Dirt. The smell of it fills my mind. Like my mom’s garden after a rain. I crack my eyes open and see a pill bug crawling in front of my nose. Its little antennas swivel every which way as it tastes the air. I used to play with these as a kid. They curl into balls like tiny hedgehogs. I’d pick them up and roll them around in my hand.
I flinch as I try to sit. Everything hurts in a steady ache. Nothing but steep walls of fresh earth meet me on every side. A hole? My mind gropes to remember. Three days after escaping the masked man at the bridge I found a game trail a little ways from the interstate and followed it, hoping to maybe catch something to eat, when the ground gave way beneath me, and then, nothing.
I stand, tracing my hands along the walls. This is too steep and straight to be made by nature. Too deep and wide for an animal. Man made this. I can even make out the shape of a shovel in some places. I fell into a pit. I have to get out before—
“Hey hey hey! Mikey, look what we caught.”
My stomach drops at the voice overhead.
“What is it? Better not be another skunk. I’m not falling for that again.”
A curly-haired redhead pokes his head over the edge. Beside him, his balding friend gives me a grin, showing off a gaping hole where one of his front teeth should be.
“Hey boy, what you doing all the way out here?” The balding one asks as he points a shotgun my way.
I’m scared to answer. Scared to speak. My attempt at a man’s voice is pretty cheap. I pull my baseball cap down, checking to ensure my hair is tucked up tightly inside.
“Not the talkative type, huh?” He harrumphs. “Well, it don’t matter. We’ll be taking ya to the chief either way.”
A rope appears over the edge of the pit and I stumble back, horror blossoming at their words. For a while, I stand frozen as my mind races. I can’t let them take me. But a quick glance around and I know there's no other way out but up their rope.
“Alright, now I don’t want no funny business. Mikey here will shoot ya if you so much as twitch the wrong way. Got it?”
I glance up at the one called ‘Mikey’. He looks to be no older than seventeen, with gangly arms and legs, curly red hair, and pale skin splattered with freckles. His young face holds an innocent look.
Run. Yes, I think I’ll run. I struggle to climb the rope, but manage to make it to the top and grasp at the soft weeds above. The moment I do, Baldy starts barking orders.
“Lay on the ground, spread eagle. Do it now.”
I clamber over the edge, but instead of lying down as instructed, I dart away into the woods. A shotgun sounds behind me and red-hot fire flashes across my left thigh like someone splashed it with molten coals. The pain sucks my breath away but I push it aside and keep going. I get maybe fifty feet before metal snaps under my left boot and I hit the ground. A giant bear claw trap swallows my ankle. My thick, calf-length leather boots saved my bone from getting snapped but just barely.
The cocking of a shotgun comes from the bushes. Baldy emerges, holding the gun this time and pointing it at me.
I hold out my knife, waving it threateningly. I know it’s useless against a shotgun but what else can I do? I can’t let them take me.
“Come on, kid. We ain’t gonna kill ya. But if you fight, I’ll shoot. Drop your knife and roll over like I told ya before.”
I swallow hard. I have no doubt Baldy will shoot me. Shoot to kill. The redhead boy watches excitedly. I have to decide which would be better. Dying here, or letting them take me to a base full of men who haven’t seen a woman in who knows how long. The moment they find out what I am, I will probably wish I ended it here.
But I take too long. Baldy starts toward me, walking around to my side. I follow him with the knife, tripping some from the claw around my foot. As I do, the redhead comes sneaking around the other way, getting way too close. I turn to swipe at him, but as I do, Baldy whips his gun around and uses it as a club to smack my knife away. It dissapears in the brush, out of reach.
Redhead pounces, and with the trap pinning me in place I can do little more than brace for impact. As his six-foot-tall, wiry frame clamps around mine in a bear hug from the side, we both hit the ground. I manage to block his arms from my chest with my own, but once on the ground, I can do little more than squirm as the pair yank my arms back, winding a thick rope around them.
