.

“Looks like overkill,” she said, frowning at the mass of paint spots on my body. “Did they shoot you after you called ‘hit’?”

I glanced back at Oakland. Maybe I could get him to lay off a bit. “No.”

The ref looked suspiciously at the Havoc team, and then back at me. “Head off the field.” She blew her whistle to resume play.

There was the loud hiss of a gun behind me—two sharp pops—and then Lily’s voice. “We win.”

I turned to see her hand on Rosa’s arm.

Mouse’s mask was dripping with paint, and Oakland had been shot in the neck.

Chapter Eight

H
ey, Benson,” Jane shouted, catching up with us and bumping me with her shoulder. The gangs were slowly forming back together as the players trickled out of the forest.

“Thanks for healing me.”

“No problem,” she said, stepping back and taking a good look at my tan sweats that were now polka-dotted with red and blue paint. She grinned. “I go to all that trouble and look what you do.”

I tried not to smile. “I was being heroic.”

Jane glanced over at Lily and Mason.

“Don’t look at me,” Mason said, holding up his hands. “I wasn’t there.”

Lily, still looking ahead at the forest floor, smiled. “It was definitely something.”

Jane laughed and bumped me again. “I told you this place was fun.”

“Yeah.” I glanced over at Lily. I wondered whether she’d been playing for fun, too. The way she acted on the field, I’d have guessed it was for survival.

Soon, Curtis and Carrie joined us, holding hands, and in a few minutes almost all of the V’s were back together, joking and celebrating. Lily explained her actions several times, and the others relayed their stories. We’d probably been walking for ten minutes before I realized that I was actually having fun. I felt like I was with friends, and it felt good.

Jane told me about the party we could expect—it was the most regular of the rewards for winning at paintball. The school sent food in through one of the elevators, and it was always something amazing. Havoc did a pretty good job with the cafeteria food, but the food at the party was more like a five-star restaurant’s. They even sent the kinds of food that we never got through the cafeteria: soda, candies, cakes, brownies, and all sorts of snacks. The parties usually lasted long into the night, and the school waived the rules about curfew and uniforms. It sounded great.

We emerged from the forest and stepped onto the grass surrounding the track. My legs were sore as we walked—I could still feel the imprint of each paintball, and I knew it would be worse tomorrow—but I ignored it. I was having too much fun.

“So, Benson,” Jane said, talking loud enough for everyone to hear. “Lily gave her version of the win. How about yours?”

“It was
Saving Private Ryan
,” I said. “The massacre on Omaha Beach.”

As our eyes met she gave me a mischievous grin, and the crowd fell silent as they looked to me. We were entering the sculpture garden on the edge of the track, and I hopped up on top of the carved stump.

“Did you ever see the end of
Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid
?” I asked, turning to face the V’s and preparing to tell my embarrassing story.

But I instantly knew from their faces that something was wrong. Their smiles were gone, replaced with blank and somber stares. Jane was holding her breath, and Lily bit her lip. Mason stepped through the crowd and grabbed my arm, pulling me down from the stump.

“What?”

Instead of answering he pointed down at the carvings.

Heather Lyon
Died in the war
Will be missed

On the side, shallower and less well carved, someone had scrawled,
I love you
.

I stared at Mason, too horrified to speak, and then looked at another of what I had assumed to be sculptures—this one a pile of basketball-size rocks. The top one was flat and someone had painted words on it.

Curtis put his hand on my shoulder. “This is the graveyard. I’m sorry. Someone should have told you.”

“What do you mean?” I said, now frantically moving from grave to grave. “How are these people dying?”

Mason spoke. “What did I tell you? This place is dangerous.”

Curtis nodded, following me as I moved from a log to a small wooden plaque to a large smooth stone. The stone had fresh flowers on it that couldn’t have been more than a few days old. I read the name—some other kid, just like me.

“It used to be worse,” Curtis said. “Before the truce.”

“What was the war?”

“It was as the gangs were forming. Things got pretty bad.”

I stared at him and then at the faces of the other V’s. There were tears on a few cheeks. Jane had turned away. My chest felt tight and I could feel my hands balling into fists, almost on their own. These people hadn’t been killed by the school. They’d been killed by other students. There were a dozen graves, at least.

