Two days later, the timer resets and begins a countdown for six more. The next few days pass in relative calm. Relative being the key word. There are incidents here and there: kids getting into bickering matches, fist-fights, theft of personal belongings, resulting in a bloody nose for an accused, and a troubling case of sexual assault in the shower room that, thankfully, turns out to be nothing more than an ugly rumor.
A lot of these events happen when Marcus isn't around. He's in the gym most of the day and goes straight to his bedroom in the evening while the rest of us watch TV or play cards or board games in the lounge room, so he's not around often enough to administer rules or bring the law down on those who break it.
His dark mood must be connected to the seizure incident. The inquisitive part of me wants to ask him about that. Walk into his bedroom one evening and find out why it bothers him so much. Stop him during those awkward morning run-ins when it's just the two of us and he's waiting for the bathroom while I'm using it.
The other more dominant part of me is the reason I stare at the floor when I step out of the bathroom and hurry past him. I don't want to risk getting him even more riled up, so I leave him alone, grateful that he's keeping all that anger bottled up inside him.
That changes around lunchtime a day before the countdown runs out.
Carson, Willow, and I leave the serving table, carrying plates that hold soggy tortillas stuffed with chili left over from yesterday's dinner. The whole mess is seeping beans and clumps of meat. Carson holds his plate away from his body and grimaces.
"Y'all know I was there when this chili was made, right?" he asks us.
He was assigned to kitchen duty yesterday. Marcus might not be strutting around yelling orders anymore, but the wheels of his operation are still turning. His so-called officers, like Eli and even Alec, have run the system in his absence.
"Not one of us knew what we were doing, so we just dumped the ingredients in there at the same time," Carson continues. "This one boy even suggested we add lettuce. Lettuce! He said it tastes good with tomatoes in a salad, so they should go together in chili, too. I swear, we'll end up dead anyway because of food poisoning."
"No kidding," Willow says. "I went to bed with a stomachache last night."
"Did it keep you up?" I ask. As usual, she looks like she hasn't gotten much sleep.
"That's the third time you've asked me that," she says.
There's a teasing glint in her eyes. I blush anyway because I've been caught being nosy. Sam wouldn't approve of the way I've been getting close to these people. He's always told me that being alone was for my own good.
If he's involved in this, what does he think every time he sees me smile as Alec pretends to be angry at Carson for cheating at poker? How disgusted was he when I confided in Willow that I haven't been close to anyone in years and she gave me a hug and promised she'd change that? What would he do to me for disobeying him in so many unforgivable ways?
I'm saved from having to think up an answer when we run into a wall of people blocking our way into the cafeteria. We squeeze past them, careful not to lose our plates, and find Marcus and Rudolph on the other side. Marcus looks like steam should be shooting from his ears. Tremors of rage run through him, so slight I only see them because I'm studying him closely
"Yeah, I don't think so, Cap," Rudolph says. "With all your talk about the strongest surviving, what does that make you now? First chance things get tough, you fall down like a little girl and lose your shit. You don't call the shots anymore. We need a real leader in charge."
"And that's supposed to be you?" Marcus asks through clenched teeth.
"That's right. Hell, any one of those guys over there could take you on. I'll prove it."
A visible shudder rolls through Marcus's body. I can't tell if it's anger or something else. "I don't have time to deal with your tantrum. Back off or I swear I'll—"
"You'll what?" Rudolph closes the gap between them. He's taller than Marcus and uses his height to his advantage. "What're you going to do, Spaz?"
Marcus throws a punch so fast his arm moves in a blur. Rudolph's head recoils. The blow dazes him for two full seconds before he recovers and swings out. Marcus catches him in the face with a second punch, this one harder than the first, packing behind it all his fury.
I hear the unmistakable crunch his fist makes against Rudolph's cheekbone. The force spins him around in a circle. He hits the floor so hard his body bounces off the concrete. Murmurs of shock ripple through the crowd. I lose sight of him as people circle his prone body, his friends jumping to his aid, but the chorus of agitated voices tells me something is wrong.
When I get a clear view, Rudolph lies sprawled out on his chest, unmoving. The world spins out of control when I see his eyes. They're open, lifeless.
"Oh, God," someone moans. "He's dead."
Marcus stares down at him. His shudders have settled into eerie stillness. There's no remorse on his face. My throat feels like it's caved in on itself. I wanted him to beat Rudolph, but not like this. I will him to say something—to reassure us that it was just an accident, that he didn't plan for this to happen—but he does nothing to try to diffuse this horrific situation.
He steps past Rudolph's body and leaves the cafeteria.
Some of the guys decide to move Rudolph into the white room, which is still unlocked. I watch them grab his limbs and carry him away. None of this feels real. I keep expecting Rudolph to stir back to life, but he's completely still. Forever still.
I avoid Marcus the rest of the morning, which isn't hard to do since he doesn't return to the cafeteria. I overhear someone say he spotted him in the gym lifting weights. Such a normal thing to do after killing someone.
Alec comes over to our table at some point. He's kept his distance the past few days, but now that he's not on Marcus's leash, I guess it's safe for him to hang around us lesser folk. "That was something," he says after a long silence.
Willow looks at him solemnly. "You could say that."
"What do your friends think?" I ask him.
"They don't know what to do. Some of them like Buzzcut and Eli want to stick by Marcus, but the others—Pablo, Jones, and Freak—think he's out of control." He gives us a humorless smile. "Only problem is no one wants to face him."
"Why not?" Carson asks.
Alec holds up a peace sign. "Two punches. That's all it took for him to beat Rudolph. No one is exactly gunning for him at this point."
I don't see what the problem is. "Face him as a group."
