Within These Walls

Chapter 2

"What the hell is this?" Marcus asks, lifting his arm to stare at his bracelet.

"A bomb?" the southerner says in a horrified tone.

"If they wanted to blow us up, they would've put collars on us," Alec says. "Maximum damage. No, this is more like—"

"An alarm," I say.

He starts to nod just as my bracelet shocks me. It's a mild sensation, like touching a doorknob after working up static electricity, but it startles me just the same. And then it happens again but with more intensity this time.

"Ow, ow, ow!" my roommate exclaims, rubbing her wrist. "I think we should keep going."

"No kidding," Marcus says, wincing as another sharp jolt comes from our bracelets. I'm selfishly glad to see that tough-guy Marcus isn't invincible.

We fall in behind him as he walks down the hallway. I catch a glimpse of open space beyond the doorway before Marcus comes to an abrupt stop. I crash into his back and find myself sandwiched between him and the others.

"Move," I snap, my arm stinging from another stab of electricity.

We file out once Marcus clears our path. As I sidestep him and get a good look at what's on the outside, it becomes clear why he froze in the first place.

Kids. Everywhere. Dozens of them in front of seven doors like ours, all dressed in white t-shirts and gray sweatpants. All with silver bracelets. They are a diverse bunch, of all sizes and shapes and colors, but none of them look older than eighteen.

Above each block is a white sign with bold black text written across it. BLOCK ONE. BLOCK TWO. Our sign says BLOCK THREE.

At the center of the space is a giant perforated metal stairway. There are no floors above us, but we're not on the ground. If the floors below us hold more teenagers, I should wonder at the audacity of our kidnappers to have orchestrated all of this.

Not that I have any idea what exactly this is.

"You know what's going on?" Alec asks a few kids standing in front of the door closest to us. Around us, people are leaving their blocks, wide-eyed with fear and clutching their tender wrists. Some of them even have tears streaming down their faces.

Some guy shrugs. "I don't know, man. I'm thinking my parents put me up to this. This must be summer camp or something."

I doubt it. Ignoring the freakiness of everything that's happened so far, no camp would be opening barely a week before the new semester starts. And I'd be lucky if my mom acknowledged my existence, let alone paid for something so . . . extravagant.

Not surprisingly, Marcus is the first to head for the stairs. The steps clang as he descends them. He stops, leans over one side of the railing, and shouts, "Hey! You see an exit down there?"

"No, just these numbered doors!" someone shouts back.

Marcus holds up his arms and gestures for us to quiet down. "Alright. If you've got any idea why we're in here, speak up. And don't give me stupid answers or whacky theories. I'm talking real information. If you waste my time, I'll have to come over there and kick your ass."

Real inspirational, this guy.

I go over to the railing and peer down. There's one level between us and the floor below. Down at the bottom are medium-length tables and chairs spread out in every direction. It looks clean, unused.

"Here's what we're going to do," Marcus says. "We're going to look for two things. Clues or some way out of here. If we can't get out of this place, we're going to try to understand what we're doing inside it." He points at someone on the level below. "Weasel-face. Is this a joke to you?"