Free The Conviction by Robert Dugoni Page B

continuing to pitch and bounce up the mountain. Jake estimated the ride to have been forty-five minutes, maybe an hour, when Bradley came to a complete stop to make a hard left and the bus left the asphalt for dirt. The new road wasn’t nearly as steep, but the tires kicked up a cloud of reddishorange dust that penetrated the grates and left a fine layer of soot on the windows.
    Jake had fought to stay awake and to pay attention to the drive in case he needed to tell David where they’d been taken, but as uncomfortable as the ride had been, the suffocating heat made it near impossible to keep his eyes open. Perspiration dripped down his face and neck and beaded on his forearms until the droplets trickled off his skin. When he sat forward he felt his shirt peel away from the vinyl seat. The stale air held the bitter odor of perspiring bodies that had ridden the bus before them and was as thick as a sauna. Two seats in front of him, T.J.’s head pitched and rolled about his shoulders. Aaron had his head back, asleep. Atkins, however, sat ramrod straight in his front seat, like a mannequin anchored in place, impervious to the conditions.
    After what Jake estimated to be another ten minutes on the dirt road, the bus came to a complete stop. Through the dust-covered windows and diamond-shaped holes in the grate Jake read a bronze plaque mounted to a large boulder.
    FRESH START
YOUTH TRAINING FACILITY
2009
    A ten-foot-high chain-link fence rose above the boulder and extended as far as Jake could see down the road, barbed wire spiraling across the top. Behind it, in the distance, Jake saw a rectangular patch of dirt about the size of a football field and the metal roofs of buildings glinting in the sun. Bradley had the side window open, in conversation with a guard in a booth. After a moment the gate opened, Bradley ground the gearshift, and the bus lurched forward. The buildings became more distinct—squat, one-story cement block structures with green corrugated tin roofs along the southern perimeter of the dirt field. Some of the buildings were larger than others, likely to hold group activities. Jake had spent two weeks at a soccer camp in Washington State at what had been a former military base. The open field and barracks had been similarlysituated, though the field had been green grass, and no fence caged them in. To the east he noted basketball hoops that looked reasonably new, chain nets hanging from orange rims, and in the northeast corner sat a series of wooden walls, cargo nets and poles he quickly deduced to be an obstacle course of some kind. He’d been expecting the worst but now didn’t think the camp would be so bad, at least not so bad he couldn’t handle it until David got them out.
    When the bus came to a stop Atkins walked down the aisle, unlocking their chains and removing their handcuffs, issuing instructions. “When the doors open you will exit the bus single file. You will not speak. You will proceed to the front of the bus and await further orders.”
    Jake rubbed where the handcuffs had cut into his skin and flexed his wrists to encourage the flow of blood to his fingers. When he stood his legs felt weak. T.J. stumbled ahead of him. Stepping from the bus Jake lifted a hand to deflect the harsh glare of the sun. He did not see anyone else in the camp.
    “Eyes front.” Atkins stood with his hands behind his back, as if considering Jake and T.J. for the first time. Officer Bradley had disappeared inside the nearest building, taking Aaron with him.
    “Inside this gated facility you have no rights. You have forfeited your rights. The Constitution does not apply here. Every right, every privilege must be earned. You will adhere to a strict schedule. You will wake when you are told to wake, eat when you are told to eat, go to school when you are directed, exercise when you are told to exercise, and piss, shit, and shave when told to piss, shit, and shave. Am I making myself clear?”
    Jake and T.J.