Prologue
The year 2024 marked the beginning of the end, as is the way of life.
The economic collapse of France started a domino effect that the EU tried desperately to stop, draining the surrounding countries of their resources; toppling one country after another. Before anyone knew it the whole of Europe was drowning in debt, sickness, and homeless. Banks collapsed, insurance companies failed, hospitals ran out of supplies; and then so did the groceries. The governments, desperate for any aid, called out to anyone who would listen. China, Russia, Brazil, Japan, South Africa, Canada and America responded by providing aid...but that aid came with a price.
The freestanding countries saw this as an opportunity to exploit the EU for their own gain, essentially buying countries to spread their influence. America, China, and Russia were the worst offenders, before long resorting to spycraft and assassination to get their way.
The histories are fuzzy depending on who you ask, but they all agree on one thing; the resulting war, though lasting only three weeks, was the bloodiest in all of human history. In a matter of days the population of the planet was reduced by billions, and in the following years the radioactive fallout reduced it even further. When the dust settled, the face of the planet was remade. The winter was predicted to last for two centuries.
Humans are nothing if not a stubborn species. No matter how cold it got, no matter how hungry they were, they endured. They endured through the famine, the sickness, and war, and out of the ashes of death they rose. But as with all things in life, there was a price. Society as recorded in the history texts was gone, and in its place was a much harsher, bleaker, barbarian style of life where people traded luxury for survival.
Slavery was reintroduced into the civilized world, first shunned by the governments and historians but later embraced as ‘indentured servitude.’ It devolved into outright slavery when people could no longer pay their debts, and became cheap labor.
Food was the difference between life and death, and as such the penalty for theft was to either lose a hand, or death, depending on the severity. With harsh theft laws came much relaxed murder laws. This was the apocalypse, after all; people were desperate and desperate people did insane things. It was up to each family to protect themselves against the bandit and rapists. Carrying a weapon became the expected standard whether you were rich enough to afford a rifle and ammo, or if you just carried an axe wherever you went.
By the year 2124, people had congregated into relatively huge metropolises for survival, but the perpetual winter had made resources scarce and the fight for survival became a daily battle that many lost. Neighborhoods split, then towns. Soon, kings were declared, wars were fought and lost, and the people fled society to eke out a living on the sweat of their brow and work on the land, rather than to rely on the fickle market to supply their needs, should they even have the resources to barter.
Emil Jackson had been born on January 31st, 2162, in the ancient city of Nogales. Being along the equator, it was one of the few cities that still occasionally saw the sun. When it fell to war and strife, his family, along with many others, had struck east to start a life ranching sheep, goats, and rabbits. They settled in the barren tundra of Oklahoma, the furthest north anyone dared live; it was the last settlement before the ice fields of the expanded arctic circle began.
Oklahoma winters were long, harsh, and the grass and any other greenery was tough. But that was the point. Emil and his family claimed hundreds of acres no one else wanted, and using hoarded ancient knowledge of the ‘world before’ they put into practice forgotten techniques for animal husbandry, architecture, and dairy farming. The ranch boomed and soon their herd numbered in the hundreds. But, as is the way of life, this was simply the end of the beginning.
Chapter 1
Emil woke slowly, the steam of his breath frosting his beard with a thin crust of ice. For the thousandth time he wished desperately for electric heaters like he heard about in the wealthier towns. He yawned and stretched, his limbs all akimbo beneath the goat hide blankets as he listened to the wind whip outside his walls and a stray goat bleat somewhere nearby. Joints cracking he slowly kicked off the blankets, forcing himself out of bed to start the day.
'I really need to get better insulation before winter hits,' he thought to himself. ‘Or at least some of those long-burn briquettes they sell in market.'
Emil swung his legs over the bed, pulling on his thickest wool socks spun from his own shearings, and stomped his feet into his boots. He walked the few feet over to the small kitchen to start the fire for breakfast, using tinder and goat fluff. It smelled awful but it worked and, well....waste not want not and all that. Life out here in the tundra was too harsh to suffer the indulgences of fools.
While the fire began licking merrily along the thin logs in his stove, Emil ducked into the washroom to relieve himself. Unbuttoning his pants he jumped when the cold hit his cock, and he swore yet again to put better insulation in his house; he dreamed of walking around and sleeping naked without the fear of frostbite, instead of the endless layers of furs, leather, and denim.
"Thank fuck for gortex," He thought aloud.
As he walked back into the kitchen to reheat some rabbit stew, he thought about how his current crop of rabbits could use a good culling, and his pantry could use some refreshing. He went over a mental checklist in his head yet again for what he was going to buy today in market. He had thirty-three goat pelts, seventy-eight rabbit pelts, and ten compacted bales of wool to trade. It was the largest set of wares he had ever taken to market; it would net him enough coin to set himself up for a comfortable winter and hopefully establish his reputation. Perhaps even enough to take on an apprentice as help, especially now that his parents were gone.
As an only son in an unforgiving world he’d known it was a matter of reality that sooner or later he would lose his family and be on his own. He had just been hoping it would have been later in life than his twenty three years. His father had been killed by bandits two winters ago, when the old man had gone to market to sell their latest batch of Dutch rabbits for food and pelts. His mother had died of scurvy the winter after when their bean sprouts failed after a harsh storm.
Emil finished slurping the last of his rabbit stew and rinsed out his wooden bowl and spoon in the sink before heading out to the barn to check on the cargo he would be taking to town. He opened the snow door and frowned as the cold of the room sucked all the heat from his little kitchen fire right out of the house. Even for just those few minutes, it had been nice to not be cold for a change.
He carefully closed the interior door, and then opened the exterior door, steeling himself, and was surprised with a pleasant breeze that he guessed to be in the high 30's. It was going to be a warm day today, which meant he wouldn't have to worry about ice on the roads. Although he would have to worry about potholes on his way back.
He looked to the east at the expansive pasture his sheep were munching away happily on the tough grass as the sun finished clearing the horizon. To the north, the goats were a little slower to get up, perfectly content to sleep until it got a little warmer. Emil headed over to the barn, peeking in on the rabbits huddled together in their well insulated pen.
