Page 21 of Whispers of the Dead

“Thinking about how to use the bucket.”

“Wow, that is so not what I was expecting. Please, keep that to yourself.”

A short laugh bursts out of me when I realize how that sounded. “That’s not what I meant. I was thinking about dumping it on someone’s head. Maybe Eugene’s. Or the dreg with the busted lip who brought it to me in the first place.”

“Solid plan. I think we should all do that. What do you guys think?”

Damon grunts, which I take as agreement. Cole remains dead silent, but that’s nothing new. He hasn’t spoken since he figured out my connection to Eugene. I don’t take it personally. I know he’s not much of a talker in general, but it’s still unnerving. After all, it took him minutes to figure out the one thing I’ve never told anyone. Not even Emily.

Damon paces in his cell, sipping the juice that I traded him for his water. The dregs also gave me fruit, but I traded those with Benjamin for his raw carrots. Cole had tossed another bread roll to me through the bars without a word, even though I didn’t have anything else to trade with him. I don’t know what else the dregs gave him to eat, but I hope it’s enough because the guys need to keep up their strength, too.

I’m sipping the water when I hear Damon stumble. “You alright over there, big guy?”

He doesn’t answer. I sit up straight and stare into the darkness. I frown when I hear him slump against the bars and let out a soft exhale. The plastic cup of water falls from my hand and spills over my feet, but I ignore it and hurry over to Damon. I shove my hands through the bars in search of him.

The second my hands find Damon’s broad shoulders, Ifeel the unnatural heat radiating off his skin. His back is against the bars and his head slumps to one side. My hands slide around his head until my fingers scrape through his overgrown beard in search of an answer, though I don’t know what I’m looking for. “Damon, what’s wrong? Talk to me.”

A slurred word drags from his lips. “Dizzy.”

Alarm spikes through me. “Are you sick? What happened?”

Before I can get an answer, a heavy thud echoes down the corridor.

“Benji too,” Benji groans. Then there’s the sound of his body hitting the floor.

Panic shoots through me like lightning. I scramble toward Benji’s side of the bars, but unlike Damon, he’s too far away for me to reach. Still, I shove my hands through and stretch them out as far as I can. “I’m here. Talk to me.”

Nothing.

I turn to Cole, expecting him to go down next, but his green eyes are unwavering. Then the realization hits me, and my stomach lurches. Cole reads my mind, because he growls out the same thing I’m thinking. “The food.”

The truth slams into me. “They ate my food.”

Cole’s bars rattle when he grabs them. “That means?—”

“It was meant for me,” I finish.

A sharp click echoes through the cell block and sends my pulse skyrocketing. The dregs. They’re coming.

I barely have time to think before Cole’s voice cuts through the dark. “Pretend.”

He only has enough time to hiss out the single command. I don’t hesitate. I drop to the floor and force my body to go limp. Every muscle in me screams to move, to fight, but I shove the instinct down.

This is my chance. I slow my breathing and let my headloll to the side. I make myself look as helpless as Damon and Benji are.

Footsteps thud closer. The door to my cell creaks open and rough hands grab me. When I’m hoisted up like dead weight, I force myself not to react, even though the fingers that are digging into my arms make my skin crawl and whoever’s shoulder is digging into my ribs smells like he hasn’t showered in weeks. It takes everything I have not to gag from the proximity.

“She’s out,” the one with the smelly, boney shoulder mutters. “Worked like a charm.”

“Good,” another replies. “Eugene can finally stop bitching about her, and we can all move on.”

A fresh wave of panic surges through me, but I keep my breathing steady. Even when the shoulder against my ribs shifts in a way that makes it difficult for my lungs to expand.

They carry me away. I count the seconds between each time a door opens and closes, each time we make a turn, creating a foggy mental map.

The air grows colder with every step. Then they stop. I brace myself when they dump me onto something hard. A table, maybe? The rough surface scrapes against my bare arms, but I don’t flinch.

The room falls silent, save for the faint murmur of voices outside. A door creaks open, and books click against the floor when someone approaches. My heart pounds in my chest, but I keep my body limp and my breathing steady, even though it gets harder to do with each passing second.

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