The Watch (The Red Series Book 1) by Amanda Witt Read Free Book Online Page B

favor
and repaired a machine before working hours. “Have
you seen Meritt this morning?” I said.
    He shook his head. “Not since last night. He’s in
isolation.”
    That was a relief. It meant that Meritt had
made it safely back to the dorm, and isolation was small potatoes compared to
prison.
    I opened my mouth to ask mor e questions, but Farrell Dean frowned
warningly at me , jerking his head toward the other
men . He was almost nineteen, like Meritt , but more solidly built and not quite as tall, with
hazel eyes, a tan from working outside all summer, and a thick shock of short
gold-brown hair. His fingernails were always black under the edges because he
was a mechanic and no matter how much he scrubbed, he couldn’t get them
completely clean.
    As we jolted along he shifted, leaning hard on
the tailgate as if for balance, and in the process blocking me from the other
men’s view.
    “Inside pocket,” he muttered. “On your right.”
    Shielded by his body I reached into his jacket
and found the pocket, and was rewarded with a good handful of peeled walnuts. I
shoved a couple in my mouth and tucked the others into my own pocket, along
with Cynda’s comb, just managing not to fall off the
bumper in the process. Throughout the whole operation Farrell Dean kept one
hand on my left arm and the other braced on the tailgate, both in plain sight
of the other mechanics.
    “Thank you,” I managed, mouth full. We weren’t
supposed to give other people our food, and we weren’t supposed to carry food
out of the cafeteria.
    “You’re welcome. Wouldn’t want your tapeworm to
starve.”
    Either Farrell Dean had a slower metabolism than most
people, or he had a secret food supply, because he often slipped me bits and
pieces. It was one of the things I liked best about him.
    “Here’s your stop,” he said, letting go of my arm. “I’ll be at your field this
afternoon. One of the tractors has a bad ignition.”
    I dropped off the tailgate, stumbling but
managing not to fall, and waved to Farrell Dean as the truck moved away.
    This afternoon.
    Until then, I’d have to wonder what had happened to land Meritt in isolation.
    At least Meritt wasn’t in prison,
I thought, putting another lovely walnut in my
mouth; but the comfort in that thought was fleeting.
    Meritt wasn’t in prison; but Rafe was.

Chapter 6
    Under any other
circumstances, I’d have thoroughly enjoyed that autumn day in the strawberry
fields. In the agricultural fields the cameras were mounted high on poles, and
had no microphones. That alone was always enough to make me glad I was an
outdoor worker. And that day, outdoors was beautiful. T he
clouds had vanished and the sun, striking the wet dark furrows, raised up
dancing curtains of mist. The air, sweetened by the night’s rain, smelled fresh
and hopeful, and as the morning wore on the sky turned a brilliant blue, so
clear and cheerful I could almost believe winter would never come.
    But despite the beautiful morning, I couldn’t stop worrying. I found myself watching for the scarred warden’s
patrol car by mid-morning, and by the time the sun was almost overhead, I was a
nervous wreck.
    If I were just spreading straw like the rest of
the field workers, being a wreck wouldn’t have interfered particularly with my
work. But the previous fall, after Mark lost his hand in a combine accident—he
didn’t let go of a corn stalk fast enough, and the roller that husks the corn
grabbed his glove and yanked his hand in—they put me in charge, which
meant I had the unenviable task of taking orders from my supervising farmer and
trying to make the field workers carry them out. It was impossible, which was
why I got stuck with it. Everyone older had some sort of pull with a warden or
two, I supposed.
    So there I was, trying not to worry about Rafe or think about whatever lunch plans the scarred warden
had for me, while at the same time trying to get my field workers to do more
than lean on their rakes and