Countdown. Michelle RowenЧитать онлайн книгу.
a pinch at my right wrist and reached over with my other hand, trying to feel my way through the inky blackness. It was a metal cuff. Attached to a chain. Attached to the smooth, cold metal wall behind me.
What the hell is going on?
Had I been caught shoplifting? Was this prison? I wracked my brain to try to remember being arrested, but came up blank. No, I’d grabbed the shoes, shoved them under my coat, and left the store to go into the half-abandoned mall where I’d put them on and thrown my old ones in a garbage can. And then...then what happened?
I remembered wanting to grab some food. I’d had two bucks to my name, so I’d figured I could buy a small order of French fries at one of the few restaurants that were still open. That would last me a day before my stomach would start complaining again.
Had I even made it to the food court?
I couldn’t have. I was still hungry. Starving. My body felt as if it was eating itself, but that was a bit of an exaggeration, I guess. Yesterday I’d had an entire meal. Ordered off the menu even, and then tried to skip out before the bill came. The owner of the diner had caught me, reprimanded me, and I’d figured that that was it—he’d call the cops.
Instead, he’d taken pity on me and made me wash dishes. It was a humbling experience, but I’d had a lot of those since my family died.
In the end, I appreciated his kindness. Washing dishes was a whole lot better than getting arrested.
Okay, breathe, Kira, I told myself. And I did. I took a deep breath in through my nose and let it out through my mouth. My heart thudded hard in my ears.
Why couldn’t I remember what had happened after I’d taken the shoes? Damn it. And where was I?
I seriously had to calm down. This wasn’t helping.
I took another breath in and out and forced myself to listen. For anything. There had to be something other than this total silence that told me absolutely nothing helpful.
And then I heard...something. I pushed my fears out of the way as best I could and strained my ears.
Breathing. I could hear soft breathing.
Someone else is in the room.
This realization did not ease my mind. Just the opposite. The thought that somebody was in the darkness with me scared me enough that I almost started to cry.
But I was tough now. At least that’s what I tried to tell myself every morning when I woke up to face another day. This shouldn’t be any different.
“H-h-hello?” Stuttering does not help the situation, I thought. “Who’s there?”
The breathing hitched. I heard something heavy shift against the floor about fifteen feet away.
Then the something spoke. “Wh...what the hell?”
A guy’s voice. His words were gruff and raspy as if he’d just woken from a deep sleep.
“Who are you?” I ventured again.
Why did I sound so weak? I hated that.
He cleared his throat and groaned. “Shit.”
Well, he did seem to have a fine command of the English language.
I strained to see something, but there was only black. “Tell me who you are.”
There was a pause, and then another groan. It actually sounded like a moan of pain as I heard him shift position again.
I frowned. “Hey, are you okay?”
He snorted. “Fantastic. I’m just fantastic, thanks for asking. And you?”
Sarcasm. Yeah, I recognized that.
“I’ve been better, actually.”
Chains rattled. Not mine, so that meant that this guy was also restrained. But why?
“I’m Rogan,” he said after a moment. “So pleased to meet you.”
“Where are we?”
“I tell you my name and you don’t reciprocate? Didn’t your mother teach you any manners?”
“My mother’s dead.”
That shut him up. Momentarily. “Sorry to hear that.”
“It was a long time ago.”
“Doesn’t make it any easier.”
Very true. Two years. Felt like forever—yet, at the same time, it felt like only yesterday. “My name’s Kira.”
“Well, Kira, where we are is anyone’s guess.”
I pressed back against the hard wall.
We could be anywhere, and there wasn’t a damn thing to give me a clue where that was. Except for the main drags, the city was so vacant that we could be in any one of dozens of abandoned warehouses or factories. And nobody would ever find us.
I’d heard about kids who’d vanished from the streets never to be seen again. I was sure they weren’t stories with happy endings.
“What’s the last thing you remember?” I asked. “Who brought you here? Are you chained, too?”
“I don’t know who brought me here. And, yeah, I’m locked up real tight.”
“Who would do this?” My voice caught on the words.
“Try to relax.”
“I’m relaxed.”
“Doesn’t sound like it to me.”
I banged the back of my head lightly against the metal wall and hugged my knees in close to my chest. “You sound relaxed enough for the both of us.”
“What can I say? So far this is a lot better than where I was scheduled to go in a few days.”
“Oh? And where’s that?”
He was silent for a moment. “You really want to know?”
Not really. I didn’t care. “Sure.”
There was another lengthy pause. “Saradone.”
My blood ran cold. Saradone was the maximum security prison just outside the city limits. Only the worst criminals were sent there; some for life, most for death. Horrible people who’d done horrible things. Luckily, they didn’t put girls who stole shoes there...yet.
He laughed at my answering silence. “Guess you’ve heard of it.”
I was in the same room with somebody bound for Saradone—so that meant he was dangerous. Criminally dangerous. Panic returned to swirl through me, constricting my chest, my breath.
Both of us were chained. What was this? What was going on?
A cold trickle of sweat slid down my back.
“Why were you going there?” I tried to make the question sound flippant, as if I was making conversation about the weather.
“My days at St. Augustine’s end in a couple days when I turn eighteen.”
St. Augustine’s. That name I also knew. It was a juvenile detention hall located on the west side of the city. If I ever got arrested, that might be where I ended up.
I’d heard that it was hell.
I hesitated to ask, but couldn’t help myself. “What were you at St. Augustine’s for?”
“Murder,” he answered simply.
“Oh.” My stomach churned as I tested the chains again. They were too strong. I wasn’t going anywhere. “Was it self-defense?”
“No.” There was a sharp edge to his voice now. “But what do you care?”
“I don’t.”