Shudder Read online

  “They can’t,” I said, “so I don’t see how it matters much. Can you make it colder in there?”

  “Lower the temperature,” said Bartholomew.

  Boone did roll the table at the door, to little effect. He picked it up and hurled it at the door, but it bounced off. By the time he was done, they were both shivering.

  “It’s really cold,” said Grace, her teeth chattering.

  Boone felt his way over to her. “Jesus. Your hands are like ice.”

  “The j-jumpsuits aren’t very warm,” she said.

  He wrapped his arms around her and began rubbing her back. “No, they’re not.”

  We all watched as Grace tentatively put her arms around Boone.

  He stopped her. “Here, fold them against your chest. They’ll get warmer.” But he wasn’t scolding. His voice held definite tenderness.

  She did what he said. The two stood that way, huddled close, for several minutes.

  “Are you warmer?” Boone murmured.

  “Yeah, a little bit.”

  “We’re not going to get out of here. We need to send them a note upstairs, tell them what’s going on.” He pulled back. “You think you can help me with the table? We’ll try your idea.”

  “Uh huh,” said Grace.

  The two rolled the table over to the food shaft and set it against the door. Blindly, Grace set the note on it, and they tipped the table up. The note bounced against the door and fell to the ground.

  “Did it work?” Grace was shivering again.

  “I don’t think so,” said Boone. “I can’t hear the shaft moving.”

  “The food door probably isn’t even open,” said Grace. “We have to lift it somehow.”

  Boone knelt down and felt around. “I’ve got the note. It’s on the floor.”

  “Damn it.”

  “Let’s try using the table to open the door, okay?” said Boone. “Get on the other side and help me lift it.”

  Wedging the table against the food door, the two managed to pry it open. With the door open, they tried sliding the note inside. This time it went in. They shut the door, put the table down, and sat down on the floor, out of breath.

  “The shaft’s moving,” said Grace.

  “Good,” said Boone.

  Bartholomew looked at me. “Do we end the scenario now?”

  “Give it a few minutes,” I said. “They’ll assume it’s taking us awhile to fix the issue.”

  Grace and Boone were quiet, both with their faces raised upwards.

  “Nothing’s happening,” said Grace.

  “Maybe they can’t fix it right away,” said Boone.

  “M-maybe,” she said. Her teeth were chattering again.

  “You still cold?”

  “Aren’t you?”

  He reached for her. “Come here.”

  She went gratefully into his arms.

  Neither spoke for a while. They clung to each other and were quiet.

  Boone finally broke the silence, but his voice was a low rumble, barely audible. “You know, I lied.”

  “About what?”

  “When I said I only kissed you because you were there.”

  She laughed a little. “I thought you did.” She tilted her face up, even though she couldn’t see him.

  His hand moved from her back to the nape of her neck. He dipped his head down, lower to hers.

  Their noses collided.

  Grace giggled. “Your nose is cold.”

  “Your nose is a freaking popsicle,” he said.

  “Maybe if they’re closer, they’ll warm up.”

  He laughed.

  And then, their lips met.

  In the control room, we all watched them kiss, and Bartholomew applauded. “Very good. Excellent.”

  “Not bad,” Foster said. “It’s only a kiss, though.”

  “Well, it’s not the appropriate time in the girl’s cycle anyway,” said Bartholomew. “We’re laying groundwork here, Foster.” He turned to me. “Should we bring up the lights now?”

  I grinned, feeling proud of myself. I knew they’d kiss. “Yeah. Go ahead.”

  “You heard the woman,” said Bartholomew.

  On the monitors, the lights came up and the cameras switched back to normal view. Grace and Boone broke apart, looking around. Grace went to one of the doors. “It’s still locked.”

  Bartholomew gestured to one of the keyboards. “Would you like to do the honors, my dear?”

  “Unlock the doors?” I said.

  “Are you crazy, Bartholomew?” said Foster.

