by Mya Robarts
The possibility of being discovered, with no one to witness when he rapes me makes the hairs on the back of my neck prick. I could wait for him to go, but what if they plan to camp here? I won’t wait for the coast to be clear, risking discovery and gang rape.
I force myself to remain focused. I suspect he has a reason to be unbothered by the shots. If he’s not startled, it’s likely that whoever’s making the racket will take his side. I consider attacking him while he’s naked. I’ve been practicing knife throwing with my rebel group. But, Sasquatch’s nakedness and apparent 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 get out of the river. There’s a gargantuan rock behind him that reaches not far from where I’m hiding. If I could climb it unseen, I could get back to where my clothes are and escape. The only other option is to swim to the other side, where the current is too strong. At this moment, my only advantage is my knowledge of the hiding places in this river.
The soldier frequently submerges and emerges for several minutes. 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 lower part of the current and climb the rock.
I put my foot on the base of the rock. It’s smooth and slippery. There are few places to put my fingers and climb on, but I manage to climb my way up.
When I’m almost at the top, I toss my knife over the rock to free my hands. From here I see 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. In spite of the danger, I gawk, impressed by his lung capacity.
He finally emerges to take air, but I hide until he goes back under. I’m close to my goal when my feet become slippery traitors.
I fall to the water below me.
Butt first. Straight toward the soldier’s head.
Chapter 2
My butt hits what I think is the soldier’s face, and I rebound directly into the river’s 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 razors has disappeared. I try to get away and reach for my only weapon, but strong arms catch me from behind, suffocating me.
He doesn’t have a weapon other than his powerful body, but he has the advantage of drug-induced strength and military training.
Our naked bodies are slippery as I writhe to escape his hold. I use my wet skin and shorter height to my advantage and free myself from his embrace. I disappear under the water.
Adrenaline and terror make me faster. I swim to the other side against the current. Disoriented by murky waters, I don’t get too far.
The soldier finds me, grabs my feet, and suddenly I’m struggling with him again in the same position this started. This time, the water doesn’t cover my torso.
As we struggle with each other, one hand finds my left breast and squeezes it. He freezes for a second, as though surprised. That second is all I need to launch for a kick in his groin. But before I reach it, he grabs my arms violently and forces me to face him.
If the Sasquatch-like soldier finds my nude body tempting, his face doesn’t show it. He seems to care for nothing except winning this fight.
“You …” His voice is menacing and accented. The scent of alcohol radiates from his mouth, and his nose bleeds. “Why do you stalk me?”
I pant, unable to respond.
Stalk him? What’s he talking about?
He loses his temper at my silence. “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 his balls that are hard as steel. I do little damage. He’s inhumanly resistant. Although he bends in pain for brief seconds, he keeps one of his hands on my wrist and squeezes it 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 avoids the kicks I throw at his groin.
Sasquatch realizes he has the advantage here, and his grip on one of my wrists relaxes a little bit. Then, as though he has just become aware of 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 an entirely different expression.
His eyes darken. I can see something inside them that makes me blush. I feel the urge to cross my arms over my chest to cover my breasts with my arms. Surprisingly, he allows it, without taking his eyes off of me.
“You have … you have an incredible body,” he says, panting.
I’m paralyzed and unable to think straight. I would’ve preferred it if he had gone in for the kill. Instead, he seems to want to force the thing I have hoped to avoid: a violent sexual debut.
I won’t submit without a fight. At this moment, his lust is getting him distracted. I have to figure something out.
He mutters something quietly while his enormous hands slowly approach my face. It sounds like so pretty, but it could be something else. My body stiffens, but I find my voice.
“Don’t touch me,” I say firmly.
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.
No!
I’m terrified now. This has to stop.
Using both of my hands, I grab his considerable length and twist. Forcefully. He doesn’t double his body, but I’m convinced he’s in pain. I free myself from his stone-like grip and escape as fast as the water permits me. 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 current, staring at me intently. He shows no intention to chase after me, but I can’t let my guard down. Even for a soldier, he’s remarkably strong and resistant. I applied all my force, and I’m not weak. I need to hurry.
Soon, I’m where I left my backpack. I manage to put on my t-shirt, pants, and boots while I’m still fleeing. Terror keeps me from even taking a breath. My only thoughts now are of getting away and making sure that my family is safe.
My clothes get wet from my soaking body and hair. Scrambling up the river bank, with the stickiness of my wet clothes against my skin, I spare a brief glance over my shoulder. No signs of the soldier.
