Dark Parties

by Sara Grant

  I look at 1132, 1134, and 1135. Their eyes are half closed. I suddenly feel tired too. My skin tingles. I scratch my forearm and notice that 1134 is doing the same thing. They must have drugged us. My brain registers panic, but somehow my body doesn’t feel it. “Let’s go, girls,” one of the doctors says. “This is not very pleasant, we know, but it’s necessary.”

  The girl next to me obediently starts to undress. She slips off her T-shirt. Her large breasts sag in her ill-fitting bra. “Guess this is better than a Work Camp,” she mutters.

  I turn away from the doctors and struggle with the buttons on my shirt. My fingers feel thick. “Work Camp?” I murmur. I’ve heard of Community Farms but not Work Camps.

  “You don’t want to go there,” she says, tugging her pants past her hips. Her gray underwear is dotted with holes. The other girls are starting to undress too. All the numbers are diverting their eyes. I kick off my shoes and hop on each foot to pull off my socks. The new recruits are still wearing their underwear.

  “Everything, ladies,” one of the doctors says in an almost apologetic tone. “Let’s get this part over with.”

  I am unable to move. The bigger of the doctors walks over to us. She slips a bracelet off the young girl’s wrist. I’m thankful Braydon made me give him my snowflake necklace. Now she’s standing in front of me. She nods at my underwear. I can’t bear the thought of being completely naked in this place. My panties and bra have been recycled so many times they are merely shadows shading my caramel skin. She reaches behind me and unfastens my bra. I force myself to remove the last shreds of clothing along with my dignity. I instinctively cover myself but not before the doctor glances at the valley between my stomach and pelvic bone. My snowflake tattoo. I cross my legs and spread my fingers to obscure her view. Tears sting my eyes.

  I hear the hiss of water as the other girls turn on the showers full blast. One doctor shoos us over to the showers while the other doctor hands us gritty lumps of soap. The water is freezing, but I almost don’t feel it. I want to wash away the dirty feeling that’s come over me. It’s not just the Empowerment Center; it’s what I did with Braydon last night. This is starting to feel like my punishment. I deserve worse than a cold shower. I’m here to save Sanna and redeem myself.

  I lather and lather and lather my body, trying to generate warmth. I am shivering. I scrub at the number on my arm until one of the doctors wags her finger at me. “Rinse,” she says.

  I wrap myself in a stiff towel that doesn’t want to bend around me. My teeth are chattering. We are led to a bench with combs and brushes scattered on top. We dutifully yank the tangles from our hair. I slick mine away from my face. We are given hospital gowns with sleeves that don’t reach my elbows and a hem that doesn’t cover my knees. I wrap it around me, clutching closed the gaps between the series of ties on the front.

  “We’ll give you each a quick exam and then we’ll show you to your room.” The bigger doctor takes 1132 and the other doctor takes my arm and leads me to a door at the far end of the hall. As we get closer, I drag my feet. This isn’t right. The doctor pulls me forward.

  “It’s a little uncomfortable, but it’s not going to hurt,” she tells me. “It will be easier if you relax.”

  “W-what are you g-going to do?” I ask as we reach the door.

  She pauses with her hand on the doorknob. “It’s a simple female exam. You’ve had one of those before, haven’t you?”

  I vigorously shake my head. Some mothers take their daughters to doctors for female exams, but I’ve always been healthy. Mom got a letter in the mail from the Minister of Health when I turned sixteen. She read it and threw it in the trash. I’d rarely seen her that angry, so I dug the letter out when she wasn’t looking. It was a doctor’s appointment for me at the main medical facility. I didn’t go, and Mom never mentioned it again.

  “Please, no,” I say when I see the examination table with two big metal arms at one end. I don’t understand why they are doing this. I’ve got to get out of here. I think of Sanna but only for a fleeting second. I don’t have the strength to struggle, and the doctor’s grip is firm. She pulls me inside the room.

  “This is a simple exam. I promise you. A few tests. That’s it. Hop up here and it will all be over soon.” She pats the exam table.