"Sorry little buddies, I gotta take away the warm." Emil told them, genuinely feeling a little bad about having to remove the bales of wool stacked against the sides of the hutch.
He then turned and smiled as he walked over to the pride and joy of the Jackson ranch, the truck. It wasn't an original truck of course, it didn't have any of the fancy bells and whistles one of the ancient trucks used to have, but it was solid and dependable, made more so by the care that Emil has put into it. He treated this truck with an old motto he read in book once: An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. So every chance he got, Emil babied that truck, making sure that it would never let him down. He even once splurged on an original logo from one of the old world trucks and placed in on his grill with pride. ‘U Haul,’ it read, and according to the shopkeeper who’d sold it to him, it had been one of the largest vehicle companies in the old world. Their trucks had been so nice that people would come from miles around just to rent them for a day or two. Emil liked the way the red letters stood out against the silver of the steel, and it felt almost as if he owned one of those fancy old trucks.
After admiring his baby for an indulgent moment, he then connected the battery, filled up the tank from the hand crank on the fifty-gallon drum full of precious fuel, and started it up. It fired up to life on the first cycle with a roar and he left it to warm up as he loaded up the truck bed with his bales of wool and goat pelts. He put the rabbit pelts in the cabin so they would help insulate against the cold.
He then checked the rabbits, making sure they were adjusting ok without the extra insulation the bales had provided, then threw a couple of rocks at the goats to get them up and moving about. Grabbing his list from the house he jumped in the truck and began his three-hour journey south to the market.
Chapter 2
Emil argued heatedly with the squat little wool merchant, Kim, who he was confident had been trying to take advantage of him ever since his father died.
"No, it’s two gold for a bale! It always has been, and don't you dare tell me my wool isn't the best this side of the Mississippi!" Said Emil, frustrated
"Of course it is, I never said that. I said that there's a rancher in Laredo who had a good flock this year and prices have gone down. I have to make a profit," said the short man, wearing a fastidiously clean jacket and trousers dyed red to stand out among grey light of the overcast sky. Emil had never liked Kim; his father had always said to be suspicious of men who are too clean in a filthy world because it just means they make others do their work for them.
"It’s two gold a bale, or I can find another merchant who will give me fair prices," Emil told him, crossing his arms as a signal of finality.
"You're lucky I'm offering one gold and twenty silver per! That's the old friend rate!" Kim whined. "You want my family to starve?"
"You charge a silver piece a sock, your family eats fine."
"Fine! But only because your dad was a loyal customer all these years." Kim said dejectedly, as he handed over the money, half in silver and half in gold. "Come Wintersnight you're going to have to learn that the market fluctuates, and I won't always be able to meet your unreasonable demands."
Emil just grunted and pocketed the coin, grateful to be done with the whining little man. Even though he had gotten exactly what he asked for he was positive that Kim had still bested him somehow, and one look at Kim's two children was more than enough proof that his family could skip quite a few meals without starving.
Kim had been his last buyer of the day, since Eimil had been saving the worst for last. He had done well overall, losing a little money on the goat hide, but he’d made a lot of money on the rabbit with someone saying something about rabbit lined collars on jackets being popular.
'Even in the apocalypse people still want to be fashionable,' Emil mused to himself.
Now he could go about the business of purchasing supplies he would need for winter. He bought wood, coal, lard, whiskey, oil, two new sharpening files, nails, rope, tarp, and a variety of fresh, canned, and seed vegetables. He paid special attention to beans for the winter to stave off the scurvy lesson that was now ingrained in him. A few bales of house insulation that looked like they had been through an entirely different apocalypse was his last find.
As he walked around the market, he told the shopkeepers that he was on the lookout for an apprentice for next spring. He had hoped the Tanner’s son would be open minded, especially since he already knew the value of a good hide; but the boy was already filling in for Tanner senior who was recovering from a broken wrist. There were a few girls in town that liked the idea of working on a ranch, but they were all young enough that they would be more hindrance than help, and none of the family heads liked the idea of a teenage girl spending a winter with a twenty-something year old man. Not that they needed to worry, he didn’t like them that young.
He even approached old man Rivers the fisherman, but he was so far beyond his prime Rivers wasn’t sure he’d make it through another winter, especially in an environment as rough as the Jackson ranch.
Emil was starting to panic. There were no hands to help with his ranch and it was far too big to handle for only one person. It had taken the whole family to build it, then two people to maintain, and now it was just Emil and he was going to be drowning in work sooner rather than later. He needed help and he needed it now, before the coming spring at the latest.
"I need a gorram drink," he said to himself with a sigh of exasperation. He walked over to the Prancing Pony tavern, thinking intently at his boot tips and taking care not to step in any of the horse apples strewn about. The rearing horse sign above the door creaked in the warm breeze as it swung gently, and the corners of the tin snow roof flapped in the light breeze. He opened the heavy exterior door and kicked his boots against the door frame to knock free the mud and offal. Walking through the interior door his senses were assaulted by the smell of straw, beer, unwashed bodies and then, blissfully…warmth.
In the center of the room was a huge raised metal fire pit. It’s quarter-inch thick walls were easily three feet high and four feet across, and in the middle there was what appeared to be a chunk of one of those old power-line-tree things that the ancients had planted everywhere, now roaring away merrily and filling the room with blessed heat.
Emil grumbled to himself, “At least the Pony has proper insulation.”
He sat at the bar that circled the fire pit and waited for one of the tavern girls to swing by, ordering a hot toddy once she did, and took off his outermost coat to just soak up the heat. When the girl dropped off his drink he drank in another sort of warmth and enjoyed the way it burned on the way down. The short brunette who’d brought the drink was very pretty, with a heart shaped face, framed well by her bangs, a short shirt amplified her perky tits with its rather crass neckline, and her shorter skirt hinted at other… plump qualities. He enjoyed his view surreptitiously, not wanting to make a scene, but after all he was a twenty-three year old healthy male and so was his cock, which was currently begging to have his full and complete attention. A giggle let him know he had been caught, and as he met the green eyes of the girl, he blushed and she threw back her head roared with laughter at his blush.
