The Prey by Tom Isbell Page A

they gonna do? Put me in prison? Go.”
    â€œThank you,” Helen murmurs, then hurries away.
    Hope wrings out the dress and puts it on. Its dampness raises goose bumps and she rubs her arms to warm herself up. As she does, she thinks of the Less Than—Book. Although their encounter seems like a distant dream, she lets herself pretend it’s Book who strokes her arms. She imagines him holding her firmly against his chest, the heat from his body mingling with hers.
    Don’t be a fool, she tells herself, and shakes away the thought.
    Still, why is it that just thinking of him makes her feel less alone? Makes her want to escape from Camp Freedom this very moment?
    By the time Hope returns, the inspection is under way. An entourage parades from one barracks to another. Hope slips inside her tar-paper shack through the rear door. The other girls are standing stiffly by their cots.
    â€œThanks for joining us,” Athena says as Hope shuffles to her place in line.
    â€œDon’t mention it.”
    â€œNext time you put us all in jeopardy, let us know ahead of time, okay?”
    The door swings open and in steps the tall, blond woman—the same one who demanded Hope’s hair be cut off. So that’s who the special inspection is for. As before, the woman wears an ankle-length coat that hangs off her shoulders. Colonel Thorason and half a dozen Brown Shirts single-file behind her, down one aisle and then another.
    Suddenly the blond woman stops. “What’s that smell ?”
    The entourage comes to a halt.
    â€œThere,” one of the Brown Shirts says, pointing at Hope’s feet.
    Water drips from the hem of her dress, creating a small brown puddle on the pine floor.
    Colonel Thorason stomps forward, grabbing Hope’s arm to read her tattoo. “What’s the meaning of this, 739?”
    â€œI had an accident,” Hope mumbles.
    â€œAnd you didn’t think it necessary to clean up for our honored guest?”
    â€œI tried.”
    â€œNot hard enough,” he sputters. “And just for that, I’m going to double your work duties, and then—”
    The blond woman with the high cheekbones cutshim off. “If I may,” she says, her voice so sugary sweet it’s painful to listen to.
    â€œOf course.” Thorason takes a deferential step backward.
    The woman faces Hope directly. Her smile is brittle, her eyes icy. In a move so fast it startles even Hope, she rips off Hope’s head scarf, revealing a patchy fuzz of short black hair.
    â€œI thought it might be you,” she says, deliberately tossing the head scarf into the puddle of brown muck.
    Hope’s cheeks burn red.
    â€œCare to tell us how you got into this mess?” the woman asks.
    Out of the corner of her eye, Hope sees Helen about to open her mouth. Hope beats her to it. “I fell in the barn shoveling manure,” she blurts out. “I tried to clean up. Guess I didn’t do a very good job.”
    â€œNo, I guess you didn’t. But then again, you know what they say. You can take the girl out of the shit, but you can’t take the shit out of the girl.”
    There is a brief moment when no one quite knows how to respond. When the woman begins to laugh, the Brown Shirts and Colonel Thorason are quick to follow.
    As the laughter dies, the woman’s smile hardens. She turns to Colonel Thorason and says, “No need to double this girl’s work time.”
    Hope lets out a small sigh.
    Then the woman adds, “Let Dr. Gallingham have her instead.”
    With that, she does an abrupt about-face and exits the barracks, the click click of her heels echoing in the tar-paper shack long after she is gone.

21.
    W E TRAVELED THE ENTIRE night without stopping. Along the trail, faded signs from long ago warned travelers of the perils of hiking.
    â€œMountains don’t care,” one read, describing the dangers of avalanches. As if the post-Omega world wasn’t