Climbing up the hill, I reach a winding, stone path and finally catch sight of Starville’s trash-filled sidewalks. I don’t see any sign of recent fights, which only adds to my confusion and fear.
I run down the path toward town, letting gravity pull me faster.
People look calm, no more stressed than other times. Some Starville riders pass me by. Their horses are prancing placidly. If the animals are not 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 Leila Velez?”
“Lila,” I say reflexively, still searching for sense in his words. The occupation soldiers are men 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.”
Annoyed, I spit on the ground. I despise cops as much as I hate Patriot soldiers. Accord cops are ex-soldiers from foreign armies. That explains my opponent’s accent and the alcohol breath. Sasquatch can’t be older than thirty. His long hair and build are not c
ommon among cops, 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. As usual, Starvillers murmur and stare when I pass them, but I’m too annoyed at the cops to care. 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 come for the recruitment ceremony. The cops verify that Nats and Patriots keep things civilized and respect the international laws on human rights. In addition they provide free medical services, food, medicines, and vaccines when they haven’t drunk too much.
They used to be strong and adequately protected civilians. Nowadays, they’re nothing but drunken guys wearing black armor and red capes who do nothing to stop recruitment. Maybe Sasquatch will point me out to the troops and then pretend he doesn’t see when they attack me. I scowl at the thought.
A rat startles me and I jump as I turn around a corner. I can understand Sasquatch’s urge for a solitary bath away from this stench. If he didn’t look like a soldier, I’d admit the guy’s ruggedly handsome. But because I’m always in danger of rape, all thoughts of him become revolting. I hope against hope that I left him sterile.
A copper-haired Accord cop, who is standing near the Starville canteen, leers at me when I pass him. He looks a lot like a soldier except for his round belly. As I quickly look down, I remember that he’s been in Starville before.
I realize my shirt is plastered against my breasts. I put on my cloak. This public display of my body will cause more rumors about me, but I’m more worried about Sasquatch’s revenge. Something tells me this encounter will haunt me for life.
I cross a bridge before reaching the hill that shelters the multi-family complexes. I always wonder how Starvillers managed to build huts and buildings on such steep, tree-crowded slopes. I’m walking up Judges Avenue, three blocks short of home, when the dog that thinks of the Velez family as his pets, hurries toward me. His gigantic body almost throws me to the floor. “How come you didn’t bathe today, huh?” I say, scratching his ears.
Poncho’s a genetically modified dog I found by accident. Someone probably bred him for combat because, like Patriot soldiers, he barely eats and he’s always horny. I trust Poncho better than I trust people. Having him at my side partly dissipates my negative feelings.
I should feel afraid. I feel empowered instead. I managed to escape a potential rapist with links to the troops. Coming out of the encounter with this gorgeous, stronger, naked enemy, unscathed and still a V-girl, turns me on.
I keep feeling mighty and aroused the rest of my way 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 DNA Modification Program.
Chapter 3
When I arrive home, I don’t cross the door into our tiny one-bedroom apartment. To avoid a homeschooling session, I sit on the floor in the hallway. Today’s lesson moves smoothly from Biology to History.
I hear my father’s voice. “We used to call our country America. War divided us into two countries. Which ones?”
“Patriot States and Nationalist States, a.k.a. Nats,” answers Olmo in a chiming, cheerful voice.
“They couldn't compromise in the division of territories,” says Dad. “At first, the Nats were winning but the Patriots had the best scientists among them. They provided the Patriots with a lethal weapon: genetically-engineered soldiers.”
My father, being a doctor, likes scientists, but I hate them. A renowned one took a great part in passing the recruitment laws.
“Technological advances were critical for Patriots’ strike back. That’s why technology, science, and most books are forbidden to us.” Dad always tells this story to drill the message in our minds: education is important; knowledge means power. He never mentions that these genuinely educated soldiers were the ones who raped his wife and left him without both of his legs. Besides education doesn’t prevent troops’ superstitions. They claim seers can guess who is or isn’t a V-girl by touching their hips.
I’m sure Olmo watches Dr. Velez attentively with wide eyes while my sister Azalea pretends to listen. That’s until my father asks her to participate.
“Nats made Patriots their slaves when they had the power,” Azalea says, not in the voice of an eleven-year-old, but in the voice of a middle-aged woman who has seen too much. “So, for the troops, every Nationalist’s child deserves punishment.”
That was decades ago. I’m not to blame for whatever Starvillers did back when I wasn’t even born.
“Is that why Patriot soldiers do horrible things?” asks Olmo.