  “It’s a simple code,” said Bartholomew. “Hit ‘O’ for open, the number of the floor, followed by the door number, or in this case, the numbers of all of the doors you want open.” He pointed to a piece of paper taped to the desk. “There’s a handy reference map here for all the door numbers.”

  I keyed in the sequence.

  “Great,” said Boone. He went to the door to his wing. “Something must still be wrong.” He tried the door. It opened. “Huh. Maybe it took a few seconds?”

  “Maybe,” said Grace. She turned the knob of the door to her wing. “I guess we should, um, go back to not talking, huh?”

  Boone looked at the floor. “What the hell,” he muttered. He walked over to Grace and grabbed her hand. He stared down into her eyes. “We gotta stick together, right? We’re all we have.”

  She smiled. “We do.”

  He kissed her again. She clung to him. I was grinning like an idiot. Those two were good together. They were. I’d made them see it, and that wasn’t a bad thing, was it?

  Boone slung a casual arm around her, leading her out of the main room. “So, you’re not lying about being fourteen, right?”

  She shoved him. “You cocksucker.”

  He didn’t let her go. “You know, I’m kissing you now. I think it’s about time you stopped calling me names.”

  “Dumbass.” But she lifted her face, and he kissed her again.

  In the control room, Bartholomew clasped his hands together. “Oh, this is quite promising. Quite promising. Miss Jones thinks that if we preserve the family unit, it might make reproduction more viable, so perhaps we’ll experiment with that once we get going.”

  I blanched, but I hid it as best I could.

  Foster had his hands shoved in his pockets. “How ‘bout I take Miss Jones back to her room before you go crazy and hand over your elevator keys there, Bartholomew? She’s our prisoner, you idiot. She’s not your pet.”

  “Yes, certainly, take her back to her room,” said Bartholomew, ignoring Foster’s ridicule. He took my hands. “You’ve done an excellent job. I’m very impressed.”

  Foster clenched his fist around my forearm and dragged me out of the control room. As we went up the elevator, I noticed that the control room was on level two. My new room was on level four. I knew how to open the doors in the control room now. I was certain I could get out of the main door. There was only one thing I needed, and Foster had been kind enough to point it out. An elevator key. With that, I could save everyone and get us all out of this hell hole.

  But how was I going to get one?

  Given enough time, I was sure Bartholomew would trust me enough to give me a key. He was incredibly trusting, or possibly just full of himself. But Foster would fight him on that. Foster saw me a tad more clearly. There was a possibility I could overpower Bartholomew and take his key. I could try it. But I’d only get one shot at that. I was pretty sure that if I failed, I’d never get out of a cell again.

  Bartholomew wasn’t the only one with a key, of course. Foster had one.

  Maybe I could overpower Foster. I sized him up as we stepped out of the elevator onto my new hallway. Maybe not. I’d have surprise on my side, but he was stronger than I was and bigger. It would be easier if I had a weapon.

  Foster opened the door to my room and threw me inside. He followed me and shut the door behind him.

  I turned to tell him to get out but bit my tongue just in
time. I was having an idea.

  “You think you’ve got us all fooled, don’t you?” he said. “I know what you’re up to.”

  It was a really icky idea. If I did this, I was going to have nightmares for months. But I couldn’t really afford to wait. Jason and Jude had been in solitary long enough, and they were pushing Boone and Grace to have sex, and as cute as it might be to watch them kiss, Grace really was too young. I was going to have to try it. I took a deep breath. “This your idea of flirting, Foster?”

  He looked taken aback.

  I walked past him and over to the closet, which was large enough for me to stand inside. Earlier, when I’d been putting on my all-black uniform, I’d noticed that there was a robe in there. It wasn’t a really sexy robe or anything, but I could make it work. Maybe. I disappeared into the closet, feeling sick. I didn’t even know if I could pull this off. I’d never been particularly good at being... seductive.

  I tossed my black shirt out of the closet. “Maybe you’re trying too hard.”

  “What the hell are you doing?” He appeared in the doorway.

