by Huss, JA
I’m already picturing a bath in the tub tonight when the tiny girl squeals again. The deck they’re on isn’t that far from the water. I don’t know how long that fall is—twenty feet, maybe? But all the older kids—the ones with no jackets—are directly below her, like they’re gonna catch her or something.
Cort shakes his head as he watches. And then he signs to me for the first time since we had sex on the roof. She’s afraid. But she’s gotta get over it. Then he quickly adds, more to himself than me, If she can’t make it through day one, she’s fucked.
Day one of what?
But I don’t have time to think about that because Rainer drops the little girl and she screams. Like one of those super high-pitched toddler screams. But those damn kids below actually do catch her. And then I realize that some of the other jumpers are already clambering up the platform stairwell below us.
But I’m worried about the little one, and keep my eyes on her as she is maneuvered through the water towards the rig. She is so small. Barely more than a freaking baby. Definitely no older than three or four.
Cort taps my shoulder and points as the kids enter the training floor.
I expect them to greet each other. Some backslapping, maybe? At least a few hellos, but those kids say nothing. They don’t even look at Cort. There is one older girl—pre-teen, or maybe an actual teen, wearing training shorts and a tight, black tank top—who takes charge and starts opening up the huge rusty shipping containers that line the back side of the platform with a set of clanging keys.
She swings the doors open, banging them against the containers next door, and then the next thing I know, the entire platform is swarming with kids. They are mostly small. The girl who seems to be in charge is the oldest as far as I can tell. One boy might be around her age. But all the others have to be under the age of ten.
Suddenly there is crying and when I look over at the stairwell, a sopping-wet Rainer enters the training floor holding the very small child who was just dropped out of the boat. She wails between hitches in her breath, totally out of control.
Rainer says nothing to her. He simply sets her down and gives her a forceful push towards the other kids, who are all very busy rolling equipment out of the containers. They work in teams and they work in silence. Not a single word is uttered. And when I glance over at Cort, he’s just watching them, arms crossed over his chest, severe scowl on his face, and eyes a bit narrowed.
His camp. That’s what he’s thinking. And these little kids are his students. It’s a weird place to have a camp and it doesn’t make much sense to me, but my experience with training goes back one month. So what do I know about it?
I’m standing around doing nothing while everyone else works, and that makes me uncomfortable. But I don’t know what to do. Cort is not paying any attention to me at all, so he’s no help. And no one is talking.
No one. It’s like we’re all a bunch of mutes.
Even the tiny girl has mostly stopped her crying and is doing her best to drag a box across the mats, taking frequent breaks to swipe the back of her hand across her running nose.
Well, I could help her. It’s better than standing here. I walk over to her and reach for the box. But the little brat attacks me with pointy little elbows and knees, snarling a little as she pulls the box out of my hand.
A sharp whistle makes everyone pause for a moment. I turn to find Maart glaring at me. “What the fuck are you doing?”
I just stare at him because what else can I do? I’m not going to communicate with him. I barely communicate with Cort.
“I asked you a fucking question.”
I look over at Cort, but the expression on his face is blank. In fact, I don’t even have his complete attention. He’s mostly concentrating on the kids and how they are managing the equipment.
And then, suddenly, Maart has crossed the mats to where I’m standing, has got a hold of my upper arm, and is dragging me towards the building. I jerk my arm, trying to make him let me go—because his grip is tight—but he just grips me tighter and gives me a sharp jerk back. “Don’t fuck with me today, Anya. I have a million things to do and none of them have anything to do with you. So right now, you’re nothing but a waste of my time. Do you understand me?”
Again, what part of I don’t talk does he not get?
He pulls the door open and tugs me into the hallway. Once inside, he lets go of my arm and gives me the same push that Rainer gave the little devil girl. I was just trying to help. Jesus, these people are all assholes. I can’t believe she attacked me. I’m going to have bruises from those tiny elbows.
