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51 Camp
On the existence of a soul, whether unwound or unborn, people are likely to debate for hours on end, but no one questions whether an unwinding facility has a soul. It does not. Perhaps that's why those who build these massive medical factories try so hard to make them kid-conscious and user-friendly, in a number of ways.
First of all, they are no longer called unwinding facilities, as they were when they were first conceived. They are now called harvest camps.
Secondly, every single one of them is located in a spectacularly scenic location, perhaps to remind its guests of the big picture, and the reassuring majesty of a larger plan.
Third, the grounds are as well maintained as a resort, filled with bright pastel colors and as little red as possible, since red is psychologically associated with anger, aggression, and, not coincidentally, blood.
Happy Jack Harvest Camp, in beautiful Happy Jack, Arizona, is the perfect model of what a harvest camp should be. Nestled on a pine-covered ridge in northern Arizona, the sedating forest views give way to the breathtaking red mountains of Sedona to the west. No doubt it was the view that made happy men of the twentieth century lumberjacks who founded the town. Hence the name.
The boys' dormitory is painted light blue, with green accents. The girls' is lavender, with pink. The staff have uniforms that consist of comfortable shorts and Hawaiian shirts, except for the surgeons in the medical unit. Their scrubs are sunshine yellow.
There's a barbed-wire fence, but it's hidden behind a towering hibiscus hedge—and although the Unwinds in residence see the crowded buses arriving at the front gate each day, they are spared the sight of departing trucks. Those leave the back way.
The average stay for an Unwind is three weeks, although it varies depending on blood type and supply and demand. Much like life in the outside world, no one knows when it's their time.
Occasionally, in spite of the professional and positive attitude of the staff, outbursts do occur. This week's rebellion is in the form of graffiti on the side of the medical clinic that reads, YOU'RE NOT FOOLING ANYONE.
* * *
On the fourth of February, three kids arrive by police escort. Two are brought unceremoniously into the welcome center, just like any other arriving Unwinds. The third is singled out to take the longer route that passes by the dormitories, the sports fields, and all the various places where Unwinds are gathered.
Hobbled by leg shackles, constricted by handcuffs, Connor's strides are short, his posture hunched. Armed Juvey-cops are on either side, in front of and behind him.
All things at Happy Jack are serene and gracious—but this moment is the exception to the rule. Once in a while, a particularly troublesome Unwind is singled out and publicly humbled for all to see before being set loose into the general population. Invariably, that Unwind will try to rebel and, invariably, that Unwind will be taken to the clinic and unwound within just a few days of his or her arrival.
It stands as an unspoken warning to every Unwind there. You will get with the program, or your stay here will be very, very short. The lesson is always learned.
;How does it feel to do what you do?" she asks him. "Sending kids to a place that ends their lives."
Obviously he's heard all this before. "How does it feel to live a life no one else feels is worth living?"
It's a harsh blow designed to get her to shut up. It works.
"I feel her life is worth living," says Connor, and he takes her hand. "Anyone feel that way about you?"
It gets to the man—although he tries not to show it. "You both had more than fifteen years to prove yourselves, and you didn't. Don't blame the world for your own lousy choices."
Risa can sense Connor's rage, and she squeezes his hand until she hears him take a deep breath and release it, keeping his anger under control.
"Doesn't it ever occur to you Unwinds that you might be better off—happier even—in a divided state?"
"Is that how you rationalize it?" says Risa, "Making yourself believe we'll be happier?"
"Hey, if that's the case," says Connor, "maybe everyone should get unwound. Why don't you go first?"
The cop glares at Connor, then takes a quick glance down at his socks, Connor snickers.
Risa closes her eyes for a moment, trying to see some ray of light in this situation, but she can't. She had known getting caught was a possibility when they came here. She knew that being out in the world was a risk. What surprised her was how quickly the Juvey-cops had descended on them. Even with their unorthodox entrance, they should have had enough time to slip away in the confusion. Whether the Admiral lives or dies, it won't change things for her or for Connor now. They are going to be unwound. All her hopes of a future have been torn away from her again—and having those hopes, even briefly, makes this far more painful than not having had them at all.
49 Roland
The Juvey-cop questioning Roland has eyes that don't exactly match, and a sour smell, like his deodorant soap hadn't quite worked. Like his partner in the other room, the man is not easily impressed, and Roland, unlike Connor, doesn't have the wits to rattle him. That's all right, though, because rattling him is not what Roland has in mind.
Roland's plan began to take shape shortly after Connor released him from the crate. He could have torn Connor limb from limb at the time, but Connor had three kids equal in size and strength to Roland to back him up. They were kids who should have been on Roland's side. Should have been. It was his first indication that everything had drastically changed.
Connor told him about the riot, and about Cleaver. He offered a lame apology for accusing him of killing the Goldens—an apology that Roland refused to accept. Had Roland been at the riot, it would have been organized and successful. If he had been there, it would have been a revolt, not a riot. By locking Roland away, Connor had robbed him of the chance to lead.