  Damn it. I hadn’t even had time to get into the robe. And I was half-dressed. But that was the idea, right? I gulped. And then I turned to face him slowly. “You made it pretty clear you were interested earlier. I guess you must get lonely if all you have is girls you can watch on camera. Must make you want the real thing.”

  Foster wasn’t looking at my face. “You’re trying to trick me. It’s not going to work.”

  Okay, I really was bad at this. Should I keep trying? I took two steps toward him, unbuttoning my pants. “How long has it been?”

  He pulled me out of the closet, slamming me against the bathroom door. “I don’t play games.”

  “Who says it’s a game?” I said. But he’d hurt me a little, and I had a hard time not letting it show. What was I getting myself into here? Keys! I need his goddamned keys.

  Foster took me by the shoulders and whipped me around so that he was pressed against my back. One of his hands slipped down, pushing my black slacks down. Then he jammed me into the bathroom sink, pressing my face down against the cold porcelain.

  His hot breath was on my neck, and I heard the whisper of his zipper.

  It had happened so fast.

  Not like this. Not like this. My plan was not to get forced against my will while bent over a sink. But if Foster was insisting on making things more difficult, then fine.

  I shoved my elbow into Foster’s ribs.

  He made a surprised noise at the impact and jumped a little, but he didn’t loosen his grip on me. If anything, his hand tightened around my neck. His free arm came around my torso, pinning my arms against my sides. “I’m not the kind of man you want to tease.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Yeah, okay, great . What was I going to do now? Maybe I could let him do it? Once he was into it, he’d be easier to take down, right? “Thought you liked my athleticism,” I said, struggling to achieve a seductive purr.

  He laughed. “You think you can get the upper hand with me this way. But you’re dead wrong.” Still, his grip on my arms loosened a little bit.

  “Seems like you’ve got me pinned down and at your mercy.” I let my voice get as breathy as I could without sounding scared. “What are you gonna do with me, huh?”

  His lips on my bare back. His voice strained and ragged. “You like this?”

  “Uh huh,” I said, hoping I sounded believable.

  He wasn’t pinning my arms anymore. His arm had moved. I felt the brush of his skin on the back of my legs. Oh, he was going to...

  Okay, no. I couldn’t let him do it after all. The minute I felt him pressing between my legs, I couldn’t take it. It was too intimate, and I could not let that happen to myself. My hand darted back, seizing his exposed member.

  He made a choking noise. I couldn’t tell if it was pain or pleasure. But it didn’t matter. He didn’t move for that second, and his grasp on my neck lessened.

  But I needed to be a little lower if I was going to cause damage. I thrust my hand inside his zipper, searching.... And then I squeezed .

  He shrieked. “You cunt!”

  I straightened as he crumpled, stepping out of my slacks, which were around my ankles. I turned and kicked at the same time. My foot caught him under the chin as he folded in on himself.

  His head whipped back.

  I put my hand against his now exposed neck and drove his head backwards into the wall. Thud .

  He gasped. His eyes were nothing but pain at the moment. Good. Fucking bastard.

  I slammed his head against the wall again. Once. Twice. Three times.

  He was unconscious.

  I didn’t have any time to waste. I dashed out of the bathroom and over to the kitchenette. I threw open drawers. Come on. Come on .

  Yes.

  I found a decent-sized butcher knife and ran back to the bathroom.

  Bartholomew’s words rang in my ears. Beheading always works .

  I’d never cut off someone’s head before, but I was about to do it now. Hopefully, before Foster woke up.

  The truth was, I didn’t have much experience with knives. My mother had done most of the cooking when I was a kid. I hadn’t spent much time cooking as a young adult either. Then there was a solar flare, but I spent most of my life being part of the group that kept people safe, not the group that prepared food. And most of my killing had been done with guns. So, I tried to tell myself that it would be like slicing up meat or something. But I couldn’t remember ever slicing up meat.

  I stretched my neck, nudged his body with my foot so that he lay flat on the floor of the bathroom and then straddled his chest.