Alec shakes his head. "That's not how it works. Someone has to be in charge. We can't have five different guys giving orders, or there'll be chaos. The person who beats Marcus will be the undisputed king. It's the one thing they all agree on."
"King of this schoolyard playground," Willow says. "This is too childish."
How could things have gotten so out of hand? Over the past week, my sentiments about Marcus have constantly evolved, never settling because he's so difficult to pin down. He went from being a threat, to a nuisance, to a tentative ally, and now he's a danger to all of us.
It leaves a bad taste in my mouth thinking it, but maybe people like Eli are right. Marcus isn't fit to be in charge anymore. Something inside him cracked during the seizure incident—or maybe he was always this broken. He has to be stopped before someone else gets hurt.
The rest of the day passes without incident. Alec slips right into our group, his effortless charm making it feel like he's been with us all along. Willow, who's been tense with him ever since he intervened when Eli cornered her, laughs at his goofy impersonations of his friends at the other table, and he and Carson bond over the Kentucky Derby.
He tries to get me to talk. Even with all their talk about racehorses, he looks at me when he speaks, involving me in a conversation I have no part in. It doesn't help that I'm seated right across from him; our eyes connect far more often than I find comfortable.
At least with Marcus there was always tension between us, a barrier preventing me from relaxing with him. But with Alec, it's too friendly. Too intimate.
I catch Willow watching me sometimes, like she knows what's going on in my mind. At some point in the afternoon, she excuses herself to the bathroom and returns with a puzzled look on her face. "Marcus has officially gone crazy. He completely wrecked the gym. He tore down the basketball goal, pole and all, and shattered the backboard."
"How did he manage that?" Carson asks. "The thing is bolted down."
"We all know the guy's got demonic strength," Alec retorts.
I was hoping he went into solitude because Rudolph's death shook him up. But trashing the gym makes it clear he's not beating himself up over it. If anything, he seems more twisted up by his anger than ever. He's definitely lost it.
It's too bad. Marcus was a better alternative to guys like Eli. Without him as a buffer between us and them, it means we've been thrust into the unknown with a bunch of egotistical—and dangerous—players to worry about.
Marcus joins us in our block just before the door closes that evening. I feel a cold rush of wind as he walks by, a tingle in my shoulder when he brushes against it. He disappears into his room. If I thought he was scary before, this is immeasurably worse in comparison.
I make a beeline for my room and open my drawer, taking the silver case out. It's still locked. There's no key when I fish around inside the drawer. The clothes I wore for the past week have been washed and folded. They smell like lavender. I never imagined anything so pleasant could cause so much anxiety in me.
"I need to get to my stuff," Camille says behind me.
She's tugging off her t-shirt, looking at ease in her white cotton bra. With that slender, toned figure of hers, I don't blame her.
I walk over to my bed and wait for her to leave so I can tinker with the case again. It's hot and stuffy in here. I want to breathe fresh air and stretch my legs more than anything. It's what I would do back home anytime I couldn't figure something out—though only when Sam was in an agreeable mood. I never went outdoors without his permission.
Residual emotions begin to surface. I'm somewhat grateful when Camille turns to me and asks, "So what were you and Alec talking about earlier?"
I don't miss the tension in her voice, even though she tries to mask it with perkiness. I'd have to be pretty obtuse not to realize she is jealous.
"He was mostly chatting with Carson," I reply.
She appraises me for a full ten seconds before pulling on a t-shirt. "You want my advice? You should stay away from him."
I stare at her, taken aback by her directness.
Camille giggles. "I don't mean it the way you think. I'm just looking out for you. If you want a sweet and charming guy, you're in for heartbreak."
"What about you?" I ask, more curious than insulted. "Shouldn't you be taking your own advice?"
"I'm not looking for anything real. We might all die by the end of this. Might as well make the best of it, right?' She slips into sweatpants and walks over to the door, saying over her shoulder, "Alec and I are going to watch a movie. Don't wait up."
I'm deep in sleep hours later when a thump jolts me awake. Eyes wide open, I hold my breath. Someone is at the foot of my bed. My suspicion is confirmed when another thud sounds, closer than the one before. A footstep.
I flip onto my back. The hallway light outlines the silhouette of a broad-shouldered man. My body wants to freeze up, but I stifle my fear. I have to do something. My best option is to scream loud enough to wake the others up.
The person seems to know what I'm thinking; he springs forward and clamps his hand over my mouth. I bite down on the fleshy part of his palm, hard enough to draw blood.
He sucks in a breath, but his hand doesn't move away. "Stop fighting me, Rose."
My first thought is, It's Marcus, and my immediate and more overpowering thought is, Is he crazy? How can he expect me to comply after he sneaks into my room and assaults me in my bed?
"I'm not here to hurt you." His hand lifts from my mouth. "I just want to talk. That's it."
I brace my weight on my arms and drag myself away, leaning against the wall. I can barely make out his face. I have no way of gauging his intent except by the tone of his voice.
He sounds distressed.
"What do you want to talk about?" I ask. This is so weird. I never would have imagined Marcus would come to me like this.
"I can't explain it here. You have to come with me."
When I don't budge, Marcus sighs. "I have to show you something. Unless you want to wake everyone up, we need light. Let's go to the lounge room."
"I like waking everyone up better."
"Goddammit. Stop being such a pain in the—"
"Fine," I say against all better judgment. If I follow him to the lounge room, he could kill me like he killed Rudolph, and no one would know until morning. But he could've suffocated me with a pillow when he first walked into the room, so there's that. I doubt a heavy sleeper like Camille could come to my rescue even if she wanted to.
Besides, I'm curious to know what he wants to show me. I'm also curious to understand why Marcus did what he did today, and this might be my only ticket into his mind.
I have to take it.