Maart pushes me again. Only now he grabs my shoulders and pins me against the hallway wall, his finger pointed in my face. “I don’t know what the hell you and Cort have been doing out here for the past month, and I don’t want to know. I don’t fucking care. But whatever it was, it’s over now. Do you understand me?”
Maart here is either eternally optimistic, or really fucking stupid. Because I am never going to answer him. I’m not going to nod. I’m not going to flash him an OK sign or a thumbs up. I am literally a professional non-communicator. And if he thinks some angry words and finger-pointing can get me to break, he’s out of his mind.
What does he think? Lazar just said, It’s fine if you don’t talk, Anya. I love it when slave girls defy me?
No. That’s not how it went. There were beatings over my silence. And much, much worse things that came after, when that didn’t work. So Maart here, he’s getting nothing out of me.
He scoffs. “You know what, Anya? I don’t give a fuck about you. Those kids out there?” He nods his head towards the door. “That’s who I give a fuck about. OK? In six months, half of them will be dead in the fights. You do not matter. They do. So I’m gonna give you a job and you’re gonna stay the hell out of my way. You’re gonna stay out of Rainer’s way. You’re gonna stay away from all those kids, and don’t even think about getting close to Cort. Whatever the two of you have been doing out here, it’s over now. Do you understand me?”
Wow. Is he jealous?
He is. He’s pissed off because I was out here for a whole month. Alone. With Cort.
I almost smile. And he catches this.
“That’s funny to you?”
The kids? No. That sucks. But kids die all the time in my world. Lazar has gone through… hell, I couldn’t even begin to count the number of children who have passed through his house.
Maart isn’t stupid. Because somehow, he reads this in my blank expression. He sighs, runs his fingers through his thick, dark hair, and then looks down the hallway. “You’re the new cook. Normally, I make the oldest girl do it, but she’s got a fight in four months and she could use the training.” He looks back at me and shrugs. “She’s good. But not good enough. It’s probably not going to matter, but…” He blows out a long breath with that word. “Doesn’t hurt to try. So you’re the fucking cook.”
The door swings open just as those last words leave his mouth and a bunch of boys are on the other side with boxes stacked on hand trucks.
“Perfect timing,” Maart says. “Drop it all in the hallway, Anya’s in charge of the pantry.”
The boys don’t say anything, just offload their boxes and leave.
Maart picks up two of the boxes and points to a third. “Pick that up and follow me.” He goes into the kitchen, opens the door to the empty pantry, and drops the boxes. “Sort it out. Dehydrated and powdered protein goes on this side, carbs over there.” He points to the shelves. “Pile the sacks of oranges on the floor in that corner where it stays cool. And anything else you find in these boxes, goes in there.” He points to a cupboard with a lock on it. Opens it up to show me a smaller pantry.
Then he turns to the freezer and begins messing with a control panel on the outside. Something rumbles over our heads and then the panels lights up and begins beeping. I swear, I stand there open-mouthed, just picturing the things that will go into the freezer.
“It’s going to take about
twenty-four hours for this thing to get to the right temperature, but everything is packed in dry ice. So just put all the boxes marked ‘frozen’ in here and you can sort that shit out tomorrow. Make sure you check the pantry items for holes in the bags. We can’t afford for any of this food to go bad. We have three fucking months on this damn Rock and we won’t get a resupply.”
I am momentarily stunned by that revelation. Three months?
“Anya!” Maart snaps his fingers in front of my face. “Get to work. I’ll be back tonight when you’re done and show you how to make dinner.”
Then he turns and walks away.
Thank God. Maart is an asshole. But I don’t actually mind the job. At least I’m busy. And the sight of all the food I unpack is exciting. The boys appear over and over again, dropping the heavy boxes of dried and frozen meats, rice, pasta, frozen French fries, potatoes, yams, dried fruits, and even a few boxes of treats. Cookies, some chocolate, and there are three bottles of Lectra.
Three hundred thousand dollars’ worth of the Blue Devil.
