I stop cold. “Jackson?” I go to him, rushing to undo his bindings. It takes a second or two for his eyelids to flutter. He blinks awake, trying to raise his head. There are bloody bruises on his arms and legs. I dig my fingernails into the tightly bound knots, trying to loosen them. Jackson slowly comes to life. He shakes his head, his eyes widening. “Gahhh,” he says. “Gahhh!!!!”

I pull harder on the bindings. “Shh. I’m going to get you out of here.”

A shadow flits behind me. Claire? Before I can react, a hand shoves a rag over my mouth. Sweet, putrid chemicals fill my nostrils. I try to swivel around, but my attacker is strong. Leaning forward, I catch a glimpse of Herman’s face. He leers down at me, his eyes cold. I feel myself slipping. I dig my nails into Herman’s arm, but he presses the rag harder over her mouth.

The ringing crashes in my ears as I begin to lose consciousness. Behind Herman’s shoulder, I sees Claire in the corner, watching. Quiet. Dots form in my eyes, my head swimming, and then everything goes black.

9

9

The first thing I notice is the smell of rubber, then mud and a sweet chemical taste in the back of my throat. A rough hand grasps my chin, pressing me back. Groggy, I open my eyes to find Herman duct-taping my forehead to a chair. Some of the hair by my temples rips out, causing pricks of pain in my skull.

I glance around, my vision blurring, trying to remember where I am. It’s only when I see Jackson duct-taped to the chair next to me that it all comes back. I look to Herman, who stands off to the side. “What are you going to do to us?” I ask him. “Hey! What are you going to do?” He doesn’t meet my gaze.

Blinking, the room comes into focus and I realize there’s someone else with us. A hunched body stands by a small table, face bent over a tray lined with an assortment of instruments. At first, I think it’s one of the girls, but then I realize it’s Mrs. Green.

She’s working away at something, her hands busy. The sound of metal clinks together. She lifts a scalpel, examining it in the low light.

“You’re alive,” I say, my brain still fuzzy. If Mrs. Green hears me, she doesn’t respond. Jackson jerks his shoulders, trying to free himself. I follow suit, but the duct tape creases around my joints. I kick my feet, lift my knees, but Herman’s strapped me down tightly.

Mrs. Green turns, smiling at us like a cheery grandmother. “Rise and shine, little birdies,” she says. She walks to Jackson. Without warning, she pulls the rag from his mouth. He coughs, spitting on the ground.