Chapter 55 "Transfer"
EMBER
The transport van smelled like stale sweat, industrial cleaner, and fear.
Ember sat on the hard metal bench, hands cuffed in front of her, ankles shackled with a chain that connected to a bolt on the floor. The shackles were heavier than the handcuffs thick, medieval-looking things that made walking difficult and sitting uncomfortable.
There were three other women in the van with her. One looked to be in her fifties, with grey hair and a face that suggested she'd been through this process before. Another was maybe Ember's age, with tattoos covering her arms and a hard expression that dared anyone to look at her too long. The third was younger eighteen at most with tear-stained cheeks and eyes that hadn't stopped leaking since they'd left the courthouse.
No one spoke.
The van lurched over a pothole, and Ember had to brace herself to keep from sliding off the bench. Through the small, reinforced window, she could see the landscape changing. They'd left Hollow Creek behind an hour ago, passing through small towns and stretches of farmland that looked grey and dead under the January sky.
The Baxter Correctional Facility for Women was three hours from Hollow Creek, tucked away in the middle of nowhere like something people wanted to forget existed.
Ember closed her eyes, trying to steady her breathing.
Ten years. She'd been sentenced to ten years in a place she'd never seen, surrounded by people she didn't know, for crimes she couldn't remember committing.
The rational part of her brain the part that still functioned despite the terror kept screaming that she'd made a mistake. That she should have fought. Should have taken her chances with a trial. Should have told someone, anyone, about what was really happening.
But the other part the exhausted, defeated part knew it wouldn't have mattered. How could you prove something that sounded insane? How could you convince a jury of something you barely understood yourself?
They'd have locked her in a psychiatric facility instead of a prison. Same cage, different label.
At least this way, she'd gotten a lighter sentence. Ten years instead of life. Parole possibility after seven.
If she survived that long.
"First time?"
Ember opened her eyes. The older woman was looking at her not unkindly, just assessing.
"Yes," Ember whispered.
The woman nodded slowly. "Thought so. You got that look. Like you still think this might be a bad dream you're gonna wake up from."
Ember didn't respond. What could she say?
"Name's Carol," the woman continued. "Embezzlement. Third strike. Twenty years." She said it matter-of-factly, like she was introducing herself at a networking event. "You?"
"Ember. Ten years."
"What'd they get you for?"
Ember's throat closed up. She couldn't say it. Couldn't voice it out loud.
"Murder," the tattooed girl answered for her, her voice flat. "Saw you on the news. Triple homicide. You're like, famous."
Ember felt all the eyes in the van turn to her. Even the crying girl stopped sniffling long enough to stare.
"Is it true?" Carol asked, her tone more careful now. "Three men?"
"I didn't" Ember started, then stopped. What was the point? She'd pleaded guilty. Stood in front of a judge and said the words. "It's complicated."
"It always is," Carol said, but she'd shifted slightly, putting more distance between herself and Ember.
The tattooed girl was still staring. "You don't look like a killer."
"Thanks, I guess."
"No, I mean it. You look like you'd cry if you stepped on an ant." The girl tilted her head, studying Ember with an intensity that made her uncomfortable. "What really happened?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
"Fair enough." The girl leaned back against the metal wall of the van. "I'm Jade, by the way. Assault with a deadly weapon. Five years. Would've been more, but the asshole I stabbed had it coming."
Ember didn't know what to say to that, so she said nothing.
The crying girl in the corner spoke for the first time, her voice small and broken. "I'm Mika. I hurt someone. I didn't mean to. I was driving and I wasn't paying attention and" Her voice dissolved into sobs again.
"Vehicular manslaughter," Carol supplied quietly. "Kid ran out into the street. Wrong place, wrong time."
The van went quiet after that. Four women, all heading to the same destination for different reasons. All of them would be locked away for years, paying for mistakes or crimes or moments of bad judgment.
Or, in Ember's case, for things she couldn't even remember.
The Baxter Correctional Facility appeared on the horizon like something out of a dystopian movie.
High concrete walls topped with coils of razor wire that glinted in the weak afternoon sun. Guard towers at each corner, dark windows watching everything. A single entrance with multiple security checkpoints visible even from a distance. The building itself was sprawling and grey, utterly devoid of any aesthetic consideration beyond pure function.
This was a place designed to hold people. Nothing more.
The sight of it made Ember's chest tighten until she could barely breathe.
The van slowed as they approached the first checkpoint a heavy gate that looked like it could stop a tank. A guard in a booth verified something with the driver, then the gate began to roll open with a mechanical grinding sound that set Ember's teeth on edge.
They passed through, and the gate closed behind them with a clang that felt like a death knell.
No turning back now.
"Jesus," Jade muttered under her breath. "This place looks like a fucking fortress."
"Language," one of the transport officers said from the front, but without much conviction.
They continued along a narrow road flanked by more fencing, more wire, more concrete barriers. Everything was designed to keep people in. To make escape not just difficult, but impossible.
The van pulled up to what looked like a loading dock. Several officers waited there, all wearing the dark blue uniforms of the state corrections department. Their faces were hard, professional, completely devoid of sympathy.
This was just another Tuesday for them. Another batch of inmates to process.
The engine cut off. The sudden silence was deafening.
"Alright, ladies," the driver called back. "When we open these doors, you're gonna exit one at a time. Don't trip on your chains. Don't cause problems. Just do what you're told and this'll go smooth."
The doors opened with a screech of metal. Cold air rushed in, making Ember shiver in her thin grey jumpsuit.
"First one. Let's go."
Carol stood, moving in the short, shuffling steps the ankle chains required. She disappeared out the door.
Then Jade.
Then Mika, still crying softly.
Then it was Ember's turn.
"Come on, Winters. Move."
Ember stood on shaky legs, her muscles stiff from sitting in one position for three hours. She shuffled toward the door, the chains making a sound like wind chimes made of knives.
The step down from the van was higher than she expected. For a terrifying moment, she thought she was going to fall, but a guard caught her elbow.
"Careful," he said gruffly. "Can't have you breaking an ankle on day one."
Ember's feet touched solid ground concrete, cold even through the thin canvas shoes they'd given her. She looked up and saw the facility looming above them, even more intimidating up close.
Windows like dead eyes. Walls that seemed to go up forever. The constant hum of generators or ventilation or something mechanical that sounded like the building itself was breathing.
"Line up against the wall," a female officer ordered. She was tall, Black, with her hair pulled back in a severe bun and an expression that suggested she'd seen everything and been impressed by none of it. Her name tag read "SGT. RIVERA."