I sigh just picturing my bowl of food tonight. Being the cook will be awesome. I’m going to make something amazing. There is some beef in there. I have spent the last thirty days eating just enough dehydrated chicken and nasty fish to get by and now the pantry will be full.
I don’t even know what time of day it is when Maart comes back because there are no windows in this building, I just know it’s been hours. I ran out of room on the pantry shelves a long time ago, but I have gone through all the boxes to check the contents, just to make sure none of the vacuum-sealed bags have any holes in them the way Maart asked. And they are now stacked neatly and precisely labeled on the far wall of the kitchen.
He pauses in the door to the pantry and looks it over. “Nice.” Then he turns and looks at my stack on the other wall, nodding his head. His eyes meet mine. “Good job. Now…” He sighs, like it’s been a long day. “We’ve got twenty hungry kids out there who need to eat. Plus me, Rainer, Cort, and you. So here’s how it goes.” He walks into the pantry, picks up a bag of dehydrated chicken cubes, and slaps it down on the stainless-steel counter. “You will rehydrate ten cups of chicken and make twenty-five cups of rice.”
What? Oh, hell no. I am not eating rehydrated chicken and rice tonight. Is he crazy? I’m throwing those frozen hamburger patties on the grill and making bags and bags of French fries tonight.
He laughs. And when I look at him, I realize he was probably reading my mind. “Anya.” His voice is low, not angry or stressed now, the way it was earlier. “I’m only going to say this once. We are on strict rations and these kids have a very specific diet. They will each get a bowl with one cup of rice and one quarter cup of chicken cubes. Do you understand me? You will not touch anything else in the pantry or the freezer without my permission. You will not be snacking on cookies tonight. There will be no steak dinner under the stars. For the next thirty days dinner is nothing but rice and chicken. Breakfast is one cup of cooked powdered eggs, half a cup of oatmeal, and an orange. There is no lunch. Got it?”
I don’t react, but I die a little inside.
Maart pats my shoulder. “I get it. I don’t know what the hell you and Cort have been eating out here for the past month, but I do know it wasn’t enough for two. But if I catch you eating any food that the rest of us don’t get, I will chop your fucking fingers off. Understand me, Anya?”
Dick. I shrug off his hand on my shoulder and then grab a giant stainless-steel pot from under the counter and bang it on the stove.
“Good. I’m glad we had this chat.” Maart turns to leave, but then he pauses and looks over his shoulder, his eyes focused on something off to the right. “And I know I already said it, but I’m gonna say it again. Stay the fuck away from Cort. Whatever you’ve been doing, it’s over now.” His gaze finds mine. “There is no sex on the Rock. Ever. And aside from Rainer and me, there is no talking, no sign language, no communication period for the first thirty days. So don’t even look at those kids. Cort can talk if he wants, but he won’t. Everything he puts these kids through, he puts himself through as well. We have one mission out here and that’s to teach them how to survive their fights. And if I think you’re going to mess that up, Anya…” He pauses to narrow his eyes at me. “I will take you down to the ocean in the middle of the night, drown you, and leave your dead body there to be eaten by the fish. Got me?”
I get him. I make dinner the way he said. And afterward he tells me to wash dishes and explains that breakfast is served just before sunrise so it had better be ready.
There is no lunch on the Rock. Apparently that’s the name of this place because that’s what he keeps calling it. And everything is on a schedule.
He wakes me up in the middle of the night and takes me down to the kitchen, where I make the most disgusting version of eggs I’ve ever seen. The kids wake up just before dawn, grab their bowls, and I plop in a half cup of oatmeal, top it with this yellow stuff they are calling eggs, and then hand them an orange. Cort, Rainer, and Maart get a little extra, but not very much. I don’t give myself extra. I’m used to feeling half-starved and to be honest, I have to choke down my ration of food every meal, it’s so gross now.
Then they drop their bowls and forks into the large sink and I do the dishes. By the time I’m done with that, everyone is fully engrossed in their training. Groups of kids arranged by age fill the mats. Cort takes the very little ones who look to be maybe six or under. That’s the biggest group. Nine boys and two girls, including the tiny elbow demon.
