Page 17 of Calico Descending

Prying my fingers from her arm, she shakes her head. “Baby, you think any of us belong here? It’s better than dying out there.” She jerks her head as if freedom is so close, just over my shoulder, when I know it isn’t. It’s beyond the walls and the guards, and if I make it past those, I’d have the Ragers to contend with.

“At least I have choices out there. And freedom.”

“If that’s what you think, you ain’t been on your own long enough.” With a pat to my arm, she smiles. “Five minutes, and you are free to go to the Commissary.”

“You said that five minutes ago.”

“Give it another five.”

Sickness churns in my stomach while I hold out a bowl, watching a too-frail girl, whose head is also shaved, ladle broth with some beans. It splashes over the edge, wetting the slice of bread beside it. Perhaps this is the first time I’m not hungry enough to eat, or the overwhelming smell, like sewage, has soured my appetite.

“Dysentery’s a bitch,” the serving girl says from behind the counter, wearing the same yellow uniform as my own. “You’ll get used to it.”

Perhaps my disgust is more obvious than I thought.

“Cali! Cali!” The familiar sound of my sister tamps down the urge to vomit all over the only meal I’m probably getting today, and I turn to see her waving at me from a table, where she sits with two other girls that look to be her age. Leave it to Bryani to make friends in this place.

The sight of her shaved head draws my hand to my own bald skin, and it takes some effort not to break down in tears as I hobble over to her and take a seat on the only open spot at the table. I notice she’s already eaten most of her food. “Here,” I say, pushing my tray toward her. “I’m not that hungry yet.”

“I’m okay.” She pushes it back. “You don’t have to keep giving me your rations.”

“You need it more than I do.”

“I’ll eat it!” One of the two girls at the table, a scrawny-looking thing with sunken eyes reaches out for my tray, but I yank it out of her reach.

“No. I’ll eat it.”

“This is eight-eight-two and eight-twenty-nine.” Bryani runs her fingers over the back of her neck, where I catch something black there. “I can’t remember mine.”

Batting her hand away, I notice the red, inflamed skin where a number has been inked, and I touch the back of my neck, picking up some clear gelatinous goo on the tip of my finger.

“What did they do?” I ask, gathering more of the goo, which I wipe on the uniform I was given back in the recovery room.

“It’s your number. Everyone has one.” The one called eight-eight-two turns just enough for me to catch part of the number tattooed beneath her hairline.

“Kinda itches a little.” Bryani chuckles, pretending to scratch at it. “I didn’t feel it when I first woke up, but now it burns.”

“It goes away,” the girl responds. “You need to memorize it. At least the last three numbers for when they call you over the speaker.”

“Call us?” Frowning, I pull apart a piece of bread and shove it into my mouth. It’s bland and salty, but soaks up some of the acids burbling in my stomach. “For what?”

“Your bunk assignment. Experiments. Whatever they need you for.” The girl looks past us and nudges her friend. “C’mon. Let’s go outside for a few minutes.”

“You just want to see the boys,” her friend beside her argues.

“Do not!”

“Do, too!”

“What boys?” I turn around, peering through the window to where a small yard is sectioned off by fence, barbed wire, guards, and Ragers. Virtually impossible to escape.

“The older boys are next to us.” Eight-twenty-nine gathers up her bowl, as well as her friend’s and Bryani’s bowls, and stacks them neatly. “Have you ever seen a penis before?” she asks Bryani, and I reach in front of the girl, interrupting her stare, and snap my fingers.

“Hey, she doesn’t need to see any of that. Neither do you.”

The girl shrugs. “Not my fault they show us, sometimes.” She pushes up from the table, and as though there’s some unspoken understanding between them, Bryani grabs her tray and follows after them, leaving me alone.

“Hey!” I scarf down some of the broth for my stomach’s sake, and shove a piece of bread into my mouth, before discarding my tray and dishes into a basin set beside the door. Pushing through the door, I follow the young girls out to the yard, nabbing Bryani’s arm.

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