Fight Dirty (17 page)

Slowly, with the agony of an old man, he pushed a palm against the wall and climbed to his feet. He kept his back to Morgan and the others, shoulders heaving as he gathered his strength.

“Almost a record,” he mumbled, but no one else seemed to hear. Then he turned to face Morgan, studiously ignoring Deidre and her minions.

He was as light as Morgan was dark. Hair the red gold of a winter sunrise. A faint spray of freckles below his left eye the only hint of childishness softening his face. Eyes the color of a cloudless sky, fathomless and much too ancient for a kid his age.

No mask. Micah Chase faced the world naked, exposed. Morga
n’s
own mask slipped for the barest of instants when she noticed that, as if in sympathy. How did he survive, vulnerable like that, when anyone could read him?

His gaze sharpened, locking on to hers. Just a flash, but she knew h
e’d
spotted her mask. Maybe not so vulnerable after all. Or innocent. Not with the calluses thickening his knuckles or the scars across one side of his neck. Scars like that—someone had once held him in a choke hold and tried to slit his throat.

He tilted his head the slightest bit as if presenting his scars to her: trophies of a battle hard won. Gave her a nod faster than a blink—she almost thought sh
e’d
imagined it until she saw the challenge in his eyes.
Ask me
,
his gaze said.
I dare you.

She didn’t try to hide her smile. Finally someone who might make being stuck here, playing this role, tolerable—maybe even entertaining.

CHAPTER 31

T
he new girl was a puzzle. One that Micah didn’t have long to sort out if he was going to save her from Deidr
e’s
wrath. He had no idea what sh
e’d
done to piss Deidre off when sh
e’d
only just arrived.

Maybe it was instructions from Reverend Benjamin. Or maybe it was Deidre losing control. Again.

Ever since Bree left, Deidre had been bordering on psychotic, flying into rages followed by crying jags—and making the No Names suffer along with her.

Usually new Zeroes were given a day or two before being forced into the Purge. Not this girl. They were going to strip her body and soul right here and now, with no preparation. And he had no way to protect her.

Then he caught her eye. There was something about her, something almost-not-quite invisible. Like maybe she didn’t need protecting after all.

Relief flooded him. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could last, and he was all that stood between the others and Deidr
e’s
iron fist. It was the only good thing about his delay in getting out of her
e . . .
maybe this girl, maybe she was the one who could take his place after he left? Just like h
e’d
taken Bre
e’s
place, shepherding the No Names, when her mother came and took her home early.

As long as someone stood, unbroken, unbowing to Deidre and her cohorts, the rest could be protected.

Deidr
e’s
minions moved him into place behind the new girl. Handed him a fiberglass broomstick—lighter than a wooden one, it couldn’t be broken as easily and didn’t leave more than a welt if you hit someone with it. But it was still strong and rigid enough for Deidr
e’s
purposes.

He met Deidr
e’s
gaze. Hated the look in her eyes. Fury personified, pupils so dilated only the faintest glow of blue around the edges remained. There was no reasoning with her when she was like this—which, since Bree left, had been more and more often. Deidre was a true believer. Her faith drove her righteous condemnation, which meant it was almost impossible to escape her wrath. After Bree left, Deidre felt betrayed and became more volatile than ever.

No one could be as perfect as Deidr
e’s
God demanded. Not Bree, not even Deidre herself. Micah had once spied bloody welts on her back—the kind yo
u’d
get if someone whipped you. Or perhaps sh
e’d
done it to herself. H
e’d
read about religious zealots who did crazy shit like that.

Either way, once Deidre targeted you as an unrepentant sinner, there would be hell to pay. For Deidre, salvation came through suffering.

He heaved in a breath, his balance still off after the prolonged kneeling, legs and knees shooting sparks of pain with every movement. He needed to stay alert if he was going to save the new girl.

The girl watched him with a wary expression. He wasn’t sure if she was pretty, hard to tell with her face blotchy with crying, but she wa
s . . .
interesting. He reached her just as two Red Shirts spun her around to face the crowd and forced her to her knees.

