was just until dinner service was over. Agatha hadn’t wanted me anywhere near the kitchen in my current condition, and I was thankful for it. I’d been granted an hour to shower and dress and I planned on using all of it, if not a little more.
I twisted the shower on and stuck my hand into the stream of water, knowing I’d have to wait for it to get hot. I went back in the bedroom, and eyed Lily’s bunk. Someone had made it. I touched the blanket, and wondered who would fill that bunk next. Would she come and go as quickly as Lily had? I shook the thought away. Lily had died, not escaped. And death wasn’t preferable to living in Edenton, was it?
I snatched the stick off my bed, unwrapped the plastic I’d snuck from the kitchen, and grabbed my sketchbook from the trunk. After I erased a patch from an old drawing, I scratched the end of the stick onto the paper, and watched the charcoal scrape across the surface. The color was rich, no reflection in it like the lead of the pencil.
It wasn’t until I noticed the steam pouring from the bathroom that I really looked at the image I’d drawn. Gabriel stared back at me, the way he’d looked last night. Face half-draped in shadow, the light of the torch outlining the strength of his jaw, the straight line of his nose, that cherry-skin indentation on his bottom lip. I liked looking at him, I realized. The way he spoke, the way he moved. Was that normal in the outside world? Because it didn’t seem normal in Edenton.
After hiding my sketchbook and charcoal, I headed to the bathroom, stripped off my bra and underwear, and tossed them into the hamper in the corner of the room. I heard the front door of the cottage squeak open.
“I’ll be out in a bit,” I called, stepping into the bathroom and kicking the door closed behind me.
I didn’t even bother to wait for an answer. If whoever-it-was needed to use the bathroom, she’d just come in with me in the shower. It’s not as if we had locks on the doors. Or privacy.
I slid the shower curtain closed. I watched the dark water fade to clear at my feet, then scrubbed myself until my skin was raw red. By the time I got out, the bathroom was filled with opaque steam. I wrapped myself in a towel, went out to my trunk, and snatched up a clean uniform from the pile.
When I returned to the bathroom, most of the steam had cleared. A dark shape next to the mirror caught the light. I drew closer. Stuck into the wall next to the mirror was my chef’s knife. Then I saw the writing on the steamy mirror.
Meet me on the fishing beach after curfew. Come alone.
Chapter Seven
The ocean was black and still in the moonlight, waves folding quietly in on themselves. It would have been beautiful if it hadn’t been for the jangling of my nerves. I stayed close to the tree line, inched my way off the cove path, and onto the sand. I scanned the cove, but knew no guards were here. They always patrolled the jungle, not the water.
They’re not keeping people from getting into Edenton. They’re keeping the Flock—us—in.
If what Gabriel had said in the infirmary was right, then I understood why they didn’t patrol the waterfront. We didn’t have boats, no small inflatable dinghies, or even life preservers. There was no way the Flock could escape out onto the water, so why waste the manpower? With our limited number of guards, it made sense to patrol where we could get away on foot.
Still, I remained close to the trees and hoped to make it to the jetty of rocks that separated the cove from the wide fishing beach without being seen. I’d changed into the dark T-shirt and jeans I’d been given for heavy-duty work—for most of the Flock that would have been their Contrition punishment—and my work boots. No breeze came off the water in the cove and my shirt stuck to my skin. My thick-soled boots shifted around unsteadily in the deep sand.
I saw deteriorating indentations stretching along the beach. Eleven. A curtain of dread dropped
I twisted the shower on and stuck my hand into the stream of water, knowing I’d have to wait for it to get hot. I went back in the bedroom, and eyed Lily’s bunk. Someone had made it. I touched the blanket, and wondered who would fill that bunk next. Would she come and go as quickly as Lily had? I shook the thought away. Lily had died, not escaped. And death wasn’t preferable to living in Edenton, was it?
I snatched the stick off my bed, unwrapped the plastic I’d snuck from the kitchen, and grabbed my sketchbook from the trunk. After I erased a patch from an old drawing, I scratched the end of the stick onto the paper, and watched the charcoal scrape across the surface. The color was rich, no reflection in it like the lead of the pencil.
It wasn’t until I noticed the steam pouring from the bathroom that I really looked at the image I’d drawn. Gabriel stared back at me, the way he’d looked last night. Face half-draped in shadow, the light of the torch outlining the strength of his jaw, the straight line of his nose, that cherry-skin indentation on his bottom lip. I liked looking at him, I realized. The way he spoke, the way he moved. Was that normal in the outside world? Because it didn’t seem normal in Edenton.
After hiding my sketchbook and charcoal, I headed to the bathroom, stripped off my bra and underwear, and tossed them into the hamper in the corner of the room. I heard the front door of the cottage squeak open.
“I’ll be out in a bit,” I called, stepping into the bathroom and kicking the door closed behind me.
I didn’t even bother to wait for an answer. If whoever-it-was needed to use the bathroom, she’d just come in with me in the shower. It’s not as if we had locks on the doors. Or privacy.
I slid the shower curtain closed. I watched the dark water fade to clear at my feet, then scrubbed myself until my skin was raw red. By the time I got out, the bathroom was filled with opaque steam. I wrapped myself in a towel, went out to my trunk, and snatched up a clean uniform from the pile.
When I returned to the bathroom, most of the steam had cleared. A dark shape next to the mirror caught the light. I drew closer. Stuck into the wall next to the mirror was my chef’s knife. Then I saw the writing on the steamy mirror.
Meet me on the fishing beach after curfew. Come alone.
Chapter Seven
The ocean was black and still in the moonlight, waves folding quietly in on themselves. It would have been beautiful if it hadn’t been for the jangling of my nerves. I stayed close to the tree line, inched my way off the cove path, and onto the sand. I scanned the cove, but knew no guards were here. They always patrolled the jungle, not the water.
They’re not keeping people from getting into Edenton. They’re keeping the Flock—us—in.
If what Gabriel had said in the infirmary was right, then I understood why they didn’t patrol the waterfront. We didn’t have boats, no small inflatable dinghies, or even life preservers. There was no way the Flock could escape out onto the water, so why waste the manpower? With our limited number of guards, it made sense to patrol where we could get away on foot.
Still, I remained close to the trees and hoped to make it to the jetty of rocks that separated the cove from the wide fishing beach without being seen. I’d changed into the dark T-shirt and jeans I’d been given for heavy-duty work—for most of the Flock that would have been their Contrition punishment—and my work boots. No breeze came off the water in the cove and my shirt stuck to my skin. My thick-soled boots shifted around unsteadily in the deep sand.
I saw deteriorating indentations stretching along the beach. Eleven. A curtain of dread dropped
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