Ava was locked in a box. She woke with a pounding headache and an overwhelming sense of dread. She struggled to open her eyes, the light was dim, and she didn’t trust what she was seeing. She reached out with shaking fingers and could feel soft padding on either side and underneath. She was naked. She sat up and almost vomited, she kicked out with her feet and connected with an empty metal bucket. Beyond that, she could feel the same gauzy material she was lying on. She closed her eyes again. Thoughts like confetti flickered through her grasp and faded away. This must be a bad dream.
She woke again after a time. She had no idea how long. Her head still hurt. She was still imprisoned in this hot padded box; it was no dream. She rolled over and looked around with fuzzy eyes. She was in a small square space, the walls, floor, and ceiling were covered in thick padding. It was not quite big enough to stand up in. She cried out as her head hit the padded ceiling. There was a small door at one end, where a tiny amount of light penetrated the gap between the top of the door and the ceiling. In front of the door the bucket had been placed upright and next to it there was a bowl of rice and a bottle of water. She cried out again. She yelled, “Neymar! Ronaldo! help!” But her little voice was absorbed by the padded box. She screamed and screamed again then fell sobbing on the floor.
She cried for a while and then she got angry, angry at herself for getting caught. Stupid fucking chicken. She kicked out and punched the walls until her hands hurt, she got anxious and scared again. This wasn’t a police cell; the thugs that abducted her were not police. Smokey Mountain kids disappeared all the time, most of them were forced into slavery or worse, but she never thought it would happen to her. She was young, but she knew of the horrible things people do to each other, she knew she was still alive because they wanted to do horrible things to her. She ate her rice and drank the water, she tried to get her fingernails in the gap at the top of the door, but it was too small. There was a bright light shining outside and she yelled at it a few times and tried her best karate kicks on the door, but it did not budge. Something moved behind the door and blocked out the light. She screamed and kicked the door with even more vigour, but a foul-smelling gas poured into the little room through the gap. She tried to hold her breath but soon fell unconscious to the floor.
She woke up in a different place. Her head was heavy, she couldn’t open her eyes and her arms and legs were dead. She could hear people talking in the background. Muffled voices, adult voices, male voices.
“Isn’t it a waste of anaesthetics? Most of them won’t survive.”
“Yes, but it’s so much easier when they’re unconscious. You can’t operate when they’re kicking and screaming.”
Sharp chemical smells filled Ava’s nostrils. Her eyes stayed closed, but there was a burning bright light above her. Red circles under her eyelids, hot like the Sun. Some feeling returned to her limbs. She became aware of her body and flexed against the restraints. She was naked, strapped to a table. Her arms, legs and neck were firmly bound to cold hard metal beneath. The voices came closer. A cold gloved hand touched Ava’s stomach.
“If they’re not going to survive why not take the heart and lungs as well as the kidneys?”
“They have to be used within six hours so the logistics can be difficult. Kidneys last twenty-four hours or longer with the right transportation. We try to keep them alive so we can operate on them again. Some customers also want to see the donor before the operation.”
“What about their blood?”
“Yes we can drain their blood. It’s not worth anything though, especially from filthy little street rats like this one.”
Ava couldn’t wake up properly, she couldn’t open her eyes and her arms and legs were weak. The bright light burnt a red circle on her eyelids. She was beginning to realise something horrible was about to happen. They were talking about her. Her blood. Her kidneys. She forced an eye to open and was instantly blinded by the hot white light above.
“Why does Lago want the pineal gland”
Ava could feel the man’s breath on her face as he stooped over her. It smelled like chicken and garlic. “Lago believes that the pineal has some metaphysical properties. He thinks ingesting pineal glands from children on the verge of puberty can prolong his life. It’s a myth, of course. Just another fantasy that wealthy people looking for eternal youth want to believe.”
Ava didn’t understand these words. But she knew they were talking about her. Panic started to build inside her screaming dread and danger, screaming get the fuck out of there, but her body could not respond. She couldn’t even move her limbs. There was a cold sharp pain in her arm, then she didn’t care, she was numb, she only wanted to sink into delicious sleep. The hot bright Sun began to dim. The last thing she could see before her flickering eyes closed was a gloved hand holding a little metal bone cutting saw.
She woke up. Everything hurt. Her body was tender and sore all over. She didn’t know where she was, she didn’t know who she was. She didn’t even have enough energy to cry. She was detached from reality, maybe she was dead.
She woke up again. She could remember her name but not much else. She was in the box. She was still too weak to move, and the pain had condensed to her head and belly. She was alive and conscious enough to know she was still a prisoner. She was still in trouble. She tried to kick but her legs were too weak. In the dark, she could feel an ugly scar on the back of her head that was wet with congealing blood and throbbed with pain. There was another wound across her abdomen. She gently touched the stitches and cried herself back to sleep.
