Page 25 of Calico Descending

Leading me down the hallway, Medusa doesn’t so much as look back at me, and a sense of dread hits the pit of my stomach. Maybe she knows about the soldier. Maybe he told her what happened in the kitchen, that I performed sexual acts on him. Maybe it was a test to see if I’d allow him to use me that way.

Oh, God.

As we step into the elevator, I watch Legion soldiers lead Valdys out of the room, his body big and threatening, even surrounded by so many. Perhaps I ruined the experiment, and Valdys is no longer necessary. Maybe I’m no longer necessary, just like the girl assigned to Titus.

Every muscle in my body is shaking while I stand there, waiting for some explanation to magically appear. The elevator door finally closes, and I swallow past the dryness in my throat, lifting my gaze to Medusa.

“Is something wrong?” My voice is small and weak, brimming with the tears I still haven’t shed.

“There’s been a change of plans.”

Change of plans. Change of mind. Change of subjects. My mind races with the meaning of her words, losing to the confusion that knocks me off balance.

“Am I … in trouble?”

Stern eyes, more vacant than before, fall on me only briefly, before she turns back toward the elevator doors. “That’s yet to be seen.”

Chapter 13

Four years ago

Nights are hardest in this place. During the day, I have the distraction of things constantly moving. Bodies being wheeled through the halls--to surgery, to the incinerator. I can spot the difference, because the incinerator-bound bodies are usually covered by a sheet. Then there’s the observation of familiar faces that don’t show up for supper the next day, or whose bed goes empty, before being quickly filled by a new face.

The occasional fight breaks out, and that’s always somewhat engrossing, particularly when subjects are dragged off and never seen after.

But nights are something else. Nights are when this place goes pitch black. When the cries bleed through the walls. Nights are when I miss my sister’s giggles and whispers, and I’m left thinking too much about what will happen to the two of us.

I have nightmares about it, and sometimes, I swear those screams sound like my sister, but then I see her at supper the next day, and all is okay again.

Until night.

“Hey! Girl!” The whispered voice belongs to the girl in the bunk next to me. The freckly one who attacked me the first day here. Some call her Lee, others Neela. Some by her number that I’ve since forgotten. Aside from some occasional glares, she hasn’t bothered me since that day in the yard, but at the first brush against my arm, my muscles tense, and I twist around in my bed, hands balled to a fist and ready to swing out.

“You work in the kitchen, right?”

Staring into the blackness with confusion she undoubtedly can’t see, I nod. “Yeah.”

“You’ll bring us two pieces of bread. After supper tomorrow.”

Stealing bread from the kitchen is one of the worst offences, and results in severe punishment. I know this, because the kitchen leader told me at least a half dozen times during my first day on the job. So, why the hell would I risk my butt for this girl?

“What do I get out of that?”

“Protection. You need people in this place. I know boys here. And older girls. Girls who know your sister.”

I freeze at that, hope blooming inside my chest. Even if I can’t be physically near Bryani, perhaps I can still offer her a watchful eye, even if it isn’t mine. “Her barracks?”

“Yeah. My friend works transport. Down there all the time. You bring the two of us bread each night, I’ll make sure you and your sister are looked after.”

Contemplating this for a moment, I mentally weigh the consequences of stealing against the real possibility that someone could hurt my sister. “It’s a deal,” I whisper back. “They’ll be under your pillow.”

I glance around the kitchen for any sign of the guards, or kitchen leader, and tuck the chunks of bread into the waistband of my pants. If this place doesn’t want anyone stealing food, they shouldn’t make it so easy. Anyone ambitious enough could clear the place out, if they wanted to, and were willing to face whatever punishment that would follow. I clean the drain catch, staring down at the soft pieces of bread and bits of soggy, wet beans. Even this would fill someone’s stomach, if they were hungry enough, and I don’t scoff at the idea.

That could very well be me.

I spill the sodden food into the compost bin that has begun to smell, permeating through the kitchen.

A hand taps my shoulder, and I startle, turning to see my kitchen leader standing behind me. Slightly taller and lean, she often wears a smile, in spite of this place. I can’t imagine why, seeing as she carries more scars than any woman I’ve seen here.

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