  Braydon was right. This is stupid. What choice do I have now but to see my plan through? I summon all my strength and climb up on the table. She pushes me into a lying position. She stands at the end near my feet and pulls my hips forward. She places my feet in the metal arms. My legs are spread wide around her. I try to close my legs, but she eases my knees apart. “Relax. Take a deep breath. Close your eyes.”

  I do as she says. I try to conjure up Braydon’s face, the way he touched me so tenderly, but I can’t. My body was so alive with sensations last night. Now my body is limp and lifeless. She pokes and prods between my legs. She’s telling me what’s she’s doing. Some kind of test. Checking for something. I can’t bear it. I wonder if I will ever be able to feel like I did last night. At this moment, I can’t imagine it. I disappear into the darkness behind my eyes.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  After the exam, they take a tube of my blood. The lady who told me to call her Dr. Ann leads me to a huge room with wall-to-wall cots. She tells me to lie here and rest until I feel strong enough to come outside. I pull the scratchy, thin blanket around my shoulders, fold my knees into my chest, and dig my heels into my buttocks.

  My mind goes black. Maybe it’s sleep. I don’t care. I don’t want to think.

  I hear voices; people are talking loudly. I imagine it’s Braydon. My eyes pop open. A face looms large in my field of vision. I think it’s one of the girls from earlier because her hair still looks damp. I glance at her left forearm: 1132.

  “Get up. Come on. There’s a fire.” She’s dragging me to my feet. I sway for a second, trying to find my balance. Sitting by a fire would be nice. Maybe it can take off the chill that has seeped into my bones. I don’t see a fireplace, just row after row of empty cots.

  “Fire.” I say the word and think of Braydon and the smiley face lighter. Fire. Fire. “Fire?” I say again, but this time I’m beginning to understand. Number 1132 is plowing a straight line to the door. Cots bang against my legs and I trip, but 1132 won’t let me fall. Guards are shouting as they race past us. I think I hear a baby crying. I can smell smoke, but it can’t be. They would have put our small fire out by now. Braydon should be waiting for my signal. Number 1132 is dragging me down the hall and toward the same door we came in. At least I think it’s the same. My head is fuzzy. I’m forgetting something. Something important. I almost remember, but it slips away. Then it comes flooding back.

  I stop. Sanna. I break free from 1132. She glares at me and then darts out the door.

  “Sanna,” I shout, and run through the building, punching open every door. The building is empty. I hesitate at the double doors at the end of the hallway. I push them open and look inside. It’s an operating room. Silver surgical instruments are scattered across the floor. The room still looks sterile, except for a pool of blood, glistening red in the artificial light. There are red footprints that stop at the door I’m holding open. What are they doing to these women?

  “Sanna!” I scream even louder and race back down the hallway and outside. It’s night, but the sky glows. A wall of fire is blazing down the hillside. I want to run toward it and let it cleanse me. I feel dirty and raw. I imagine the warm flames licking my skin.

  I am surrounded by a swirling sea of girls, dressed in the same flimsy nightgowns as I am. Their bare feet kick up dust from the dirt road. My ears are filled with the crackling sound of fire and popping as the heat consumes trees.

  “Sanna!” I call. No one responds to the name. Maybe no one can hear me. I shout her name again as I weave through an ever-shifting mass of bodies. I turn girls to face me. I’m looking for Sanna’s scar, but every face I see is rosy red and smooth. I shout her
name again and again. Maybe she can’t remember her name, and I don’t know her number.

  I am being drawn farther and farther away from the brick building. I can’t leave without her. I stop and slowly turn, checking every face as it passes. Everyone’s screaming. The girls form an uneven line and disappear down the road.

  I race back to the brick building, the dust and smoke scratching my throat. I cough once to clear my throat, but I can’t stop coughing. Black flecks of ash dot the hot air. I’m almost back where I started. I shout for Sanna again. I double over. I’m trying to catch my breath, but my body seems to reject it. I close my eyes and try to calm myself. Even though the air is thick with smoke, my mind is getting clearer. I must find Sanna.

  I can see guards and women in blue pounding at the fire with blankets. They form a line from the brick building, and buckets and bowls and pitchers of water are being sloshed from hand to hand. The fire inches forward, burning a black line in the brown grass. The smell of scorched earth is overpowering.