“Come on,” Curtis said. “Let’s get back inside.”

I refused to go to the infirmary, even though Mason pestered me for the rest of the day. When we’d gotten back to the dorm and I took off my shirt, the one small bruise from my failed escape had multiplied into at least fifteen welts on my chest and back, and eight more on my arms. There were two lumps on the back of my head, under my hair, and someone had hit me in the ankle—that one broke the skin.

After showering, I spent the evening in my room. I didn’t want to talk to anyone, and I definitely didn’t want to join the party. On the walk back I’d felt like maybe I was fitting in and that seemed like a good thing. Maybe this school, for all the craziness, was better than any other alternative. The food was good, the paintball was fun, and I was making friends—real friends. But the graveyard had changed that. I didn’t want friends and I didn’t want food. I wanted to get out.

Curtis dropped by as the sun was going down and tried to talk me into going to the party, but I told him I was too sore and too exhausted from sleeping in the window well. It was a lousy excuse—he’d been through worse yesterday and hadn’t gotten any more sleep than I had—but I guessed he knew the real reason why I didn’t want to go. Still, he played along.

“You can get some ibuprofen down in the infirmary,” Curtis said.

“I’d have to deal with some Society moron.”

“You’d like the girl who works down there,” he said. “Blond, cute.”

I was lying flat on my back, but nothing was comfortable. “Laura is blond and cute, too. And she tried to send me to detention.”

“That’s Laura,” Curtis said. “This girl’s cool. Anna.”

“No thanks.” I’d already heard about the infirmary from Mason. In addition to Anna, Dylan worked there. I didn’t want to see him again, let alone ask him for help.

Curtis nodded, leaning over to look at a small photo of the Brooklyn Bridge that Mason had hung above his desk. “Your loss. There are a lot of cute girls here.”

I sighed, staring at the bunk above me. “I know.” I rolled onto my side but found it just as painful as my back. Curtis was still there, like he was waiting for something. “I’ll give Maxfield one thing: There’s a lot to be said for the uniforms in this place. Girls at my schools never wore skirts.”

He laughed. “Anyone in particular?”

I shook my head, and even that sent little bolts of pain up my neck.

“I think Jane likes you,” he pestered. “The V’s have all the best girls. Jane, Gabby, Rosa, Lily. Carrie, of course, but she’s taken.”

“I’m getting out of here,” I said, closing my eyes. “Not dating.”

“Have it your way.” I heard his footsteps against the hardwood floor as he left the room.

This was all so stupid, so fake. The people in here only knew about things going on inside the school, and they’d convinced themselves that it was all okay. They dated. They studied. Lily had said that in her spare time she planned new paintball tactics. And now they were downstairs celebrating that they’d won a game. In the last three days I’d gotten kidnapped, been on the losing side of two fights, fallen out of a tree while trying to escape, and been shot repeatedly. And this afternoon, at the graveyard, I’d discovered that my problems were just beginning. It could get a lot worse.

Mason came back from the showers a few minutes later. I was lying down, eyes closed. I felt like crying but didn’t want to let the security cameras see.

“Who do you follow?” I asked, needing to talk about something outside the walls of Maxfield Academy. I cracked open one eye. “Sports teams, I mean.”

Mason looked puzzled. “Nobody, I guess. Not anymore, of course.” He dug through his closet for some casual clothes. “I follow paintball.”

I stared at the bunk above me. “What sports did you like? Before you got tossed in here.”

“Used to play a little baseball.”

“The Giants took the Series last year. Where are you from, anyway?”

He tapped on the photo by his desk. “New York. I tore that out of a textbook a couple months ago. Don’t tell on me.”

“The Yankees are having a good year. Mets, too. The Knicks won’t. They never do.”

Mason pulled a sweater on, getting dressed for the party. “I barely remember the teams. It’s been too long, I guess.”

I rolled onto my side
. I need medicine.

“I’m not going to be here long enough to forget,” I said, more to myself than to him.

I tried to sleep, but it just wasn’t coming. I hurt too much to get comfortable, and my brain kept replaying my escape attempt, trying to think of a new solution to getting over the wall. I could make a rope. It wouldn’t be hard to use the bedsheets. For the first time ever I could see how that movie cliché got started—it was by far the easiest substitute for rope I could think of. But then what would I do with it? The brick wall was fairly smooth—there wouldn’t be anything for a grappling hook to hold on to, even if I could make one.

