World Of Shell And Bone

by Adriana Ryan

  Ceres is standing by me, holding the pants of her coveralls and swaying gently, when a Nukehead boy without any hair and a malformed nose comes up to her.

  “Will you dance with me?” he asks, his voice a husky whisper.

  She looks at me, and I shrug. It’s up to you.

  Haltingly, she reaches for his hands, and then they walk away to the shadows to dance.

  The men continue to sing for a very long time, and the children continue to dance. After a while, I retreat to the shelter of the tent from where I can still watch the festivities. I sit at a makeshift cot-table and nibble some of the treats while I chat with Sara and Nurse Carina.

  “Alexander looks much better,” Nurse Carina says, stroking Sara’s boy’s cheek. “I’m so glad Vika thought of Stevia. I’m not sure what we would’ve done without her.”

  I smile. “I’m sure you could’ve gotten some sweet food from le marché noir for a while.”

  Sara shakes her head. “It’s not dependable. Some days you can get sweets and others you can’t. Even le marché noir resources are dwindling, you know. Besides, most of the food isn’t nutritious enough to sustain children.”

  I take a round chocolate and pop it in my mouth. “Nutritious or not, it’s delicious,” I say. “I can’t seem to get full nowadays.”

  Nurse Carina raises her eyebrow, her gentle brown eyes gleaming in the candlelight. “I think I know why that is. Eating for two, aren’t you?”

  From beside me, Sara gasps. “You don’t say?” She puts her hand on my stomach. “You’re not very far along now, are you?”

  I shake my head. “About six weeks or so, no more.”

  She smiles at me. “This time next year, you’ll have a baby just a little younger than Rosa’s baby. Have you seen him?”

  “No. I don’t think I have.”

  “Wait a minute.”

  She sets Alexander down and goes off into the crowded tent. A moment later she’s back with a plump, smiling baby. It waves its chubby fists at me and I laugh. I barely even notice the fact that it doesn’t have a lower lip. I’m beginning to see past the deficiencies.

  “Here you are,” Sara says, plopping the child down on my lap. “Meet Raul.”

  On cue, Raul coos at me and reaches for a lock of my hair. I chuckle.

  “Aren’t you precious?” I say, then marvel at the high pitch my voice has taken on.

  Ceres comes skipping up to me then, her face flushed and glistening with sweat. Her smile freezes in place as she sees me playing with Raul. Slowly, she reaches a finger toward him. He grasps it and begins to chew, baby slobber dripping down her knuckle.

  “This is Raul,” I say, waving a chubby arm at her.

  An odd, strangled noise escapes from Ceres’s throat and she pulls her finger back. She backs away from me, then turns and runs out the tent.

  I hand Raul to Sara and jog after her.

  I find Ceres at the foot of the next hill over, doubled over and panting.

  “Ceres?” I walk up to her slowly, so that I don’t startle her. “Ceres, are you alright?”

  She straightens up, but remains with her back toward me, looking out into the distance in the dark. At a distance, I hear the perimeter Nukehead guards talking in low voices.

  Ceres looks at me, a tear rolling down her cheek. The breeze blows a strand of her braid free, and I tuck it behind her ear.

  “Are you okay, sweet?”

  “Vikki…” she begins, more tears joining the first. “Vikki…”

  I grab her hands, wait for more.

  “My baby,” she whimpers, closing her eyes and sinking to her knees. “My baby, Vikki, the man hurt me, he hurt, he hurt—”

  “Shhh.” I kneel next to her and pull her head to my chest as I cradle her in my arms. “Shh, I know, heart. I know. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.”

  And with my heart in pieces, I hold my sister in the darkness.

  CHAPTER FORTY SIX

  After Ceres is finished crying, we sit in the same spot for a long time, just listening to the strains of music and people shouting, talking, and laughing as they enjoy her party.

  “I have something for you,” I say. When she turns to look at me, I fish in the pockets of Nurse Carina’s pants for the conch shell I bought at le marché noir. I press it into Ceres’ hand and watch her turn it over, agog. When she sniffs it, I laugh. “It’s a conch. Some people say if you put it to your ear, you can hear the ocean. Do you want to try?”

