by Marina Epley
“Do you want to live?” Gabriel asks the guy. “Or shall I kill you now?”
It doesn’t really sound like the type of question you should answer. The servant shuts his eyes, remaining silent. I want to go back home.
Gabriel fires a shot just a few inches above the guy’s head.
“Welcome to Central Settlement,” he says softly, smirking. “Work very hard, please. Perhaps some of you will prove me wrong. Maybe some will even manage to earn their freedom.”
He holsters his gun, turns and walks away. Everybody stands frozen in shock, a deathly silence hanging over the yard like a smothering blanket.
CHAPTER 5
Once Gabriel leaves, Joan leads us into the servant’s section of the residence. We wind up in a large dining room with several tables, set with various dishes of delicious-looking food. There are chicken legs and steak, different salads and rolls, vegetables and other dishes I’ve never tried before. My stomach growls in anticipation. Back in the Recycling village our diet mostly consisted of sweet corn, potatoes and stale bread. I grab a plate and rush toward the nearest table, excited to try the new food.
After filling my plate, I plop down in a chair next to Trent.
“Are you still happy you left home?” he asks. “Does all this still seem like a good idea?”
It actually doesn’t. I shrug, looking down at my plate. I’m still weak and shaken after Gabriel’s welcoming.
“Damn it,” Trent mutters quietly. “Our new master is a psychopath and that lady with the whip doesn’t seem much better.” He turns to me and adds spitefully, “I truly hope you enjoy your stay in Central Settlement, Kora.”
I know what he’s doing. He’s deflecting his own disappointment and anger toward me, which is totally unfair.
“If we work hard we can earn our freedom within a year,” I remind him.
“And what then? What are you going to do once you’re free?”
I don’t answer. Swimming in the ocean and living in a huge house would probably seem like nothing more than a shallow dream to Trent.
“Don’t you want to be free?” I ask.
“I don’t know for sure, Kora. I’ve been a servant all my life. I don’t have a clue what I’d do after earning my freedom.”
Under the table, I press my fingernails into my hand. Talking to Trent makes me anxious.
“Well, we’ll see.” He suddenly smiles. “Maybe you’re right and life here will be better than back in our village.”
I know he’s prone to sudden mood swings. One moment Trent may be all brooding and blue, then laughing and joking the next.
“It’s so delicious!” the blonde with the stunning green eyes exclaims. “It’s such a relief to finally eat something besides fish. Back in my village we ate nothing but fish every waking day. I was getting sick of it!”
A dozen guys simultaneously smile at her comments. The two most desperate refill her glass of water and add more food to her plate. I glance cautiously at Trent. He’s concentrating on eating his meal. I pick up a fork and begin stuffing my mouth as well. My hand now has deep purple imprints left from my fingernails.
***
After supper, Joan leads us into another section that resembles a giant storage. We receive training clothes, underwear and stretchy bras that look more like small shirts. Nothing matches the vividly colored t-shirts and shorts made of elastic fabric. We additionally receive three sets of gray pants and matching tops identical to Joan’s, along with a pair of flat shoes. We are to wear them on days we’re not training. I gaze in astonishment at the shoes, touching them carefully. They seem to be made of genuine leather. In the Recycling village, only the master and his wife could own such footwear. I suddenly feel rich.
“What is the Terror Race?” a young girl asks Joan. “Is it some sort of competition?”
Joan ignores her questions.
“We all want to know what we’ll be training for,” the girl persists.
I hear the well-known sound of a whip slicing through the air and the girl’s astounded cry. Covering her face, she takes a step back from Joan. My legs turn weak and I start shaking. The girl pulls her hands away from her face and I see a deep bloody cut across her right cheek. All the servants grow silent.
“Like to have some more, sweetheart?” Joan asks.
“No, please,” the girl mutters.
“Ask one more question and you’ll have no skin left on your face or back,” Joan threatens.
The girl lowers her head in submission, blood trickling down her neck. I feel sick.
