Article 5 a5-1 Page 8

  “Ms. Miller, I am very disappointed in you.”

  “What have you done to Rebecca?” I stood, my legs trembling with fear or anticipation, I didn’t know. Tears burned my eyes, but I blinked them back, refusing to let her see me cry.

  “You are a very bad girl. The worst kind. The wolf in sheep’s clothing. We shall need to shed that cover and remold your interior. I see that now.”

  “What—” Even though I didn’t know what she meant, I was terrified.

  “Guard, take Ms. Miller to the clean room.”

  The clean room. The one that looked like a shower. One of the soldiers was already preparing the fire hose inside. Beside him, a pair of leather cuffs were chained to the floor beside his baton. He intended to strap me down and beat me, maybe even spray me with the hose. For a fraction of a second I saw Rosa, laid out across the floor, watching her blood twist down the drain while the force of the water pummeled her body.

  My arms locked protectively over my body, fisting in my shirt.

  “No,” I whispered.

  Two guards moved forward. Dead eyes. Reaching hands.

  “NO!” I shouted at them.

  I spun to the wall, trying to hide my body from them. I could not go into that room. I could not let them touch me. They gripped my shoulders. My thighs. I screamed.

  Just then there was a knock at the door.

  The guards waited for Brock’s order. She flipped her head to the side, annoyed.

  Randolph stuck his head in.

  “What do you want?” she snapped.

  “Sorry ma’am. I thought you’d want to know there’s a Dispatch who just arrived from Illinois. He’s come to collect her for trial.”

  Several beats passed before I realized he was talking about me.

  Brock and I must have thought the same thing at the same time. There weren’t trials for Article violations anymore. It’s been over a month since a soldier came out here to pick up a witness, Rebecca had said. Could Sean have misheard?

  My blood turned to ice. It seemed impossibly cruel for life to offer such an illusion. But if it was true there would only be one trial I’d be called to attend. My mother’s. I tried to sort through the mixed emotions—joy that I might see her, fear, because this meant that she was still imprisoned, pure relief at the interruption.

  “I thought they were doing away with those,” said Brock, annoyed.

  “They still do trials in certain cases, ma’am,” said a low, familiar voice from outside. My mouth fell open. My heart thumped in my chest.

  A moment later Chase Jennings entered the room.

  CHAPTER

  5

  HE seemed taller than before, and bigger, even since he’d become a soldier. Maybe it was the low ceilings of the shack or the company I kept. Randolph was only a few inches above my five four, and Brock was just between our heights. Chase towered over us at six three.

  His face was blank, his eyes unreadable. After I got over the shock of his presence, I found myself hoping more than anything that his words were true. He had come to take me to a trial, to get me out of those gates and deliver me to my mother.

  Chase removed a folded piece of paper from his breast pocket and handed it to Brock. She snatched it away, reading for what felt like several minutes.

  “When must you leave?” she asked sourly. My eyes darted to the guards before me, and my arms hugged tighter around my chest. I needed to leave now. I couldn’t wait to see what they would do to me.

  “Immediately. The trial is tomorrow morning, in Chicago,” Chase said.

  I turned away then, fearing that my face might betray me. Of all the soldiers, of course they had to send Chase Jennings. The reason I was here in the first place. And if I looked at him now, surely one of them would see the betrayal, the questions, written across my face. And what was worse, my eagerness to get in the car with him. To get out of here.

  Brock sighed irritably. “As an Article 5, Ms. Miller’s mere existence is enough to sentence the birth mother. Why the trial? Highly unusual for the offense.”

  I forced myself to breathe. Why did the MM need me? Would my presence become the evidence they needed to condemn her? I had no idea what this trial or the sentencing entailed, but I was feeling the pressure to get there as soon as possible.

  “All I have is the summons and order to transport,” Chase answered, his voice bland.

  No one moved or spoke for a full minute. The only sound I heard was my heavy pulse, throbbing in my ears.