“You can look, sweetie, but don’t touch,” she said as she spun away with a little flair he was sure was intentional, allowing him just a peek at her cute little ass and distinct lack of underwear. Emil coughed as he accidentally inhaled his hot toddy, and brushed himself off pointedly, ignoring anyone looking at him. He buried himself in his drink, downing it as fast possible so he could get the hell out before he made and even bigger ass of himself. He dropped a few coppers on the counter to tip the girl and pulled his jacket on as he stomped towards the door.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw a flash of yellow and he looked up to see a poster board with advertisements for various wanted fugitives and odd jobs. A picture of a large man carrying an axe poked out from under another poster, catching his gaze. He lifted the poster and read the ad for the slave auction, taking place here in town tomorrow as it was held every Viernes. He looked at it thoughtfully for a minute and then yanked it off the wall, keeping it for later reference.
Maybe if he couldn’t get an apprentice through normal channels, he could buy some help. He lived far enough away from civilization that there was no way anyone could run away, and the flying spaghetti monster himself knew that he had enough food, and there was enough room now that there are two fewer occupants, he thought sadly.
Emil walked out to his truck and was checking his purchases making sure none of them had ‘walked off,’ when he remembered that he had forgotten to write down on his list the ceramic briquettes that he swore to himself he wouldn't forget. He paused in the covered bed of the truck, stunned by the sheer level of stupidity it took to forget something he had told himself over and over again to not forget. It was too late to get them now; the shops were all closing up for the day.
"FUUUUCCCKKKKKKK my gorram life. This is...your are......aaaarrrgghhhh!" Emil swore. Now he was going to have to come back tomorrow to get the stupid briquettes, which was a huge waste of gas and more importantly, time. He sat down gingerly on a spool of wire he’d bought to mend the pens, and quickly did the numbers. It cost a silver a gallon of gas, it took twenty-two gallons round trip, so totaling up the two trips came to forty-four silver. Plus the silver he’d already spent on supplies, and the additional fifty silver for the briquettes, his grand total was well over five-thousand silver, total cost. That left him seventeen gold pieces and twenty-nine silver for a rainy day. He could afford to come back for the briquettes. The time, however, was something he could never get that back and a second six hour trip to look forward to wrecked his day.
Fuck it. The six hours of his life were worth a few extra silver; he'd just get a room and buy the briquettes in the morning. It’d probably be cheaper than the gas, anyways.
He stood up to crawl out of the truck bed and immediately caught his pant leg on an errant strand of wire sticking out of the spool he had purchased, tripping him to land painfully on his shoulder right on the tailgate of the truck. Cursing like a barmaid, he kicked the spool away from him and climbed out of the bed before it finished him off. He leaned against the side of the truck for a minute, feeling his shoulder throb, and tried to massage it through his thick coat, although he could barely tell he even had a shoulder under all that fabric.
He locked up the cargo shell on the bed with thick locks and made his way back inside the bar. He stumbled through the door and tried to take off his coat without moving his shoulder too much, but still winced when he had to tug on the sleeve. He probed the muscle tenderly, and shifted his shoulder around making sure it wasn't dislocated or broken.
'Just a nasty bruise,' he thought to himself, 'Thank fuck.' He slumped against the wall of the mud room and stayed there for a second, just collecting himself back into something that vaguely resembled a capable adult. He eventually made his way through the interior door to the bar, walking back inside to the warmth being provided by what was left of the fire. Flagging down the sexy server, he asked her how much it was for a room.
"Twenty silver for the room, ten for a meal, two for laundry, and five for hot bath," she said in the singsong voice of someone who has said the same sentence several hundred times. "For fifty silver, I'll give you a bath myself, sweetie," she said with a grin that very nearly made him stupid again. Emil counted out the silver for all the amenities; it had been awhile since he had washed these clothes and nearly two weeks since his last hot bath, though describing it as ‘hot’ might have been overly optimistic.
The brunette took the money and he followed her as she walked up to the kitchen window, handing the coin over to a very plump and cranky looking woman he assumed was the owner, reciting his purchases. The woman grunted and handed the girl a key with the number four painted on it and a second key with a ‘W’, and he followed the brunette up the stairs in the back of the shop to a room halfway down the hallway on the right. She unlocked the door and pushed it open, showing him the rather disappointingly small room for his hard earned twenty silver, and unlocked a door immediately across it which made his heart sing. There was an honest to goodness washroom, complete with full sized tub with a drain built into it, a fire fueled water tank for hot water and a pump handle for cold water. The girl went over to the water heater and lit the fire beneath it to start the heating process, and then handed him a large canvas bag.
"Clothes go in the bag, leave the bag inside the washroom, and we'll deliver your clothes in the morning at daybreak. No shoes. The fire in the tavern is always lit, and the blankets are thick so don't worry about freezing. If you need extra warmth, my name is Lacy,” she said with that wicked smile on her face again. This time Emil was ready for it, and he looked her square in the eye.
"NOTHATSOKTHANKSILLBEFINE!"
'Wow, you couldn't talk to a girl if your life depended on it, could you?!' he mentally kicked himself.
Lacy just laughed at him, "Whatever you say," and walked out of the room with that sway in her hips that every woman knows makes men stupid. Well....more stupid. Emil just shut the door and thanked whoever would listen that at least he didn't make an even bigger ass of himself
‘Yeah, like that’s possible.’
Drawing water for his bath he filled up the bathtub about halfway from the cold water pump while the hot water came to boiling, then opened the hot water pipe to fill it the rest of the way. It was still a little colder than he wanted, so he drained a little and added more hot water so it was just on the other side of too hot. He shed his boots, jacket, overshirt, undershirt, pants, thermal bottoms and socks, reveling in the feeling of being naked for the first time in over a week. He climbed slowly into the tub and after a quick scrub, sank mercifully beneath the water, feeling the heat warm his core in a way he had very nearly forgotten about.
He started when water splashed his face, sputtering at the sudden shock bringing him out of a sleep he didn't remember falling into.
“No drowning at the Pony, it’s against policy,” said a voice from above Emil.
He rubbed his eyes free of the droplets and smiled as he looked up, expecting the pretty brunette; but instead of the flirty barmaid, he locked eyes with the chubby frown of the cranky owner, with grease on her elbow and what he desperately hoped was chicken blood on her apron. His smile faltered and he sat there, aghast, staring up at her while she looked down on him, chortling.
