Firebreak (Jackson's Hollow #2)

Chapter 9

Jo's first night at the facility was spent in the same cell they had her practice her powers in. She wasn't sure if it was an isolation tactic or a way to break her down, but she was miserable and hardly slept more than a couple hours altogether. Denying her a bed or even a cot had to be somebody's idea of grinding her down.

Surrounded by the burned and scorched husks of targets, she smelled thoroughly like smoke and charred plastic by the time someone knocked on the door. She sat up and pressed up against the wall. Bleary-eyed, she rubbed at her face as the door opened.

Instead of Diego, like she expected, there was a taller, lankier guy there. He had short dark brown hair, a bit of a beard, and a lop-sided grin. He was dressed in camo pants and a light gray t-shirt. "Morning, sleeping beauty!"

Jo frowned, uncertain. "Hi..."

"Wes. I'm Wes, I'm on Diego's team, which might eventually be your team because we're down a person with fire power," the guy said cheerfully. "Don't ask who or why or how because we're not allowed to tell you anything about it."

She wasn't sure what to say, so she silently stood up, watching him warily. "What do you want me to do?"

Wes' eyebrows rose. "Get breakfast? In the cafeteria?" He glanced around the room. "Unless you want to eat decorative tree flambe."

"Do I have to wear these?" she asked, lifting her hands and showing off her cuffs.

Wes laughed and lifted his own left hand, and she noticed he was wearing cuffs too. "We all get the same accessories, unfortunately."

It had been a very long shot, but she had to take it. If she hadn't asked, she would've regretted it, even though she had already known the answer.

"Guess I don't have much of a choice then," Jo said, moving toward the door.

"That's the spirit!" Wes agreed cheerfully. "Determined pessimism and a bleak outlook. I like it." He seemed to be ignoring Jo's incredulous stare–fine, Mr. Happy-go-lucky could have it his way. And she'd stick to her bleak pessimism or whatever he wanted to call it.

Wes led her down the hallway past a number of countless, perfectly matching doors until the hum of voices started to reach them. He attempted to play tour guide a few times, but she wasn't really interested in what experiments were conducted where. Not unless any of them involved bracelet technology or people who could turn her invisible or something.

"And this is the caf!" he said, sweeping an arm wide dramatically to indicate the very high school-looking cafeteria in front of them. She was pretty sure her high school had those same type of long tables with the attached seats at least.

"What's good to eat her?" If he insisted on giving her the rundown of every outlet and lightbulb they passed, she might as well try to get actually useful information out of him.

"For breakfast? The hashbrowns, no question," Wes said, grinning. "It's all crisp on top, perfectly spiced, goes with anything else you get..." Wes sighed happily. "And since everyone likes them, they're always fresh, get taken as soon as a hot pan's put out."

"They have hashbrowns every day?" Jo asked, surprised they'd allow their super soldiers to eat greasy, carb-heavy food like that.

"No," Wes said, his smile barely dimming. "But they do on Sundays, so today is your lucky day." Ahh, that must be why he was so happy even in the depths of this hellhole.

"Hashbrowns it is then," Jo said, striding toward what was obviously the serving line. She didn't want to trail after her captor/team member/fellow slave/whatever he was like a sad puppy. Jo had never been the type of person to meekly wait around and be told what to do, and she wasn't going to let this place start changing her if she could help it.