She woke up again. It was horrible to wake up in this claustrophobic nightmare. Ava lost count of the days. She would wake up, head thick with fog, delirious and disorientated, remembering where she was. The bucket had always been emptied and there was always a bowl of rice and a bottle of water placed in front of the door. She couldn’t seem to focus her thoughts, she would go through the same range of emotions, fear, anger, and misery before they all started blending into one. She would shit and piss in the bucket. She tried to keep count of how many water bottles, how many bowls of rice and how many sleeps but she soon lost the numbers. She couldn’t concentrate on anything. There was something missing in her head. She would see visions of Baby and Ronaldo, but she couldn’t quite remember who they were. They scolded her for not catching the chicken. She would see the stupid one-legged chicken in the corner of the box, looking at her sideways, pecking at her feet. The chicken began to talk to her, taunting her, telling her she was too slow and shit at karate. She began to use her own shit to draw the faces of her friends on the padded walls in the dark. She couldn’t remember what they looked like, but it was much better having some company, someone to talk to.
Ava knew that she was being kept alive for a reason. They must want more from her. More organs or bits of her brain. She suspected she had been drugged but she couldn’t be sure. She couldn’t be sure about anything. The drugs sucked the life and the will to fight out of her. When the drugs wore off, she was achy, itchy, feverish, and nauseous. She welcomed the numbness, but she knew she had to try and escape, she had to get out of this horrible shitty hot box with that bastard chicken.
It was so hard to formulate her thoughts. There was a missing link in her head. She lived in a cycle of anxious pain then numb oblivion with only her shit friends and the taunting chicken for company. She didn’t know how many weeks this went on for, she had lost any sense of time, but in rare moments of lucidity, she knew she could not live like this. They would come for her again and cut her open, it was only a matter of when.
She dreamed of the Sun. Directly above her, close enough to touch. It's scalding, caustic light exposing her, cooking her. Ava woke up on the operating table. Under the harsh, burning light. She was naked. She tried to concentrate through her drugged haze, attempting to understand her surroundings and look for an opportunity. She had no idea what, but she had to do something or die trying. She kept her eyes closed and pretended to be unconscious, listening to the voices.
“Half a million dollars for this little liver. Hard to believe.” Ava felt a soft hand on her arm and could sense someone standing over her. She couldn’t feel any restraints. This was her chance.
“He needs a new one quickly. His liver is riddled with disease.” Ava sensed another voice close by. “It’s a routine operation Lago, I have done hundreds of them. I appreciate you taking the time to come down here and supervise but it’s really not necessary. I’m sure you have more important things to do.”
A terrifying sense of urgency galvanised Ava. She risked opening one eyelid a fraction to see two men standing next to the gurney she was lying on. One of them put down a syringe and went to fasten her restraints. Next to her there was a table with equipment. Shining steel forceps, swabs and several scalpels. She flexed her limbs. She had to act now.
“Yes I do. But I enjoyed her pineal gland and I want to try the adrenal. I believe the hormones and steroids will be beneficial. And I want to see where it comes from.”
The man talking stooped over Ava, inspecting the scar on her abdomen. He stroked her belly tenderly and smiled. A surge of revulsion swept through Ava, and her limbs moved instinctively. Just as the other man was beginning to tie the restraints, she snapped her knee into his head and felt a satisfying crack. At the same time, as his head swayed towards her, she rose up and bit down hard on the man’s ear. She tasted his blood, salty and metallic.
“Aah fuck! You fucking bitch!” The man rocked back holding his ear, leaking blood down the side of his face.
Ava spat out a piece of the man’s ear and rolled over, grabbing at the scalpels on the table. He focused on her and Ava looked into his rage-filled eyes. His hands were round her throat and he was screaming. “You fucking little bitch!” She tried to kick out as he choked her, and the other man struggled to restrain her legs. His eyes were bloodshot and demented, huge black pupils dilating his entire eyeball. Blood ran down the side of his face, dripping into his bared teeth and into his black beard. Her hand clasped a scalpel and she swung it around blindly, hoping to connect with anything solid. She was terrified and already exhausted, but she didn’t have time to think. Her body was moving faster than her brain as she tried to stab at the man’s face.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
Her arms were weak and there was no power behind her lunge, but the scalpel connected and cut a thin bloody line from his chin, through his beard to his right cheek. The scalpel stayed embedded in his cheek as he drew back in horrified shock, a look of stunned disbelief on his face. He seemed to forget about Ava as she wriggled underneath him trying to escape. The scalpel hung from his face but fell to the floor as he screamed again. Ava rolled off the table and fell to the cold hard floor. She slipped in his blood as he staggered back but she found the scalpel and managed to stand up on shaking limbs. The man that had been strangling her had both hands to his face trying to stop the bleeding. He was screaming and swearing. The other man in a white smock was cowering in front of another operating table. On the table, an old fat patient lay prone and unconscious. Something primal and angry inside Ava took over. She screamed, high-pitched and bloodcurdling and swung the bloody scalpel at the man in the smock who staggered backwards, knocking the table over and sending the unconscious patient sprawling across the floor. At the same time Ava spied the door and ran for it. The man she had cut tried to stop her, but the limp body of the patient tripped him up. She was out the door and running down a corridor. Naked and bloody.
