by Mya Robarts
I wash my waist-length hair, wishing I could dye the gray strands that grow near my hairline. I soap up my body, watching the current drag away the bubbles. I take special care to wash the areas I hope Rey’s lips will touch.
Despite my need to be on guard, my muscles start to relax.
The knives serve the dual purpose of defense and shaving instruments. I hesitate over whether to shave my pubic area. What would Rey prefer? Remembering his ex-fiancée and her spotless appearance, I opt to shave it all.
In the water, I forget that I’m behind on my plans. Most eighteen-year-olds I know have married already. This allows them to sport the tattoos that make them ineligible for recruitment. Some unmarried girls have been getting intimate with their fiancés. I don’t have a fiancé, nor do I have the slightest interest in finding one here in Starville.
Rey’s the only person I can think of who can serve my purpose. He’s the only available man in town who doesn’t despise me. Rey even protects me, and hopefully he won’t feel the need to protect me from himself. He’s been in my thoughts constantly since the troops announced their arrival, and I hate it. I don’t want to develop feelings for my best friend.
To distract myself from these thoughts, I venture farther into the water. Now that I’m clean and shaved, my mood improves. I allow myself to splash and play.
A rumble takes me out of my reverie. My body springs to alertness and I pull out my knife.
I hear distant shots. It isn’t possible. Nobody in town has access to gunpowder or explosives. You don’t get caught with them unless you want to get executed. They have to be soldiers. Patriot soldiers.
Then I hear steps on the riverbank. I’m barely armed, not to mention naked. My knives might keep the Starville peeping toms at bay, but they’ll be useless against soldiers.
I wade away, finding myself far from the spot where I left my clothes. The steps sound like they come from only one person, but I can’t be sure. My best chance of escaping the situation is to avoid a fight. I can stay hidden if I move to the other side of the river, behind the rocks.
Trying not to attract attention, I distance myself from the steps. I submerge my body, leaving only my head above the water line. Several minutes pass. I hear nothing.
Once I determine that it’s safe to leave my hiding place, I swim, splashing as little as I can.
At that moment, I notice something that makes my heart skip a beat.
I’m not the only person in the river. I can’t see how many people are around, but I can hear someone treading water.
Panic rushes cold through my veins. Have they seen me? Are other Starvillers hiding from the shots as well?
For a moment, there’s only silence. Then another shot startles me, and I force myself not to scream. I swim away as fast as I can, but the current slows my escape. I hide behind a trunk.
Then I see him.
A young man, so tall and built that for a moment I think he’s a Sasquatch, minus the fur. No one in Starville, not even Rey, is this burly. Strong muscles reveal years of military training and hint at the use of drugs that makes soldiers inhumanly tall and massive. Long, wet strands of blond hair hang down his broad back, giving him a leonine look. The tattoos on his back tell me he has been in combat.
A soldier! He appears to be alone.
My stomach clenches in panic. Soldiers are sadistic giants and killing machines. The tonics they use to build muscle make them dangerous, violent, and horny.
I lose sight of him for a moment. He emerges in a different spot, where the water is deep. Sasquatch is so tall that the water stops at his waist while he’s standing. He must be at least seven feet tall and, without a doubt, the strongest soldier I’ve ever seen. When he moves, I can see his private areas. Every part of him is enormous.
The soldier doesn’t seem to be in attack mode. He’s inclined and rubbing foam around his massive torso.
The possibility of being discovered with no one to witness him abuse me makes my hair stand on end. I could wait for him to go, but what if they plan to camp here? I won’t wait for the coast to clear, risking discovery and a gang attack.
I force myself to remain focused. I suspect there’s a reason he’s unbothered by the shots. If he’s not startled, whoever’s making the racket will likely take his side.
Perhaps I should attack him while he’s naked. I’ve been practicing knife-throwing with my rebel group, but Sasquatch’s nakedness and relaxed behavior are deceiving. I’m armed while bathing, so he probably is, too. And what if he alerts his companions? I don’t stand a chance, fighting against a trained unit of steroid-injected soldiers.