“Everybody up,” Deidre called out. She glanced at Tommy, alone in the front row.

Now Micah understood—Tommy hadn’t experienced a Purge yet. Deidre had orchestrated this not only to break the new girl quickly but also to break Tommy. And with Micah forced into the role of instructor, a reluctant instrument of Deidr
e’s
torture, no way in hell would Tommy ever trust him again.

Sometimes he wondered what lay in Deidr
e’s
future. A career in politics? Bloodthirsty corporate raider? Or maybe worst of all, Mommy Dearest to innocent children.

He shuddered. Deidre glared at him, jerked her chin at the new girl. Micah approached the girl and laid one hand on her shoulder. The two Red Shirts stepped aside. Micah leaned forward, murmuring to the girl as he adjusted her position.

“Just do as she says,” he whispered. “My nam
e’s
Micah. I’ll try my best to protect you, but this isn’t going to be fun.” He forced her arms out straight in front of her, palms up as if begging for supplication. “Try to hold out as long as you can—if you break too fast, she doesn’t stop, she just keeps going until sh
e’s
had her fu
n . . .
or gets bored.”

The crowd was on its feet, Deidre walking back and forth, whipping them into a frenzy as they marched in place, belting out “Onward, Christian Soldiers.”

“I’m Morgan,” the girl whispered back, barely moving her lips. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he warned. The Red Shirts watched him, obviously impatient. He stood upright, yanked the collar of Morga
n’s
shirt back and slid the broomstick inside her shirt so that it stood vertically pressed against her spine. Deidre liked to position the stick under girls’ bras—it increased their pain and humiliation. Micah hoped she wouldn’t notice that he was taking it easy on Morgan.

Morgan didn’t resist but looked terrified as the other kids crowded over her, shouting and clapping and waving their hands.

Micah stood at attention, gripping the stick, playing his role, half-hearted as it may be. Deidre glanced over her shoulder at him, flashed him a grin, then raised her hands. The crowd instantly went silent.

“Let us begin.” She whirled on Morgan. “This is the Purge. Where you will confess all your sins and examine your life. It is only through repentance that you can be redeemed and ReNewed.”

“ReNew, ReNew, ReNew,” the crowd chanted, moving even closer to Morgan, blocking her view of anything except their bodies.

“You are here as a sinner,” Deidre continued, using her best preacher voice. “God loves sinners but only if they repent.”

“Repent, repent, repent!”

“We love you, but only if you redeem yourself by confessing your sins.”

“We love you!” The crow
d’s
scream sounded like a wild beast out of control.

That was the most dangerous thing about the Purge—when the crowd took on a life of its own. Kids humiliated and intimidated by the Red Shirts saw a chance to regain control, steal some power, even if it was at the expense of one of their own.

Micah didn’t like crowds. Wild, unpredictable, and, if no one took control of them, deadly.

Deidre knelt directly in front of Morgan. She grasped Morga
n’s
hands, bent over to kiss both palms, then looked up at Morgan as if it was Deidre seeking absolution.

“We love you. We love, love, love you,” she whispered seductively. “This is for your own good. I
t’s
the only way. We must purge you of evil.”

CHAPTER 32

M
organ stared into Deidr
e’s
empty eyes. The girl reflected there looked scared—she
was
scared.

At least as scared as Morgan ever got. When the Red Shirts had whipped out those broomsticks, sh
e’d
been expecting a beating, some kind of “spare the rod” type of punishment. Pain she understood; pain she could handle. All a matter of mind over body. Staying in control and divorcing herself from her feelings.

Thanks to her father, Morgan was a master of pain.

But this, this was something much worse than physical pain. Fifty bodies crowding in on her and she was trapped, unable to escape. Screams demanding answers coming from fifty different directions, making her head swarm as if a hive of wasps had been set loose.

At the center of it all, the eye of the storm, knelt Deidre. With her piercing gaze and serene expression she whispered to Morgan, trying to seduce a confession from her.

