The Cage(17)
She leaned into the pillow of his jacket, soaking up the smell of him lingering in the seams. “I think Nok’s tougher than she seems. She acts meek, but . . .” She paused. She’d caught Nok in a lie about her living situation in London, but Nok hadn’t struck Cora as dangerous or malicious. Just scared. And Cora wasn’t one to judge—she was keeping secrets of her own. “Anyway, I like her. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a girl friend.” She ran her finger over her chapped lips, regretting saying anything. “Please don’t ask why.”
“I don’t care why.”
She smiled. “You’re good at this, you know. Keeping everyone calm. You’ll be a good leader, in the army.”
“Leader?” He snorted. “All the army teaches you is how to follow.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “You want to know how I really get the others to listen?”
“Besides punching Leon in the face?”
He smiled, ignoring the comment. “Chickens.”
“Chickens?”
He nodded solemnly. “My granddad bought a chicken farm after the war. Preferred their company to humans. They’re not so different from people. You’d be surprised.”
“You’re serious?”
He smiled in a self-conscious way that formed the hint of a dimple in his left cheek. “When laying hens get flustered by a dog or a hawk, you have to reassure them or they won’t produce. You put gentle pressure on their wings. Makes them feel safe. Not many people know this, but chickens are smart. They respond to a hierarchy. That’s where the whole idea of pecking order comes from.” His smile faded. “Whenever my granddad introduces new chickens to the flock, he plays them music. The same song over and over. It lulls them into complacency.”
Cora pulled his leather jacket tighter around her shoulders uneasily. “You think whoever put us here is doing the same thing, with that jukebox?”
He paused. “Maybe. Nothing really makes sense. I mean, why the five of us? Six, if you count that dead girl. Were we just in the wrong place at the wrong time? I don’t know why they’d want me. I’m just a part-time mechanic who’s failed more classes than he’s passed.”
He leaned his head back, so his hair fell away and showed that dimple. Her first night in Bay Pines, she’d been so scared and alone. She’d cried into her pillow so her roommate wouldn’t hear. Now, the same sting pushed behind her eyes. She wiped away the start of tears.
He was quiet for a moment, then reached out an arm. “Come here.”
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I’m going to chicken you.”
Cora’s surprise melted as he pulled her into a hug, like he would a frightened bird. She started laughing and crying, either or both or somewhere in between, but she felt less alone. Friendships were important; that was something she’d learned at Bay Pines. The dimple didn’t hurt, either.
CORA WAS GROGGY WITH half sleep when hazy morning light spilled through the open doorway. If she’d slept at all, it had only been fits and starts. No dreams of angels. Only nightmares.
She rubbed her eyes and found Lucky snoring against the doorframe.
They were very smart, their captors. Very clever. They hadn’t gotten all the details right, but at first glance through the doorway, she could almost be fooled. The light was soft and pink, like a sunrise. The gentle sound of ocean waves echoed from the beach. The town would be convincing, if they hadn’t thrown such disparate types of architecture together in an attempt to condense the world’s thousands of cultures into a single town square.
The sound of jukebox music drifted toward her, and Lucky jerked awake, muscles tense until he saw they were safe.
Leon came down the stairs, disheveled, and stared through the front door. “Bloody hell,” he muttered. “I’d hoped it was a bad dream.”
Nok came down behind him. She’d transformed her drab black dress into an outfit worthy of the runway. She’d ripped the hem to shorten it, cinched it with one of Leon’s ties—he certainly wasn’t using them—and thrown on a band T-shirt identical to the one Cora wore.
Nok rested a hand on her hip, striking a pose without even meaning to. “You don’t mind me wearing one of your shirts, do you? There are duplicates of everything in the dressers upstairs. As if anyone would need ten of this awful dress. And if we’re going to be rescued today, I might as well look good.”