Page 14 of To Cage a Wild Bird (Divided Fates #1)
I lay awake for hours on the tiny cot, its worn mattress scratchy beneath me, metal springs poking into my back as I stared
at the blinking red light in the corner of my cell.
Amid a chorus of snores from the nearby cells, I formed a mental map of all the parts of Endlock I’d seen—the intake rooms,
a maze of locked corridors, the mess hall, and my cellblock. The concrete walls of the prison had to be at least twelve inches
thick.
I needed to find Kit and figure out how far she’d gotten into planning, but based on Endlock’s security, the most likely escape
route lay on the hunting grounds, where there were no cameras and far fewer guards.
There’d been talk of televising the hunts when Endlock first opened, but Pharil Coates had quickly shot the idea down. He
said it was for customer privacy and that allowing the public to view hunts would cheapen the experience. He didn’t want anyone
to have access to any facet of Endlock unless they had the credits to pay for it.
Luckily, his greed worked in my favor.
I needed to be chosen as a target for a hunt so that I’d have time to explore the hunting grounds unsupervised and learn what
I was working with. And I needed to keep Jed safe in the meantime, which could prove difficult, considering I didn’t even know which cellblock he
was in.
Eventually, exhaustion pulled me into a fitful sleep.
Morning came far too quickly, and I rose to the toll of a bell, rubbing at eyes that felt encrusted with sand.
The cell doors slid open with a hiss, and I followed the herd of prisoners toward the mess hall.
Inside, steaming food trays rested on tables for the Middle- and Upper-level inmates, while the food table for the Grays was stacked with paper-wrapped ration bars.
I’d eaten something similar during the biting winter months when the prices of grain and preserved produce soared beyond what
I could justify with my measly income. The ration bars were gritty and bland and had the consistency of cardboard, but they
had sustained Jed and me through some tough times.
I scanned the mess hall. There was still no sign of Jed, but I noted Perri glaring at me from the other side of the room.
I gave her a wave and a bright smile, and she scowled, squeezing her plastic spoon so hard it snapped in half.
Choking back a laugh, I snatched a ration bar from the pile and veered toward an unoccupied table. Another inmate walked by,
driving their shoulder into mine, hard.
“Sorry,” they said, but they smirked, and there was a round of low sniggers from the other inmates nearby.
I bit my lip, weighing the consequences of dropping my ration bar and throwing a punch at them.
“Attention, inmates!” a voice commanded from the front of the room, stopping me in my tracks. “The new arrivals will be split
into different groups for orientation. When I call out your number, step forward.”
Vale. My lip curled.
I hadn’t expected any formal initiation into prison life, but the bounty hunter in me knew getting any kind of tour was a
good opportunity to familiarize myself with Endlock’s layout—anything that would help me find a path out of the prison.
Vale announced a string of numbers as I stuffed the ration bar into my mouth, remembering what August had said about eating
enough food to stay strong.
A group of inmates I vaguely recognized from the transport left the mess hall with the first group, following a guard who
snapped at them to keep up.
“In group two. Inmates 210, 219, 224...” I tuned out the rest of the numbers but made my way toward the front of the room
with my group.
“This group will be with me,” Vale said.
I blanched, my stomach tightening. Of all the guards, of course, it had to be him .
He wore the same uniform as Larch—black cargo pants, black boots, and a collared, long-sleeved black shirt with the flag of
Dividium on his shoulder. His shirt didn’t have his name stitched onto it, and as far as I could tell, he wasn’t wearing any
teeth around his neck.
He looked up, catching my eyes, and glared.
Happy to see me, then.
Vale pushed open the heavy metal door that led out of the mess hall. “Don’t fall behind.”
The words may have been meant for the entire group, but his piercing gaze lingered on me as he spoke.
Vale led our group through what my mind had begun referring to as the main corridor, its walls stained with age and neglect
and decorated with Endlock’s signature cameras. The scent of antiseptic, mingling with sweat and fear, hung in the air in
a palpable vapor.
As we walked, I noticed the other inmates distanced themselves from me, not wanting to be associated with a bounty hunter.
