Page 88 of Good Half Gone

He crouches down in front of me, and I scoot away from him.

“You’re a smart girl, teacher’s pet.” I keep my mouth shut. “You ain’t much,” he scoffs, standing.

“George?” I address him directly. He won’t make eye contact.

“His name is Arthur Barton. He don’t say much.” Marshal spits a wad of something into the grass. “Room number three down D hall. They weren’t gonna ever let you out, right, Artie?” He hooks his fingers in the waistband of his jeans, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Isn’t that right, boys?”

The third man, whose face I’ve yet to see, pokes me in the back with the barrel of a shotgun. “Get up.”

I do, but slowly. Everything hurts.

I feel another jab between the shoulder blades, harder this time. I spin around to look at him.

The security guard who gave me shit for taking a walk on my first overnight. I stare dumbfounded. He’s wearing the same filthy beanie, the same evil grin he wore when he tried to intimidate me.

“You.”

He blinks at me with bloodshot eyes, bored and amused at the same time. He’s wearing a camo vest, the type hunters wear, and a knife belt with all sorts of gadgets attached.

“Boo,” he says.

I cock my head and give him the silent fuck-you smirk.

“That’s Ellis.” Marshal walks over to the fire and throws a log on it. “Before he came to Shoal he was a soldier, isn’t that right, Ellis?”

Ellis, not quite smiling, looks me over. “That’s right. A soldier.” Something about the way he says it makes my stomach roll. Ellis Conrad Jr. has lived at HOTI for three decades after stalking and then attempting to kill a presidential candidate. A jury found him not guilty by reason of insanity.

I look around the circle: Marshal Day Monterey… Arthur Barton, Ellis Conrad Jr. The only ones missing from the D hall reunion are Dalton and Jude.

Marshal lets out a low whistle as he looks at his watch. “It’s time, folks.”

Ellis nudges me in the back with the gun.

“Move,” he orders. I walk behind Marshal, and Ellis flanks me. Arthur, who is my strongest hope, stays in back looking like he’s having less fun than the others. On paper, Arthur is the least accomplished criminal of the bunch. I knew very little about him except that he was on antipsychotics, and if he refused them he became violent. I only knew that because I read his medical chart when Janiss told me to file it.

The tree line is—fifteen, maybe twenty yards away. I could make a run for it, but there are too many of them, and they know the island better than me. They’d hunt me and enjoy it.And Marshal will roast your eyeballs like marshmallows over the campfire.

“Where are you taking me?”

“You’ll see when you get there. Now shut up.” I feel the butt of the gun again.

I look back at him. “You’re just having the time of your life, aren’t you?”

We’ve reached the tree line. They’re moving me away from HOTI. We walk for ten minutes before I see a fire through the trees, this one meant for warmth, not destruction. And then to my surprise we arrive at a campsite, and by the looks of it, it’s been here for a while.

I count six tents—big ones, too. A funny collection of chairs circles the fire: a computer chair, a beanbag, two ancient dining room chairs, and one soggy love seat. There’s a kitchen area if you can call it that. A gas stove and stacks of canned food sit under a tarp stretched between two tree trunks.

“Well, look at you Boy Scouts,” I say. “Cozy, cozy.”

Marshal throws a log on the fire. “Don’t let that bitch mouth get you in trouble, girl. Don’t forget who has the gun.”

Oh, I won’t forget. I’ve seen the footage of him walking through the produce aisle, pausing to aim and shoot.

“Put her in the close tent,” he tells George. Marshal is jittery.He pulls a flask from his back pocket and unscrews the cap. I watch his scrawny neck as he tilts his head back.

George lets me walk into the tent myself. I imagine the other two would have pushed me. I look at him urgently, and he looks away. “The fuck, Arthur? Why are you doing this?”

Using his real name gets me eye contact. He lingers like he is about to say something. I want to ask how long they’ve been doing this. I can’t wrap my mind around it. I don’t believe Marshal did this on his own.

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