Blood Donor

  Copyright © Karen Bass 2021

  Published in Canada and the United States in 2021 by Orca Book Publishers.

  orcabook.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Title: Blood donor / Karen Bass.

  Names: Bass, Karen, 1962- author.

  Series: Orca soundings.

  Description: Series statement: Orca soundings

  Identifiers: Canadiana (print) 20210094443 | Canadiana (ebook) 20210095245 |

  ISBN 9781459826854 (softcover) | ISBN 9781459826861 (PDF) |

  ISBN 9781459826878 (EPUB)

  Classification: LCC PS8603.A795 B56 2021 | DDC jC813/.6—dc23

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2020951444

  Summary: In this high-interest accessible novel for teen readers, at-risk teenagers are being kidnapped and forced to donate their blood.

  Orca Book Publishers is committed to reducing the consumption of nonrenewable resources in the making of our books. We make every effort to use materials that support a sustainable future.

  Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada, the Canada Council for the Arts and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.

  Edited by Tanya Trafford

  Design by Ella Collier

  Cover photography by Getty Images/Donald Iain Smith (front) and

  Shutterstock.com/Krasovski Dmitri (back)

  Printed and bound in Canada.

  24 23 22 21 • 1 2 3 4

  Orca Book Publishers is proud of the hard work our authors do and of the important stories they create. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it or did not check it out from a library provider, then the author has not received royalties for this book. The ebook you are reading is licensed for single use only and may not be copied, printed, resold or given away. If you are interested in using this book in a classroom setting, we have digital subscriptions with multi user, simultaneous access to our books, or classroom licenses available for purchase. For more information, please contact digital@orcabook.com.

  ivaluecanadianstories.ca

  To the ones who never give up.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Time’s almost up. Run faster.

  I pumped my legs. My shoes hammered the sidewalk.

  Dad’s curfew ticked closer.

  Almost there.

  I zeroed in on the white porch halfway down the street. My house. The outside light was still on. Hope gave me a last burst of energy. I raced in and out of shadows.

  The porch light turned off. I cried out. Stumbled. Bent over for several seconds. Squeezed my waist as I sucked in air. My side aching, I walked the last fifty steps. Clumped up the steps, energy gone.

  The bay-window blinds twitched.

  I called, “Mom, please let me in. I’m only one minute late.”

  No answer.

  “It wasn’t my fault.” I pressed my hand on the door. “I was at Emily’s. Studying like I said. But the bus was behind an accident. I couldn’t get home any faster.”

  Still no answer. I was sure I heard shuffling on the rug by the door. Mom was listening. “Please, Mom. Dad will never know.”

  The door cracked open. The chain lock was in place. Mom’s fingers curled around the edge of the door. She whispered, “He came home from work feeling awful. He said ten forty-five sharp. I’m sorry, Joanne.”

  Shit. Everyone called me Joey or Jo. If Mom was using my full name, I was in big trouble. “But—”

  “He’s sick and angry. He said if you’re late, he’d better not see you before he goes back to work.” Mom took a shaky breath. “You’ll have to stay away. I’ll text you when he’s feeling better.”

  The door closed.

  I stood there, gut twisting. I’d only been late once before. Dad had made me sit outside until midnight, but then he’d let me in. With a scowl so deep I’d thought he was going to hit me. He never had, but there were times when the threat heated the air in the house.

  I was good at moving like a whisper, barely stirring the air. But once in a while, I couldn’t resist getting loud. Making him explode in a rage. When I gave in to that urge, Mom paid the price. Also unfair. Was that why she hadn’t shown her face? Had he hit her again?

  My fault, even when I didn’t mean for it to happen. I sat on the top step, fighting tears. What could I do? Crawl under the porch through the opening at the far end? I shuddered. I’d hidden in small spaces when I was little. I used to feel safe in them. Then Dad had locked me in a closet when I was eight. For hours. Now small spaces creeped me out.

  A voice boomed from the upstairs window. “If you can’t respect my rules, get the hell off my property.”

  I raced to the tree out front where it threw a deep shadow. I couldn’t go back to Emily’s. There was no room in their tiny house. As for anyone else I could think of, they were only school friends. I couldn’t ask for such a big favor. Stay for a few nights or a week? Not a chance.

  And what about food? How much money did I even have in the bank? I checked my phone. Dad had turned off the modem. No Wi-Fi. Of course, he’d never let me get a data plan. I’d have to walk the four blocks to the strip mall by the bus stop. Check my balance at an ATM.

  As I shuffled away, I had the weirdest feeling. As if the connection to Dad was stretching like an old elastic. It grew thinner, and I got more pissed off, with each step. At the corner I faced the house. The elastic snapped. A rush of anger heated my body. What gave him the right to treat me like this? My voice stayed calm and low as I said, “Screw you, Dad. I’ll be eighteen in eighty-seven days. Then you’ll never see me again.”

  I marched away. To hell with him. I’d get a part-time job, rent a room. Finish school on my terms.