“You people! All of you! Listen carefully!” Joan glares at us. “You’re not here to ask questions. You’re not here to wonder about the Terror Race. You’re here to train and do precisely as you’re told. Stop thinking. Stop trying to show how smart you are. Be disciplined, follow instructions and train hard. Got it?”
She faces us and pauses, firmly gripping her whip. We all nod compliantly.
“Part of my job here is to teach you discipline,” Joan adds. “My methods may seem harsh, but at the end of the day you’ll be grateful for them. Your very survival will depend on the skills you’ll acquire during your training.”
Our survival? What exactly will we have to survive? The Terror Race?
I don’t get any answers for my unspoken questions. Joan orders us to continue receiving our clothes and we obediently carry out her order.
***
Afterwards, we’re allowed to shower and proceed to our quarters. I leave my clothes inside a small room with four beds, grab a uniform and run into the shower facility ahead of the other racers. Still shaken, I stand under the spray of hot water. I close my eyes and try to relax but can’t stop thinking of Gabriel’s handgun, Joan’s whip and the bloody cut across that poor girl’s face.
Back in my room, I find two young girls sitting on beds. They’re about eleven or twelve, and both look like scared little mice, complete with long noses and black round eyes. My roommates. I say hi and tell them my name.
“Hi,” one of the girls utters in a childish voice. “I’m Topaz and this is my sister, Martha.” Martha smiles shyly, waving. “We’re from Central Settlement.”
“I’m from the Recycling village,” I answer, forgetting that I had decided to conceal the truth about that particular detail.
I place my clothes on the bed closest to the window. The girls don’t say anything more, being too shy to speak. I can’t think of any topic to discuss with them either. The door swings open, smashing into a wall, and the blonde beauty with green eyes marches in. She struggles with a huge bag filled with clothes.
“Oh gosh, that’s heavy!” she groans, dropping the bag in the middle of the room. “I should’ve had those guys carry it for me.”
She laughs, wiping the sweat from her forehead.
“Oh my!” she exclaims, looking around. “This is what I call a really tiny room. Do they really expect the four of us to live cramped in here together?”
I wonder what kind of place she came from, if this room isn’t good enough for her.
“I’ll take this bed,” the blonde states, heading toward my bed next to the window.
I step in front of her. “I’ve already taken this one.”
Frowning, the girl abruptly stops and we face each other. Her huge exotic eyes study me for a moment, and then she smiles.
“No big deal. I’ll take this one then,” she says, motioning toward the bed next to mine. “I’m Amethyst by the way. But everybody calls me Amy.” She extends her hand.
“Kora,” I say, shaking hands with her.
“Oh, I love your name!” Amy exclaims.
Wide-eyed Martha and Topaz introduce themselves in a whisper.
“You’re named after a precious stone just like me!” Amy exclaims to Topaz. “Are you guys attending the welcome party? They’re building a campfire outside.”
The two young girls shake their heads no, looking more and more intimidated with each passing minute.
“I don’t know,
” I mutter, being fearful of any events where I may have to face a lot of new people. Too stressful.
“Oh please,” Amy begs, approaching me. “Please come with me. I don’t want to go all alone.”
“All right,” I give in, unable to say no under such intense pressure.
She lets out a shriek of delight and gives me a hug. I temporarily lose my breath, unaccustomed to this type of behavior. Stiff and awkward, I put my arms around Amethyst, mirroring her actions. Is this how friends are supposed to act around each other? I don’t know. I’ve never had a true friend.
Amy releases me from her hug and undresses, changing for the party. She’s almost as tall as me but is a little more filled out, with nice round breasts and hips. Her face is completely smooth and flawless. Deep painful sores used to cover my face during part of my childhood, a common affliction among trash pickers due to constant exposure to the dirt and chemicals. I still have tiny scars all over my cheeks, which I’m self-conscious about. I notice that Amy is missing a pinky finger on her left hand, and a strange pattern of long rough scars cover her arms all the way up to her elbows. Somehow, the scarring only makes her look more interesting and edgy. I also notice a string of black pearls around her wrist.