“Water got cold, eh?”
Blushing like a teenager who’d just discovered kissing, he quickly tried to cover himself as best he could while the owner just stood there and smirked. "You're lucky I don't have any more customers who ordered a bath tonight. Hurry up and git yourself out of there." She turned on her heel and stomped out of the room.
Emil waited to hear the door slam and quickly hopped out of the now tepid water to wrap himself in a large towel and bolted across the hallway to his room. Leaning against the door he caught his reflection in the small steel mirror beside the bed.
'You are the king of retards,' he thought to himself. 'At least this day is over with, tomorrow can't possibly be this bad.'
If there was one thing Emil should have learned from the philosopher Harry Dresden; it was to NEVER give the universe an opening like that.
Chapter 3
Isla shivered in the back of the cargo truck as it bounced along down some god forsaken road in the middle of nowhere. She had been to many cities over the last few months, but this place was so much colder than she was used to.
'People still live here?!' she thought angrily, 'What sort of person would move so far away from where it is warm? It’s August for crying out loud!'
She huddled her arms closer around her, wishing that her back wasn't to the wall of the truck, but instead in the middle of the bodies that packed the space so at least the body heat might be able to keep her from hypothermia. The rags she was wearing provided almost no protection from the elements and barely covered her skin, but no one cared what happened to a slave. She could fall over dead in the next few minutes and the only thing the slaves dealers would care about would be the loss of profit, as they stripped her corpse out of the rags and passed them along to another.
The truck made a hard right turn, shifting the mass of bodies within the truck and causing Isla to lean away from the wall and when the truck righted itself the mass came back in a rush, slamming her against the wall of the cargo hold.
She cried out as something sharp dug into the back of her skull, and she reached up to feel a gash on the back of head from the jagged end of a bolt. Her hand came away covered in blood, and she whimpered softly. The slavers were not going to be happy about this. If they thought she was trying to damage herself so no one would buy her, she would be beaten within an inch of her life....if they were feeling generous. She had already been to three different auctions and so far the only one that had bought her was another slave caravan. The last thing she needed was for them to think any of this had been by design, and she was already terrified that if she didn't get bought soon, they would slit her throat and leave her for the wild dogs to set an example for the rest.
She quickly felt around in her pockets for a scrap of cloth, or paper; anything to stop the blood from pouring down her neck. As she scrambled, a hand reached over with a small scrap of dirty cloth and she looked up into the sad, blank eyes of the slave next to her, and nodded in gratitude. She held the cloth to her head and pressed hard and after a few minutes she thought the bleeding had stopped. She was suddenly actually a little grateful for the cold, as it eased the throbbing and probably helped the blood clot.
A few more minutes of rattling over what felt like every pothole ever made, the truck came to a stop with a squeal of brakes and a few grunts from the people at the front of the cargo hold. Isla heard the engine turn off, followed quickly by the doors of the cab opening and closing as the slave drivers got out. She listened to the voices as they were joined by a third person, and tried desperately to make out the words; but they were too far away and the walls of the truck were too thick. The voices faded off into the distance and the slaves were left with nothing but their thoughts and the dim light coming in through a crack in the roof of the truck. Someone towards the back was sobbing quietly, while the rest just waited for the slavers to come back with silent dread.
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After what felt like an eternity, there came a loud bang against the door of the truck and several voices started with fear. The door swung open to the laughing face of one of the drivers, who barked a simple "OUT!"
The truck quickly emptied into a small field, where they were allowed to stretch and relieve themselves out in the open like common livestock. One of the drivers stood nearby with a woman and they were arguing about percentages, while the other driver stood on top of the truck cradling a rifle like it was a newborn. Isla looked around and saw the flat barren terrain spotted with small houses and the thought of running never even crossed her mind; with that rifle he could kill any of them without moving.
She found herself huddling next to the truck engine where it was still a little warm from the drive, pulling her rags in close against the wind. After a few heated words the driver and the woman shook hands and the woman began walking off towards a large rectangular building, while the driver walked over to Isla yanked her to her feet by her shirt, tearing it in the process and shoving her after the woman, barking to follow her. Isla stumbled after the woman, her bare feet numbed by the icy ground, and tried to hold the now torn shirt closed before the wind froze her tits off.
The woman led them through the building and into a dark concrete room with stacked beds where Isla’s ankle was manacled to the bed, the same as everyone else. When the task was complete the woman left them in the room and slammed the only door shut with a loud metallic clang, and locked it shut with a steel bar and padlock, and was gone.
Isla laid down on the soiled bed, and began to cry quietly. Soon she would be sold, or the slavers would cut their losses and sell her to the first work camp they came across; either way her life was almost over.
The next day she woke to the door slamming open, as a series of slaves with their feet hobbled by chains came in and began distributing small hard loaves of bread to them under the watchful eye of the auctioneer. They left only to return with several pitchers of water and some rags.
"Clean yourselves up my pretties, today you get bought!" shouted the woman, looking around the room without focusing on anyone, until she spied Isla and her torn shirt. "Oh hoho! I like the way you think girl, trying to get a man's attention? Well tomorrow you'll be sold to anyone who will pay for you. Maybe a brothel, or maybe a camp. Who knows." The woman smiled wickedly. "I doubt it'll be a brothel though. It's likely the work camp for you." She threw back her head, laughed, and slammed the door shut, leaving Isla to contemplate her future.
Isla looked around the room and saw a few women give her a sad look. The men avoided her gaze entirely, knowing that the auctioneer probably spoke the truth. Isla would soon end up at a work camp and be dead within the year; nobody ever made it to two.
Quietly, Isla began to sob.
Chapter 4
Emil woke up very confused, with a sensation he was not used to; comfort. No frozen nose, no ice crystals on his upper lip. Or his balls. This, he could get used too. The miracle of ancient insulation. Why had he not made it more of a priority to buy this stuff beforehand?!
As he rolled out of bed he promised himself that he would buy whatever insulation he needed to set his house up to live like this on a daily basis. The only problem was, if he didn't get help (and soon) he wouldn't be able to keep up with the ranch. Soon bits of the ranch would start to break, and then his flock would get sick. Heaven forbid he had an outbreak of ecthyma, he could lose half his goat herd in a week. No way about it, he needed help and he needed it desperately BEFORE things got out of control.