  At the strip mall I checked my balance at the ATM. Four dollars and eighty-five cents. I hit the machine. That had to be wrong. I’d put a wad of babysitting money into the account two weeks ago. All I’d done since was buy a few lunches with Emily.

  My neck hairs quivered. Was I being watched? The harsh streetlights at the front of the mall felt like X-rays. Exposing me. My insides tightened and twisted. Where could I go?

  The school.

  A brisk twenty-minute hike got me there. Behind the two-story brick building, I curled into a space where the bleachers and a grassy slope met. It was a bit of shelter.

  The walk had cooled my anger. I drifted off.

  Dad chased me through weird dreams, snarling and swinging a giant watch at me…

  Bang! Clang! I jumped to my feet with a yell.

  Chapter Two

  Heart crashing in my chest, I backed away from a shadowy figure above me. “What do you want? Leave me alone!”

  Then the lid flew off a garbage can and clunked against the bleachers. The shadow paused to look at me. I half gasped, half laughed. A raccoon. I sat on the lowest bench and hugged my backpack
to my chest. So tired. Shivers ran down my arms. I was falling apart.

  My life was mostly about control. Always be quiet and always obey. Tiptoe around the house because Dad is tired. Or Dad needs to work. Or Dad is watching the news. Be careful, be careful, be careful. I usually got by. But now everything was messed up because Dad had gotten sick at work. Had come home early.

  The garbage can crashed to the ground. I flinched, then started to giggle. The garbage can rolled as the raccoon dug through its contents. I started laughing. Couldn’t help myself. My tiredness was making me giddy. I couldn’t stop.

  Suddenly a bright light flashed over the can, over me—then whipped back to lock on my face. “Hey,” a deep male voice boomed. “You can’t be here, kid.”

  My body clenched. The voice sounded a lot like Dad’s. I could barely make out the tan coat of the school’s security guard in the near darkness. “I’m not—”

  “Leave or I’ll call the cops.”

  Definitely like Dad. I stood. “Okay, okay.”

  “What are you doing out here at this time of night anyway?”

  I kicked the garbage can. “Raccoon hunting.”

  The masked garbage thief poked its head out of the can. The rent-a-cop startled. I walked away. As soon as I was out of the flashlight’s beam, I ran toward a cluster of stores a block away.

  I paused by a bus shelter with glass walls. Went inside. Dropped onto a plastic seat and leaned against the wall. The glass felt cold and hard. The shelter smelled like greasy hamburgers. A few blocks away a car alarm started whooping. Even that couldn’t keep me from sliding into sleep.

  Something shining into my face woke me up. I tried to ignore the curling fear in my stomach and held my hand in front of my face. Anything to stop the pain of the bright light piercing my brain. “What the hell?” I squinted to see past the glare.

  The outline of a person grew as someone walked forward. Had the security guard followed me? I pressed myself into the corner. Only one exit. What had I been thinking? Fear was cracking me open. I clutched my backpack in front of me like a shield. “Who are you? Get away or I’ll scream.”

  “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.” A woman’s voice. “I’m here to help if you need it.”

  “No. Go away.” I shook my head.

  The person held out something small.

  A business card.

  I stared at it for half a minute. Snatched it. Turned so I could read the card in the headlights but still keep an eye on the woman. She was middle-aged, dressed in jeans and a dark jacket.

  The card read:

  S-Y-N

  Street Youth Network

  Shelter | Work | School

  “What is this?” I flicked the card back at her. It floated to the ground.

  “Just what it says. We look for street-involved teens and offer them shelter. We help them find work or go to school. Whatever they need to get back on their feet.”

  “I’m not homeless.”

  The woman was silent for a long moment. “You were sleeping in a bus shelter.”

  “That’s just—” I bit off the word temporary. I realized that this network place might be the answer until Dad cooled off. Somewhere to stay for a few days. I could go to school as if everything was fine. No looks of sympathy from the teachers. No sneers from students.

  I crouched and picked up the business card. “Maybe I could use a bit of help. For a few days. I don’t have to have a social worker, do I?”

  “ No. We’re a private foundation. No social workers.”

  “Just for a few days.”

  Another pause. “If that’s all you need.”

  “It is.”

  “I’m Mandy.”

  I nodded but didn’t offer my name.

  “Shall we go?” Mandy asked. “You must want to get some sleep in a decent bed.”

  Still clutching my bag, I walked slowly to the car. A guy with dark hair sat in the driver’s seat. He stared straight ahead. Mandy held open the back door. I climbed in. The car smelled of flowers. An air freshener maybe.

  Mandy closed the door with a thud. I flinched.

  Mandy settled in the front. She twisted around and smiled at me. A nice smile. “Just relax. It’s only a few blocks.”

  The way she said relax made me nervous. “I…I’ve changed my mind. I’ll be okay.” I reached for the door handle.

  The locks clicked. I pulled, but the door wouldn’t open. “What’s going on?” I shoulder-checked the door. Then a whirring sound made me notice a glass wall rising between the front seat and the back seat.