She pulls out a tiny dress from her bag, which reminds me more of a nightgown than a dress. Not one you’d ever sleep in, but the kind you might wear during your wedding night. I suppose Amy brought all these clothes from her village. She slips the dress on and asks, “What are you gonna wear?”
I mutter that I’m going to wear my gray uniform.
“No way!” Amy exclaims, her eyes filled with horror. “Borrow one of mine.”
I envision myself in one of Amy’s nightgowns, and the image is so miserable that it causes me to shiver. I’m definitely going to wear my uniform.
After braiding her own hair, Amy grabs me by the hand and leads me toward the door. Outside, a large group is already gathered around a big campfire. It’s dark out but the air is still warm. I look up, gazing into the bottomless blackness of the sky filled with a million shimmering stars. Suddenly, I feel like crying. I’ve never seen such a sky before. Fruit trees along with some bizarre-shaped plants grow outside our living quarters. I close my eyes and it seems like I can almost hear the sound of ocean waves crashing against the shore.
Amy pulls at my hand, heading toward a group of guys, but it’s a little too much for me to bear. I find myself a nice quiet place under a tree and sit down on the grass. Amy lingers around for a few more minutes, then leaves to chit-chat with her new fans.
“Hi Kora,” Tanya says, plopping down beside me.
“What are you doing out here?” I ask. “You’re not a racer, are you?”
“No,” Tanya shakes her head. “They’ve made me a cleaner. I’ll be washing floors in the training facility and mansion.” She offers me a genuinely sweet smile. “I just came to say hello.”
Of course she did. Back in our village, I was about the only girl who treated Tanya kindly. One time I even brought her an orange from Lady Augusta’s garden.
“Tanya,” I say. “This gathering is only for the racers. You shouldn’t be here.”
She looks up at me, hurt reflecting in her eyes.
“Go back to your quarters,” I add, worrying that the other racers might see me hanging out with her. What if they laugh at me for having such a friend?
“I guess you’re right,” she mutters, rising to her feet.
I watch as she walks away, her head hanging. I feel rotten inside and guilty. I see a lot of myself in Tanya, the same beaten down outcast, yet I willingly rejected her. I wonder what is wrong with me and why I have to act in such a mean, cowardly way. Shameful.
“How are you doing, Kora?”
Trent sits on the sand beside me. I flinch from the sound of his voice because I hadn’t noticed his approach.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” he says, a little surprised.
“Why not?” I ask.
“Well, you tended to keep away from people before.”
I don’t say anything, simply smiling at him.
Trent asks who my roommates are and whether I like them or not.
“They’re fine,” I answer. “Two young girls from Central Settlement and Amy.” I motion toward Amethyst who’s laughing loudly, surrounded by guys.
Trent grimaces. “She seems… a bit wild.” There’s a clear tone of disapproval in his voice.
“She’s cool,” I say defensively. “And she’s my friend,” I add, although I only met her like thirty minutes ago.
“Whatever,” Trent shrugs.
He becomes quiet. I realize that his attitude has significantly improved since supper. He grins, looking up at the stars with curiosity. The night, salty air, Trent’s closeness and thoughts of freedom suddenly overwhelm me. I feel euphoric. I lay my head on his shoulder, shocked by my own bravery, and we sit side by side for a few moments. Then I lean into him and quickly kiss him on the cheek, my heart pounding. He smirks, pulls me closer and suddenly kisses my lips. I freeze, completely dazed and anxious now. I’ve been dreaming about this moment for so long. Trent pulls away and we sit in silence again, holding hands.
Half an hour later, guards announce for us to gather around the campfire for branding. The masters use this method to distinguish their stock. I was seven when I received a picker marking across my left shoulder. The guards heat a branding iron and instruct us to form a line.
My teeth chatter when my turn comes. I pull up my left sleeve and a guard presses the hot red metal into my skin. I flinch in pain, smell my own flesh burning, and then it’s over. I stumble away, staring at my new branding mark.