Emil looked around the room for his clothes, before realizing that the cranky manager still had them. He padded over to the door, cracked it open, and was grateful to see the clothes bag hanging from his doorknob. Grabbing his clothes, he quickly dressed and headed out the door, down the stairs to the fire pit which was already being tended by one of the bar maids. He slowed down to appreciate the view of a woman bent over performing a task, then went over to the bar and knocked on the counter. The cranky manager popped her head around a corner and grunted at him. She vanished only to reappear with a bowl of some sort of brown stew, a large piece of what he thought was burnt bread, and a mug of steaming tea. She plopped it down on the counter with a grunt.
"You done with the room? Checkout is noon."
"Yeah, thanks, I'm done. I'll finish my meal and be out of your hair. Hey, I'm looking for a farm hand, do you know anyone who's interested in an apprenticeship?" Emil asked tearing off a hunk of bread and letting it reconstitute in the soup.
"I know the Tanners have a son, have you asked them?" she replied pulling out a rag and mopping up a bit of mystery liquid on the counter.
"Yeah, I already checked with them. He's already covering for someone with a broken wrist."
"Millers?"
"Only daughters, and they're too young."
"Rivers?"
"It’s just the old man, and he's too old."
The owner's frown deepened as she contemplated the issue. "Well, you could always buy a slave at market, but they're really expensive to keep."
"Where's the auction? It couldn't hurt to look." Emil spooned up some of the soup and frowned over the unique taste to the meat that he couldn't identify except as 'purple.’
"About fifteen miles south, big brick building just off the left side of the road. Ask for Regina, she's the owner."
Emil nodded as he mopped up the last of the soup with the world’s hardest lump of bread and choked it down. Pulling on his jacket, he walked out to his truck and began inspecting his supplies. After double checking that everything he purchased was still where he left it, he tromped off to the to the blacksmith to buy those damn ceramic briquettes.
'Only took about twelve wasted hours and an additional twenty-nine silver over the actual cost of the damn briquettes,’ he thought with a scowl.
As he was walking back to his truck, he contemplated buying a few more bundles of insulation, but he didn't want to spend any coin he didn't absolutely have too. His future was uncertain and he would need every last copper to reinvest back into repairs and vet bills.
He hopped back into the truck and fired it up, smiling at the roar of the engine. In this harsh world, you have to look for the little things, like a piece of well cared for machinery that works properly...every time. Kicking the truck into gear he headed south down the pock-marked road towards the slave auction and began running the numbers for feeding an extra body. He already had the infrastructure but how much could he save skimping on a slave? This might not be the worst idea ever.
Chapter 5
Isla couldn't sleep. She fidgeted and shivered in her bunk, staring blankly at the wall, imagining all of the horrible things that would happen at the work camp. She wasn't sure which was worse; the rumors, or her own imagination.
She tossed and turned for hours with visions of working her fingers to the bone from sunup to sundown, beatings, rape, and should she fail for any reason...being fed to the dogs. Alive. Isla had heard whispers of men and women who were bought simply to be used for sport, hunted like animals. Of women who were cut into and modified to be displayed as grotesque pieces of art.
Humanity had fallen, but some people had fallen further than others and those at the bottom paid the price for humanity's depravity. Isla felt like crying again, but over the last few days she had shed all the tears her body had, and now she just felt a pit of dark emptiness where her soul used to be. She picked absently at the brick wall, and tried to quiet her mind.
Just as she began to doze off from sheer exhaustion, the bolt screeched, and the door slammed open. Regina the slave owner walked in with at least a dozen large men all hobbled with ankle manacles. Her bleached white pants and jacket were covered in fine lace with silver rabbit fur trim, which contrasted starkly with the slaves’, dressed in rags that had been tied together to cover as much skin as possible.
“Gooooood morning my pets! Today is your big day so rise, shine, and big smiles all around. Big smiles means big bids, and big bids mean wealthy owners….and big profits...” she mumbled to herself. With a flair she snapped her fingers and gestured to the slaves that were cowering in the room, “Get them ready!” she huffed, and turning on her heel she stormed out.
Moving quickly, the hobbled workers shuffled forward and began grabbing and stripping the slaves of what little clothing they had. A woman screamed, but most just stood there blankly as they were forcibly disrobed from the tatters of protection they possessed. Isla stood quietly as the worker didn't even bother trying to save the sack she was wearing, and just tore it from her frame leaving her bare in the room with so many others. One slave, however, snapped. A man of middling age and thick wrists turned on the worker that attempted to relieve him of his clothing. With a roar, he surged up against the small dark skinned worker and slammed him against the wall, grabbing his hair and slamming his head against the wall over and over again, screaming.
"I'm not a slave! I will never be a slave!" the man raged, eyes wide and spittle coming from his lips.
The small hobbled worker screamed and clawed at his attacker, attempting to defend himself, until with a sickening crunch he suddenly jerked and stopped moving. Blood began to flood from his ears and from the back of his now misshapen skull, a pool of it sending up wisps of steam as it rapidly cooled in the cold dirt. Isla recoiled with a horrified gurgle at the sight; she had never seen anyone killed in front of her before, let alone so violently.
Four of the remaining workers piled on top of the large man, dragging him to the floor and lying on his limbs, as he screamed obscenities and writhed against their weight.
“What in fucks name is going on?!” Regina shrieked in anger, face red as she surveyed the scene, then sighing in exasperation as she walked through the blood that was rapidly cooling on the dirt floor, staining her once white boots a dirty red. She quickly took in the mangled corpse of her worker and glared at the man being restrained on the ground next to him.
“Get him up and against that wall,” she said, pointing.
The workers hauled him up and slammed him against the wall, holding him there as he screamed hate and profanities at the top of his lungs. Regina eyed the man up and down with disgust.
“You don’t choose to be a slave. You simply are a slave. You are property, a thing, for me to do with as I wish. You’ve killed one of my slaves, a valuable piece of property that I have spent months training to behave in a manner I find pleasing. You took something of mine, so now I’m going to take something from you.” From the small of her back she withdrew a sharp knife with a thin blade and a wicked looking edge.
