Captive

Chapter 3

“Are you sure?” I ask her, glancing down at the boy. His face already looks paler than before.

“He has no pulse, Sahara,” she says, her eyes tearing up, “He’s dead. They killed him.”

“They probably poisoned the granola,” I muttered.

A huge guy walks up to us, frowning. “Are you absolutely sure the kid’s dead?” he asks, his voice low and serious. When Annie nods, he swears and runs a hand over his face. “Shit, they really meant it when they said most us would die.”

What I don’t understand is why. Why would they poison the food? This whole thing was bizarre. It didn’t make sense. They wouldn’t kill us on the first day, would they? They need us, they said. They said we’re special, that they’ve singled us out from thousands of others. There’s no way they would kill us this quickly.

Yet, fear prickles down my spine. What if they did mean to kill us all? How am I supposed to react to that? Should I be frightened, or should I be mad? I push the negative thoughts out of my head and think positive ones instead. Maybe they’re going to let us go soon. Maybe I'm getting Punk’d, like Annie said earlier.

Maybe all of this is just a dream, and I’m going to wake up in my bed any minute now.

From the corner of my eye I see the huge guy pick something up, and curiosity forces my gaze to his hand. One of the boxes. I frown. He better not eat one of those – unless he has a death wish, of course. His whole body tenses up as he looks at the box, and then he loses it. He lunges the box toward the mirror with a loud groan, but despite his efforts, the box bounces right off the glass. Annie gasps, and I automatically push myself off the floor to check the mirror.

Not even a scratch in its perfectly smooth surface. Un-freaking-believable. It should’ve broken, at the very least it should’ve gotten a crack. But no. Nothing. It’s not possible for the glass not to be damaged. The amount of force Huge Guy put into that throw? Yeah, that was enough to break glass. No doubt about it.

Unless it’s one of those fancy, bulletproof glasses. But why? Did they expect us to do something like this? I bet they did, because it’s a human reaction. All of us are pissed off and scared, of course one of us will go all berserk on this place.

I turn around and see that everyone’s watching me with a strange look in their eyes. “What’s wrong?” a girl in the front asks with wide eyes. She’s shorter than the rest of us, with a very delicate face. Her hair is blonde and curls point out in every direction around her head, her eyes are big and blue and her mouth is small and has the same color of raspberries. I get a strong impulse to keep her safe, no matter what, for some reason. Must be those eyes, I figure.

“The glass didn’t take any damage,” I say and slowly walk up to them, hands in my hair to push it away from my face. Someone snorts.

“No way.” It’s Huge Guy. He walks up to the mirror with steady steps and rolled back shoulders, his chin a little bit raised – I’d like to have his confidence. When he reaches the mirror, his shoulders slouch. Huge Guy turn to me, gesturing calmly toward the mirror. “What the hell is this?”

I feel alarmed by his sudden calm. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he says, taking slow steps toward me, “How is that thing not damaged?”

“I don’t know.” I shrug and offer him a smile. “Bulletproof glass?”

He reaches me, stares down at me with angry eyes. “What’s so funny?”

“What?” I ask, feeling every ounce of bravery slip out of me. “I—I didn’t do anything?”

“You’re smiling,” he points out. “So I’m asking you, what’s so funny?”