Rainer takes another group of four boys and one girl who look to be about eight or nine. This includes Evard.
Maart has the smallest group—the teenage girl who was in charge of the container keys the first day they arrived, another boy who looks to be about twelve, and two boys who are maybe ten.
No one pays any attention to me. But my name is still on one of the chalkboards. Every kid in camp has one and that’s where they find their schedule for the day. Mine still says the same thing it did before all these people arrived, so I continue the schedule. I jump rope for about thirty minutes—and I’m pretty good at it now. I can’t do all the fancy stuff like Cort, but I can do some of it. Then, if there’s space on the mat, I’ll practice my drills. And if there isn’t, I’ll try for a heavy bag. But mostly the space on the mats and the equipment is always in use and Maart is always ready to order me back into the kitchen.
Cort doesn’t bother with me at all. He’s with his group of kids every minute of the day. And at night, he keeps them all in a small section of the helipad where most of the bird nests are.
The baby birds are freaking huge now. They don’t even qualify as babies in my eyes because they are bigger than most dogs. But they can’t fly, so they are constantly being fed by the parents.
As far as the kids go, they don’t communicate at all. I feel like I was dropped into an alternate reality filled with other Anyas. It’s weird. They don’t sign. They don’t whine. They’re like little robots who just go through a schedule with no emotion.
Except for one moment each night. When everyone is finally settled on their sleeping mat Cort, and Rainer, and Maart will point up at the moon, flashing fingers to count the days. And then all the kids do the same.
One moment, every night. That’s it.
But we’re going to be here three months. And if Maart thinks he can stuff me in the kitchen that entire time, he’s insane. Because I like the training I did with Cort and I want to keep doing it.
So on the fifth day, after the kids drop their dirty bowls into the sink, I don’t stay in the kitchen and do the dishes. I walk out onto the mat and stand next to the oldest girl. She looks at me, confused, then looks straight ahead again when Maart comes up to us.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Of course I’m not going to answer him. But I don’t look at him, either. “Get off my mat and go do the fucking dishes, Anya.”
I do not move.
“What the
fuck is wrong with you? Are you trying to piss me off?”
Not really. But this moment is the most human contact I’ve had all week. I know that the kids appreciate the food I serve, but not hearing that little “thank you” when I feed them is really starting to annoy me.
In fact, I don’t care for my assigned position here on the Rock and I would like to renegotiate.
So I reach out and slap Maart across the cheek as hard as I can.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - CORT
I only catch the last bit of Anya’s slap. But the sound of it echoes in my head as everyone on the platform turns to look.
“Oh, fuck.” Rainer breathes these words from a few feet away. I break away from my kids to interfere, but Rainer grabs me by the arm. “Oh, hell no. You will not save her from this. She just…” He chuckles a little and shakes his head. “Fuck that. If anyone else in this camp slapped Maart across the face they would be thrown off the platform and left to die. She wants a fight? She’s about to get one.”
I let out a long breath, but I hang back with Rainer as Maart’s open hand strikes Anya across the cheek with enough force to make her spin and fall onto the mat as the breath rushes out of her lungs and she gasps for air.
Maart stands still, towering over her, his eyes narrowed and angry, his chest rising and falling just a little bit faster than normal. Anya chokes and then spits blood out onto the mat.
“What the fuck, Anya?” Rainer is pissed about the blood on the mat, not the fact that Anya probably just bit a chunk out of her tongue.
She pulls herself up, balancing on her palms, but she doesn’t try to stand up. Instead she slowly raises her eyes up to Maart and glares right back.
That’s a lot of words from a girl like Anya. But I don’t think Maart understands that. He hasn’t spent the last month with her. He hasn’t learned that showing feelings of any kind is like a manic rant in Anya’s world.
But I have. And her look says she’s not done yet.
She gets to her feet—slightly unsteady, but she squares her shoulders and tilts her chin up in defiance. Daring him to hit her again.