She didn’t have time to think. The primal rage still fuelled her, like a wild animal had taken over. She screamed again as she raced down the corridor. Voices shouted behind her. The man she had cut was giving chase. She crashed through some double doors and out into a loading bay. Below her, two black vehicles were parked with a group of burly men gathered around smoking. They all looked startled as Ava screamed at them and brandished the scalpel. She leapt on top of one of the vehicles as the bleeding man burst through the double doors and screamed. “Get her!” Ava was too fast. She raced across the roof and bounced off the bonnet of the vehicle and she was out on the street. It was dark and she had no idea where she was, but she just ran. The men gave chase. She scampered down the middle of the road, still screaming for help but her legs were weakening, her strength was draining away. The men were gaining on her. She came to a bridge and ran to the middle. She couldn’t see what was below, it was too dark. They were almost on her. There was only one option. She clambered over the concrete fence and tumbled over the edge, only just avoiding the grasping arms of her pursuers. She screamed again as she fell, not knowing what was beneath her, then she hit the water hard.
Ava couldn’t swim. She had only ever had the occasional bath. She flapped around, splashing and swallowing mouthfuls of foul-tasting water. She went under several times as she was swept away. Just as she was about to be overcome by the dark watery oblivion, she felt mud and rocks beneath her feet. Just enough solidity to stand up and breathe properly. She pushed off the bottom and floated down the river, closer to the shallow edge. She crawled through the shallows for hours. Through the rubbish and thousands of plastic bottles, determined to get as far away as possible from the nightmare behind her. Eventually she collapsed in the warm mud and let herself succumb to exhaustion.
She woke up in daylight. The hot Sun beat down on her. She was sore all over and it was the pain that eventually galvanized her, that forced her to move, to do something. Anything to take her mind off the aching and get her out of the Suns scorching gaze. Her whole body was slick and slippery, covered with wet, stinking mud. She raised her head and looked around at the buildings close by. Some ramshackle huts next to the water. She was in the muddy foreshore of a tidal estuary, washed up with the rest of the rubbish. She tried to crawl, but she was too weak. Her rage had disappeared and with it all her energy. She tried to cry but it hurt terribly. The stitches across her belly had burst and fluids were leaking out. The back of her head throbbed terribly; it was a raw open wound. She forced herself to crawl through the mud, one arm wrapped around her bloody, muddy, stomach, holding her intestines in, but it was too hard. She collapsed several times and lay there choking. Just as she drifted into unconsciousness again, she heard cries of alarm and could feel hands lifting her up out of the mud.
She woke up again and this time it was even more surreal. Blinding white lights blazing down on her, faces she didn’t recognise staring at her and saying comforting words. Acrid smells assaulting her nostrils, an acid burn in her stomach and a throbbing pain in her head. She had a surge of panic, thinking she was back in the operating room. And it was all too much for her twelve-year-old brain, she slipped back into the sanctuary of unconsciousness.
When she emerged from the darkness again her eyes were stuck together, and her body was numb and alien, as if it wasn’t hers. She forced her eyes open and took in the surroundings. She was in a bed with scratchy sheets, one of many beds lined up in a row against a wall that went all the way down to a grimy window at the end of a long room. She had no idea how long she had been there. She had lost all sense of time and her memories were in pieces. There were gauzy bandages wrapped around her middle, tubes attached to her nose and another tube taped to her arm. Her head was also bound tightly. A man was sitting in another bed next to hers, he smiled and waved. He had a black beard. Ava panicked, screamed, fell out of the bed, ripping the tubes out and hitting her head on the floor.
She was woken up again, not knowing where she was, not knowing who she was, wondering if she was alive or dead. She would rather not wake up at all. Hands were gently holding her shoulders. Someone was shining a bright light in her eye. She overheard a conversation; people wondering who would do this to a young girl and describing how strong she was. She wouldn’t answer the doctor’s questions, she didn’t know what to tell them. She never had a proper conversation with an adult in her entire life, and after her ordeal she was terrified of any male with facial hair. She couldn’t put the pieces back together. When they finally left her alone, and as soon as she was strong enough, she limped out of the hospital in her gown. No one tried to stop her, no one gave her a second glance.
