Page 25 of Fresh Flesh

Maisie

The train rocks backand forth gently, which you’d think would help lull me to sleep. Instead, it only makes me nauseous. I guess I’m one of those people who get seasick. Or motion sick at any rate.

The darkened interior of the train car stinks to high heaven. Smelly, unwashed bodies covered with fear sweat and in some cases, blood. The Grengorans aren’t known for being gentle.

I look around me and all I see is despair. The humans sharing the car with me are possessed of spindly limbs, and in many cases their ribs stick out. You’d think the Grens would try and keep them more well fed. Then again, these humans have by and large been collected from the wild, so to speak, rather than a farm.

I feel guilty, because I’ve been eating so well of late. My three Grens take good care of me, I have to admit.

At one point I was on my way to California, where I hoped to join up with a top secret project I’d heard rumors of. I don’t even know if the project is real, but supposedly it’s something that will give humans a better chance to survive this occupation.

Now, though, I don’t care about that any longer. All I want to do is get back to Lurg, Mlarx, and Joras. I guess I’m not much of an altruist. I care more about my own happiness than the fate of the human race.

I look around at the others and see that most of them have accepted their miserable lot and just sit in silence. What am I supposed to do now? If the car ever stops moving, I could try to escape. Or even if it doesn’t stop moving.

It hits me then that the best time to escape the train is when it’s in motion. Sure, it’s going to be rough, maybe even dangerous, to jump off a moving train. But maybe I can find a river or a lake or something to land in, or at the least a bed of soft grass.

In order for this plan to work, I need to get out of this damn car.

I move carefully through the huddled bodies, some weeping, some suffering in silence. There’s not enough room for anyone to lay down in, so most people are just sitting huddled up with their arms around their knees, or even standing against the moving wall, eyes downcast and shoulders slumped.

No one pays me much attention as I sidle through the mass of unwashed humanity and then check for an opening. I find a latch that has been painted over, but I think I can get it to budge—with some help.

“Hey,” I say to one of the more burly looking men. “If you give me a hand, I think we can get this open and get out.”

He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even look at me. I try several other people, and get the same result. They have no gumption, or maybe they just lack the energy to even think about escaping. After all, being in the wilderness can be just as dangerous as being on a Grengoran farm. With one exception. Being on a farm can only end one way.

The train doesn’t stop for two whole days. The privy is just a chair with no seat set over a hole far too small to even consider trying to get out through. Needless to say, this isn’t the most hygienic set up and soon the train car stinks even worse.

At last the train stops and the doors open. The gust of fresh air that hits my face is the best thing that’s happened to me in a long while. I join the others as we move in a line, guarded closely by Northern Tribe Grens.

I see no opportunity for escape here. The train has let us out at an auction barn, with nothing but flat, open countryside for miles around. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, literally.

They make us walk through something akin to a car wash, only it’s a human wash. I stumble through the other side soaking wet, still with foamy soap in my hair.

The Grens fasten self-ratcheting collars with tags on them around our necks. Every tag has a number on it to make us easier to bid on.

Mine is very tight, almost so tight I can’t breathe. If I move my head the wrong way it chokes me. I tug at it, but to no avail as I’m shoved into a corral to wait my turn for bidding.

An Overseer buys me, along with more than a dozen others. We’re shoved along to a waiting truck and bundled inside of it. At least it’s not as smelly as the train car had been.

I try to get some of the others to talk about escape, but I get the same reaction I had on the train. The humans have no spirit left to fight.

They are all well and truly broken. If they’ve given up, then why am I still fighting so hard?

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