  The door to the big wooden barnlike building is open, and girls in long, pink balloonlike nightgowns are staggering out. I race over to help them, to point them in the right direction. They are tripping over their gowns. One girl falls onto her hands and knees. I rush over to her. She looks up at me with a mixture of alarm and confusion. “It’s okay,” I tell her. I notice her number. It’s 367+. I wonder what that means.

  “What’s your name?” I ask as I help her to her feet.

  Her eyebrows narrow, and she squints. She can’t understand what I’ve asked. “What’s your name?” I say again but realize now isn’t the time. I point to the road. “You need to follow those girls. Follow them.”

  She nods and staggers forward. She stops and turns toward me. “Christy,” she calls. “My name is Christy.”

  “You need to run, Christy,” I yell, and wave her away. She starts walking, a little more steadily on her feet.

  A few more girls in pink are exiting the barn. They look around with half-open eyes. There’s something else that doesn’t seem right. Another girl drops to her knees. She doesn’t cry out. I rush over to her. Her gown is pulled tight under her knees, and that’s when I notice she’s pregnant. She looks down at her bump as if she’s only just noticed it. I help her up and instruct her to head to the road. I don’t think she understands what I’m saying, but I point to the other girls in pink who are waddling forward, like plump, round zombies.

  I make my way to the barn’s opening. The inside is bathed in a fiery glow. It’s stark white like a hospital ward, dramatically different from its rustic exterior. Many hospital beds are lined in neat rows. Two women in scrubs are unhooking sleeping girls from the masks, tubes, and needles that seem to pin them to their beds. Two other girls dressed like me are following behind them and waking the girls and hauling them to their feet.

  And it all makes sense.

  My whole body starts to shake. I think of my new government-issue brother or sister. A prison just for women. Our government’s need for more citizens. The government is hijacking girls’ bodies. I can’t believe it’s true, but the proof is all around me. My stomach convulses. The what and how are too awful to think about. I swallow back the bile rising in my throat. The horror of it refuses to sink in. I can’t just stand here. I’ve got to help them.

  With renewed energy, I press forward. The farther I move into the building the hotter and hotter it gets, as if I’m walking into an oven. Sweat is dripping down my temples. I flick the sweat from my eyes so I can see more clearly. That’s when I notice that the back of the structure has caught fire. Flames are eating black holes into the white walls. Two guards are beating the flames with blankets.

  A girl my age walks toward me. She’s swimming in the pink gown. I rush up to her. She squints up at me.

  “Nicoline.” I lunge for her and hold her close. I see the faint red outline of a star on her cheek. “You’re all right.” I hurry her forward. “Have you seen Sanna?”

  She shakes her head. “Sanna,” I say, and trace an S on my cheek.

  “Sanna, I’m so glad you’re safe.” Nicoline pats my cheek. She thinks I’m Sanna.

  “No, where is Sanna?” I’m desperate to make her understand, but it’s no use. I drag her outside and point.

  She squints at me again. There’s a flicker of recognition in her eyes. “Sanna was here,” she says and walks away.

  What does that mean? Does that mean she was taken someplace else? Or…

  I won’t let myself fill in that blank. I check every bed and every face. I’m ahead of the team waking the girls now. Only a few more beds to go.

  Then I see her. Her scar shines brightly between the mask covering her nose and mouth and the tubes hanging from clear bags looped on hooks on the side of the bed. I watch the other women for a second and mirror how they are disconnecting the other patients. I check to see if the bed has wheels. Maybe I can wheel her out of here. But the beds are bolted to the floor.

  “Sanna! Sanna! It’s me, Neva. Wake up!” I’m shouting at her as I pull her to a sitting position. I lower the rail along the bed and swing her feet over the side. I shake her gently at first, repeating her name and mine. Then I slap her full in the face, just as she did me on that dark road only a few nights ago. Her eyes pop open. She stares at me for a second and then rests her head on my shoulder. She’s trying to speak. I can feel her lips moving. I hug her close, and I hear her whisper, “Nev, you came.”

  “We’ve got to get out of here.” I half drag, half carry her out of the barn. The roof is on fire and the barn is filling with smoke. All the beds are empty and the last few girls are stumbling out along with us. At this pace we’ll never make it. The fire is stretching out around us and closing in like a fiery hug.

