F I F T E E N
I open my eyes to the sound of groaning metal. A steel door creaks open, light floods the room, and I realize I’ve fallen asleep. I jump to my feet, awake, alert, ready to fight.
I stand there and see that Flo is already on her feet, fists clenched, looking at our new guests. There, at the entrance, are dozens of slaverunners, wearing their face masks and each carrying a black uniform in their arms. They march into the room, and as they do, the dozens of kids slowly get to their feet in every direction. They all know what’s coming. The time has come.
A loud buzzer sounds, and whoever’s left sleeping gets to their feet. One slaverunner marches up to each kid, and several of them approach us. One marches right up to me, and shoves into my hands a black bundle of clothing. I