  Hesitantly, my little sister puts the conch up to her ear. As I watch, her face transforms. Delight shines from her eyes, lighting up the darkness. “Ocean!” she says, grinning.

  “It’s the sound of freedom. We’re going to have a brand new life soon.” I drape my arm around her shoulders and sit with her while she listens to the future.

  Finally, we hear Nurse Carina calling for Ceres. “Birthday wish time!” she sings.

  We get up wordlessly. I wipe her face for her, and she wipes mine. Then, hand in hand, we head back toward the tent.

  In the middle of one of the cot-tables, Nurse Carina has arranged candles of different lengths. They are all ablaze, creating a hypnotic flickering light. Around the candles, she’s written Happy Birthday Ceres using wildflowers of different colors. I read the message to Ceres, and she smiles, eyes shining.

  “You have to make a wish,” Nurse Carina says. “Out loud, so we can all wish right along with you. The more people that wish a wish, the likelier it is to come true.”

  Ceres looks at me, and I nod encouragingly. She walks to the table, and before she blows out the candles, she says, “Freedom.” And then we’re plunged into darkness.

  Everyone claps and cheers, and I quickly wipe the tears cascading from my eyes before the candles are lit again. I hug Ceres and kiss her on the forehead. She puts her hand on my stomach and beams at me. For the moment, it seems like everything will work out.

  Not long after the birthday wishing, the younger children begin to drift to sleep, so the Nukeheads decide to head back to their part of camp. I hug Sara, kiss little Alexander on the cheek, and tickle baby Raul before Rosa takes him back to their tent. Ceres is still deep in conversation with Lucas, so I decide to take a washroom break.

  We have a portable washroom set up against the perimeter fence, so I let the guards know I’ll be using it so they can give me some privacy. After I finish, I come back out and stretch in the cool night air. After being amid the thick crowd in the soupy heat, the fresh breeze feels good in my lungs. I’m still stretching when an arm snakes around my waist, pulling me snug against a man’s tall body. A hand clamps down over my mouth before I can scream.

  “Now, now. You don’t wanna ruin a good party, do you? Better you just come quietly with me.” Drew’s breath is fetid, as if he has been consuming rotten meat. With his arm so tight against my stomach, I don’t dare try to fight him.

  He drags me backward and out of sight into the brush bordering our camp.

  Drew straightens me up and lets me walk forward once we’re a few dozen yards past the camp. He holds a gun to my head, so he knows I won’t risk screaming. He’ll have my head in pieces before it’s ever finished leaving my throat.

  “What do you want?” I ask, fighting the panic lapping at my brain.

  Drew chuckles, the sound full of malice and madness. “I wasn’t done with you, you know that. And then you had the nerve to run off with that bastard, after how good I was to you? It ain’t right, Vika.”

  “Let me go.” I have now done what I’ve always wondered why kidnapping victims do. Why plead with your captor? Have they ever had a change of heart because of a pleading victim? “Please, Drew.”

  I hear the whooshing of displaced air as he jabs me in my temple with the muzzle of the rifle. Vermilion stars explode in my vision before all goes dark again. We continue to shuffle through the darkness, me occasionally stumbling and falling on rocks and roots, Drew prodding me in the back until I get up.

  After what feels like an hou
r, when my legs are aching and the bottom of my stomach has a sharp pain that won’t abate, I step on something sharp, cry out at the pain in my foot where my old wound has split open, and fall in a heap. I lie there, half-crying and half-willing myself to get up.

  Drew prods me with the rifle and huffs an impatient, “Get the fuck up.” But I cannot, I simply cannot. I have absolutely no stock reserves of energy and my foot throbs with every beat of my heart. I can feel the inside of my boot, wet with blood.

  “It’s my foot,” I gasp, trying to pry my boot off. It comes off after a mighty tug, and I feel a splatter of something warm on my hand. “I hurt it before, and I think I just ripped it open on something.”

  “Hey, do you think I give two shits? Get up, we’re almost there.”

  I look up where I hear his voice, but I can’t see anything in the darkness. The moon is hiding behind a film of clouds or haze or both. I am utterly alone.

