Page 47 of The Compound

“Sounds like you have it all planned out.”

“Well,” he said, looking at me. “I’m sure we’re all starting to make a plan at this point.”

“What would you do if you won?”

I didn’t expect him to answer, but he replied instantly, as though eager to tell me.

“I’d get yards and yards of barbed wire.

And I’d build a fence around the compound, much better than the other one.

I’d make sure nothing and no one would be able to disturb me.

I’d stay here forever. No one could make me leave.

Not ever.” He looked away, then flicked a look at me.

“What about you? You want to be famous, is that it? Get some nice brand deals for yourself?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I just want a rest.” I didn’t want to give Tom the satisfaction of telling him that his plan didn’t sound so different from my own.

He jerked his chin to the plain before us, a dismissal. “You go and do your thing, and I’ll wait for you here.”

I went beyond, to where the flower arches used to be.

A few weeks ago, weeds and rushes and flowers would have brushed by me as I made my way across.

But it was empty now, and I had to focus all of my concentration, every drop of energy that I had, on walking across the flat plain and keeping my balance, making sure that when I walked I was steady, with no weakness showing.

—

When we returned inside, I immediately got into bed. I had grown so soft. I just wanted to lie there and let the issue resolve itself. They wouldn’t let us die, but I could die.

Without meaning to, I fell asleep. I woke, horrified, unsure of how much time had passed. I had no way of knowing if it was deep into the night, or if only a few minutes had goneby.

How long had Becca gone without food? Andrew and Tom were asleep, too. I didn’t hesitate this time. I took my jumper off the ground where I’d thrown it, and left.

My feet were light on the ground, but they still might have heard me. I stopped more than once on the way to the kitchen, listening for the sound of the boys waking up, but the house remained entirely silent.

The door to the cupboard creaked again, loudly, as I filled my pockets with all the food that they could hold.

I felt terrible, but in a dimmer way than I had earlier.

I brought a lighter, the only light source that I could find.

Its light was weak, and flickered as I moved across the grounds, but it focused me.

There was adrenaline crashing through my veins, urging me to move swiftly.

Fear overtook exhaustion, and I managed to run, though I made strange gasping noises, not like I was out of breath, but like I was being strangled.

The light went out as I ran, and I held my hands in front of me, waiting for the touch of the hedge maze.

I crashed into it at last and groped for the entrance.

Finally, I found it, and said, “Becca!” softly.

I lit the lighter again, and glanced behind me.

There was nothing there, only darkness. Far beyond, there was the light of the house, warm and inviting in the distance.

“Becca!” I said again. She would know the sound of my step, she had said.

I found the entrance and entered the maze, clutching the lighter, terrified that it might set one of the hedges alight, and there would be another fire.

The walls seemed impossibly close. “Becca,” I said again, truly frightened now.

I kept glancing at my feet, thinking that I would see her little body curled up, unmoving and white in the moonlight.

A hand grabbed me, and I jumped, crashing backward into the hedge. The lighter fell at my feet, extinguished. “Be quiet,” Becca’s voice said.

“Becca,” I said, reaching out, but she swatted my hands away.

“Be quiet, I said.”

We stood in silence, listening. There was nothing, no sound at all.

I picked up the lighter from the ground.

I could only see the whites of Becca’s eyes, and the vague outline of her hair.

Speaking with barely a whisper, she said, “Follow me.” She put her hand in mine and led the way.

How she knew where to go in the dark I don’t know.

She had a dancer’s step, light and precise, and I tried to mimic her.

We got to the spot, indistinguishable to me from any other, and she sat us down, and moved the branches so that we were half exposed and half within the hedge.

The twigs and leaves scraped at my face.

I moved out a little more and lit the lighter.

I could see her then: the light seemed enormous in the small space.

She didn’t look good, but she definitely looked better than Andrew or Tom.

“Water,” I said.

She nodded, then said, “Did you bring food?”

“Yes,” I said. “Is there water left? Is it gone?”

She said nothing for a beat, and I took the food out of my pockets and dumped it in her lap.

She turned and crawled a bit away. “It’s here,” she said.

