The girl points a plump finger at me. “You, young lady, need to learn the rules. And that’s what I’m here for.” She smiles and cocks her head, letting her curls bounce from side to side. “I’m your friendly neighborhood tour guide. I’ll show you around. Teach you the ropes. All that jazz.” She holds out her hand to me as if to shake, but then remembers mine are strapped to the bed. She drops her hand back in her lap. “I’m Elizabeth, but you can call me Betsy.”

“I’m Agatha,” I lie. I take in Betsy’s face. Small, dark eyes blink in her round head. She keeps smiling widely, making her fat cheeks dimple. I’m not used to seeing anyone who isn’t starving, so she’s off-putting. The fact that she’s so chipper about being a prisoner in the Breeders’ hospital makes me think she’s gone over the high side.

I narrow my eyes. “Where are we?”

“Albuquerque General. I’m told it’s the best hospital in the country, if not the world.” She spreads her hands across her face with a flourish. When I don’t smile, hers droops, but she continues. “We’ve got all the latest and greatest here: TV, all the best food, a pool.” She leans in, smiling to take in my excitement at the mention of a pool. I shake my head.

“Are you a prisoner here, too?”

She blinks at me.

“Are they holding you against your will? Making you have that baby?” I ask, nodding towards her stomach.

Her brow wrinkles. “I live here.”

I narrow my eyes. “You mean you want to live here?”

She nods happily, patting her watermelon-sized belly. “It’s the best. Of course when little dumplin’ comes, I’ll move into the nursery with her for a year. Then she’ll go live with the nannies and I’ll go back into the prenatal rooms.”

“So, you’re a prisoner here? You’ve never left this hospital.” My heart thumps in my chest. The monitors above beep in agitation.

She shakes her head. “Why would I want to leave? It’s awful out there. War. Disease. Look at you. You came from out there and you got shot. When that boy turned you in, you were basically dead.”

That boy. Clay. Clay who sold me to the hospital. He saved my life. It probably helped to justify making me a prisoner. How much money did he make off my enslavement? I lower my eyes and clench my hands open and closed. If I could move, I’d chuck something at that beeping monitor.

Betsy leans toward me. “They told me if I get a guard, I can give you a tour. Wanna see the place?”