Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 132491 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132491 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
“The calcium oxalate crystals can cause skin irritation,” I say softly, puzzled. “But this species is native to Asia and Australia. How far from the US are we?”
“Are you a human computer or something?”
I don’t respond. I’ve given too much away already.
I’m mentally calculating. If there was something added to the water at the prison that knocked us all out, how long could we have been on the boat to get here without anyone dying of dehydration?
Six people did die, though.
Could they have hydrated us with IVs? I check my arms for bruises and don’t find any. They could have put IVs in veins we can’t see. I’m dehydrated, though, so that doesn’t track.
People can survive around three days without water. Less in high humidity because of all the sweating. How did they get us as far as Asia or Australia so quickly?
I slump with defeat. It’s not how they got us here I’m as concerned with, it’s how I’ll get back. On my own, it’s going to be near impossible.
“I can walk now.”
The water infused me with a little strength, and I want to be able to take everything in. Pax sets me down, my legs still shaky but better than before. He stays beside me, leading the way around a bend in the dense vegetation.
Long rows of what looks like housing stretch back, the front doors of both rows facing the wide path we’re walking on. There’s a second story stacked on top of the first, ladders leading up to a walkway to access the doors. Hundreds of people could be housed here.
The units are small, but they look well built, the walls made of mortared concrete blocks. The roofs are metal sheets. Each unit has a real door with a handle. It’s not what I was expecting. I thought there would be primitive shelters for the few people who haven’t been picked off by Whitman’s twisted game yet.
This seems too elaborate to be a game.
“How many people live here?”
Pax glances at me, then focuses ahead. “I don’t know, depends on how many we were able to save back there.”
“How many did you have before today?”
He shifts a shoulder in a half shrug. “That’s not really my area.”
“What is your area?”
A bald man with a shaggy salt-and-pepper beard approaches us from the other end of the path we’re walking on. Pax waves at him, ignoring my question.
“Hey, Noah. This is our last new arrival, Briar.”
“Commander.” Noah nods at Pax, the title he uses catching me by surprise.
Noah has dark-rimmed glasses and is wearing thick, olive-colored pants, hiking boots and a white T-shirt. He does a quick head-to-toe once-over of me.
“Hi Briar, I’m the Rising Tide medic. Can I examine you to see if you need treatment?”
No way is he examining me. Been there, done that.
“I’m fine.” I hold his gaze, trying to sound better than I feel.
“She’s dehydrated,” Pax says. “Other than that, I think she’s fine. She fought like an absolute beast on the beach.”
Noah nods, pulling a small pad of paper and a pencil from a pants pocket.
“Briar, what’s your last name?”
I hesitate. I’m already at the bottom of the deepest hole Whitman throws people in. It was either a quick death—execution—or a slow death—this. There’s no way I can make things worse for myself by telling them my name.
My real name. Every time someone called me Briar Murphy, I felt sick. I didn’t want Lochlan’s name any more than I wanted anything else about him. But here, I won’t be forced to use it.
“Hollis. Briar Hollis.”
Tears form in my eyes as I say the name my parents gave me. It makes me feel like they’re close, at least in spirit.
“Briar...Hollis.” Noah writes my name on his notepad, then looks up at Pax. “You want me to take her to the infirmary, Commander?”
“Nah, I’ll do it.”
A group of three women passes by us, all of them eyeing me curiously. They’re all wearing the same green pants, hiking boots and white T-shirts as Noah. Must be standard issue.
“I’m not sick,” I tell Pax as he resumes walking. “I don’t need to go to the infirmary.”
He catches my eye for a moment. “It’s where everyone goes when they first get here. You need food, hydration and rest.”
I can’t argue with that. My feet keep getting heavier. I could easily curl up in the middle of this dirt path and go to sleep. The oppressive heat has already soaked my clothes through with sweat.
“What happens after the infirmary? Why are any of us really here?”
“When you get cleared from the infirmary, you’ll be assigned a mentor. You’ll get a work duty assignment, clothes, boots, some soap. Then you can get a shower.”
He ignored my second question, but I’m too distracted by the mention of soap and a shower to call him on it.