  “Very well,” said Brock reluctantly. “But I’m only approving one overnight pass on account of Ms. Miller’s inability to stay where she belongs.”

  For the first time Chase’s eyes floated over me. I still wasn’t looking at him, but I felt his impartial stare. I straightened, trying not to show I was afraid. I needed to maintain a cool head from this point forward.

  “Is that why she’s here?” he asked, voice flat. “Her ‘inability to stay where she belongs’? I’m sure the Board will be interested.”

  A ghost of a smirk passed over Randolph’s face. “More like an inability to keep her legs closed,” he said under his breath.

  My teeth clenched. I remembered the way he’d grabbed me outside, ready to share in Sean’s supposed fun, right before he planned on shooting me. Again, a hot, misdirected shame filled my gut, as though I were dirty and tainted. I hated him.

  “Don’t be crass,” Brock snapped. “There is at least one lady present.”

  She grabbed a pen from Randolph and scribbled her signature on the bottom of the summons.

  “Sergeant, I’m assuming you’re new to this line of work, since I haven’t seen you before, so I’ll make this clear,” she directed to Chase. “These girls are federal property and under my authority, even when temporarily removed from campus. Therefore, you must abide by my treatment recommendations, do you understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Chase answered respectfully.

  “Observed one-to-one contact at all times. No release from restraints except during restroom breaks. No extra rations, and do not speak to her under any conditions.” She passed a threatening look down her nose at me.

  “We’ll continue this conversation when you return, Ms. Miller.”

  We would not. I knew that much. I wasn’t coming back.

  In a hurry, I was ushered outside and back up the stairs to the main hall. My stomach was pinching uncomfortably, but not from hunger. Soon I was standing beside a navy blue MM van with Chase and Randolph.

  The morning was dreary and still. The snow had stopped, but the freeze still scraped my cheeks and iced my throat as I gulped down breath after breath.

  Chase opened the door but blocked my entry, first removing a double circle of thin green plastic from his pocket. A zip tie.

  “Hands,” he ordered, holding the restraints out expectantly. I’d known this had been coming, but I still felt a wave of claustrophobia staring down at the cuffs. They immobilized my arms. I wouldn’t be able to run, defend myself, or even go to the bathroom unless Chase released me. I was, for all general purposes, trapped. But I needed to be trapped in order to achieve freedom. The process seemed too twisted to be real.

  I balled my hands into fists to prevent the soldiers from seeing them shake. Chase’s eyes paused on the thin, criss-crossed welts that were now turning white in my exertion to hold still.

  “Make sure they’re nice and tight,” Randolph said. I bit my lower lip hard to keep quiet.

  Chase snorted, snatched my forearms, and jerked me closer so he didn’t have to reach. My breath caught—I had never known his touch to be harsh—and I looked deliberately away. But as he secured the loops, Chase did something unexpected. Subtly, he slipped his first two fingers within the tie beneath my wrist, where my pulse beat like the wings of a hummingbird, while simultaneously tightening the strap with his other hand. The space didn’t allow me to get out, but it impeded the tie from cutting off my circulation.

  I felt a flutter of ang
er, deep in my stomach. He couldn’t think this made up for everything he had done. But before I had too much time to think about it, he’d shoved me roughly up the two steps into the van’s front seat, purposefully blocking Randolph’s view of my noncompliant restraints.

  A moment later the door was slammed shut, Chase was in the driver’s seat, and the key brought the ignition to life.

  * * *

  MY fingers wove together on my lap, as they could do little else within the restraints. We pulled down the lane, passing the dorms on my right and the cafeteria below on my left. The van picked up speed, leaving the last of the main campus buildings.

  I am never coming back, I promised myself. Never.

  “It’s her, isn’t it? My mother. Is she okay?”

  A dark expression spread across his face. “Quiet. We’re coming to the gate.”

  I glared at him. No one was listening now, why couldn’t he talk to me?

  We slowed as the road turned to gravel, and a small check station came into view. It was a single brick cottage, nestled right against the side of the road. Beyond it, I saw the high steel fence, latched by a security gate. Its sinister embrace stretched into the woods around us.

