She snorts. “Why don’t you ask Caden to do that? She’s his little project.”

I look at her sharply. Why would she think that? Because he saved my life and brought me here? Or was there something more to the comment?

The smile leaves Phelps’s face. “Caden’s a captain. He has responsibilities. I don’t think I need to remind you of that. You can do your part.”

Rhiannon ducks her head, looking like a child who just got her hand slapped. “Sure. Okay. I can do it.”

“Thought so. Fetch her some fresh clothes, too.”

She nods.

“Thanks,” I say again, looking at her this time, searching her face. If she’s going to be doing all this for me, I should try for friendly. Otherwise she might bring me a burlap bag to wear as punishment.

NEWS RELEASE

For immediate release

Contact: Department of Justice—

Office of the Attorney General

June 3, 2021

News out of Nogales, Arizona, today reports the discovery of a cell of carriers numbering approximately thirty in the Meadow Hills area. Local law enforcement and agents of the Wainwright Agency arrived and evacuated the surrounding area. By 9:50 a.m., members of the DHS used tear gas and stormed the building. Officials on-site declined to comment. It is not known at this time if any carriers survived the siege. . . .

NINE

THE COMPOUND OUTSIDE THE INFIRMARY ISN’T exactly what I expected. Even utilitarian, it’s bigger than I imagined it would be. Industrial gray paint. Sparse décor. Mostly metal tables and chairs in a large central room with corridors shooting off it that open to various rooms; living quarters, storage rooms, kitchens, showers, a controls room. This central room serves as a gathering place. Rhiannon waves at the large space as we walk along the upper level, a railing to our right. “Everyone eats there, as well as congregates for all major announcements.”

She nods toward an area full of exercise equipment and mats. “You can work out there when you feel up to it. It helps. Especially when you feel the cabin fever coming on.”

“You never go up top?” I ask.

“I’m not a scout. And it’s dangerous out there. I prefer it down here. A lot of us do.”

Dozens of eyes trail me as I struggle to keep up with Rhiannon. One girl pauses from kicking at a punching bag. She wipes at her brow, carelessly flipping her dark braid over her shoulder as she follows my movements.

“Who’s that?” I ask Rhiannon with a nod toward the mats where the girl works out.

“In the black tank? That’s Tabatha.” A touch of something, awe maybe, hugs Rhiannon’s voice. Tabatha arches an eyebrow like she knows we’re talking about her and then goes back to pounding the bag. “She’s one of our scouts.”

“I take it she doesn’t prefer it down here?”

“Yeah, she likes to go where the fighting is. Both her parents were carriers. They were shot when they escaped a detention camp. Only she got away. She made it all this way on her own. Now she’s our best scout guiding people across the river.”

“Then she’ll be taking me . . .” My voice fades.

Rhiannon slides a glance at me. “Maybe. We’ll see. She’s not the only scout.”

A pair of amber eyes fills my mind. A small shiver chases down my neck at the thought of him leading me to Mexico. He’s a captain. Would that be part of his duties? “Caden?”

“Yeah. He’s a scout, too. Along with Marcus and Terrence.” At my confused look, she adds, “They’re our three captains. But they have a lot of other things keeping them busy while the General is gone. They’ve been scouting less since he left. It’s enough work just keeping us fed.”

Noticing how much I’m laboring to keep up, Rhiannon slows her pace and drops even with me. I smile gratefully, my hand skimming along the railing for support.

“There’s probably hot water,” she offers. “Not too many people are showering in the middle of the day. If not, you’ll just have to settle for cold.”

“I’ll be happy with anything. I’ve had worse than a cold shower lately.”

She looks me up and down as we continue on our path to the showers. “We all have. We’re lucky just to be here and not in some detention camp.”

I nod. “Yeah.”

My steps slow when I notice a guy—a man—watching me intently. He sits alone, peeling an orange over his tray of half-eaten food with slow movements.

“Who’s that?”

Rhiannon glances from me out to the main floor. A flicker of something, distaste maybe, crosses her face before vanishing. “That’s Hoyt. He got here a few weeks ago. He’s Marcus’s cousin. Traveled all the way from Oregon, I hear.”

“He’s a carrier, too?”

“We’re all carriers here. That goes without saying.”

Yes, it does. We’re all in the same boat here. Whether any of us are true killers is beside the point. We are all the same in the eyes of the world.

She keeps walking, not looking his way again. “He’s not like Marcus, though.”

Considering Marcus doesn’t possess such a winning personality, I’m not sure what that means.

She elaborates with, “He’s a creeper.”

“A creeper?”

“Yeah. You know. Always creeping up on you. Quiet as a mouse, but when you turn around, he’s there. Watching you.” She looks at me and repeats, “Creeper.”