She walked all the way back to Smokey Mountain in bare feet. She got lost many times, but some homing instinct guided her. She remembered her Nike trainers, she wished she still had them. Her head ached, she was empty, but she wasn’t hungry, just thirsty but too weak to steal any water. The bandages wrapped around her torso were tight, the only thing holding her together. Her head was also bound with bandages and throbbed constantly. Most people passing by avoided her. Some tried to stop her and offer help, but she just kept moving, trying to stay out of the Sun. She didn’t trust any grown-ups. During her walk she kept seeing the stupid one-legged chicken, stalking her, standing on street corners, staring at her with one demented eye. Eventually she made it back to the bus, crawling over the trash, her body weak and starting to feel feverish. It was the middle of the day so most of the Metalheads were out foraging but Messi was there looking after the bus.
“Ava! Oh my god! Are you ok? Where have you been?”
“Agua,” was all she could say. Messi fetched a water container and watched with concern as Ava drained it then fell into a sweaty, twitchy sleep punctuated by terrifying dreams about chickens and men with facial hair. Her hand gripped the statue of Mother Mary.
She awoke that night with most of the Metalheads gathered around her. Messi was holding her hand, watching her with concern, Ronaldo and Neymar were sitting close by. She felt terrible, every muscle ached, there was broken glass crunching in the joints of her bones. She was feverish, sweating but freezing at the same time and she couldn’t get comfortable in any position. The wound across her belly was a sharp agony and she was glad of the bandage giving her a sense of solidity as the rest of her unravelled.
“Tell us what happened to you,” said Neymar.
She looked around at their concerned faces, but she couldn’t tell them anything. She was too weak to relate the ordeal for them and she wasn’t sure of her story. She vaguely remembered being abducted on the street and locked in the box, but after that the memories were indistinct. She knew she had been drugged. She knew things had been taken from her. Important things her body needed. They took a piece of her brain and she missed it. It seemed like the worst, longest nightmare, but it was real, she had the scars, she remembered fighting the man with the beard, but she did not want to relive the torture. She tried to put those memories in a corner of her mind, tried to block them off. She was alive. She would deal with them later.
The next few days she stayed in the bus, curled up on a dirty thin mattress, shivering, crying, and sweating. After a week she felt better, the aches and shakes had gone. Messi looked after her, bought her water and scraps of food. Her body was growing stronger, but she struggled to remember important stuff. Her friends names and samples of her memory had disappeared. She was confused and found it hard to concentrate. She began to realise the rest of the Metalheads were growing suspicious of her. They had watched her thin, pale little body twitching, sweating, and listened to her mumbling in her sleep. She hadn’t told them anything and she wasn’t going to. One of the Metalheads had said the real Ava was dead and her ghost had returned. The superstitious idea spread through the gang. One day Ava overheard one of them saying we must get rid of the ghost in our bus, and it was then she understood that she had to leave. She wasn’t the matriarch of the Metalheads anymore.
She roamed the streets of Manila, begging and thieving, sleeping in boxes under bridges. The wound on her belly healed, but it left a red, raw scar in the shape of a smile. She kept her head wrapped in bandages for weeks, terrified of what was underneath. Eventually the bandages fell away and Ava could feel a puckered U-shaped scar at the base of her skull. The hair never grew back. She survived on the streets, on her own, suspicious of anyone that tried to make contact. She knew her head was missing an important piece, her brain was foggy, she struggled to retain information, to remember anything apart from the immediate necessities of survival. Some days she could barely remember her own name.
One day, one of the little food stalls she regularly stole from offered her a job. The old proprietor had a kind heart. She told Ava she might as well come and work for her because Ava would eventually steal everything she had anyway. When the proprietor died, Ava took over the stall. She arranged for a funeral and burial. The woman had been the only adult Ava had ever properly known. She carried on cooking the recipes she had learned. Grilled intestine skewers, deep fried quail eggs, fish balls and squid balls. But never any chicken. One day a smartly dressed woman whom Ava had seen at her stall offered her a job as a cook on a cruise ship. She said she loved Ava’s food and wanted her to create authentic Filipino dishes on the ship for thousands of rich tourists. Ava jumped at the chance and began her new life.
Ava lived day by day. As time moved on, she couldn’t remember anything before her abduction. She couldn’t remember her childhood. That had been taken from her, she had the scars to remind her of her loss. She tried to build new memories, but they didn’t seem to stay with her. Fragments of life burnt away in the Sun. She sailed around the world many times, she experienced breath-taking coastlines, endless oceans, diverse cultures, and delicious foods. She lived in the moment, day by day, only thinking of the now. She was a good cook. She worked hard and was paid well. During one stop over in Cuba she was out shopping for fresh produce when she fell into conversation with a local about the city of Miami and the rumours of what was happening in the drowned city. Life on the cruise ship was good but Ava was intrigued by the stories of an advanced utopian society growing in the ruins. She quit her job and chartered a boat to take her north. She was looking for something, she wasn’t sure what, maybe it was her place in the world. And she found it in Miami.