  We keep moving. We pass nearly all the girls in pink. I want to stop and help all of them, but I can’t. I’ve got to save Sanna. I spot Nicoline and call to her. She waves and waits so we can catch up. Her eyes are open wider, but she’s still a little unsteady on her feet. Her pink nightgown is dragging on the ground. I balance Sanna on my hip and bend over to pull Nicoline’s gown up. I bunch a section of the hem in my fist and tie it into a big knot so she can walk without tripping.

  “What are we going to do?” she asks. “We’ll never make it out of here.”

  “We will. I promise. Braydon’s here somewhere.” I look around as if hope will make him appear. Sanna perks up at the mention of his name. “He’ll get us out.” I say this like it’s a fact, but my gut tenses. The fire is out of control. I’ve got no way to know where he is or if he’s safe. And if, dear God, he’s okay, we’ve got hundreds of women and one motorcycle.

  As we walk, Sanna and Nicoline get stronger. My thighs feel slick with the gel the doctor used to examine me. The memory causes another wave of nausea. These girls have been through worse, much worse. Smoke and ash swirl around us. I pull my gown up to cover my nose and help Sanna and Nicoline do the same. Girls all around us are faltering. We stop to help and give encouragement, but words are hollow. Even the half-awake girls in pink understand our situation is pretty grim. My plan has gone so horribly wrong.

  Sanna’s nearly able to walk on her own by the time we reach the freshly paved road. Maybe it’s my imagination, but I think I can hear the roar of the van’s engine as it zoomed up behind Braydon and me yesterday. I turn in time to see a white van heading straight for us. I shove Nicoline and Sanna out of the way. As the van parts the smoke, I can see it is crammed with guards and the other staff from the Empowerment Center. They have stopped fighting the fire and are abandoning us. I help Nicoline and Sanna to their feet. We are miles from civilization. Without any means of transportation, we will die.

  Girls are clustered in twos and threes. Everyone is helping one another. The sight makes me think of the Minister of Health’s name for her baby-making prison: the Women’s Empowerment Center. Maybe she’s done it after all. I’m surrounded by girls of all shapes and sizes. Battered and bruised and c
oated in dirt and soot, but we don’t give up.

  “Come on!” I shout. “Keep moving.” We walk. The fire flickers behind several rows of trees. It illuminates our path. Waves of heat push us forward. I urge Nicoline and Sanna ahead of me. There’s a fist-size red spot on the back of Nicoline’s gown. The stain, like the fire, seems to spread out at a rapid rate. Blood is dripping down her legs, leaving a trail of red spots for me to follow.

  “She’s miscarrying,” a young woman next to me whispers. “She needs medical attention, in case there are complications. If the fire doesn’t get her, she could bleed to death without the proper medical treatment.”

  “What?”

  The woman’s arms cross over her full round belly, as if she might catch whatever Nicoline has. “You know what they’ve done to us,” she says.

  I nod.

  “Well, she doesn’t. I had two miscarriages before I was sent here.” She hugs herself and sways as if rocking a baby. “I knew what they were doing to me. Most of these girls don’t have a clue. It’s not like they tell us much before they send us off to dreamland. What’s the date?”

  I tell her.

  “I’ve been out for seven months.” She starts to cry. “Seven months.” She grabs my arm and now I’m pulling her along.

  Up ahead the girls seem to disappear. It takes me a minute to realize. We’ve made it to the highway. We could survive. Someone could spot us and get help.

  “It’s the highway,” I tell the woman. “Up there.” She lets go of me and starts to run.

  I find Nicoline and Sanna and wrap my arms around their waists. “We’ve almost made it.”

  Nicoline looks down at her blood-soaked gown.

  “We’ll get you help,” I tell her.

  “What did they do to me?” she asks.

  I can’t tell her. “You’ll be okay.”

  We’ve nearly reached the on-ramp to the highway. We hear screams. Has someone found us? We surge forward. Nicoline staggers and falls to the ground. “Go on!” she shouts, and waves us on. How can we leave her? “Go!” she demands.