  I hear Drew sigh, and then he grabs my arm and begins to pull me. I am too exhausted to fight—I doubt I would even if I thought I had a chance at winning. I took off my knife and pistol for the party, and am utterly defenseless. I wonder if I’ve come this far only to be killed by Drew. I follow him, trying not to scream from the agony in my foot, trying to put most of my weight on my good one.

  When he lets go of my arm and pushes me down, I look around, my eyes half-lidded. We are back in the big tent, and I am on Drew’s cot. I struggle to sit up, but he grabs my wrists and my ankles, and before I can even register what he’s doing, he has me in a four-point restraint.

  “Take a few minutes to rest.” A smile laps across his face. “And then you’ll need to apologize.”

  CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN

  I shiver violently, but with the restraints, I cannot pull my arms across my body to heat myself. Every bone in my body aches, and my brain feels fuzzy, like it’s wrapped in cobwebs. Nausea rolls in my stomach. I’m on my back. If I vomit, I will choke. I concentrate on taking deep breaths in through my nose and blowing them out of my mouth.

  What day is it? What time? How long has he had me here? Am I hurt? As if in answer, my foot throbs but then I sail away again, on a wave of semi-consciousness…

  Voices. Whispered male voices.

  “…he’s taking too long.”

  “He’ll be here.” Drew, tense.

  “If he doesn’t care enough, it’s going to fuck up our plans. We should’ve done something else.” Nathan, angry.

  “He’ll come. And he’ll get what’s comin’ to him, too.”

  “Well, if he comes and the bitch is dead, it ain’t gonna do us much good.”

  There’s a shuffling as they come into the tent. I close my eyes and lie still.

  A rough hand feels my forehead. I try not to wince at the pain in my skin. Drew curses softly.

  They undo my wrist cuffs and maneuver me to a sitting position. I look up at Drew’s sweating face. He puts a cup of water to my lips and I drink. My lips hurt from where they’re cracked; my tongue feels sand-coated and swollen.

  I take a swing at him before he can put me back in my cuffs, but he just grabs my hands and pushes them to my sides. That amount of effort takes everything I have, and I lie down, my head pounding with fever and disease. My foot aches.

  “We’ve bandaged it.”

  I hadn’t realized I’d spoken out loud. I sleep.

  When I wake up again, I am ravenous. Grinding my teeth simply to have the feeling of something in my mouth, I look around the dim tent, but there’s no one inside. My arms and legs are still restrained.

  “Drew.” My voice is hoarse and husky, barely above a whisper. I try to conjure up some saliva, swallow, and clear my throat. “Drew!” Marginally louder, but I’m not sure he’ll hear me if he’s more than a few yards away. Judging by the light and the temperature, it must be either early morning or early evening.

  I pull my arms towards the center of my body, and the metal restraints clang against the cot legs. I do it again, with more force, and the noise is louder. I begin to jerk my arms and legs like a psychotic, animated puppet, hoping that the noise will bring Drew or Nathan.

  I hear boots crunching outside my tent—footsteps slow and stop. The tent flap opens and Carlos’ face peeks in at me.

  “What the fuck, Drew? Did you beat her up?”

  “Not too much. She can handle it—she’s tough.” He chuckles.

  The tent flap closes, but I can still hear them outside.

  “Hurtin’ her wasn’t part of the deal.”

  “Don’t worry about the bitch right now. I gave my word we could meet without guns if you brought me the gold. I’ll trade you the gold for the bitch, fair and square.”

  “This ain’t fair,” Carlos responds.

  Nathan says, “Don’t—”

  Carlos marches in, Drew and Nathan on his heels, and cuts my leather cuffs. The manacles hang there after I’m free, like bereft prison guards defeated of their sole purpose in life. I sit up, gasping, not quite believing that the freedom is real.

  “I’m takin’ her with me,” Carlos says. His voice is authoritative, but his upper lip twitches and gives him away. “Deal’s off.”

  Drew stares placidly. He is dripping sweat, we all are. Fear is sour in the air.

  “You’re wrong on both counts,” he says, cracking his knuckles. The prot-prot-prot sound startles a fly that has landed nearby, and it buzzes off. “Neither of you are going anywhere.”