“See?” I could see it, dimly, the gallon bottle.

There was water left: not a lot, but enough.

She gave it to me, and even as I drank it in great, noisy gulps, I marveled at the self-control it must have taken to leave any.

She was tearing at the food, stuffing it into her mouth, and we were like two rats, I thought, hiding in the shadows and gorging on what we could.

She pulled the bottle gently from me. There was maybe a fifth left. “That’s enough,” she said. “I know it’s hard. But we need to save it.”

“Until when?”

“Tomorrow they’ll either do the task or decide to go home,” she said. “One, or both. I’m betting Andrew is holding out on the producers stepping in?” I nodded. “I almost feel bad for him.”

I was panting. My face felt numb. My hands were shockingly cold.

“Are you okay?” I said. “Why didn’t you come into the house? I thought you would freeze to death out here.”

“I’m fine,” she said. “It was a long night, but it was fine.”

“Becca, this is ridiculous,” I said. “Let’s go in and do the task. It’s freezing out here. You can’t stay here again. They’ll lose now, easily.”

“Tomorrow,” she said. “You can have more water, then go to sleep. In the morning, you’ll be in better shape, and so will I. I’ll sleep inside tonight, maybe in the back room, and we’ll see whether they choose to do the challenge or just leave.”

I listened for the sound of footsteps, or some animal or beast. Becca looked calm enough. Her face was very white, and there was a smear of chocolate around her mouth.

“How old are you, Becca?”

“Seventeen,” she said, and then: “No. Eighteen. I turned eighteen a few weeks ago. I lied to get on the show. Well, everyone lies a little to get on the show, don’t they? I don’t think it matters much anyway, the difference of a couple of weeks.”

“I suppose so.”

“Time feels different here, doesn’t it? I don’t know if I’ll go back to the old way of living by every minute and hour, will you? I know enough to get by, just by the place of the sun in the sky and the waxing of the moon.”

It was the most I had ever heard Becca speak, though we had spent weeks together cleaning the kitchen.

“Didn’t you lie, to get on the show?” she askedme.

“Not really,” I said. “I probably made myself seem more interesting, but I think everyone probably does that. I guess I lied about having more hobbies and stuff. At home, I used to just stay in bed all day on my days off. I left that out.”

“I almost exclusively lied,” she said. “I don’t even like boys.”

“Why are you here?” I asked. “Why did you come on the show?”

She was quiet for a few moments; there was only the sound of our breathing and the soft whisper of leaves moving about our feet.

“I used to make fun of the people who came on the show. My friends and I, we’d laugh at how vapid everyone was.

The things that people will do for the sake of something pretty.

I guess I came on as a joke. I thought I could go home and do an exposé, maybe start a career in journalism or something.

I suppose it was just as vain to think that I could gain attention by getting cast and then criticizing the show as it would be to come here looking for genuine fame.

But I didn’t realize how—immersive it would be.

I never particularly cared about the prizes.

But Tom—I couldn’t understand how everyone was all right with him still being in the compound, how we let him order us around, coming when he and Andrew called, like dogs.

I wanted to humiliate him—but it became more difficult, when we became bedmates.

He was so close all the time, and I knew how quickly he could become violent.

I’d wake in the night and find him staring at me.

Sometimes he’d stroke my face. When he was punished—when he was burned in the hot tub, and then when the shed burned—Ithought that would make me happy; I thought that would be enough.

But I don’t want to go home before he does.

I don’t want to go home; not while he’s still here, collecting rewards.

I want him banished in the most humiliating manner possible. ”

We were silent for a short time. “Aren’t you going to ask me why I came on the show?”

“No,” she said. “I don’t need you to explain it. You’re the kind of girl the show was made for.”

Before I could register what was happening, I was being pressed against the ground, a hand on my throat.

The world went white. I thought I was dying: I screamed and felt relieved to hear my voice.

Not dead then, but I was choking. My brain told me that I could overpower Becca, even if she’d had more water: she was a tiny thing, but my body was panicking, flailing.

I clutched at the hand that was struggling to find the right grip on my throat, and felt hair along the fingers, a signet ring on the pinky finger.