  Yuck. I wasn’t wearing clothes and my skin was against him. I shuddered. But I didn’t know how long he’d be out. I needed his head off before he woke up. There was no time for pants.

  I put the blade of the knife against his neck and pushed. It cut into his flesh, blood spurted. It got on him, it got on me. Weren’t there a bunch of arteries in the neck? Yuck.

  It took longer than I would have liked, and by the time I was halfway into it, I’d completely desensitized myself to the fact I was cutting off a man’s head. At that point, it had only become a messy, slippery, distasteful task that I had to finish. The thing that gave me the most trouble was the bone.

  Eventually, I’d managed to saw, hack, and slice his head completely off. I stood up, surveying my handiwork. I was naked, covered in blood. The entire bathroom was filled with blood. God, who knew there would be so much blood?

  It smelled metallic and overpowering, and I felt... Ick. That was how I felt.

  I had to wash this off. Of course, the bathroom was completely covered in blood. Even if I got in the shower (next to the corpse), then afterward, I’d have to step back over all this...

  I grabbed every towel I could find and threw them on top of Foster. They began soaking up blood immediately, turning red. I put the shower on. I didn’t want this asshole’s blood on my breasts anymore.

  A knock at the door.

  My heart sped up.

  “Miss Jones? Everything okay?” came Bartholomew’s muffled voice.

  “I’m just getting in the shower, Bartholomew. Can you come back?” I called.

  “Ten minutes, Miss Jones.”

  Shit. Fine. I threw myself under the shower head, watched the water turn pink as the blood went down the drain. When I was done, I had no towel, because they were all on Foster. But I managed to find a few places that I could tiptoe around his body without getting messy again. I threw on the robe from the closet, took out another black uniform, and shut the door on the bathroom. I wasn’t going back in there again. Ever.

  I was dripping wet. I let the robe absorb as much of the wetness as I could, but I was paranoid that Bartholomew was coming back at any minute, so I hurried into my clothes, even though they stuck to my skin and my hair was a sodden rope that soaked the back of my shirt.

  A knock a
t the door. I opened it.

  “Miss Jones,” said Bartholomew. “May I come in?”

  I cast a quick glance around. Nothing seemed out of place. “Sure.”

  Bartholomew stepped into the room. His gaze fell to the kitchen drawers, which were all open, since I’d been searching through them for a knife. “Looking for something?”

  I rushed over and slammed them all closed. “Um, just exploring.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “You weren’t looking for a... weapon, were you?”

  “No,” I said.

  He smiled at me. “Maybe you thought the towels were in here? I assure you, they’re in the bathroom. Permit me to show you—”

  “No,” I said, stopping him from going toward the bathroom. “I know where they are. I just... like letting my hair dry naturally, that’s all. It’s, um, wavier that way.” He was suspicious, wasn’t he? Was I going to have to kill Bartholomew too? “Was there something you needed?”

  “Only to congratulate you on a job well done today,” he said. “I’m quite pleased with your progress, I must say.”

  I smiled. “Thank you, but it’s really only because you pointed me in the right direction.” It couldn’t hurt to flatter him a little, could it?

  “Well,” he said, “I did motivate you, I suppose. I knew you were a wasted resource stuck in a cell all by yourself.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “I really appreciate everything. This room is wonderful.”

  “I’m delighted you’re happy.” He stroked his chin. “I realize things have been quite difficult for you, my dear. I only wanted to assure you that they’d be easier from here on out.” He turned back to the kitchen. “Although I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist that you give me all the knives.”

  “The knives?”

  “You understand, don’t you, dear? I have to be careful. Once you’ve proven yourself, I’ll see that you get them back.”

  Okay. Well, if that was the only thing he was worried about, then everything was okay. Ought I protest? Most of all, I wanted rid of him. But if I didn’t seem upset about it, would he be suspicious. “Bartholomew, I promise that I wouldn’t—”

  “The knives,” he said.