Deidre controlled the mob; Deidre controlled the noise and the fury and Morga
n’s
fate. And Morgan despised her for it. A physical beating would be so much better than facing this, Morga
n’s
greatest fear: trapped, at the mercy of strangers.

“What was your first sin?” Deidre asked, swaying closer to Morgan so she could be heard over the din of the crowd stomping around them. “Your original sin. I know what it was, don’t I? Do you?”

The other kids were clapping and whirling and shouting in a bizarre conga line spiraling around Morgan, Micah, and Deidre. They would abruptly leap forward and push at Morgan or shout in her face or kiss her, then vanish once more as the whirling mad crowd of khaki and red pulled them back into the vortex.

Deidre kept hold of Morga
n’s
hands while Micah anchored her with the broomstick, keeping her upright. Buffeted from all sides, overwhelmed with heat and noise and the press of unwashed bodies, Morgan felt as if she were drowning, unable to breathe. Her heart rate, always slower than a normal perso
n’s
, began to throb in her temples as she gasped for air.

“I know your secret,” Deidre persisted. “I know it and I forgive you. I love you, we love you, but you must confess. Purge yourself of your sins. You are a liar. Do you know your very first lie? The first one ever told, when you were such a little girl? Even then, even when you were so small that your dad could still carry you on his shoulders and your mother could rock you in her lap, even then you were a sinner.”

Footsteps thundered around her, more and more hands knocking Morgan one way, then the other. The chanting coalesced into a single animal cry. “Sinner, sinner, sinner!”

Deidre nodded, a simple, single jerk of her chin, and it stopped. Silence reigned. Deidre dropped Morga
n’s
hands and stood. Morgan slumped forward, but the broomstick kept her from falling. Her hair matted to her face and head, sweat trickled across her brow, fogging her glasses, turning the crowd into an ugly beige monster with more heads than a hydra.

“Why do we begin at Zero?” Deidre asked the crowd who had reassembled itself into rows before her.

“We are less than nothing!”

“Why are we less than nothing?”

“We are dirty, filthy sinners!”

Deidre motioned to the crowd, and as one they fell to their knees, all eyes on Morgan. She didn’t try to wipe her glasses clean; it was far easier to deal with the crowd as an anonymous mass than to focus on each individual.

Morgan knew what Deidre was doing: classic brainwashing techniques designed to strip a psyche bare, break a perso
n’s
will. Sh
e’d
seen her father do it dozens of times. But knowing how it was done provided little protection. Morgan also knew how to manipulate people, a few at a time. That was easy. But sh
e’d
never spent much time in crowds. No formal schooling, no attending church services, no clubs or organizations designed to socialize a child.

Sh
e’d
never much missed it before now. Crowds to her were simple faceless diversions, a place to hide out in. Deidre was showing her a whole new side—a mob.

Deidre paced back and forth, her gaze sweeping the crowd as her dress swirled around her like a pries
t’s
robes. “I know what your sin was, your original sin. Do you?”

“Sinner, sinner, sinner,” the crowd chanted, drowning out anything Morgan could say.

Deidre whirled on Morgan. The crowd hushed. “Your very first sin, the sin that you can never be cleansed of, not until you fully repen
t . . .
that first sin was when you told your parents that you loved them.”

“Liar, liar, liar!” the mob accused Morgan, their bodies swaying in time with their words.

“I know that you lied,” Deidre said, pacing once more, fists punching the air, emphasizing her words. “Because if you truly loved your parents, if you honored and obeyed them, if you truly loved God and honored and obeyed His commandments, then you wouldn’t be here now!”

The crowd went wild at her pronouncement. They raised their hands over their heads, waving them in wide circles, roaring their condemnation of Morgan and her wicked ways.

One girl leapt to her feet and ran to Morgan, putting her face mere inches away. “You’re a sinner!” Her words were accompanied by a spray of spittle. “Repent!”

As soon as she backed away, another took her place, this time a boy, younger than Morgan. “You’re a liar and a thief,” he screamed, his breath hot against her face. “A dirty, filthy whore!”