I could chop down a tree, maybe. Lean it against the wall and climb it like a ladder. That’d be easier with more people, but no one seemed to be stepping up to the plate to help me, even the V’s.

Maybe I could dig under the wall. The groundskeeping sheds had to have shovels. But then I’d have to persuade Havoc to help me. Or break in.

I got out of bed. There was no use trying to sleep anymore. I moved to the window and checked my watch in the pale moonlight. It was just after three o’clock.

There was haze out in the forest, just enough to blur the trees and hills. I wanted it to be smoke. Where there’s smoke there’s fire, and where there’s fire there’re people. I thought I’d seen smoke when I was up in the tree—maybe there really was someone out there.

But tonight it was impossible to tell. Maybe it wasn’t anything at all—just the darkness and a dirty window.

Mason was sleeping soundly in the top bunk, snoring enough that I could tell he wasn’t aware I was up. He’d come back an hour ago. I’d heard all the V’s come back from the party, laughing and happy, but there hadn’t been any sounds for the last thirty minutes.

I checked the closets to see if anything had been delivered, but nothing had changed. My paint-splattered sweats still sat on the floor, and my rumpled shirts were on the hangers.

My fingers ran along the edge of the closet, trying to feel where the permanent wall ended and the elevator began. There was a tiny gap, and I thought I almost felt a little breeze. It might have been my imagination.

One thing I hadn’t done yet was try to leave the dorms at night. I’d checked the rules and there was nothing in there saying we weren’t allowed to, but I wondered whether the door would even unlock for me. Like all the other doors, each dorm room had a sensor and a deadbolt.

My room door has to be unlocked,
I reasoned.
In case we need to go to the bathroom.

Sure enough, the knob turned in my hand, and the cooler air of the corridor swept in as I peeked outside. The only light I could see, other than from the window at the end of the hall, was the narrow glowing crack coming from the bottom of the bathroom door.

I left my room, wearing just a pair of gym shorts and a T-shirt. The hardwood was like ice under my feet, but my cautious footsteps were silent—the wood didn’t creak or groan at all under my weight.

There were no sounds other than the hiss of a radiator and the occasional snore that was loud enough to be heard all the way out here.

Pausing at the junction where the Society and Havoc hallways branched off the main one, I listened for any others who might be awake, but heard nothing. In the dark, I could barely make out the clutter that hung from Havoc’s ceiling.

I shouldn’t be out here alone.
The thought kept nagging me, but I pushed it away. The other gangs didn’t like me, but they were all sleeping.

There was a noise on the Society’s side—nothing loud, just a little click. No lights were on under their doors.

I continued down the hallway, passing dozens of empty dorm rooms. They were closed, but not locked. I entered one and walked to its window to see what the view was like. It looked down on the front side of the building. The narrow road through the woods looked black against the surrounding grass. I couldn’t see the moon from where I was, but the stars were brilliant, just as they’d been the night before.

Not that a beautiful sky makes up for anything.

I left the window and went back into the hallway.

Something about being out at night felt good. It was what I used to do to get away—go out, walk the streets, be alone. I wished I could go outside now. I couldn’t even open the window.

I was almost to the door that left the dorm when I heard the familiar buzz and click. But the sound wasn’t coming from just that door—it was loud, coming from
every
door, all at once. I grabbed the nearest doorknob. Locked.

Voices were coming from back down the corridor—angry voices that were trying unsuccessfully to be quiet.

I ran the last few yards to the exit door, but it didn’t unlock for me. I was trapped, everything locked all around me.
Except . . .

The room I’d just been in was still open—I hadn’t shut the door, so it couldn’t have locked. I ran back, my bare feet silent on the solid floor. I darted inside and swung the door almost closed—but held it open an inch, so that it couldn’t lock with me inside. Then I listened.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” a voice called, playful and evil.

It was still far away. Someone must have heard me. Oakland wanted revenge, and he knew I was alone.

There were more voices now—muffled shouts. People were pounding on their walls. Oakland couldn’t lock all these doors. No one could do it remotely like this.