Page 3 of Gunslinger Girl
“Then don’t you think you should be cooking?”
“Generator’s down again, boys,” Finn said. “Dinner’s gonna be late.”
Henry and Billy frowned in unison, looking almost like twins with their dusty brown hair and field tans. At eighteen and sixteen, they hated being called boys, and Finn knew it.
“Again?” said Billy. “I thought you were supposed to be good at fixing those things, Josephina!”
Finn bristled. “I ain’t a miracle worker.”
“I’ll manage something,” Pity interjected. “You go on, Finn. I’ll stop by the workshop later if I can.”
“A busted generator ain’t Pity’s fault. Y’all remember that.” Finn shot Billy and Henry an acid look as she headed off, tool kit slapping against her thigh.
Pity stared after her, tight with impatience. Six more months, she told herself. In six months she’d be a legal adult.
And as soon as that day came…
Not giving her brothers a chance to make more demands, Pity turned on her heel and headed to the last house in the line. Inside, stale silence met her as she threw her father’s pack into a corner of the kitchen and began knitting together a meal. Billy and Henry entered a few minutes later, clomping up the stairs to clean up before dinner. Pity had just grabbed a wet rag and started work on her father’s gear when he, too, arrived home. He leaned his rifle beside the door and sat at the table. When Henry and Billy joined him a moment later, all three folded hands.
“Thank you, Lord,” her father intoned, “for your blessings on our fields and our stock so that we may feed the mouths that depend on us back east. And may they continue so, amen.”
For a while, the only sounds were chewing and the clink of utensils against plates. As Pity rinsed out a canteen, Henry and Billy traded furtive glances.
“Heard y’all got a scrounger,” Henry ventured finally.
Their father chewed a mouthful of cold chicken. “We did. Caught and dealt with. Nothing to speak of.” Her brothers’ disappointment at the brevity of the story was tangible, but they knew better than to press. “Pity, bring me some water.”
She grabbed a glass from the shelf. “I made some lemonade if you—”
“I said water.”
He stared at her as she brought the glass over. She kept her own gaze carefully downcast.
“My gear gonna be ready by morning?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. I’ll only be gone a day or two. While I’m away, get your own things packed.”
Halfway back across the kitchen, she faltered. “What?”
“You best learn to hear better than you been, girl. That nonsense isn’t going to be tolerated where you’re headed.” He took a sip of water. “The man who was with me at the convoy is from the 34th Mining. You’re going back with him when I return.”
“But—” Her guts twisted into a sick knot. “Why?”
“Why do you think?” Billy smirked. “There’s only one thing a place like that would want from you, and it’s between your—”
“You shut your goddamn mouth!” The retort snapped out before she could stop it.
“Pity!” Her father’s face turned rosy. “You will not blaspheme in this house!”
“Sorry!” She took a step backward, reflexively conscious of possible retreats—the stairs, the back door—but he remained at the table. “I… I just don’t understand.”
“What’s unclear? You’re headed to the 34th. Lester’s already approved the transfer.”
“But that’s not… I can’t…” A shiver of realization raced through her. She should have seen it coming. Six months and she’d be lawfully released from his control. But he couldn’t let that happen easy, not him. Her jaw tightened. “You sold me off, didn’t you? You and Lester.”
Bridal bribes, they called them. CONA rewarded communes that met their birth quotas, so it hadn’t taken long for an underground market to arise between those that had an excess of fertile young women and those that didn’t. Her transfer might come under the guise of a worker exchange, but Pity knew exactly what it was. Was the stranger intending to force her into marriage, Pity wondered, or was he only her ferryman?