  Almost there. Almost free.

  Chase slowed the van to a halt and rolled down the driver’s side window. A guard leaned out the porthole on his elbows, scowling when he saw me. He disappeared for a moment and returned with a clipboard.

  “Get the papers signed?” he asked Chase, flipping through the pages. He had a bald spot right on the top of his head. His name badge said BROADBENT.

  My spine straightened. I recognized his name from my phone call in the infirmary. I looked ahead at the closed gate in front of the van as Chase handed Broadbent my summons. He scribbled something on the clipboard.

  “Walters!” he called outside the station. “Sweep the van so they can get moving when I’m done. Damn, you’ll be driving straight through, huh?”

  “I guess so. Your headmistress didn’t approve more than one night,” said Chase. I remained silent.

  Walters, clearly a merit-badge winner, opened my door and reached his hands beneath the seat. I tried to remain calm. He slammed my door and jerked open the slider, checking the empty body of the car.

  “All clear,” shouted Walters. He closed the trunk.

  “Good luck with that,” Broadbent said to Chase, nodding my way.

  I nearly jumped out of my skin at the blaring buzzer that unlatched the front gate. With a lurch, it swung open.

  Chase pressed the gas. And the Girls’ Reformatory and Rehabilitation Center of West Virginia faded behind us.

  * * *

  I WAS out. Away from the shack and from Brock, from the terrifying guards and the Statute classes. Everything within me wanted to push Chase aside and slam my foot down on the accelerator, but I knew that couldn’t happen.

  I was out. But not free.

  I glanced over to the driver. His face was set, like it had been in front of my mother’s house. This was not the Chase I’d pictured in the woods, in those seconds before I’d thought Randolph would pull the trigger. This was the soldier, and I was still very much imprisoned. Unconsciously, my wrists jerked against the restraints, making my still-sore hands even more sensitive.

  We left the winding road outside the facility and joined the highway. The area was clean here. No stalled cars, no giant potholes in the asphalt. It was obviously a heavily traveled military route: The MM only paid for maintenance on the roads they used most.

  As we continued, the frequency of military vehicles increased. A blue van sped past, then several more cruisers, then a bus filled with frightened new residents who had no idea what awaited them. Each sighting made my stomach lurch. If I had escaped last night, there would’ve been no way I could have snuck by all these soldiers. I’d be shot and bleeding in a ditch right now.

  The radio squealed, making me jump. Irritated, Chase flicked it off. The van seemed very quiet without its consistent hum.

  I glanced at the speedometer. A perfect sixty-five miles per hour. What a good soldier.

  “How long will it take to get there?” I tried not to sound too impatient.

  He didn’t answer, completely focused on driving.

  “I’m not going to tell anyone if you speak to me,” I assured him.

  Silence.

  Why was he doing this? Continuing to punish me after all he’d done? I wanted to throttle him. He had seen my mother, and despite my aggravation, being near him made me feel closer to her than I had in days. I wanted to ask how she looked, if she’d been harmed, if they’d given her enough to eat. But he was adhering strictly to Brock’s rules. Any slight hope that he’d come to rescue me slipped away.

  “You don’t know if she’s been doing any kind of rehab, do you?” I ventured, wondering if she had to “complete” something, like Rebecca had heard.

  “Can’t you just be quiet?” he snapped. “Right now? You’re a prisoner. And I need to think.”

  I blinked, instantly livid.

  “Ms. Brock didn’t mean absolute silence.” I tried to keep my voice even, still hoping that being congenial might earn me some information.

  “It’s not her rule; it’s mine.”

  I knotted my restrained fists in my skirt. Another MM vehicle flew by. I watched Chase tense, and I felt my face heat up.

  “How embarrassing it must be for you to cart around reform-school trash,” I said quietly. His grinding jaw told me I’d hit the mark.

  * * *

  WE didn’t talk for over an hour. The silence took on a physical presence, a hammer, that bruised me again and again with the reminder that, despite all my memories, I was nothing to him.