“When a young bull gets too aggressive and violent, measures must be taken to ensure the safety of the herd.” With a quick movement she grabbed the balls of the slave…
And cut them off.
The poor man opened his mouth to scream, and she unceremoniously stuffed his own sack into his mouth. With the palm of her hand she slammed his jaw shut, not that it slowed down his screaming…but it did make it substantially quieter. She held it shut, the only sounds in the room were the muffled screams of gelded man, the steady drip of his blood mingling with that of the man he just killed, and the sound of Isla vomiting into a corner. She had tried to hold it in, to quell the nausea and not attract attention, but the sight of a man gagging on his own genitals proved to be too much. She emptied what little her system still had.
“You little shit, you killed him! Now you are going to have to take his place. Not just as a tool for me, but also to serve as a living effigy of what happens to a slave who thinks they are anything more than property.” She spun to face the room of nauseous and terrified slaves.
“Learn this lesson well, all of you. You are not people! You have no rights! You are large, semi-intelligent, pack animals. You disobey and you will be punished. You bite the hand of your owner, and you will be put down. Never forget this!”
Turning back to the man pinned against the wall, she barked, "Take him to the post, and bandage that wound. He has a lot more suffering to do, and I don't want him dying before I get to have my fun. The rest of you line up.”
Isla and the other slaves quickly lined up as best they could in the cramped space and stood there as a worker walked to each of them and attached a metal collar with a thick padlock to their necks. The collars had a leash welded to it that ran to a chain that connected them all together in a long line. The last tiny thoughts of escape disappeared like the last flicker of a candle, as escape was now impossible without everyone trying to escape. This was it, she was going to be sold one way or another, there were no more slave traders headed to rougher parts of the world, she was already at the brink of humanity. If no one here bought her, she would be sold at discount to a work farm, where she would be dead soon.
‘Perhaps death isn't such a bad idea,’ she mused to herself as she felt her extremities go from chilled to numb now that her core was exposed to the frigid air. The slave chain was marched out of the room, and down a long dark hallway she thought must run the length of the building. They were brought into a large laundry room where on a raised floor, large cauldrons had been sunk, and warmed by fires beneath them. Isla gaped at the room, with memories of her home in Dallol. The last of the laundry girls scurried out of the room and the slaves were brought to the largest cauldron.
"First half, get in. Scrub." Said one of Regina's workers with no expression on his face.
The first eight people on the chain stumbled into the cauldron and cried out as the heat shocked their flesh and the harsh chemicals used in cleaning burned the cuts and blisters on their feet. They quickly grabbed nearby rags and used the murky water to scrub their flesh clean of dirt and offal, their skin reddening from the process. When the first group had finished they exchanged places with the second, and the cleaning began anew. When they got out they dried as best they could with the nearby blankets and sheets before they became hypothermic.
They were quickly herded from the laundry to a large room that was best described as a ‘ballroom.’ Beautifully shined dark wood floors had rows of leather covered pews that smelled like they had been oiled just minutes prior. Heavy red curtains covered the walls providing a luxurious feel and heavy insulation. The room was interspersed with raised braziers, each lit and pumping out heat. The pews were all full of men and women, most of whom were dressed well and were healthy. They were all listening to Regina as she addressed them from the front.
Isla marveled at the room before her chain was jerked and she was forced to continue walking. She and the rest of the chain were led to the head of the room where the ends of the chain were fastened to the wall, securing them in a line facing towards the crowd. Isla felt her face flood as she realized every prospective owner here was viewing her in her most raw form. She quickly stared at the floor as Regina finished what seemed to be a well rehearsed speech, complete with dramatic flair.
Chapter 6
Emil pulled off the main road and into a graveled parking lot in front of a large brick building, that was surprisingly well maintained. It was just a simple brick building, but the stone had been washed, and the mortar maintained. Brick was a great building material, and it was awesome in the cold but good mortar was prohibitively expensive to buy since an important ingredient was only mined in the frozen tundras far to the northeast. The cheap stuff worked ok, but it was mostly made from mud and had to be replaced every season or so, which was so labor intensive it was a waste of time on a building this big. The auctioneer must have at least a dozen slaves to maintain this place.
'At least she probably gets 'em cheap,' he chuckled to himself.
Walking through the double doors, he took stock of the main hall which featured simple wood floors that had been polished to a shine, and blankets that had been converted to curtains that hid the ugly brick walls. The pews were nice though, they looked like they had been pilfered from an ancient church and were of impeccable construction. They had been re-upholstered in the last few years, now covered in leather he suspected came from his own flock, and oiled to last. He thought the braziers were an especially nice touch, heavy iron bowls and legs he recognized as blacksmith Perrin's work. He did solid work but nothing especially beautiful, like some of the intricate work he had seen illustrated in his history books, but they pumped out enough heat that Emil took off his coat.
He sat on the pews behind a few other people and waited to find out what was going on, since he had never been to an auction before, and listened to the two in front of him talk about muscle density versus height ratios, and various injuries to look out for that could cause problems in the future. He was a little taken aback at the blunt nature of their topic but he agreed that a small slave would eat less, and someone missing too many fingers to frostbite wouldn't be much help to anyone, especially on a work farm.
He didn't wait long, about twenty minutes later a tall woman in white burst into the room with a giant smile that immediately put Emil on edge. 'Never trust a smiling salesman.’
"Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you all so much for coming to this week's auction! I hope you brought your coin because I just got in one of the finest set of slaves I've ever seen in my life. All fine, healthy, specimens; each with decade's worth of service in them. Without further ado: your slaves!" As Regina finished her little speech, she turned and waved dramatically at the procession of naked men and women that were led into the hall. They had all been chained by the neck and attached in a large string that was then secured to the wall.
Immediately the patrons rose from their seats and approached the merchandise, appraising the height, weight, body fat, musculature, teeth, feet, hands, and any injuries perceived or otherwise. The two that had been sitting directly in front of Emil had made a beeline for the two men with the most muscle. A woman in a dress with a very low cut top was apprising the men and women, obviously looking for qualities best found in a brothel. The remaining patrons were browsing the same as Emil, as if they had work that didn't require a specific type or build of slave.