Some snuck stares at me out of the corners of their eyes, but most ignored me entirely, which was just as well—hopefully it
meant fewer people scrutinizing me as I tried to find a way out of the prison.
We came to the end of the hall and turned right, stopping short at a barrier door. Vale scanned his badge, nodding to the
guards posted on either side of the doorway as we were waved through.
I immediately recognized the exam room entrance on my right and shivered, the burn on my wrist pulsing. We walked past the
room and up to a set of towering steel doors.
Vale scanned his badge again, and I stared when he ushered us through the opening and into an expansive hall.
We were met with the slightly sulfurous scent of gunpowder.
The heart of the room boasted a firing range, complete with human-shaped targets.
I scanned the myriad of bullet holes that riddled the targets.
Numerous weapons lined the walls: guns and blades and other instruments I couldn’t name.
A circle of training rings, cushy mats lined with rope, sat a few paces from where we stood, and a large screen took up the wall on the far side of the room with scattered folding chairs resting before it.
“This is where we bring our guests before their hunts officially start,” Vale explained as our group moved into a loose semicircle
before him. “It’s designed to prepare them for what to expect and to assist with weapons training for those who have never
wielded a knife or firearm.”
The space seemed perfect for training soldiers and preparing armies, but instead, I pictured wealthy citizens laughing their
way through target practice, anticipatory grins stretching across their faces as they placed bets on which of them would take
down the most formidable prey.
“After they finish with the shooting range, the hunters who have purchased weapons upgrades are allowed to select their weapon
of choice from the wall, while those who haven’t are given a standard-issue rifle.” Vale motioned to the weapons. “The hunters
who have purchased additional combat training are also offered a class that teaches basic techniques.”
“Combat training,” I repeated. Vale’s eyes snapped to mine, a warning burning in them. But if I could gain any knowledge that
would give me an advantage on the hunting grounds, I had to ask. “I’m surprised they would pay for that, considering they
already have guns. Has an inmate ever managed to get the upper hand over a hunter?”
I phrased the question as innocently as I could, but I felt the collective intake of breath from the other inmates.
Vale took a step toward me. “Physical confrontations between hunters and targets are rare, but they do happen if an inmate
manages to disarm a hunter. But inmates are only allowed to engage in a fight with a hunter if it’s self-defense—one-on-one
with no other inmates around.”
Vale drew closer, his chest just inches from mine as he spoke. “Trust me when I say, you don’t want that to happen. If it
does, and you beat them, your ranking will rise to a ten, and then every hunter with something to prove will want to take
a shot at you. All eyes will be on you. ”
The last part came out as a whisper, and Vale’s golden eyes bored into mine. I swallowed, and his gaze flitted down, tracking the movement of my throat.
He coughed, turning away and leading us toward the screen on the wall. The overhead lights dimmed, and the other groups of
inmates filed into the room through the door we’d entered.
Larch followed close behind.
“Everybody, find a seat!” Larch shouted across the space, voice ricocheting off the walls. “The video you’re about to see
is the same one that our guests are shown before every hunt.”
Hyde sprang into action, fumbling with a remote until the screen flickered to life and a new voice filled the room. One I
recognized from news reports and citywide video streams.
“A century ago, the human race teetered on the edge of extinction,” Councilor Pena narrated alongside striking imagery—barren riverbeds once overflowing with life and forests rendered skeletal
by endless wildfires.
“As natural disasters wiped out food sources, the government implemented strict measures for rationing to keep citizens alive
and fed and implemented martial law to maintain order. But protesters accused the government of hoarding resources for itself.
The government tried to appease them, but they only demanded more, even though what they demanded did not exist. When the
government did not, could not, meet their demands, terrorists launched an attack. And then another. And then the attacks grew in size and ferocity, and the
government was driven to retaliate with nuclear warfare. Most of the country perished in the destruction that followed.” The screen showed deserted towns and cities reduced to rubble.
“As the remaining population of the United States emerged from the aftermath of the war, our Founders gathered with like-minded
survivors of all backgrounds to create Dividium. The sanctuary city we now call home.”
All citizens knew this history. It was taught in our schools and ingrained in us from a young age.