would smash it until he was the deadest thing in the history of the world, the deadest man who’d ever been. She was yelling, over and over, “God damn you! God damn you! God damn you!”
Then it was over. Alicia let him go. The body tipped sideways to the floor, leaving a glistening smear of brains on the wall. Alicia slumped to her knees, drinking great gulps of air into her lungs. It was over, but it didn’t feel over. There was no over, not anymore.
She needed clothes. She needed a weapon. Strapped to Sod’s calf she discovered a heavy-handled knife. The balance was poor, but it would do. She gathered up his trousers and his shirt. Dressing herself in the man’s clothing, ripe with his stench, filled her with disgust. Her skin crawled, as if he were touching her. She rolled up the sleeves and the legs of his trousers and cinched the waist. The boots, far too large, would only slow her down; she would have to travel barefoot. She dragged the body away from the door and banged on the metal with the butt of her knife.
“Hey!” she yelled, cupping her mouth to lower the register of her voice. “Hey, I’m locked in here!”
The seconds passed. Maybe no one was out there. What would she do then? She hammered on the door, louder this time, praying someone would come.
Then the tumblers turned. Alicia darted behind the door as the guard stepped into the room.
“What the hell, Sod, you told me I had thirty minutes—”
But these sentiments went unfinished as Alicia, darting behind him, drew one hand over his mouth and used the other to ram the knife into the small of his back, swishing the handle as the tip drove upward.
She eased the body to the floor. Blood was releasing from it in a wide, dark pool. Its rich scent rose to her nostrils. Alicia recalled her vow. I will drink those bastards dry. I will baptize myself in the blood of my enemy. The thought had sustained her through the days of torment. But as she looked at the two men, first the guard and then Sod, his pale, naked body like a stain of whiteness on the concrete, she shuddered with disgust.
Not now, she thought, not yet, and she slipped into the hallway.
The field sank into darkness. For a moment, all was still. Then, from high overhead, a cool aquatic light pulsed down onto the field, bathing it in an artificial moonglow.
Lila had appeared at the rear of the silver truck. All the redeyes were pocketing their sunglasses. Hoppel had given up his pleas and begun to sob. A van drove onto the field. Two cols disembarked and trotted to the rear of the vehicle and opened the doors.
Eleven people stumbled out, six men and five women, shackled at the wrists and ankles and to each other. They were stumbling, weeping, begging for their lives. Their terror was too great; all their resistance was gone. A cold numbness had taken hold of Sara; she thought she might be ill. One of the women looked like Karen Molyneau, but Sara couldn’t be certain. The cols dragged them toward Hoppel and instructed them to get down on their knees.
“This is so awesome,” a nearby voice said.
All but one of the cols jogged away, remaining with Lila at the rear of the large truck. Her body was swaying, her head rocking side to side, as if she were floating in an invisible current or dancing to unheard music.
“I thought there were supposed to be ten,” the same voice said. One of the redeyes, two rows below.
“Yeah. Ten.”
“But there’s eleven of them.”
Sara counted again. Eleven.
“You better go down there and tell Guilder.”
“Are you kidding? Who knows what’s on his mind these days?”
“You should check that at the door. He hears you say that, you’ll be next.”
“The guy has slipped a gear, I’m telling you.” A pause. “I always knew there was something off about Hoppel, though.”
These words touched Sara like a distant wind. Her attention was now solely focused on the field. Was that Karen? The woman looked older, and too tall. Most of the prisoners had adopted a defensive posture, their bodies folded where they knelt in the crusted snow, hands held over their heads; others, kneeling upright, faces washed by the blue light, had begun to pray. The last col was strapping on armored pads. He wedged a helmet over his head and waved toward the bleachers.