He’s blocking the safer spot to exit the river. There’s a gargantuan rock behind him that extends to a point not far from where I’m hiding. If I can climb it unseen, I can return to my clothes and escape.
The soldier repeatedly submerges himself for long periods of time. I pay close attention to my enemy each time he resurfaces. My eyes open wide when I see that Sasquatch’s leonine face looks incredibly sad. Sadness isn’t an emotion I associate with soldiers.
When he rubs his face with foam and closes his eyes, I silently approach the giant rock. I put my foot on the base. It’s smooth and slippery. There are few places that I can grab onto, but I manage to climb anyway.
When I’m almost at the top, I toss my knife over the rock to free my hands. From here, I see that the soldier is all by himself.
The higher I climb, the less visible I become to him.
Sasquatch is back under the water now and hasn’t resurfaced for a while. Despite the danger, I gawk, impressed by his lung capacity.
He finally emerges, but I hide until he goes back under. I’m close to my goal when my feet become slippery traitors.
I fall into the water below me.
Butt first. Straight toward the soldier’s head.
2
Unexpected
My butt hits what I believe is the soldier’s face, and I rebound directly into the current.
Something pulls me to the surface. The soldier, blinded by soap and startled by my sudden appearance, is already in defense mode.
One of my thigh knives is gone. I try to escape, reaching for my only weapon, but muscular arms catch me from behind. He doesn’t have a weapon other than his powerful body, but he has the advantage of drug-induced strength and military training.
Water drips from our naked bodies as I writhe to escape his hold. I use my slippery skin and shorter height to my advantage and free myself from his embrace. I disappear under the water.
Adrenaline and terror give me speed. I swim against the current to the other side.
Disoriented by murky water, I don’t get far. The soldier finds me and grabs my feet. Suddenly, I’m grappling with him again, but this time the water doesn’t cover my torso.
As we struggle, one hand finds my left breast and squeezes. He freezes for a second, as if he was surprised. That second is all I need to launch a kick to his groin. But before I manage to do so, he grabs my arms, forcing me to face him.
If my nude body tempts the Sasquatch-like soldier, his face doesn’t show it. He seems to care only about winning this fight.
“You …” His voice is menacing and accented. The scent of alcohol radiates from his mouth. His nose bleeds. “Why do you stalk me?”
I pant, unable to respond. Stalk him? What’s he talking about?
“Talk or I’ll kill you!” he yells.
My mind works at full speed. Unarmed and drunk. That’s all I need to know.
I kick him in the balls, which are hard as steel. I do little damage. He’s inhumanly resistant. He bends in pain for a brief moment but keeps a hand on my wrist and squeezes hard.
I cry out in pain. I lost the opportunity to knock him out while he was bent over. He grabs my other wrist and easily avoids the kicks I aim at his groin.
Sasquatch realizes that he has the advantage, and he relaxes his grip on my wrist. Then, as though he has just become aware o
f my nakedness, his eyes travel all over my body. For a brief moment, I see the shock in his blue eyes as they melt into a different expression. His scowl vanishes and his eyes darken. I see something deep inside them that makes me blush.
I feel the urge to cross my arms over my chest. Much to my shock, he allows it, although he doesn’t avert his eyes.
“You have … you have an incredible body,” he says.
I’m paralyzed and unable to think straight. I would’ve preferred if he had gone in for the kill. Instead, he seems to want to force the violent sexual debut I was trying to avoid.
I won’t submit without a fight. Fortunately, his lust is distracting him.
He mutters something under his breath as his enormous hands slowly approach my face. I think he uttered ocean, but it could have been something else. My body stiffens, but I find my voice.
“Don’t touch me.”
To my amazement, he stops. Our bodies are so close that my bare skin almost touches his.
His lower part draws my attention, and I notice something that takes me out of my trance. A bulging piece of veiny flesh, ready for action.
My body shivers. No!
