"Please," I choke out.

Marcus is on his feet now. He stands there silently, studying me.

"D-don't leave me."

No answer.

Oh, God. "Marcus!"

"Chill," he says, dropping to his knees again. "I'll pull you out. Give me your hand."

I drag my arm across the stone floor, straining so hard my eyes feel like they're going to pop right out. I can't reach the doorway. It's too far away. If Marcus wants to help me, he'll have to reach back inside.

"Wait," I gasp when he starts to do so.

He's using his right hand, the one with the bracelet. "Your other . . ." My mouth is excruciatingly dry. I swallow. "Hand. Hurry."

Marcus switches hands and grabs my wrist, then gives me a couple of powerful tugs. I'm out of the hallway. The beeping stops. I hurt everywhere, but I'm also languid with relief, soaring above the world. I crash back down to reality when Marcus leans over me, wearing that smirk I'm coming to hate.

"God, you're so—" I cut off and fight to compose myself. Insults won't help me, even if I want to call him out on his reckless stupidity. No sense in butting heads with this one.

"When you were trying out different things with your hands before, you were checking to see how the bracelet works?" he asks.

At least he's not completely dumb. I sit up straight, moaning when my body aches in protest. I wriggle the bracelet up a couple of inches. There's a red bruise on my skin. I wince. Seeing it makes it hurt even worse. "I wanted to see if the bracelet becomes activated when it passes through the doorway. It looks that way."

Marcus's eyes trace the metal frame of the doorway. "Why go through all this trouble to keep us out of the block? What are they hiding in there?"

"It's not what they're hiding," I reply. "You know what a cattle grid is?"

"Do I look like a farmer to you?"

No, I don't think I'd ever confuse him for a farmer. "A cattle grid is something they put over roads or railways to prevent livestock from traveling beyond a certain point. To keep them right where the farmers want them." I take another deep breath. My chest still feels funny. I can't get my lungs to expand all the way. "They want us out here. Together."

"So they can do whatever they want with us," he concludes.

"Exactly."

Marcus gives me a hard stare. "How do you know all of this?"

"I'm just putting the pieces together." I roll my eyes. "I don't know who put us in here any more than you do, Marcus. You know that, so stop pushing my buttons."

"Either way, I don't make a habit of trusting people who might try to screw me over."

"Finally. Something we can both agree on."

He jumps to his feet and starts walking away. "I'm done being agreeable. I'll be keeping an eye on you, Rose."

I watch as he walks away, telling myself I should probably do the same.



The bottom floor is overcrowded when I get there. It's an area about the size of the average high school cafeteria. There are evenly-spaced metal tables with chairs arranged on either side of them. They're bolted to the floor, which makes this place feel more like a prison than anything else. The bright and invasive lighting isn't helping things.

The stairway from the blocks descends into the center of the huge space. Bare and windowless walls open to form two wide hallways on either side. Down here, the ceiling looms over us at an impossible distance, held up by nothing but the firmness of this concrete structure and our uneasy prayers.

At first there's activity as people move from one section of the facility to another, searching and exploring, hoping to find some way out. About half an hour later, most of them give up on the search and gather at tables, trading first words.

I hover by the stairway, overwhelmed and at a loss as to how I fit in this chaotic picture. I've spent a lifetime avoiding large crowds of teenagers and now here I am, stuck with so many of them and with no idea where I belong.

I'm debating picking a crowded table at random and hoping I don't stick out when I spot Alec near one of the flat-screen TVs mounted on the cafeteria walls. A familiar face. I cut a path around the tables, undeterred by the sight of Marcus next to him. They're watching some protest happening in another part of the globe. I doubt either of them is interested in this newscast. They're hoping for something about us.

Alec has one arm across his chest, the other elbow propped on it. He's stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Anything?" I ask him.

"The usual shit, but nothing that would help us," he answers.

I stare at the pretty news anchor onscreen, thinking over our situation. "It's possible we're not going to be on the news anytime soon."

"Yeah?" Marcus asks, mockery in his voice. "Why's that, Rose?"

I ignore him and direct my words at Alec. "You're from the south?"

"North Carolina."

"I'm from Pennsylvania. We're not all from the same state, let alone the same city. Sure, there are a lot of us here, but how many kids disappear every day? And how many of them make it on the news?"

"She's right," a tall and slender girl near us says. "There has to be a discernable pattern for our disappearance to be connected." She beams at me. "I'm Willow Hamilton. Block Thirteen, which makes things even more exciting."

I hesitate, wondering what her angle is. With her fair skin, hazel eyes and pink lips, she's lovely. Likeable. The only flaw is her barely-tamed wheat-colored hair, so thick and curly it looks like it's about to explode out of her hairband. Though even that is endearing.

"Where are you from?" I ask her.

"Maryland. Did anyone notice we're all from the east?"

"Watch out, Rose," Marcus leans in to whisper. "Frizz is going to give you a run for your money."

I edge away from him. This is hardly a competition. I'm just glad to see someone else trying to figure things out.

The clock on the screen reads 9:46 a.m. August 14th. "I went to bed just before midnight on Tuesday—on the twelfth. That's the last thing I remember."

"Same here," Willow says. "We lost two days."

"I was at home on Wednesday, as a matter of fact," Marcus says.

"You were?" I ask and regret it when his grin widens.

"I was on my couch, getting it on with this chick, when ninjas broke in through the window and knocked me out with their nun chucks."

"Really?" Willow asks, wide-eyed. "You look like a guy who can handle himself. I'm surprised you didn't fight them off with your amazing skills."

I like her already.

Marcus smirks at her. "Feel free to stand around and waste time discussing what you had for dinner that night, too. I have better things to do."

