Spoiler! :
Recreation hour
Sometimes I’d play pretend. It wasn’t so much a game, really, but an illusion to calm me down. But I would open my palms to the sky as the handcuffs released from my wrists and I was left to the narrow freedoms of Rec Hour. Some people didn’t like it; Molly confessed that it was depressing to her, because it was the only time we were allowed outside. An hour a week isn’t a lot of time to enjoy the rest of the world you’re confined from, and it‘s nothing but I reminder of the fact that everyone‘s trapped like rats. Not to mention that it was only a 20-by-20 pen, closed in by electric fences and floored with dead earth that wouldn‘t even give way to a single blade of grass. Another kid I sometimes talked to named Peter Harden said he hated the idea that maybe now the entire world had turned into this wasteland. I sure hoped he was wrong, but since there was electric fence and buildings entrapping us on all sides, it was impossible to say.
Molly and I hadn’t been assigned the same Rec Hour that week. In usual circumstances, I would’ve watched as others swarmed to play “Predator,” a game that Carra had invented a while back. Like everything in the Block, it was centered around anger, frustration and misery - it was formed with the pairing up of people about the same size, everyone squaring off, until there were only two people left. Then they fought. The winner got the runner-up’s dinner, which was a better than it sounds like. I didn’t play because the last time I had, I’d seen Molly curled up near a corner against the building, cornflower eyes wide as her nimble little hands pulled strands of her mahogany hair into braids. That was her nervous habit. It had been the first time I’d seen her; the poor thing, so scared as she watched us victimize each other. Worst of all, I’d just won. Despite the fact that I’m barely beyond 5’3” and lacking the big, masculine arms of most other female champions, I was able to win with wit. Having stolen food to make up for what we weren’t able to obtain, I’d learned plenty of skills from experience.
But after I saw her sitting there looking mortified, I went and talked to her. She was timid but sweet, and kind of funny too. She told me about how her big brother got killed in a fist-fight. That was my last game of Predator.
No one was playing Predator now, though, even though Carra (game-creator and dirty dealer) was there. Instead, they were in a circle talking. A fair-haired boy attractive enough to catch even Carra’s attention said something that caused a spurt of giggles and stares. They were talking about Samson Freeman, of course.
Samson was sitting with his back pressed up against one of the buildings, hunched over and twiddling his thumbs, trying to act oblivious as he stared outward. As I walked towards him, I realized with complete mortification that I’d instantaneously become as much of a topic of interest as the new kid. I was Adara Jameson - average, auburn-haired, short, scrawny Adara Jameson. Only played one game of Predator, the closest thing to a social event in this place. Cellmate to Carra, but that meant nothing. I heard Carra growl my name to reply to the multiple voices asking who I was. I bit my chapped lower lip, but sat on the cold January ground beside him. “Hey,” I said quietly, holding out a hand. “I’m Adara.”
“The medic ward girl,” he said shyly with a crooked smile, eyes gleaming. He seemed uncomfortable, but he reached a calloused hand out to shake mine. I failed to hide my embarrassment as my cheeks flamed red. The medic ward girl. He added, a little ashamed, “Well I’m guessing you probably already know who I am, huh?”
I nodded. “Hard to forget you now. But I wouldn’t worry about the others too much; pretty soon you’ll fall in line and be just like the rest of us. They‘ll forget you. Wait three weeks and you won‘t even be Samson Freeman anymore - just 48090.”
“Yeah,” he said. His gaze was naturally warm, with big brown eyes the color of fresh forest trees and a face as innocent as any boy’s, but it was all chilled with wintry thoughts. I could see the effort he was putting in to keep himself from sliding down into the brink of depression. “For the record, I go by Sam. Are we going to be here forever? And is this where everyone stays? I mean…all the kids, everywhere?”
“As far as I know. I’ve been here for five months now, but it feels like it’s been an eternity. They told us then that there wasn’t going to be anybody else. Because there was no one else. No kids, anyway. Everybody else is fighting a war.”
Sam gave a rough laugh, like that was some kind of joke. “What fight? It’s just a beat-down. I’ve been out there, Alura -”
“Adara.”
“-and seen things. I mostly kept to the forest, but now and then I found a city or town. There were carts of bodies. In some cases, the survivors had to turn entire areas into holy land because collecting the remains was virtually impossible. I’ve found places where there aren’t any survivors at all. Just ash, and dust, and rubble, and bones.” He shuddered, shook his head, and turned away to gaze at the buzzing fence alive with electricity. That was the first time I realized that the black stripe was still across his chest.
I tried to picture Amaea as a field of ash, rubble and remains. Suddenly that was less of a stretch to imagine than closing my eyes to recapture the images of marble arches and open columns with climbing ivy. They were the earliest images I had, before the Order had overrun us. The city lost its luster then. But at least they hadn’t destroyed us - not yet anyway.
I leaned my back against the building as I shifted to sit beside him. He picked up a little rock and tossed it over the fence, both of us watching as it skittered along the roof. “Think we could get out?”
“There are cameras here,” I warned. He smiled impishly, which seemed contrary to his overall subdued and solemn behavior.
Eyes flicking side to side, he whispered, “It won’t matter if we escape, will it? They can’t punish somebody they can’t catch.”
“So that’s your method? Running away? You’re as much of a coward as they said,” I argued in disappointment. “I have friends here. There are people other than you in the world that all want to escape. If there was some miraculous way to get away, I wouldn’t go. Not until I saw every last person break free.”
Sam closed his eyes. “You’re right. It wouldn’t be fair if we couldn’t all be free. But an entire jailbreak’s a little ambitious. And you don’t get it, either. I’m not breaking out for me. Hell, if I die -” the words mirrored mine with almost scary accuracy, “who’s to care? Even I don’t care. But I need to know that my sister’s alive, no matter where she is. Clearly you don’t understand.”
“I do!” I said defensively. “I have a brother somewhere. Or, I think I do. I don’t know. They took him out of my arms right before they took me. But I‘d do anything to find him - even just to find out what‘s happened to him.”
He stared at me for a long second, and I decided to turn to look straight ahead. A game of Predator was going on, but I wasn’t watching so much as just thinking. Finally, Sam murmured, “Interesting.”
I turned back to him. “What is?”
“You.”
I didn’t like that look in his eyes. I didn’t like it one bit. This was a guy with a plan after all. The other day was a stumble, not a fall, and he was ready to stand. This was why his next words terrified me: “Adara Jameson, we’re getting out of here. We've got a war to crash.”
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