Page 233 of Heartless Legacy

I can think a few things, but instead of fixating on them, I study the outside of the building, making note of the location and spacing of the windows in relation to the ground, guard shack, and roof.

The voice on the speaker continues. “We separated you into groups based on the amount of money you raised. We will make announcements, directing you to each event, but what happens as you transition to your activities is out of our control. The patrons may participate or use someone as their proxy, and everything goes.” After a brief pause, the voice says, “Guards, organize your groups.”

Our names are called and we’re reordered and shuffled until we’re in ten single file lines, and told which direction to go. My destination is the mess hall. The guards report on their radios that the groups are ready. The speaker crackles again, and the voice says, “The Gauntlet starts. Now!”

My eyes burn and feel like I’ve dunked them in a bucket of sand. I roll them back and forth behind my lids, trying to lubricate them to ease the discomfort. We’re on hour twenty-eight. My dehydrated and fatigued muscles spasm, my body vibrates, as my nervous system works overtime to keep me awake. I rub at my arms, trying to ease the cramps. The peoplebidding on me all seem to have the same request. To see me fight. The matches have increased in frequency these last six hours, and my reaction time has gotten slower. I’m in a stairwell, standing with my back against the wall, trying to conserve my energy for whatever’s about to happen next.

I tense at the sound of footsteps heading in my direction. From my position between the industrial sized washers, I see a man running past the door, two guards chasing after him. There’s a loud shout and a thump, followed by a guard saying, “We got him. We’re bringing him out, now.”

I inch over to the door and see the guards hoist the now unconscious man up and drag him towards the stairs. They said,bringing him out, which means they’re heading to an exit. I keep to the shadows as I slowly follow behind them, through the doors and down to a basement area. There are body bags laid out all over the hallway, some with bodies already in them. It’s sick that they’ve anticipated this many deaths.

Wherever they’re going is probably where these so-called patrons are. I shuffle after the guards, pushing through the heavy plastic curtain that leads to a loading dock, just as the golf cart disappears into the trees along the back of the property.

My legs are refusing to cooperate, and I slip multiple times along the path as I follow. I don’t know how far I’ve traveled when an old factory comes into view. Through the barbed wired gate, separating the properties, I watch vehicles pull in and out of the parking lot, and people rushing back and forth wearing the same guard uniforms they’re wearing back at the gauntlet.

The lot is wide open, the trees I’m hiding behind, offering the only coverage. I leave the safety of the foliage, squeeze through the gap at the bottom of the gate, and slice my arm on the protruding wires as I pull myself through the other side.

Nobody’s looking my way, which allows me to get close enough to grab a crowbar off of a nearby crate, before creepingalong the back side of the building. I swing as hard as I can at the first guard I come across. I stare at the patch on the left arm of his uniform, as he lays unconscious on the ground. Are you fucking kidding me? Someone sneezes, breaking me out of my stupefied trance.

I move to the other side of the building where a second guard is patrolling back and forth. He turns as I approach and shouts for backup, just before the crowbar connects with his face. Ducking inside the building, I hide behind a stack of boxes and crates. There’s a group of girls huddled together along the wall on the far right side of the room being watched by two more guards with the same patch. None of them are LJ.

Moving right, I make my way over to the stairs and through the open doors behind them. The hall leads to a second storage bay and another set of stairs, which I take to the top floor. There’s a window to the left of the stairwell door. I walk over to, peering out over the grounds. One floor below me is a skywalk connecting this building to the one across from it. Traveling to the other end of the hall, I find a work area with a row of cubicles. Voices are coming from the other side of the room.

Dropping to the floor, I crawl to the cubicles at the far end. Hiding in an empty one, I lift my head enough to count the number of people sitting at desks. The conference room across from the cubicles has six monitors, broadcasting rows and rows of cages, the feeds from the detention center, and the names, video images and dollar amount of the bidders, and who they’re bidding on.

I head back the way I came, taking the stairs to the floor below, and use the skywalk to get to the second building. I go from room to room and down another level. Hushed voices come from the end of the hall. I slip through the door and come to a stop as I take in the room full of cages. Boys, girls, men, women.They’re wearing casual clothes, business attire, lingerie and the very distinct uniform for Rockridge patients.

Rounding another corner, I come across a larger cage. The area inside it looks like a bedroom. I ask, “Do you know who was in the empty cages?”

No one answers. I circle the entire room, noting the faces I see. When I get back to my starting point, I stoop down in front of the cage on the right. The girl inside is no longer facing away from me. “Amaya?”

Scooting closer to the edge of her cage, she asks, “You- you remember me?”

“I do.” Studying the electronic lock, I ask, “What happened? How did you wind up here?”

Blinking through tears, she says, “My caseworker owes Mr. Lazarro a lot of money and he sold me and other foster kids to repay his debt.”

He did what? I tighten my grip on my weapon, and try to keep calm as I ask about the empty cages I found. She tells me, “I don’t know about the other cages, but that one had a guy in it. He spoke up to protect me, and Lazarro sent him to off to a worse punishment.”

Her lower lip quivers. “Mr. Lazarro says he’s here because his father owes him a debt.” Swiping at her tears, she says, “I didn’t mean to get him into more trouble. I should’ve just agreed to the gauntlet like Mr. Lazarro wanted.”

I turn towards the sound of voices in the hall, taking a defensive stance as guards enter my line of sight, I hit the first one to approach with the crowbar, a second comes up behind me and grabs me, and the third one backhands me, re-splitting my lip, and punches me in the stomach, while the second guard speaks into his radio. “We got her boss.”

I hear Lazarro say, “Bring her to the pit.”

I dig my heels into the ground, expending even more energy, as I try to get free of their hold. The second guy tightens his grip on my arm and snarls, “Calm down, bitch.”

They drag me down to the first floor and pushing me to my knees in the middle of the warehouse floor where Lazarro’s waiting.

He looks at me with such disappointment when he says, “I thought we had a deal.”

The second guard slaps me again and orders me to answer his boss. I spit blood at his feet before replying, “We did.”

“Then explain why you’re here in front of me, instead of in the gauntlet. Did you change your mind about your friend?”

“I found a door and a path to freedom, which I followed. I thought getting out meant it was over.”

He scowls at someone over my shoulder, and I hear them shuffling off. Probably to confront the people who I followed out of the building. To me, he says, “Despite you stumbling across an exit, your participation in the gauntlet is far from over. It won’t be over for anyone until there’s no more money on the table or merchandise to sell. That includes you. ”

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