Foreverland Is Dead

forever to get warm. Mr. Williams wouldn’t let her take a hot shower—too much power to heat the water. Everything needed to be conserved for the back office.
    But she has to pee.
    She wraps one of the blankets around her, waddles down the hallway like a human burrito. Sid is snoring in Barbara’s bed. She put the necklace and earrings back; she doesn’t plan on wearing them again. She saw the jealousy in Cyn’s eyes. Doesn’t want to see that again.
    She’s forced to drop the wrapping to sit on the toilet, holding it on her lap while she does her business. She doesn’t flush, and she stops when she sees the mirror. The nightlight casts yellow light on her face, illuminating the long red line across her cheek. A branch had nearly poked her in the eye earlier.
    Miranda heads back for the couch, but Mr. Williams is exiting the forbidden door, the eternally locked one at the very back. He doesn’t notice her looking out from the bathroom.
    The office chair creaks.
    Miranda looks inside. The monitors are lit up. The inside of the bunkhouse is on the main one. The girls are unconscious.
    “Still up?”
    Mr. Williams slowly spins the chair around, hands laced behind his head. “Too excited to sleep.”
    “Something happen?”
    “Tomorrow will be a good day, I believe.”
    “Did someone find it?”
    A sly smile. “Don’t worry. Go to sleep, get some rest.”
    He leans back, sinking into the chair’s depths. He hasn’t slept in a bed for days. The chair has molded to his bottom.
    One of the monitors is focused on Cyn. No more midnight runs. She can hardly get out of bed. She lies there, rotting.
    Dying.
    Aren’t we all?
    Miranda yawns, turns to leave. The back door is cracked open. The odor is a bit more noticeable. Now that she’s been outside, she notices it more.
    Fear pushes her back a step, but she holds her ground.
    Mr. Williams notices. He throws his weight forward to lean out of the chair. He gently pushes the door. It clicks.
    “Nothing you want to see,” he says. The smile is gone. “Get some sleep.”
    He’s right. She doesn’t want to see what’s back there. She just wishes he didn’t go back there, that the door would stay closed forever. Instinct tells her that she never wants to know what’s back there.
    Miranda lies awake on the couch, listening to the chair creak and pop for quite some time.

47

    Spreading her arms,
    She tips like statue.
    Over the edge she falls,
    And lets the chasm take her.

    A sharp point pierces the soft tissue beneath her chin.
    Cyn opens her eyes. It’s too dark to see the face in front of her, but she can feel someone’s breath. Taste the stink.
    “I promised to kill you,” Roc hisses. “To stick this wire through the top of your brain, but I want out of here. I want the old man to kiss my ass.”
    Cyn pushes her head into the pillow, but the point just follows her. The sheets are too tight. The weapon will be in her sinuses before she gets free.
    “What are you talking about?” she says without moving her lips.
    “You know where the gate is.”
    “You believe that crap?”
    “What else is there? If the old man gets to it, he’ll screw us—you can count on that.”
    “And if it doesn’t work?”
    “Then we die in Hell.”
    Cyn struggles to move her head. The tip of her weapon is breaking the skin. “Back that off.”
    Roc leans closer, pushes it deeper. It’s about to go through when she puts it against Cyn’s throat. She relaxes her head. The spot under her chin burns.
    “It’s too far to walk,” Cyn says.
    “We’ve got horses.”
    “Then we’ll need Kat.”
    Roc plants her free hand on Cyn’s face, presses her lips to her ear. “Mess with me and you die with a rusty twig in your eye. You don’t stand a chance against me, not anymore. You smell like dead ass.”
    She’s right. Cyn doesn’t have the strength to fight.
    Roc springs back. Despite Cyn’s decrepit condition, she’s still wary. It’s hard to forget a thorough ass whipping. She backs into the dark, barely an outline. It’s still night, but morning must be close or they wouldn’t be awake.
    “Surprise,” Roc whispers.
    Kat wakes, startled. A hand clamps over her mouth.
    There’s unintelligible whispering, all Roc.
    “Cyn?” Kat calls.
    A loud slap. “I’m not playing,” Roc says.
    “It’s all right,” Cyn says. “Just do what she says.”
    “Get dressed before the sun’s up,” Roc adds.
    She’s thinking about the fob. Maybe they get all the way