Chapter 2: The Unfortunate Camp, Part 2

I straighten and stroll across the shower floor, pulled toward the deep purple gown. If I'm chosen today, I might as well face my fears in a pretty dress. The rest of the girls have the same idea I do and take the green, pink, and royal blue gowns. I pull my dress from its hanger and turn as the crying blonde crawls out of the kerfuffle, hugging the mustard dress to her wet body. I lift my eyebrows, astonished. Sniffling, she lifts her chin and squares her shoulders. Hope glistens in her piercing blue eyes, and as she turns away, I spot her number tattooed on the clean flesh behind her ear.

Thirteen, that's her name.

Without thought, I touch the tips of my fingers to the number nine tattooed behind my ear. If I'm chosen, will my Fortunate give me a name? Or will I still be known as Nine?

I follow Thirteen across the bathroom to stand beside her in front of the murky, wall-sized mirror.

"You would've looked nice in the pink," I murmur, and her lips part, surprised I'm choosing now to talk to her for the first time.

She doesn't say anything back. I don't expect her to.

I step into my dress and pull it up until it covers my body. I tie it over my left shoulder, creating a beautiful side-sweeping bodice. I notice then that it's sheer. It's not transparent in this light, but the sun will light it up once we're outside, making the beautiful fabrics transparent for all to see.

When we're dressed, the moderators herd us through the crumbling building like animals, poking us with the hard tips of their guns. Beside me, Thirteen gasps and stumbles over a rogue floorboard. I reach out and grip the band of fabric that flows freely from the back of her dress. Her weight yanks me forward, too, and I make a tight noise in my chest as we both crash to the dusty floor.

"Get up!" Soyer yells, his voice gravelly and punishing.

I release Thirteen's dress and jump to my feet, desperate to avoid the tail of his gun. Thirteen, however, is slow. She rests on the palms of her hands and knees, her body shaking as silent sobs rock her.

"I said get up!" He swings high, bringing his gun over his shoulder before slamming the end of it into her ribs.

I cringe as she screams. Gritting my teeth, I swallow hard and look away, peering into the dark room on my left—the children's rooms. Bright eyes glisten back as they quietly watch. A young girl, about six or seven, sits up in her bed, her eyes completely fixated on my gown. I bet I look like the princesses in the books they read to the children. When I was their age, I looked forward to story time, to the reprieve from reality it gave me. Now, I find it cruel. All those books have a happy ending. There is no happy ending for us; pretty gown be damned. The sad reality is that many of us die before the age of fourteen. Sometimes from sickness. Sometimes we're murdered. Sometimes we kill ourselves.

"Move!" Soyer demands, shoving me hard with his gun, snapping me out of my thoughts.

Pain crepitates through my torso, and I grit my teeth as I take one last glance at the little girl and keep moving.

The moderators march us down a flight of stairs, stairs that threaten to break as they creak under our weight. They usher us through an empty lobby, and we spend a second in there before we're pushed out into the bright morning sun. I squint under the blazing sun as if its only purpose is to burn the dress from my body.

In front of us, a cart is towed behind two breathtaking chestnut horses. I've seen horses before, but not ones as beautiful as these. They're well brushed, their coats glossy and short. They're well-fed, evident by their bloated bellies, and their hooves are clean, adorned with the shiny, silver horseshoes that curl like vines up their strong legs.

We're crammed into the cart one by one, and Soyer climbs on top to steer the horses. With a jolt, we rock against each other, our shoulders grazing as the horses carry us toward the ten-foot gate that keeps us caged. I glance over my shoulder at the looming, dilapidated manors that make up the Unfortunate camp. Now I'm leaving it; it looks less like hell and more like home. I'm going to miss it. I'll miss hiding in its nooks and crannies as moderators swept the halls looking for trouble. I'll miss not talking to anyone but sharing friendly and comforting glances. I'll miss my daily routine of waking up, eating breakfast, going to class, sitting outside under the giant oak tree, and finally, dinner and bed.

The gates scream as they pull open. They rattle and creak, and I inch forward in my seat, eager to see the wide world without the wire obstruction. Inch by inch, the gates expose the new world to me. The camp is situated on a hill, tucked away from the thick forest to the left and the ocean behind us. Off to the right, in the far, far distance, impossibly tall and jagged skyscrapers from time's past penetrate the sky.

According to my teachers, the city is abandoned and fenced off. Only the heads of the four prominent Fortunate families are permitted to enter its barren streets. Dead ahead, the town of Freeport looms like the dark cloud of an impending thunderstorm.

We roll forward, and I peer over the cart's edge at the bright green grass. I inhale as excitement bubbles in my chest. I want to lay in its blades, to feel them on my skin. I glance at the other girls to see if they're as awed by the beauty of the grass as I am.

They're not.

They hang their heads. Their sad, grey stares are on the rotted floor of the cart. Thirteen hunches beside me, clenching her ribs as she sniffles.

"Hey," I whisper to her. "Look at the grass."

She shakes her head. "I don't care for grass."

"You haven't seen grass like this." At the Unfortunate camp, the grass is a pale green and only exists in random patches of spiky blades. Out here, it's a vast wonderland of beautiful, soft greenery. "If you just look up a little, you'll see—"

"Why are you so happy, Nine?" another Unfortunate snaps. I glance at her, my gaze going to the long, red locks that curl around her small breasts first. Seven's her name, I think. She looks small and sickly in her bright green dress. "There are more important things than grass to worry about. In case you've forgotten, we're being sold today."

My eyelids flutter, her words making my eyes sting.

"I haven't forgotten." How could I forget? I've thought about this moment every day of my life, it feels like. "But we haven't been selected yet; we might as well enjoy our last few minutes of freedom."

"This isn't freedom. This is livestock transport." She folds her arms over her chest. "We'll see how much you like the grass when your Fortunate forces you to eat a mouthful of it while he takes you from behind."

I swallow, hating how much truth rings in her words. I want to cuss her out, to admonish her for stripping me of my silver linings, but that wouldn't be fair. These girls aren't my enemy.

We all lose today.