Emil walked down the line looking at the slaves thinking about how hard it would be to feed and house them. There were seven male slaves in line that looked promising. Two of them he dismissed outright because they were bigger than he was and he didn't want to have to fear for his life every night. One was looking past his prime, and another was disguising a curved spine as a slouch. Emil wasn't a healer by any means, but he had read about rickets when he had been learning about vitamin deficiencies for his mother; without expensive foods, that slave was a ticking time bomb.
The three remaining were all very promising. Just the right size, young enough to do some heavy work, and healthy. The women he had no interest in, chances are the Madam would pick those up. The only concern was, both the Madam and the two men from the work farm were both interested in the same slaves as he, as was another man he guessed was a rancher from down south. They all had deep pockets and Emil was concerned that the bidding would quickly get out of hand and he couldn't keep up.
"As you can see here they are the finest slaves on this side of the Mississippi! So let’s start the bidding shall we? Please take your seats."
'Finest this side of my ass. If they're so fine, why are they all the way out here instead of in some lord’s manor?' Emil thought sarcastically. There was something about this woman that rubbed him wrong. Maybe it was the way she decorated the hall to appear wealthy, or maybe it was the blood on her boots. Either way...he was wary.
"This first slave is a fine young specimen, good muscles, good teeth, sharp eyes. I'll start the bidding at five gold."
The rancher from south raised his hand in an indifferent manner, agreeing to the amount.
"Five gold, excellent, can I see six? Six gold? Si- thank you ma'am. Do I see seven? Seven gold?"
Regina continued in this manner with Emil bidding nine gold, then eleven, sure that no one would outbid him. He was disappointed when the work farmers bid fifteen gold, winning the auction by knocking Emil out of the race. He simply couldn't afford an investment that large.
"Congratulations, sir!" Regina said making a note on a small book she had. "On to the next item. A woman still very much in her prime, and perfect for household chores. She can cook, clean, sew, mend, tend flock, or any number of other tasks! We will open the bidding again at five gold."
The rest of the auction went very much the same way, with Emil bidding and losing on three other males. There were three slaves that received no bids at all. Two women, and a man. The man was too old and frail, and the women seemed to be in bad shape, one of which was bleeding from a head wound. Emil wasn't sure where she came from, but her light skin and thin wrists suggested that she had never done any real work in her life. All three of them looked like they would collapse under a stiff breeze, no less the rigors of life on a ranch.
The auction concluded and the winning bidders went up to the front to collect their merchandise. The rancher purchased a set of full hobbles from Regina on top of the bid, but the work farmers and madam had brought their own.
Emil pulled his coat back on, and wandered outside to his truck, thinking,'Great, now I have no apprentice,and no slave. How in hell am I going to make it through winter?' He hadn't been home in over twenty-four hours, his rabbits were probably popsicles and his goats had probably eaten through the fence.
'Maybe I can head back to town and see if I can convince the Tanners to let me have their son for the winter. Good strong kid, he'd really be able to help out, and I can pay him in hides rather than coin…’
Emil heaved a long-suffering sigh and kicked the tire on his truck absently, knowing deep down there was no way he would be able to convince the Tanners to part with their son for an entire winter. Especially with Tanner senior out of commission for the next month or two.
Emil turned around and headed back inside the auction house, to talk to Regina. Maybe she had some slaves on her own personal contingent that she would be willing to part with. For a nominal fee, of course…
He approached the front of the room just as the madam was chaining up her last purchase and leading them all outside to the covered wagon and horses he saw outside. If he didn't live so far away he would have considered selling the truck. It was very valuable, and horse drawn wagons were way cheaper to repair.
'Ha! Who am I kidding. I love that truck. Best worker on the ranch,' he chuckled at the thought.
Regina looked up and saw him standing there, as she closed her book. She smiled broadly, showing every one of her teeth.
"Hey! Thank you so much for attending the auction, I'm sorry we didn't have what you were looking for in stock." She said, in a cloyingly sweet tone. "Perhaps next month when I get my new shipment in.”
"Well, that's what I wanted to ask you about. I really need a hand now. Is there any chance that there are any other males that you would be willing to part with? I'm sure you have a sizable group yourself," Emil asked, trying hard to be polite especially since this was all new territory for him. Last thing he wanted to do was piss off someone who could raise an army in a few weeks.
"Sorry, but my kennel is not for sale. In fact, I'm actually down a slave from a little accident this morning. Wish I could help."
"Thanks anyway," he sighed.
He looked over the three remaining slaves on the chain, and considered the females. Particularly the younger one with the head injury. Judging by her hands she was unused to work, but he could fix that. She could certainly do chores around the house, freeing up time for him to focus on repairs. Maybe she could even take care of the rabbits, and if she was at all intelligent, the goats too. He hadn’t considered a woman, initially, because he was looking to hire an apprentice, and he didn’t want any of the local families to get the wrong idea. If he bought a female slave, though, no one would think twice. After all, she wasn’t a person…just a slave.
Pointing, he asked, "How much for her?"
Chapter 7
Isla stood as close to the wall as she could without touching the cold brick. She endured as people came up, poking and prodding her, flexing her joints and looking at her teeth. This part she was used to, but the last two auctions she had been to had at least let her keep her clothes on. She was beyond humiliated. She was grateful when Regina called the bidders back to their seats, but began to panic when they started bidding.
Isla was number seven on the chain, a little more than halfway. She watched as one after another the patrons bid and slaves were sold. It was finally her turn, and her heart stopped. She silently prayed to any deity that would listen to be bought.
"Alright! Next we have this female, perfect condition. As you can see she is very healthy and raw. Perfect for any brothel, and can be trained for indoor labor," Regina proclaimed making eye contact with the madam from the brothel.
"We'll start the bidding at five gold. Do I hear five gold? Five gold?"
Isla's heart dropped as not a single person raised their hand. The madam stared back with a contemplative expression, and her eyes went flat as if she had made a decision, and looked on to the other slaves on the chain. Isla could have started sobbing right then and there. Her brain screamed and railed against the world, clamoring to throw herself against the chains and wail until there wasn't breath in her body, but she couldn't move. Fear and bone breaking sorrow gripped her soul and clamped down until there was nothing left to feel, and she went numb all over.