“Don’t be naïve, Olmo. That’s not the only reason,” says Azalea. She has grown up too fast, too soon. In fact, she’s mean when she wants to be, and her voice reflects that.
Dad knows the twins want him to dwell on recruitment-related topics. “Recruitment is their way to exert power and take revenge.”
“But your pills and creams will stop them,” says Olmo cheerfully.
“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 sighs, unsure of how to continue. “So the pills—”
“What does impale mean?” asks Olmo, whose imaginative, naïve nature doesn’t belong to these dangerous times.
Dad calculates his answer. “To pierce with a sharpened object.”
Olmo giggles. Obviously he doesn’t grasp how repulsive the subject is.
In contrast, Azalea is aware of what is at stake with recruitment. Too aware. “Let’s see if you find impaling amusing when they’re doing it to you.”
“Me? That’s impossible,” says Olmo blithely.
“Not impossible. They abuse children, too,” says Dad patiently.
A few of the luckiest families in Starville, the ones who haven’t ever faced rape, might think this is an inappropriate talk between a father and his eleven-year-old children. But the twins have witnessed recruitment and death. During the war, you can’t protect children from the cruelest facts of life.
Dad thinks his honesty prepares them for the worst, but he’s wasting his time. Olmo has the purity of a toddler seeing the word for the first time. War realities won’t reach him where he lives: a self-created world, full of puerile delusions. Azzy is extraordinarily intelligent and probably figured out the worst war realities all by herself.
“Someone’s outside,” says Azalea. Poncho and I enter the cracked-walled, barely furnished room.
“Lily! You’re early today!” shouts Olmo excitedly and runs toward me. I lift him and kiss his dark hair. He suffers a rare form of fibrosis that messes with his growth; I’ve seen seven-year-old kids taller than him.
I take off my boots and clean my feet and Poncho’s before walking further into the apartment. We never bring the dirt of Starville into our home.
Olmo pretends to shoot a gun. “Did you hear the shots? It was so exciting!”
Azzy and I exchange knowing looks. Olmo’s delusions make him think of war as a game. Or perhaps his XY chromosomes make him see weapons as toys.
“I didn’t want to interrupt homeschooling,” I lie. Dad insists my siblings should get an education. I insist they should get a gun.
“Are you hungry, Lily?” asks Olmo sweetly. “Oh! Your clothes are wet.”
Dad has a very illegal object in his hands: A solar reader. If soldiers discover it during their usual checks, they’d execute him publically. Patriots only allow us to own and read religious books. He moves the cart that replaces his legs toward me. “Lila, the Accord cops arrived today.”
I blush remembering my naked opponent. “I’ve noticed.”
“This year they’re younger, so try to not catch their attention.”
Too late. My bare butt on the face of one of them makes me more than noticeable. I nod.
“Perhaps it’s time for you to start taking my pills.”
I turn to see him. Does Dad suspect what I am up to? But his eyes only show the pride of a scientific experiment going well. “I finally made my pills and creams work. Safely.”
Dad and his crazy scientist inclinations. He’s been working to extract ingredients from plants to create two kinds of anti-rape pills.
One pill numbs your body. If you put the medicated cream in your most private parts, you’ll get two bonuses: desensitization and lubrication. You won’t feel the whole pain of soldiers forcing themselves inside you. The other pill is a contraceptive. I’ve been taking the pills even before dad considered them safe.
Dad smiles. “We can get more money from selling the pills than your salary, so why don’t you quit your job? Besides, the Accord units will open the clinic soon and pay me a doctor’s salary.”
I shake my head. Dad hopeful face breaks my heart. Leave it to Dr. Velez to expect a change. My dad: the eternal optimist. Most likely, the Patriots will send their own staff and won’t hire my dad. Soldiers and Starvillers only call on my dad’s medical services under extreme circumstances.
“People won’t buy anything coming from us. I’ll keep my Shiloh job,” I say while searching for something to eat.
Dad drops the subject and resumes his lesson. “Mass rape on Nat towns was expected, but when the troops recovered Patriot towns, they didn’t spare Patriot women. Eventually they attacked Patriot men, too.”
The apartment is small, and I’m forced to take part of the lesson. Olmo and Dad have their cots in the room that we use to cook and eat.
“The Patriot politicians wouldn’t risk losing the support of the troops, so they created the visitants service. People on the government payroll to attend the troops. It was controlled: Medical checks, STD vaccination, and birth control. Rape rates went down drastically, but religious groups protested. People didn’t want their tax money spent on prostitution.”