He shoves through a cluster of people and climbs onto one of the tables near the center of the cafeteria. He waits until everyone falls quiet before hollering, "What do you have for me?"

"This guy is full of himself, isn't he?" Willow whispers.

"You don't know the half of it," I mutter back.

"Um, we found showers on that end of the cafeteria," someone says, jabbing his thumb toward the hallway behind him. "There's also an indoor gym."

"And there's a kitchen the other way," another guy adds. "It's got lots of boxes."

"What's in the boxes?" Marcus asks him.

He shrugs. "I didn't check."

"Of course, you didn't. Anyone have something useful?" Marcus pauses. "No? Guess I'll have to do things myself."

He hops off the table and heads down one of the hallways at the end of the cafeteria. The quiet guy, Buzzcut, goes after him.

"Let's follow them," Willow says to me. "I'm hoping these boxes have food in them. I don't know about you guys, but I'm starving."

I don't know how she can think about food at a time like this. My stomach is in knots—though I keep my fear to myself. I've learned to hide it. Once upon a time, I was a scared girl, easily spooked by everything from thunder to the neighbor's friendly dog.

A lot has changed.

Be a brave girl, April.

The back of my neck prickles. I shake off the sensation and follow Willow. Alec falls into step with me. "Aren't you going to join Marcus?" I ask.

"Your company is a lot more bearable." He glances at my face. "How are you holding up?"

His attention stirs up familiar discomfort. Maybe I shouldn't have walked up to him earlier. Now he thinks I'm someone he can be friends with, and I'll have to pretend to know how that works. "Good."

He shuts up, and I can't help thinking I said something wrong. I'm wracking my brain for an ice-breaker when we arrive at a huge doorway with a bold sign that reads KITCHEN.

It's a big concrete room with large stainless steel fridges, rows of sinks, cookers, and a serving table by the door. Pots and pans hang from the ceiling, silver and spotless. At the back are stacks of boxes. Marcus goes over to one. It's huge, but with the way he hefts it and sets it down on the floor, it doesn't appear to be too heavy.

When he starts to peel off the clear tape with his thumbnail, I ask, "What if there's something dangerous in these boxes?"

"Like what?"

"Snakes," someone says over my shoulder. It's the southern boy from my block. "I met the nastiest cottonmouth last summer. Me and my old man went fishing near a creek off Chattahoochee River—that's in Georgia, by the way. I would've stepped on the snake if Pops hadn't grabbed my arm and—"

"Someone shut the hillbilly up," Marcus says.

The boy blushes and turns quiet. I'm annoyed on his behalf, but talking to Marcus is the last thing I want to do so I give the boy a small smile and ask, "What's your name?"

"Carson." He wanders over to a long counter against a wall, stacked with paper utensils, and pulls open a couple of drawers. He reaches inside and holds up a silver butter knife. "Plastic spoons and forks, and harmless little knives. They really thought of everything."

"Prison inmates can make weapons out of popsicle sticks," Marcus says, still peeling. "They'd kill to get their hands on these harmless little knives." He looks up and frowns at Carson. "I suggest you keep your hands off them, pal."

"Uh, sorry," Carson replies, slamming the last drawer shut.

Marcus gets a good grip on the tape and tears it off the top of the box. He pulls back the flaps and stares. Unable to contain my curiosity, I go over to him and peer inside. Bags of bread, the thinly-sliced white kind that my mom would sooner starve to death than eat.

Marcus opens more boxes, revealing all kinds of food items: spaghetti, rice, flour, oatmeal, peas, potatoes, oil, and cans of tomato sauce. Even canned fruit. The fridges hold the perishables. Dozens of milk bottles, egg cartons, and fruits and vegetables. Inside the freezers, we find the raw meat.

"On the plus side," Alec says, breaking the silence, "at least we don't have to worry about ending up with scurvy or something."

Marcus laughs, but it's the kind of sound that barely masks building anger. "Yeah, I'm feeling real grateful. This is a joke. Locking us up in this place, making us run around trying to figure things out. What the hell do they want?"

"You're asking the wrong people," Willow says softly.

Carson points to a corner above the cooker. "Not to worry. They can hear you just fine."

I spotted a few more cameras in the cafeteria earlier. The only indication of their presence. They can't be hiding because they don't want us to know who they are. There has to be more to it than that. For once, Marcus and I are in agreement because that question—What the hell do they want?—burns in my mind.

I jump back when he picks up the open bread box and heaves it at the camera. Some of the bagged bread flies as the box smashes into the wall. It falls to the floor on its side, spilling its contents in a fountain of plastic.

"Whoa, dude," Alec says. "Relax. You want them to see how much they got to you?"

"Don't tell me to relax."

"Alright—how about chill out? Take it easy? Don't get your knickers in a bunch? Does that help?"

Alec's tone is humored, but this place has already burrowed under Marcus's skin. He lunges toward Alec, grabbing him by the front of his t-shirt. "How about I punch your face in? Will that wipe off your smile?"

"Marcus, let him go." I lay a hand on his tense shoulder. "He's just trying to help."

He looks over at me. "Don't touch me."

The dangerous glint in his eyes startles me. I don't know him well enough to decide he won't just deck me, so I drop my hand.

"Or what, Marko?" Alec says, grinning tauntingly. "You're going to beat up a girl?"

Marcus's face twists with fury. Before he can react, someone behind us gives a loud gasp. I spin around, the two hostile guys forgotten the moment I see Carson. He's holding a bag of bread in one hand and a half-eaten slice in the other. He drops both and clutches his throat, his face turning redder by the second.

"Carson?" I whisper, my heart banging in my chest. "Are you okay?"

With another pained gasp, he tumbles to the floor.