Desire ❃ newt

cнapтer 16

I spent the morning with the Keeper of the Gardens, "working my butt off," as Newt would've said. Zart was the tall, black-haired kid who'd stood at the front of the pole during Ben's Banishment, and who for some odd reason smelled like sour milk. He didn't say much, but showed me the ropes until I could start working on my own. Weeding, pruning an apricot tree, planting squash and zucchini seeds, picking veggies. I didn't love it, and mostly ignored the other boys working alongside me, but I didn't hate it nearly as much as what I had done for Winston at the Blood House.

Me and Zart were weeding a long row of young corn when I decided it was a good time to start asking questions. This Keeper seemed a lot more approachable.

"So, Zart," I said.

The Keeper glanced up at me, then resumed his work.

The kid had droopy eyes and a long face—for some reason he looked as bored as humanly possible.

"Yeah, Greenie, what you want?"

"How many Keepers total are there?" I asked, trying to act casual. "And what are the job options?"

"Well, you got the Builders, the Sloppers, Baggers, Cooks, Map-makers, Med-jacks, Track-Hoes, Blood Housers. The Runners, of course. I don't know, a few more, maybe. Pretty much keep to myself and my own stuff."

Most of the words were self-explanatory, but I wondered about a couple of them. "What's a Slopper?" I knew that was what Chuck did, but the boy never wanted to talk about it. Refused to talk about it.

"That's what the shanks do that can't do nothin' else. Clean toilets, clean the showers, clean the kitchen, clean up the Blood House after a slaughter, everything. Spend one day with them suckers—that'll cure any thoughts of goin' that direction, I can tell ya that."

I felt a pang of guilt over Chuck—felt sorry for him. The kid tried so hard to be everyone's friend, but no one seemed to like him or even pay attention to him. Yeah, he was a little excitable and talked too much, but I was glad enough to have him around.

"What about the Track-hoes?" I asked as I yanked out a huge weed, clumps of dirt swaying on the roots.

Zart cleared his throat and kept on working as he answered. "They're the ones take care of all the heavy stuff for the Gardens. Trenching and whatnot. During off times they do other stuff round the Glade. Actually, a lot of Gladers have more than one job. Anyone tell you that?"

I ignored the question and moved on, determined to get as many answers as possible. "What about the Baggers? I know they take care of dead people, but it can't happen that often, can it?"

"Those are the creepy fellas. They act as guards and police, too. Everyone just likes to call 'em Baggers. Have fun that day, girl." He snickered, the first time I had heard him do so—there was something very likable about it.

I had more questions. Lots more. Chuck and everyone else around the Glade never wanted to give me the answers to anything. And here was Zart, who seemed perfectly willing. But suddenly I didn't feel like talking anymore. For some reason thoughts of Ben, and the dead Griever, which should have been a good thing but everyone acted as if it were anything but, popped into my head.

My new life pretty much sucked.

I drew a deep, long breath.

Just work.

By the time midafternoon arrived, I was ready to collapse from exhaustion—all that bending over and crawling around on your knees in the dirt was the pits. Blood House, Gardens. Two strikes.

Runner. Just let me be a Runner.

Once again I thought about how absurd it was that I wanted it so badly. But even though I didn't understand it, or where it came from, the desire was undeniable.