  I see Nathan, slightly behind Carlos, pulling out his gun. I open my mouth to warn him, but Carlos seems to know what’s going on. He pulls out one of the old guns he bought at le marché noir. A series of pops explodes; I’m not sure who’s shooting whom. Drew produces a gun like a magician. Blood sprays in mini-geysers, lashing against my face, and I cry out.

  Wait. Stop. Don’t.

  Missives, but they are too late. Carlos is missing an eye and most of the top of his head. Nathan is unrecognizable as Nathan. Drew remains standing, but there’s so much blood on him, I don’t know where it’s coming from. He slouches on the floor of the tent, his hand clasped to his gushing shoulder, just as I stand. I try to step over him but he pushes his knee up and I trip. Stupid. I wasn’t expecting that and I should have.

  He laughs. “You can’t leave me now,” he says, and I see then in his eyes just how much insanity he holds within him.

  I scramble to my feet again because I know if I don’t escape now I will never escape; he will keep me here until I die and maybe even after that. He reaches for me, but I feint left and kick at his hurt shoulder, hard.

  I run into the stinging sun outside with his shriek of pain echoing in my ears.

  My foot screams with every step; agony has had no meaning until now. I hobble and drag it along, and when I fall, I crawl until my palms bleed. I know Drew will catch up to me if I don’t hurry—it is only his shoulder that is hurt; his knee doesn’t slow him down too much. He won’t let me escape so easily, not after what he’s been through for the right to torture me, to own me.

  Panic threatens to flatten me when I fall the third time, because I am sure I hear footsteps no more than a dozen yards behind me. My foot throbs; it feels like a hot swollen rock at the end of my leg. Please, I whisper. Please, please. I have come so far. Please. But I know having come so far is no immunity against a terrible fate.

  I continue on, panting, groaning, sounding, I am sure, like an unknowably terrifying entity were anyone to hear me. But then Drew’s bellowed scream of rage shakes the sparse vegetation around me and I quiet down, bite my lip and press on.

  The perimeter of the camp catches me entirely by surprise; I was sure Drew would’ve caught a hold of me long before I reached it. I stumble into the guard, blinded—or nearly so—by pain, sweat, and fever.

  The Nukehead grabs me around my upper arms, his brow shiny with sweat. His eyes are so wide I can see all of his irises, round and brown like twin burnt planets.

  “Ms. Cannon,” he says. “We have been looking fo
r you.”

  I try to answer, but collapse instead, and surrender to the silent humiliation of being lifted into camp like an invalid.

  CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT

  The world comes back into focus in jagged pieces. The sand-colored canvas of the tent. A tin mug of water. Nurse Carina’s face, the wrinkles in sharp relief as she frowns, mouthing words at me. No, not mouthing. She is actually speaking.

  “… do anything to you?”

  Try as I might, I cannot understand her words. I shake my head and blink. Now I see Ceres, and I try on a smile. She looks upset, her face twisted in a childish expression of fear and panic, her fingers working a bouquet of wildflowers. The petals, shredded, cascade down onto my cot like colored raindrops.

  I reach out my hand to her, but somehow it connects with Sara instead. She gives it a reassuring squeeze. Alexander’s perched on her hip, gnawing on a sweet.

  A minute or an hour later, Nurse Carina and Reyes are helping me sit up. I try to use my feet to leverage my weight, and a lightning bolt of pain sears my entire leg and shoots barbs of heat into my hipbone. I cry out without meaning to, and, embarrassed, apologize.

  Reyes grins at me. “No need for your sorrys now, ma’am. All’s you got to do is open yer mouth and drink this nectar we got at le marché noir.”

  I look down at the tin cup Nurse Carina proffers. A mint green liquid is inside, with bits of herbs floating on top.

  “For the pain,” she explains. “Couldn’t give you most of our medicines because they’re based in alcohol. Not good for the baby.” She smiles gently.

  The tenderness in her face shatters my heart. After all the things this baby has been through already, that people would still think about its welfare is both depressing and heartening somehow. I sip at the liquid. Its tartness bites at the sides of my tongue, but soon I’m floating on a pleasantly buzzing cloud, and my body doesn’t seem to be attached to me anymore.