"No one? Shame. Alright on to the next one..." Regina carried on as if nothing had happened, while inside Isla died. She was as dead as if someone had cut her throat right there and let her bleed out all over the beautiful floor.
She stared at her feet, barely noticing the rest of the auction finishing in a blur. She stared into nothingness as the buyers collected their purchases and left. Now that her life was over, how would it end? Beaten to death for not working quickly enough? Freezing to death, starving to death, eaten by dogs or any number of wild animals? She died a thousand times, each one worse than the last.
"How much for her?"
Isla heard the words and ignored them, staring at her feet, lost in her own little personal world of death.
"Her? You don't want her. She's all wrong for what you need, and would be way too expensive to keep. It'd be better to just visit Madam’s Cat-house. She'll set you up right and it'll only cost a few silver."
Isla ears perked up, and she looked up slowly. There was a man looking right at her, with a frown on his face and arms crossed. She recognized him from the inspection, he had completely bypassed her and all the other women, instead focusing on the males. His stance and clothing brooked no nonsense as he looked back at Regina.
"That's not what I need her for, I need help and I need it now," he said.
"Sir, have you ever owned a slave before?"
The man shook his head.
"I thought not. Buying a slave is like buying a tool. You need the right one for the right job. This girl has never worked a day in her life, she's tiny and injured so she’s going to be weaker than what you need, and require more attention. Also, I forgot to mention this earlier, but she's a new slave. Sold herself to pay a debt. So she's gonna try to run, fight back, and cause whatever mischief she can. I hate to miss out on a sale, but I'd rather sell you something you could use."
The man considered this for a minute. He walked back over to Isla and grabbed her wrist, pulling her arm out straight from her side. He squeezed, feeling the bones in her wrist and hand, then continued up her arm over her bicep and shoulder. He rotated her arm straight up and then back at a very awkward angle. She strangled a cry as her shoulder felt like it was about to come loose from her neck, until mercifully he let go. He then had her touch her toes and pull her knees up to her chest, while he felt her calves and thighs.
He turned back to Regina, "Five gold."
"Are you really sure about this? She may have good joints, but she has no muscle. If you buy her I will not-”
"Please," Isla whispered, screwing up her courage as for a last ditch attempt. "Please buy me, sir. I'll work really hard, I promise! I'll do everything you tell me to, and never make a peep!"
Regina backhanded her, snapping her head to the side. "Shut up." Regina turned to the man, "See what I mean, she doesn't even have the most basic of training. It should be automatic by now, a slave should know never to speak without being spoken to. Are you really sure you want her?"
The man stared at Regina his face a mask of stone. He slowly counted out five gold coins, and handed them to her. Then he thought about it and handed her a sixth.
"For manacles,” he said.
Regina nodded and made a small notation in her book. and walked to Isla and hobbled her with a set of manacles she had located nearby. Unlocking Isla's collar Regina handed her to the man with the same giant smile she used the entire auction. "Enjoy your purchase!"
Isla couldn't believe it. In fifteen minutes she went from a sure death to being owned. She never thought the idea of being bought as a slave would make her want to weep with joy, but here she was. She followed the man out the large double doors, making up the entrance to the hall, and out into the cold to a truck with a red sign emblazoned on the front. Opening the door the man stuffed her in, and then crawled in the other side. The truck roared to life, and he turned and looked her over making sure she was ready and then rumbled down the road. She leaned forward and looked in the mirror, watching the brown rectangle of a building recede into the distance, and for the first time in weeks, a small smile crept over her face.
They drove for about twenty minutes before stopping in a small town. The man got out of the car and locked it, leaving Isla alone and shivering, in a locked car, naked and shackled. She began to get nervous, now that the fear of being sold to a work farm was over, she began to wonder how her Owner would treat her. Would he be kind or cruel? If she displeased him, would he sell her or just kill her?
The reality of the situation began to sink in. This was it. He was her Owner and not just for a few weeks. This was a permanent arrangement. He could kill her without a second thought, especially out here where her value was only what he placed on it. A slave for trade had an inherent resale value, which made the traders take care of them lest their value decrease. An Owner on the other hand would not resell, and would not treat her with the same courtesy. Isla realized that her situation may have just taken a turn for the worse. She resolved to make sure she never gave him an excuse, and to be as pleasing as possible. She rubbed her cheek idly, feeling the heat from her last mistake.
The driver's door swung open with a creak, and her Owner paused climbing into the cabin, frowning at the door. He swung the door a few times, listening to the noise then studied the sky. Isla looked out of the windshield and saw the same grey sky she always saw. She looked back at her Owner as he mumbled something to himself about oil for hinges and then climbed into the cab and tossed her a blanket.
"Put that on, I don't want you freezing before we get back. Looks like we're in for a storm, too."
"Yes... Master." Isla pulled the scratchy wool blanket over her shivering form, honestly grateful to even be considered. He looked over at her Owner and smiled. "Thank you."
"My name is Emil, what is yours?"
"Isla, Master." she whispered breathily.
Emil just grunted in acknowledgement and turned his eyes back to the road as they rumbled north. He seemed to be paying special attention to the potholes in the road, which made for a lot of swerving. Isla silently prayed she wouldn't get sick. She didn't know how long they had to travel, but she knew that no one enjoys the smell of vomit. Fortunately, her system was pretty empty from that morning.
She studied Emil out of the corner of her eye. He was a well built man, if she was judging correctly through all those coats. His brown hair was wild and shaggy, like it he used the wind to comb it, and the edges were uneven as if it had been hacked at with a dull kitchen knife. His jaw was covered in the stubble of someone who shaves only once a week or so, and had streaks of red in it. Isla hadn't seen red hair before, and she couldn't help marveling. His green eyes were sharp and clear, like the jade stones her mother used to wear. He caught her staring and she immediately averted her gaze back to the floor of the truck. Emil raised an eyebrow at her but didn't say anything, just returned his gaze back to the road.
Studying the floor Isla thought to herself, 'If he wasn't my Owner, he'd be pretty cute.'