Read Online The Forsaken by Lisa M. Stasse - Free Book Online Page A

which is different from a lot of the kids back in New Providence. The boy sticks out his hand, and I shake it firmly.
    “My name’s Assassin Elite,” he says with a straight face.
    I take my hand back quickly. “That’s a pretty messed-up name.”
    Gadya rolls her eyes. “A lot of kids make up new names here. Island names. Especially the boys.”
    “Yeah, we’re not all born with awesome names like Ga-dee-ya,” he drawls sarcastically. “And we don’t all dye our hair blue with berries.”
    “Shut up, or I’ll tell her your real name—so she can make fun of you like everyone else does,” Gadya snaps. Other kids laugh in the background as the boy glowers. To me, Gadya adds, “He’s showing off. Probably means he likes you.”
    A few other kids step out and introduce themselves, including a heavyset blonde. “I’m Edie,” she says with a distinctive Canadian lilt. “How long have you been on the wheel, eh?”
    “Long enough to know that it sucks.”
    “A day? A week?” She sounds suspicious.
    “More like hours,” I reply.
    I want to ask these kids some questions, but Gadya keeps moving, like she’s enjoying her role as tour guide. She swans past the group with me in tow, saying, “See you at chow time, guys.”
    We walk down a narrow trail nearly overrun by brambles. I notice we’re moving farther from the central clearing and the shacks.
    Along the way, we meet a few other boys and girls. All of them wear the same guarded look in their eyes. I can tell they’re curious about me, but they’re not about to open up to a complete stranger. I wonder how frequently they get a new arrival here. It can’t be too often, or they wouldn’t be interested in me.
    Gadya gestures to some horizontal slats of wood, just off the trail, with circular holes cut into them. “Our toilets. We use dried leaves for paper.”
    “And I thought the orphanage was bad,” I mutter.
    Gadya laughs. “A lot of kids here are orphans.”
    So much for Claudette’s theory . “Are you an orphan?”
    She shakes her head. “I wish. Both my parents are really conservative pro–UNA types. Or at least they were before I got sent here. Who knows if that changed their minds.”
    As Gadya and I keep walking, she points out other sections of the village—an area of flattened tree branches where food is being prepared, an enclave of woven hammocks where people rest between trees, and a shallow tributary from which the villagers draw their drinking water.
    It’s only near the end of the tour that Gadya pauses. “Now that you’re gonna be living here, I want to show you something else. But I really don’t want to scare you.”
    “I’m getting used to feeling scared.”
    Gadya glances around, making sure no one’s watching. “We gotta be quick. I’m not supposed to show you this yet.” She points down a narrow, muddy trail that leads even farther away from the main camp. “Follow me.”
    Together we walk rapidly down the trail. “Where are we going?” I whisper.
    “To see the Ones Who Suffer.”
    “Who?”
    “ Shhh. No talking. I don’t want to get in trouble.”
    A few minutes later, we turn a bend in the trail. A separate clearing looms fifty feet in front of us, at the end of the path.
    But there are no cabins or fire pits here. Only writhing bodies sprawled in hammocks and lying on stained blankets. I hear moans and wracking coughs. A sickly odor reaches me, dancing on a gust of wind. It’s the stench of putrescence. These kids are dying.
    I stop moving, instantly terrified. “What’s wrong with them?”
    “We don’t know. No one does. It’s not contagious, at least.”
    “You sure about that?”
    “Not a hundred percent. But the disease acts more like food poisoning than a virus. At least that’s what we think. For some reason, it usually only affects kids who’ve been here for a while.”
    I see healthy boys and girls moving among the sick ones, tending to them, wiping sweat from their faces. Getting