Page 28 of Juniper Unraveling

Behind Abel, a few other children about his age sit around the yard, their peeking rib cages and bony limbs hard to look at—all of them too thin and dirty. Like feral kids in the wild. When we first arrived here, my brother used the bucket like the rest of us, and somehow over the course of a month, he’s reverted to cloth diapers.

He tries to reach through the fence with his small hands, and I lean closer so he can touch my face. His body jerks and hiccups with cries, and I close my eyes, taking in the feel of his hands against my skin. With a shaky voice, I push out the words of my mother’s favorite lullaby, the one she’d sing to calm him on nights when my father left to scavenge.

“Hush, my darling, dry your tears.

Daylight’s come, so rest your fears

Lay your head upon my heart

And know that we will never part

For I am here, and here I’ll stay

Even when we’re far away

Like peace that soars with the winged dove.

You have my heart and all my love.”

My song has no effect. Abel is inconsolable, and worse, he’s tugging at me as if he can pull me through the fence.

“This one, all he ever does is cry, cry, cry!”

An arm bands around my brother’s chest and lifts him away from me.

I shoot to my feet, watching a soldier rip his arm away from the fence, leaving a long scratch across his delicate skin. “He’s just sad! It’s my fault! Abel!” I cling to the fence, while the soldier ignores me, carrying away my screaming brother, who reaches out for me. “Abel!”

As they disappear inside the building, a coldness sweeps through my chest.

I can’t break down here. Not here. Crying is for darkness. That’s when I cry. Not in front of the other boys.

I clear my throat, stamping away the thoughts of what will happen to my brother for crying. Are there consequences for the younger ones?

Don’t. Don’t cry.

The horn sounds, alerting me that lunch is over and to return to the lab. Keeping my head low, I amble across the yard toward the door.

A thump against my chest halts my steps, and I look up to see a taller boy, older than me, flanked by two others. “You seen where this one sleeps, Iggy?” he asks over his right shoulder.

All three of the boys carry the same haggard appearance as the rest of them. Somewhat dirty. Covered in bruises. The same observations they’re undoubtedly noticing I lack, as they eye me up and down.

I can’t help but feel sorry for the boys I see walking around, because I know what ultimately happens to them. And these ones, as rough as they look, will undoubtedly undergo some form of experimentation that tests their grit.

The one to the right of him crosses his arms and shakes his head. “Nah. Ain’t seen this one. Must have a penthouse room, yeah?”

“Where you sleep, shithead?” the first asks, prodding a finger into my chest.

I push at him, kicking him back a step. “Get out of my way.”

The big one snarls, and a strike comes from the left, sending pain radiating through my cheek bone. Another blow to my temple rattles my teeth, and a third sends flames across my lip. The yard spins in my periphery, and pain hits my spine as the ground slams into my back.

A man in uniform stands over me, his gun pointed toward the ground.

Will he shoot me? The question smothers my thoughts while I wait for him to pull the trigger.

And I welcome death.

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