Alone Read Free Page A

view of the room. When I do, I blink. It’s a bathroom, or at least that’s what it was. Now, a metal cot has been shoved into the small space.
    What the hell is this?
    I turn back to face the Regulator, and his dark gaze holds mine, sending a shiver shooting through me. Why does this once-upon-a-time bathroom make me so nervous?
    “This is the room,” the Mr. Smith says.
    That clears it up . My eyes twitch with the desire to roll.
    I wait for my father to ask questions but he doesn’t, and my own voice is muffled by the questions bouncing around inside my head. The seconds tick by, and the shiver that had moved through me settles in my stomach.
    “If you choose to leave the safety of our fence,” the Regulator finally says, “you go out at your own risk. We can’t stop you. Just know that if you get bitten and choose to return to Coastal Manor, this is where you will be placed until we can determine how the virus will affect you. We abide by the guidelines Atlanta has put in place, but I will not take risks.” His eyes grow harder and his eyebrows pull down, making him look even more sinister than before.
    My stomach buzzes uncomfortably, but even under the intensity of the Regulator’s cold stare, I find myself trying to figure him out. His appearance might be bland, but I have an odd sense that he has darkness inside him that is desperate to get out.
    My father nods, and Mr. Smith’s brown eyes burrow their way into my soul while he waits for me to do the same. I shrug, which must satisfy him, because he relaxes. The darkness fades and the mask returns, the Chemistry teacher coming with it.
    His lips turn up into an unimpressive smile. “Okay! Now that we have that out of the way, we can check out the rest of the building.”
    The men head toward the kitchen, but I back away. I’ve lost interest in the tour after seeing the Regulator’s little room of torture. Or whatever it is.
    I head back the way we came, not bothering to tell my dad where I’m going. He probably needs as much of a break from me as I do from him. We’ve been stuck in the car together—just the two of us—for more than nine hours. Long for anyone, but torturous for two people who don’t know how to communicate without fighting.
    I arrive back in the lobby to find Roz still sitting at the desk but no longer alone. A teenage boy, not much older than me, leans against the wall at her side. He has his arms crossed while Roz smiles up at him, making her even cuter than before. The bored girl who was sitting at the desk just a few minutes earlier has totally disappeared, and she actually lets out a giggle. The sound is lighter than air, which is such a stark contrast from her dark clothes that I feel like I’m watching a very bad play.
    Neither one looks my way, obviously too focused on each other to notice that they’re no longer alone. Cloaked in relative anonymity, I allow my gaze to rake over the guy. He’s wearing dark jeans—also ripped—and a black, short-sleeve shirt boasting the name of some band that was long ago turned into flesh-eating monsters. A couple tattoos peek out from under his sleeves, and thick, silver hoops hang from both ears. His medium brown hair is just a bit too long, constantly dropping across his eyes. As I watch, he flicks his head to the side to move it out of the way. Normally I’m not a fan of long hair, but the messy, unkempt look suits him. When he smiles, only the right corner of his mouth pulls up—which is totally adorable—and his brown eyes sparkle with so much mischief that it’s visible from all the way across the room.
    I can sum him up in two words: juvenile delinquent . It isn’t the dark clothes or the tattoos that give him away, but the expression in his eyes. I’ve known guys like this before. I’d be willing to bet money—or, more accurately, my government credits—that this guy had multiple problems with the law before all this. Maybe he even had a record. Not that it matters