With both hands, I grab his considerable length and twist. Forcefully. He doesn’t double over, but I believe he’s in pain. I free myself from his stone-like grip and escape as fast as the water permits. Soon I’m at the river’s edge.
I’m running at top speed when I turn to see him. Sasquatch stands in the river, staring at me. He shows no intention of chasing me, but I can’t let down my guard. Even for a soldier, he’s remarkably strong and resistant. I applied all my force, and I’m not weak.
Soon, I’m back where I left my backpack. I put on my t-shirt, pants, and boots while I’m fleeing. Terror shortens my breath. My only thoughts are of escaping and making sure my family is safe.
My soaked body and hair dampen my clothes. I scramble up the riverbank, my clothes clinging to my skin. I spare a brief glance over my shoulder. No sign of the soldier.
Climbing the hill, I reach a winding stone path where I glimpse Starville’s trash-filled sidewalks. I see no sign of recent combat, which only adds to my confusion.
I run down the path toward town, letting gravity pull me faster. People appear calm. Some Starville riders pass me, their horses prancing placidly. If the animals aren’t scared, I shouldn’t be either.
I haven’t imagined the shots, have I? I ask the first stranger I see what’s going on. He looks at me dismissively. “The soldiers got drunk, played with their guns, and lit fireworks. Aren’t you Laeela Velez?”
I ignore the fact that he mispronounced my name. I’m still searching for meaning in his words. The occupation soldiers are close to retirement. With age, their bodies can’t tolerate the drugs, so they turn to alcohol, and when they’re drunk, they play with fire. Literally. Did I put myself through all that anguish for fireworks?
Sensing my confusion, he adds before walking away, “A reception for the Accord cops.”
Accord cops. That explains my opponent’s foreign accent and the alcohol on his breath. Annoyed, I spit on the ground. I hate cops. Sasquatch can’t be older than thirty. His youth, long hair, and build are uncommon among the Accord Unit, so I mistook him for a soldier. I should’ve known. A soldier wouldn’t have stopped when I said no. An Accord cop, maybe.
I walk home along Numbers Avenue, mumbling angrily, ignoring those who stare at me as I pass. How idiotic to use fireworks when the sun is still high.
The Accord cops are ex-soldiers who are part of an organization of “neutral” countries called UNNO. They’re supposed to come for the recruitment ceremony to verify that the Nationalists and Patriots keep things civilized, and that they respect the international laws on human rights. When they haven’t had too much to drink, they provide free medical services and food. They used to protect civilians. Nowadays, they don’t do anything to stop recruitment. They’re nothing but drunken idiots in black armor and red capes.
When I turn a corner that smells heavily of piss, a rat crosses my path. I can understand Sasquatch’s desire to take a bath alone, away from this stench. If he didn’t look like a soldier, I’d acknowledge his rugged handsomeness. But because he’s a corrupt military man, I hope against hope that I’ve left him sterile.
Starville was built on hillsides, so moving around the city means climbing up and down steeply winding streets. I ascend a narrow asphalt street full of potholes near a cluster of abandoned, graffitied brick houses. I wonder how Starvillers build slums on such steep, tree-crowded slopes. The buildings seem to be standing not only against the hillside but also against the laws of gravity.
I’m walking up Judges Avenue, three blocks from the multi-family complexes, when the dog that sees the members of the Velez family as his pets hurries toward me. He almost knocks me to the ground with his enthusiastic welcome. “How come you didn’t bathe today, huh?” I ask, scratching his ears.
Poncho may look like an overgrown Anatolian shepherd puppy, but he’s a genetically modified dog I found by accident. Someone must have bred him for combat because, like Patriot soldiers, he barely eats and he’s always horny. I trust Poncho more than I trust people. Having him by my side comforts me.
I should feel afraid, but I feel empowered. Escaping unscathed after my encounter with the gorgeous, naked enemy gives me some hope, despite my pessimistic nature. If I fight enough against it, perhaps I’ll avoid recruitment.
My good mood lasts until I arrive home.