  It pounded me with new fears, too. What had the last two weeks been like for my mother? And what was going to happen tomorrow morning? Images filled my mind: her dragged into a courtroom in shackles, with Rosa’s empty eyes, while a bright, accusing spotlight pinned her in place. Her hands, marked with welts like mine. I shook my head, trying to rid myself of these thoughts, and glanced over at Chase.

  What was wrong with him? Was he really going to pretend like I wasn’t sitting three feet away? Like our histories hadn’t been braided together since we were children? He was a soldier now, I got that. But he’d been human once, too.

  Switching between anxiety and anger was exhausting, and yet I still found myself watching him, as if at any moment he’d confess this whole thing was some sick, twisted game.

  The clock on the dash said 8:16 A.M. when I felt the van decrease in speed.

  “Are we getting near Chicago?” I asked him, not expecting an answer. It seemed odd. I was poor at geography but had enough sense to know our trip had been too short. Plus, we’d taken a side road about twenty miles back and hadn’t passed any MM vehicles since that time. I would have thought there should be an increase in soldiers as we neared the base.

  Even so, I felt a flutter of panic anticipating that my mother might be close; I still knew nothing of her trial.

  The van curved off the highway down a single-lane ramp and stopped completely before turning right onto an isolated road. The weeds here had grown over the edges of the asphalt during the summer and then died in their tracks with the winter freeze. Dead branches littered our path. This area had not been maintained by city workers in a long time.

  As the van slowed, my heart rate doubled.

  “We are going to the trial, right?”

  He exhaled. “There’s been a slight change of plans.”

  My shoulders, which had been hunched over my restraints, jerked back sharply. “What do you mean?”

  “There is no trial.”

  My mouth fell open. “But the summons…”

  Chase bore right again on a narrow dirt road. With every bump, the van jolted.

  “It’s a fake.”

  “You… faked an MM document?” I was baffled for only an instant before the floodgates opened. “Well, where is she then? She didn�
��t have a trial? Did they put her in rehab? Oh, God, was she hurt?”

  “Don’t forget to breathe,” he said under his breath.

  “Chase! You have to tell me what’s going on!”

  There were dark shadows under his eyes that I did not understand. He looked to the side, as though the answer were hidden somewhere in the foliage, and then raked one hand through his black hair. I was getting a very bad feeling about all the things he wouldn’t say.

  “I promised her I would get you out of there.”

  “You promised—”

  “My CO thinks I’m assisting with an overhaul in Richmond.”

  I didn’t know what an overhaul was. I didn’t immediately understand why Chase was here when he’d been ordered to be somewhere else. None of it made sense.

  “Is she still in jail?” I felt as if I were standing on the edge of a cliff, anticipating a horrible fall.

  “No.”

  The pieces came together too slowly in my impatient brain. My mother was free. I was free. Rebecca and Sean were right: There were no more trials. And as for Chase…

  “You’re not a soldier anymore. You’re a runaway, too.”

  “It’s called AWOL,” he said flatly.

  I stared at him, remembering what Rebecca had said about Sean running away, how the MM would punish him for defecting. Chase had condemned himself by bailing me out. My mother had asked him to risk his life for me. I couldn’t think of what this meant, if he might not be so terrible after all. I could only think of her and how we were free and whether we were in more or less danger than I’d previously anticipated.

  Chase braked suddenly, and made a hard right down a hidden path that I never would have noticed had he not turned just then. After a curtain of low-hanging tree limbs, we came upon a clearing, where an ancient seventies-era Ford truck was parked. The maroon paint was peeling off in bubbles from the side paneling, and the step bar beneath the door was warped by orange rust.

  I looked down at my bound wrists. If Chase had intended to reunite me with my mother, why was I still in restraints? Why were we parking in a deserted clearing miles off the main road? I became increasingly aware of how isolated we were. I’d trusted him once, but after what I’d seen at reform school, being alone with a soldier didn’t seem like such a good idea.