What's with the fences and the barbed wire?

I've been so busy paying close attention to the men and women on the old school bus.

I didn't realize we were pulling up to the camp.

But Bray's question causes me to turn back around,

facing forward in my seat so I can look

out the windshield.

Well, I say, looking at the tall barbed wire-topped fence and this similar gate we're approaching.

Well, this is a rehabilitation trip. You're still technically wards of the state, so to speak. Your freedom isn't guaranteed

unless you make satisfactory progress in the program. The armed prison guards on the bus with us

should be a constant reminder to the 12 prisoners, but apparently not. Maybe it was a mistake

giving them street clothes.

Maybe we should have kept them in their orange jumpsuits.

Most of the dozen inmates are too busy marveling at the forest we're driving through to pay much attention to what I'm saying.

But Bray and a couple of others are genuinely interested.

For most of them, this is the only time they've been outside the walls

of her prison in years. So essentially we're swapping one prison for another, Ray says. His pale,

angular face going hard as granite, while his colorless eyes fix on me. No, not at all. Have you ever been in a prison where there are cabins instead of cells?

Trees instead of bars?

Fun activities instead of a 22-hour lockdown?

But we can't leave.

Just shut the fuck up, Bray.

Rouse snaps without shifting his gaze from the window.

...