“Sexual intercourse with dubious mutual consent is frequent among other animal species. Why deprive the soldiers of a natural inclination?”
Barnabas Kim. Co-Creator of the Patriot DNA Modification Program.
3
The Velez Family
When I arrive home, I don’t enter our tiny one-bedroom apartment. To avoid a homeschooling session, I sit on the floor outside, leaning my back against the wall. I’m sure Olmo’s watching Dr. Velez with wide eyes while my sister Azalea pretends to listen. Today’s lesson transitions from biology to history.
I hear my father’s voice. “Political differences divided what used to be America into The Nationalist States and The Patriot States. Then Nats declared war on the Patriots. Why?”
Olmo answers in an overly enthusiastic tone. “Because they couldn’t agree on the division of derrytories!”
“Territories,” corrects Dad.
“That, too,” says Olmo cheerfully.
“At first, the Nats were winning, but knowledge means power,” says Dad. “Patriots had the best scientists among them.”
Being a doctor, my father admires science men, but I hate them. A scientist played a significant role in passing the recruitment laws.
“Scientists provided Patriots with a lethal weapon: genetically engineered soldiers. Their knowledge created invincible soldiers, thus engendered power.”
Dad drills the message into our minds through repetition: Education is important. He never mentions that these so-called educated soldiers were the ones who left him without legs. Besides, education doesn’t cure the troops of their superstitions. Some soldiers claim that there are women who can determine whether a girl is unsullied by touching the girl’s arms. The fact that the polygraph sometimes proves these women right must be coincidental.
“Retaliation in the form of mass rape against Nationalist towns was expected because Nats used to enslave Patriots. But when the troops recovered Patriot towns from the tyranny of the Nats, the drug-filled soldiers didn’t spare Patriot citizens,” Azalea says in a bored tone. “Anyway, for the troops, every Nationalist child deserves punishment.”
That was decades ago. I’m not to blame for whatever Starvillers did before I was born.
“Is that why Patriot soldiers do horrible things?” asks Olmo.
“Don’t be naïve,” says Azalea. She’s grown up too fast and understands things better than Dad gives her credit for. “That isn’t the only reason, is it, Dad?”
&nb
sp; “Recruitment is their way of getting two things: retaliation and vassals,” says Dad. The softness of his voice doesn’t make the subject any less horrifying.
“But your pills and creams will stop them,” says Olmo.
“No. My pills are contraceptives. The creams are to lessen the pain of an attack. However, they intend to see their victims’ pain. They impale them with their male organs and other objects and—” Dad hesitates. “So the pills—”
“What does ‘impale’ mean?” asks Olmo.
Dad calculates his answer. “To pierce with a sharpened object.”
Olmo giggles. I’m sure he doesn’t grasp the repulsiveness of the subject.
In contrast, Azalea is aware of what is at stake with recruitment. Too aware. “Let’s see if you find it amusing when they’re doing it to you.”
“Me? That’s impossible,” says Olmo.
“Not impossible. When soldiers break the recruitment rules, they abuse children, too,” says Dad patiently.
In Starville, a few of the luckiest families, those who haven’t experienced the worst aspects of the recruitment, may think that this is an inappropriate conversation between a father and his eleven-year-old children. Unfortunately, the twins have witnessed sexual violence and death. In wartime, you can’t protect children from the cruelest facts of life.
Dad thinks his honesty will prepare them for the worst, but he’s wasting his time. Olmo has the purity of a toddler seeing the world for the first time. The reality of war won’t hit him in his self-created world. Azzy is intuitive and has managed to figure out the worst by herself.
“Someone’s outside,” says Azalea.
Poncho and I reluctantly enter the cracked-walled, barely furnished room.
“Lila! You’re early today!” shouts Olmo, running toward me. I lift him and kiss his dark hair. He suffers from a rare form of fibrosis that messes with his growth; I’ve seen seven-year-olds taller than he is.
I take off my boots and clean my feet and Poncho’s before walking farther into the apartment. We don’t bring the dirt of Starville into our home.