Fugitive X by Gregg Rosenblum Read Free Book Online

and beyond that, a pen with sheep and cows. There was a central quad, with a fire pit that looked well used. Kevin wondered if they had Council gatherings and kidbons. Looming above everything in the distance, in all four directions, was the wall. Kevin noticed that to the south a large section of the wall, maybe fifty feet of it, was missing.
    People stared openly at him as he walked past. There was something odd about them, and it took Kevin a moment to realize what it was. Everyone seemed busy and serious, even the kids. Back at home, in his Freepost, folks stayed busy, certainly, but if you walked through the settlement you’d see some people smiling, laughing, taking a few minutes to trade gossip. Not here. It was just as populated as his Freepost, maybe more—but there were no smiles, and the Islanders all walked fast, concerned only with getting from point A to point B.
    But of course the real glaring difference between his Freepost and the Island were the bots. He saw three on his short walk, all with the odd leather-patched skin. Two were carrying bundles of wood that looked impossibly heavy for their slender frames. A third was walking to the vegetable field. It was empty-handed, but three girls followed behind it, each carrying large baskets. They didn’t seem fazed by walking next to a bot.
    Grennel led him into a small one-room building lined with five bunk beds on each wall, with a narrow aisle in the middle. Three boys were sitting on one of the bunks, hunched over a spread-out deck of cards and a pair of dice. They stood when Grennel and Kevin walked in, and stared openly at Kevin.
    “Your new home,” said Grennel. Kevin bit back an angry reply. This was not home. This was another prison that he had to escape from, just like the City. His home was the charred remains of his Freepost, somewhere out to the west.
    Grennel nodded at the other boys. “You have a new bunk-mate,” he said. “Get him up to speed with the basics. Take him to the Wall gap on your next work shift.” Grennel patted Kevin on the shoulder and walked out.
    One of the boys stepped forward. He was probably a few years older than Kevin, and big, with a thick neck and broad shoulders. His hair was a wild mess of black curls. He had a small scar on his cheek, just below his right eye. “Otter,” he said.
    “Um, excuse me?” said Kevin.
    “Otter,” the boy repeated. “That’s my name.”
    “Oh. Kevin. I’m Kevin.” He nodded at Otter, then at the other two boys, who said nothing. One was as tall as Otter but skinnier, and the other was smaller than Kevin with a long scar on the side of his face.
    “Kevin,” said Otter. He pointed at a bunk on the far wall. “That’s my bunk. Stay away from it.”
    Kevin shrugged, pretending not to care, although his fingers were tingling from nerves. “No problem,” he said.
    Otter pointed at another bunk. “That’s my bunk too,” he said with an edge of warning in his voice. The two boys behind Otter chuckled.
    Kevin nodded. “Okay,” he said. He was still trying to seem calm and casual, even though his heart was pounding. You couldn’t let a bully see you were scared.
    “And that one,” said Otter, pointing to another. “And that one too.”
    “Fine,” said Kevin. “Just tell me which ones aren’t yours.”
    “They’re all mine, except for Pil’s”—he pointed at the young boy— “and Cort’s.” He pointed at the tall, skinny boy.
    Kevin stared at Otter, who was grinning at him mockingly, and he thought about everything he had been through these past few weeks, how he had failed to save his parents and how he was now worse off than ever, trapped on this Island, whatever the hell it was. And to top it off, he was going to get bullied by some scavenger who wanted eight bunk beds all to himself? Suddenly he felt no fear, just anger.
    “Go rust yourself, Otter,” he said.
    Kevin barely saw the punch coming. It was a quick, sharp right jab, nailing him under his right