And so it went, one after another, the students berated Morgan, shouting and screaming and spitting, their words buffeting her from all directions. Until finally the youngest was shoved forward, the Red Shirt with him forcing him to lean down until his nose was almost touching Morga
n’s
. He was crying, mucus streaming down his chin, his lips quivering. The look in his eyes was anguish personified, and she couldn’t help but wonder what terrible crime such a young boy had done that his parents had exiled him here.

Morgan surprised herself. Tried to explain it away as acting, playing the role of a sheep, but that wasn’t it. She could read this bo
y’s
need, and she wanted to help him.

Pulling against the broomstick that Micah held behind her, she reached her arms around the young boy and hugged him tight. “I
t’s
okay,” she whispered. “You’ll be okay.”

Deidre spun, her back to the crowd, so that only Morgan and Micah could see her face. Flushed with fury, she scowled at Morgan and yanked the boy away, thrusting him into the arms of one of the Red Shirts.

Then she gave Micah a nod, and he twisted the broomstick.

Stress position
, tha
t’s
what Morga
n’s
father called it. But even he would have been impressed by these kids and their diabolical use of a simple, lightweight broomstick.

Morgan was caught off guard as the broomstick twisted her top into a tourniquet, constricting her belly in one direction and her throat in the other. She realized Micah hadn’t torqued it as hard or fast as he could have, but she still had to turn her head to catch a breath and release the pressure of the cotton material now tight against her throat.

Deidre knelt before her and clasped Morga
n’s
hands, not allowing her to grab at the bunched-up shirt. “More,” she told Micah as Morgan gasped for air.

Morga
n’s
head was arched back far enough that she met Mica
h’s
eyes. He made a show of moving his hands up and down the broomstick as if he was working to twist it but didn’t actually tighten the noose. She helped by coughing dramatically, hoping Deidre would buy her performance.

“Please—” Morgan gasped, cutting the word short with a choked wheeze.

Deidre didn’t move, simply tightened her grip on Morga
n’s
hands, her face serene. “We love you,” she cried out. The crowd echoed it back, the noise thundering at Morgan from her position on the floor.

Morgan fluttered her eyelids and stopped fighting, sagging forward, as if fainting. Deidre let go of her hands. “Release her.”

Micah quickly removed the broomstick, freeing Morgan. She heaved in a breath, coughed some more, enough that tears came, and opened her eyes.

“Sit up straight, arms out,” Deidre ordered. Morgan struggled to obey, one hand going to rub her neck until Deidre slapped it away. Micah repositioned the broomstick so that it now slid through the arms of Morga
n’s
top and behind her, forcing her arms out at her sides like a scarecrow. Uncomfortable as hell, but at least she could breathe.

Deidre stood, patting Morga
n’s
cheek like she was her new pet. “Let us begin again. Tell me about how you pimped out your little friend to, what was it, three older men? And how you whored yourself to them as well. What did you get in exchange? Booze? Drugs?”

Morgan pretended to be confused. “No. Tha
t’s
not how it happened. We didn’t know Jerem
y’s
older brother would be home. We just went to crash, play video games, hang out. Tha
t’s
all. Nothing happened.”

Another of those spooky smiles. A glint in Deidr
e’s
eyes prepared Morgan, but even rolling with the slap, it still stung. Micah kept a firm hold of the broomstick, not allowing her to fall.

“Don’t lie to us. Your only salvation lies in telling us the truth.” Deidre leaned forward. “All of it. Every. Single. Detail.”

“Purge, purge, purge,” the crowd shouted, sounding more and more like a hungry mob. Morgan glanced past Deidre and saw the little boy in the front row being jerked around like a puppet by the guy in the red shirt behind him. He was being forced to cheer and clap and yel
l . . .
and watch. And she thought her dad was twisted. Hell, he would love this Deidre chick.

Deidre followed her glance and turned her smile on the boy. “Tell us everything or he’ll be next,” she said in a voice too low to carry past Morgan and Micah. “Start with all the filthy things you did with those three men. Every detail. And then you can tell us what you did to your little friend.”