A feeling of unease creeps over me as I realize there’s no going back for me now. I’m Master Gabriel’s servant. He may do whatever he pleases with me. I remember him threatening us with the handgun, and suddenly feel scared. I have no idea what he has on his mind.
CHAPTER 6
I have trouble sleeping the first night. After tossing and turning for several hours, I finally pass out only to see troublesome dreams in my sleep. I hear children crying and the anguished pleading of their parents. I dream of bloodied faces, burnt corpses and servants being buried alive. Public whippings and living under the constant fear of punishment with a violent master. These are images from my early childhood, a time before Master Dimitri came to our village. Several years later, those memories still haunt me.
I wake before dawn, thinking of my mother. I wonder whether she is awake as well. Is she missing me? I envision her being all alone in our small dark shack, and the painful thought pierces my heart. I press my face into my pillow, unable to hold back my tears.
“Kora, are you all right? Are you sick?”
Amy sits on the edge of my bed, patting my shoulder. She must have heard me sobbing. I mutter that everything is fine.
“You’ve been crying,” she says, a little astonished.
I look up and see a pair of most beautiful, sympathetic eyes in the world.
“What’s wrong?” she whispers. “Tell me all about it.”
She slips under my blanket and stretches out beside me. She lays her head on my pillow, facing me. I can’t understand how she manages to look so stunning even after having just woken in the middle of the night. Even her hair appears perfect, put up neatly into two thick braids.
“I’m just missing my mother,” I confess. “Do you miss your family?”
“Oh, of course,” Amy sighs. “I didn’t want to leave my village. I was happy there. I miss my parents and three wonderful sisters. I don’t know when or even if I can see them again.” She pauses, looking at me sadly. I understand exactly how she feels. “And I had a boyfriend back home,” she adds, grinning. “Actually, a few boyfriends.”
“Was your master brutal?” I ask.
“Well, not really. He could beat us sometimes. But he didn’t seem to care where we went or what we did as long as our work was completed.”
�
�Are your scars from the beatings?”
Amy lets out a quiet laugh. “No, silly! They’re from fishing. I’m from the Fishing village. I catch fish.”
I listen to her with a genuine interest, as if she’s an exotic creature that came from an entirely different world. I no longer feel like crying.
“Most adults go deep sea fishing in my village,” Amy tells me. “It’s dangerous work. They head out into the ocean on boats for days, catching large fish and sometimes even sharks. Those of us not going out to sea spent time noodling in the river.” Upon seeing my blank stare, Amy goes on to explain, “Noodling is where you catch fish in the river using your bare hands. You have to stick your arm into holes underwater feeling for a fish. You feel for a mouth and try to get it to bite you. You then grab hold and pull it out of the hole. One small problem is that the water is muddy. You can’t see anything, and can’t know what sort of thing is gonna bite you. And we have snakes, snapping turtles and many other creatures in our rivers. A nasty turtle once bit off my finger.”
Amy laughs about it as if telling a joke.
“That sounds really amazing,” I say, envisioning myself wrestling with a giant fish underwater, its sharp teeth piercing my flesh. I’d kill to have such a job.
“The master also had us shell diving for pearls,” Amy continues. “It was my favorite job. I can hold my breath underwater for up to three minutes.”
I make a mental note to check out how long I can hold my breath.
She wraps an arm around me and we fall asleep together. This time I see snapping turtles, strings of black pearls and Amethyst’s long golden braids in my dreams.
***
Joan wakes everybody right before sunrise. She walks along the corridor, banging on doors and yelling, “Rise and shine, sleeping beauties. Time to get moving.”
“Oh gosh,” Amy groans. “What time is it?”
My face feels numb from lack of sleep. I rub my cheeks, yawning.
We get about twenty minutes for breakfast before our first training session begins. No time for showering. In the dining room, we receive bottles of water and oddly shaped yellow fruit. I sniff the fruit suspiciously, then take a cautious bite.