Page 26 of Resistant

He shakes his head and turns back to the road. I can feel the rage boiling off him, and he chooses not to answer any of my questions. I want to wrench the steering wheel from his hands, take back my power and demand answers. I’m afraid of Knox, afraid of the power he has over me and force myself to sit quietly. Knox sighs, resignedly and finally breaks the silence.

“We’ll be there in a few hours. I have things to tell you about what is going to happen.” He hands me a paper cup filled with coffee. I take a sip.

“I will drop you off at the bus station. You are to get in line number 43. The 43 bus will take you to the auction. I will be in the auction building at all times. I have others there as well to look out for you. Follow their instructions, I will bid on you and take you home afterward. Follow directions ma lagniappe, and everything will be fine. Do you understand me, Brynn?”

“Yes.” I whisper.

“Good. I’ve had enough fuckery out of you today.”

“Is Lily dead?”

“Yes, the officer shot her to protect me. I had arranged for her to go with David, but you fucked that up trying to run. Jesus Brynn.”

I’m confused, I know I tried to protect my boys, but some small voice is telling me I should have trusted Knox. I don’t want to believe that voice. I wipe away the tears as they fall.

“Do you know where they are taking Nathan?”

“I know where they were supposed to take him, but you might have fucked that up too.” His voice is steel, and he doesn’t look at me.

I finish my coffee and set it down in the cup holder. I stare out the window and watch the Gray roll by. We don’t speak until he pulls over.

“No one can see me, Brynn. You have to walk the rest of the way by yourself. Remember, I have people watching nearby to help you.”

He hands me my rucksack and a bottle of water and a new reform passport with the number 43 stamped on it.

“It’s not far. Line number 43.”

I nod and walk in the direction he points. I hear the click-click of David’s boots as they hit the asphalt. I hiccup and take a deep breath and walk. When I reach the station, a guard lets me through the gate. I show him my passport and ask for line 43, he gestures to my right.

I go stand in line. There are about 40 people ahead of me, young women, pretty older women, and young men. I feel the bile rise in my throat.

I don’t like Knox. I don’t want to be his slave. But what if he can get my sons back? He said he may be able to arrange visits. I picture his face, the rage I saw on his features when he pushed me in the sedan.

It suddenly hits me that my path does not lie with Knox. My gut twists as my mind clears. It’s not the life that I want. And deep down I have a feeling life with Knox would be my undoing, even though it might be easier for me.

I need to get my sons back and get us to safety, and I can’t do that if I’m under Knox’s thumb. The buses pull into the station and people slowly board. Ahead, a young woman begins to scream and tries to run from the line. The guards from two surrounding lines help to load her in. They zip tie her hands and shove her into the front seat.

I step out of line 43 and into 44. I toss the new reform passport into the bushes. I can see the girl’s anguished face through the window. I stare straight ahead in the line for bus 44.

The people in this line are from all walks of life. I don’t know where this bus is going, but I hope it’s not going to the auction. I slowly breathe in and out, trying to calm myself and stare at David’s boots on my feet.

The line moves forward. The guard at bus 44 says nothing to anyone boarding, and no one in this line has a passport. I get on the bus and sit in an aisle seat towards the back.

The man next to me is bruised and battered, both his eyes swollen almost shut. The driver boards and announces that there will be no talking. Anyone caught talking will be punished. I focus on David’s boots and as the bus rolls out and I breathe a sigh of relief.

We ride for many hours; I sleep for a while, so I don’t know how far we have traveled. Nothing outside looks familiar. The road signs are mostly illegible, holes shot through them, rusty and some are gone entirely.

Most of the infrastructure is crumbling. The bus slows and pulls into a rest stop. I get off the bus and use the bathroom. As I exit the stall, I see a ballcap someone left by the sinks. I pull it down over my head and walk out. I walk to a different bus parked further back in the lot and get on before the driver shuts the doors. I sit by myself, and the bus pulls out.

I watch the people in front of me, but I’m careful not to make eye contact with anyone. We all sit in silence for about an hour. I gaze out the window as we turn into a compound with razor wire.

The Silence

Brynn

I am number 8675. I’ve been here for a long time. The time has ticked by in stifling elongated moments.

In my mind, a day takes a week to go by and I slog through them, determined to survive it. I live in the Southern Camp. I don’t have any idea of where the camp is in relation to where I lived in The Before. I’m further north than the lowlands of Georgia because it’s cold here for a good portion of the year.

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