Page 12 of Juniper Unraveling

Blond hair steps forward, shines a flashlight in the sick guy’s eyes and mouth. “Looks like a small stone lodged in his throat. Must’ve swallowed it.”

“No shit?” The soldier belts out a laugh. “Crazy bastard. Saw him pick up a handful of gravel out by the trucks. Mostly sand. Didn’t think it’d do much harm.”

A tug at my shirt draws my attention down to Abel, who crooks his fingers for me to bend down.

“Is he died?” he asks.

“He’s very, very sick, Abel,” I whisper. “They’ll take him to the hospital so he gets better.” The lie is what little bit of a shield I’m able to construct, in this place that has no morals, or humanity.

The soldier whistles, and two more men in black, led by two dogs, enter the building. The first signals to one of the soldiers guarding the entrance. “Rager bait,” he says, and the guard drags the man away.

In two days, I’ve witnessed more death than in all of my fourteen years.

One of the two guards approach the dark-haired man, stripping his mask to reveal a face as well-groomed and clean cut as the others, framed by sandy brown hair. He leans in to whisper something, and a commotion tears my attention toward the end of the line.

A prisoner steps forward and falls to his knees. I recognize him from home—a quiet man who often carried around a Bible. It surprises me that he’s not holding it now, as he kneels with his hands clasped in prayer.

I can’t make out exactly what he’s pleading for, but the brown-haired soldier breaks from the two in lab coats, aims his gun, and shoots the beggar square in the forehead.

The thump in my heart is a beat of shock, as the beggar jerks with one spasmodic twitch, before his knees buckle and he falls, face-first, onto the cement floor. Blood pools around him, a halo of red around his head.

Silence follows, as I watch the soldier slip his gun back inside the holster, his lip crimped with disgust as he lifts his forearm to his nose.

“Bastard wreaks of Dredge.”

Abel hides his face in my leg, and I squeeze his shoulder, a silent order to remain quiet.

In the short time since we were taken, I’ve come to know one fact about these men: they have little patience, or tolerance, and will not hesitate to kill for any reason.

The sunken, serious eyes of the dark-haired man scan over us, as he makes his way toward the end of the line. From beneath his arm, he glides a short stick that resembles a pointer. Some, he examines closely; others, he skips. Some, he points to; others, he doesn’t. His pointer lands on the head of an older man, the one I spoke to in the truck, and two guards yank him backward, dragging him out of the lineup. The old man slams his heels into the dirt, fingers grappling for the arm banded around his neck and elbow, tugging him along.

I study the men segregated from the rest of us, noting all of them are older, graying and bald.

Dark hair plucks all the elders, one by one, including the man who slept behind me in the bunk, until he reaches me and I’m the center of his attention.

When his eyes fall on me in a scrutinizing sweep, I focus my gaze beyond him, the same as one might if they happen upon a lion. That’s what he is, a lion—fierce, proud, and undoubtedly hunting for a victim. I don’t know if the older men are pulled for killing, or saving, but dark-hair’s eyes don’t hold a single ounce of mercy, either way. Heat flames my cheeks, while his eyes burn over me. In the next breath, he moves on, skipping over Abel to the next male in line.

Seconds later, the blond passes me and crouches in front of my brother.

“What is your name?” His voice is softer, much more calm than the first, and his eyes don’t carry the harsh lines of the dark-haired man. He’s eerily pleasant—a personality that doesn’t fit well with the soldiers. When he pulls a red object from his pocket, my first instinct is to bat it away, until the blonde man smiles. “Do you like candy?”

Abel nods, accepting the treasure from the man.

“That’s a cute little bunny you have. What’s his name?”

“Him Sawai’s.” Abel bows his head and sniffles, but before I can nudge him not to cry, he lifts his gaze to the man. “Him name Flopsy.”

“Flopsy.” The blond chuckles, petting the rabbit’s head. “I like that name. Would you and Flopsy like to come with me? With other boys your age. You can play, and we have games and candy. Does that sound like fun?”

It sounds out of place here. He’s lying.

He takes my brother’s hand, and I grip Abel’s shoulder, tugging him back to me.

Those once-friendly eyes slide over to me, and like a gold-tipped blade, they cut into me, as if he’d waited for this very moment.

“He stays with me.” My voice quivers with the terror trapped in my throat.

The man yanks at Abel’s arm.