  “Wha—” I broke off and sniffed. A weird smell floated through the air. The inside of my nose tingled. Were they drugging me? Panic slammed through me. I yanked the door handle again. Pounded on the raised glass. “Hey! What are you doing? You can’t, can…” I grabbed my phone. Opened Messages. My mouth was so dry. My breath rasped.

  Wooziness made me fall against the seat. “Mom,” I whispered. “Help.” My eyes wouldn’t stay open. I started to text. Tick, tick, tick. My fingers fumbled. Tires hummed. I wheezed in air.

  Then…nothing.

  Chapter Three

  Girls’ voices. Laughter. Swearing.

  It took me a minute to open my eyes. They were dry, glued shut. So heavy. White ceiling. Black lines. Everything blurry.

  My stomach lurched. I groaned.

  Someone said, “She’s waking up. Get ready.”

  My stomach cramped. I rolled over. Hands held a pail. I spewed into it. Again and again. After my stomach was empty, it kept clenching so hard that I gasped. Squeezed my eyes shut. Wished to be somewhere else. But where was this?

  “You’ll feel better soon,” a voice said.

  “Ha. In two or three hours maybe,” another voice said.

  I pulled the thin pillow over my head. When darkness returned, I welcomed it. Maybe I’d wake to find this was all a dream.

  The smell of pizza woke me up. My stomach growled loudly. That was a surprise since I remembered barfing, and barfing usually turned me off food. I felt like I hadn’t eaten for days.

  Someone had dropped me into a sleeping bag. I pushed it back and sat up.

  I was on a cot in a space the size of a small classroom. One window near the ceiling let in some light. The glass was frosted, and a mesh screen blocked off the deep window well. So in a basement.

  There were five other cots. Four had sleeping bags and pillows. The room had no door, just an opening to another room. That’s where the smell of pizza was coming from.

  I swung my feet to the floor. Still wearing my running shoes and coat. My backpack was gone—and my phone! Those creeps had taken my phone. I couldn’t even tell what time it was.

  This felt like a dream. The white brick walls and black pipes running along the ceiling gave the room a weird, unreal feeling. Not like any basement I’d ever seen. Given the weirdness, I was impressed with how calm I felt.

  My stomach growled again.

  I stood slowly. My head was spinning. I waited for it to stop, then walked to the opening between rooms. Another wave of dizziness hit, and I leaned against the wall to let it pass.

  This area was also white brick. It was bigger than the bedroom, and the outside wall was curved. Four windows set high in a thick wall let in dim light. Four girls sat at one end of a heavy wooden table that looked a hundred years old. They ate their pizza in silence.

  There was a TV area in the far corner, with two big sofas. The pizza smell drew me to the table. I swung my legs over the closest bench and sat beside a redheaded girl in jeans and a baggy green sweatshirt. She slid a pizza box toward me.

  I gobbled two slices of pepperoni and mushroom, then got a piece of barbecued chicken. I opened a chocolate milk. Stopped when I realized everyone was watching me.

  “Hey,” I said. “What’s with the milk? Chocolate and pizza is a weird combo.”

  Redhead shrugged, making her messy ponytail bounce. “We drink what they deliver to us. Today it
’s milk.”

  “Weird.” I took a sip. At least it was still fairly cold, the only way I liked milk. “So how did I get here?”

  “Guards carried you in,” Redhead replied. The girl on the other side of Redhead leaned forward and nodded. Her cheeks flushed and showed off a white scar in the shape of the letter Y.

  “Guards? So this isn’t a charity place for homeless teens?”

  “Sin,” said the small shadow of a girl across from me.

  I squinted at her. She looked like she had a deep summer tan. Her black spiky hair looked like it was growing out from being shaved. “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “S-Y-N,” she spelled out. “They gave you that business card, right?”

  “Yeah. Street Youth Network, they said.”

  The girl nodded. Her eyes locked on my face. “I thought they must be legit, because who gives business cards to kids they’re going to kidnap?”

  I spat milk back into the carton. Looked to the other girls to correct her. All three just stared back without blinking.

  “Kidnap?” I jumped up and ran to the door in the back wall. Yanked it open and charged into a hallway. My heart crashed against my ribs.

  I tried to calm down by noticing details. The hall was rather castle-like. The walls here were made of large stone. The ceiling was white brick. Every eight or ten feet there was an arch that was plastered white. Each arch had a single light bulb at its highest point. Black tubes ran from light to light. Electric wires, I guessed.

  I ran to the door at the end of the hall. Jiggled the knob, but it was locked. Above the knob was a keyed lock, probably a deadbolt. There was no getting through. I spun and ran the other way.

  The doorway was now crowded with four girls. Just past it was a short hallway to the right that opened to a bathroom. Four stalls along the left wall, two with toilets and the far two with showers. On the right was a counter with two sinks. No windows.

  Panic bubbled higher. “What’s going on?” I spoke to the empty room.

  Behind the toilets came the sound of water running. “What’s that?” I stepped back and bumped into the redhead.