Variant

The other gangs booed him. The Society was mostly quiet, though it was obvious that they weren’t happy, either.

I turned to Mason. “Is it really a malfunction? Maybe the power is out or something, so the doors can’t read our chips.”

“I doubt it. I swear it’s another of their stupid tests.”

“Could it be punishment?” I spun, looking for Curtis and Carrie. They were still sitting on the grass, their T-shirts stained with dirt and sweat.

“Maybe,” Mason said. “But I bet they’re just screwing with our heads.”

I gazed out at the western horizon. The sun was dipping behind a distant mountain. “You know how I said that I should be liking this place?”

He gave a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah.”

“I do not want to spend the next month or year or who knows how long in some crappy experiment.”

He nodded, watching the doors. “There aren’t even security cameras outside. If it’s an experiment, then what are they watching?”

“There aren’t?” Why hadn’t someone mentioned this before? “Maybe they’re hidden?”

“Could be. People out here still act like there are cameras. Of course, the Society will rat us out, cameras or not.”

I nodded, not thinking about the doors anymore. “I’ll talk to you later, Mason.”

Jogging, I headed back to the track where a few of the students were still trying to keep warm. I got onto the track, surveying the edges of the forest, noting areas where the trees were closest.

I did two more laps, finding new energy as I psyched myself up. I watched the mass of students near the door-most of them were huddled together to stay warm, and no one seemed to be looking at me. As I started the third lap, I veered off the track running for the forest.

It was almost instantly warmer there, out of the wind, but I didn’t slow down. I sprinted over the rough, rocky ground, bobbing between the trees and around fallen logs. It was getting darker, and I slowed enough to pick a good path. I didn’t want to fall and ruin my chance for escape.

My chest was burning as I pushed myself to keep jogging. From the drive in, I guessed that it was about a mile from the school to the wall, and maybe another half mile to the fence. Then again, there was no way of knowing whether it formed a perfect circle around the school. Maybe the wall encompassed other things, too?

I could hear the revving engine of a four-wheeler somewhere behind me. This was it. Trying to escape was one of the big rules. It meant detention.

I was gasping for air by the time I reached the wall. But there was no way to climb it. Twelve feet up, solid brick.

I tried finding a foothold, but it was smooth, the mortar coming out to the edge of the bricks. There were no gaps for my fingers or shoes to grab on to.

The engine was getting close. And I thought I heard a second-or were there three?

I stared, silent and desperate. Fifty yards to my left a fat raccoon sat on the wall, nervously eyeing me in the twilight.

How did you get up there?

Turning my attention to the trees, I looked for one that I could climb-maybe I could get over that way. But someone had planned for that: Between the wall and the nearest trees was a fifteen-foot gap where the vegetation and rocks had been cleared away, leaving only barren dirt. The narrow tire tracks of the four-wheelers were rutted into the earth.

There had to be some way. I climbed up into the closest pine, slowly grappling with the sticky, sap-speckled limbs. It was difficult in the low light, but in a few minutes I got high enough to see over the wall. There was nothing on the other side but more trees.

I could hear the engine below me now-not just the engine but the rough sound of tires crunching over rocks and dry sticks. I didn’t waste time looking for it.

I climbed higher, now almost thirty feet in the air. There was no way I could jump. Even if I miraculously made it over the wall, I’d have broken legs or ankles. And there was still a chain-link fence somewhere on the other side.

The engine suddenly quieted, dropping down into a low, rumbling idle.

“Benson!” The voice was harsh and angry. I didn’t recognize it.

I slipped, catching myself but feeling the tree sway. It only took me a second before I realized that could help me.

When I shifted my weight back and forth, the pine moved under me. Looking down, I wished that I’d chosen one with a narrower trunk-one that might be more flexible-but it was too late for that. I could already hear another voice on the forest floor below me.

The tree swung a few feet toward the wall, and then back away. With each movement, I threw my weight into the swing, and soon the tree was shaking back and forth, creaking and rocking. I was working too fast to have a good plan-would it bend over the wall and let me jump? What if all the bending made it snap and fall? If it landed against the wall, I could climb it like a ladder-if I managed to hold on. Either way, I was facing a fall.

The voices were shouting now. “Benson, get down here!” “You’ll get detention!” “You’re breaking the rules!” I ignored them.