By the time they get my foot out of the trap, I’m panting from the struggle. My thigh feels like it was dipped in lava, and tears spring to my eyes as we march through the woods. I try to keep pace despite the pain as the redhead keeps one hand on me from behind and Baldy takes up the rear with the shotgun.
“It’s not so bad here, you’ll see,” the redhead says quietly. His voice is gentle and encouraging. “We got plenty of food and there’s protection from raiders. Kinda looks like you need it.”
What about protection from you? Raiders are one thing, but I doubt these men will care what I want any more than a raider would. I keep my mouth shut and my head down.
We reach a ten-foot tall wooden wall with a gate to match and a watchtower up front. The top of the wall is made of sharp, pointed pikes and lining the base is a wooden spike wall. A man at the top shouts, “Got a little more than you bargained for this morning?”
“Naw, just a scrawny kid. But Mikey finally got to shoot something.”
The two of them laugh and I feel the redhead—Mikey’s—grip nervously tighten on my shoulder. I grit my teeth as we step through their enormous gate. The gate may be meant to keep things out, but all I see is how easily it can be used to keep things in.
Men are everywhere. Some stand around talking, but most are busy. The clinking of a metalsmith pounding sounds off somewhere to our right while the sawing of wood comes from behind. Two men lift a log, pushing it into a stack for the makings of a cabin. I count over four dozen cabins and in the middle of everything sits a wide open square. A wooden platform rises from the deep mud a few feet, but the thing sitting in the center makes my feet falter.
A metal cage.
Baldy gives me a shove. “Come on now. It’s only until the chief decides what to do with ya.”
My feet turn to lead, and I struggle against the hand pushing me forward. But Mikey is stronger than he looks and simply shoves me along. The pain in my thigh has steadily grown worse, and all it takes is one kick from Baldy and my leg gives out, sending me tripping into the cage.
The redhead—Mikey—closes the door with a soft click and locks the padlock. He crouches to meet my level as Baldy walks away.
"Don't worry too much. Just do whatever the chief says and you'll be okay." He whispers before walking away.
I doubt it.
The smell hits me like a slap across the face and I crinkle my nose at the distinctive outhouse odor. I roll myself into a sitting position and swallow back bile. How many men have been trapped here before me and for how long? I suppose the longer I’m here the better. After all, no one is looking too closely at me here. I need time to think of an escape. But liquid trickles from my wound, spotting the sewer-soaked, mud-caked floor of the cage red. Even if I can find a way out, how far can I get with this leg?
I cannot tell if one hour passes or five because I struggle to stay conscious. The pain in my leg spreads like wildfire, clawing down my calf and up my hip. It has a heartbeat of its own and I fight to keep my breaths even.
I hear shouting from somewhere to my left before I’m dragged from my metal prison and forced to my knees.
“What’s your name?” A deep voice demands from overhead.
I flinch and keep my head down. I should answer. Silence will draw suspicion, but pain sends my thoughts scattering every time I reach for them.
“I asked you a question.”
“Nat,” I mumble to the ground.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you.”
My gaze skitters across the muddy deck below. Until now, I’ve hidden behind the baseball cap, a chest wrap, and baggy clothes, but my feminine features are not exactly subtle if viewed straight on. Maybe I should have spread some of that sewer mud on my face. The thought brings bile to my mouth. Too late now.
A rough hand grabs my jaw, jerking it upward, squishing my cheeks painfully. A pair of dark eyes bore into mine and a new sense of dread crawls into my stomach, curling and twisting like a tapeworm.
This must be their chief. He is a giant of a man; his hand alone swallows half my face. He’s well-built and bearded, like some kind of WWE champion. Hard, compact muscles reveal years of training in combat and endurance—and killing. Probably. His eyes burn with impatience, but after a moment they narrow.
We exchange stares for a moment too long and I know he knows. Or at least suspects. Every fiber of my body shakes and not from the pain in my leg anymore. He rips off my baseball cap and my hair spills out around my shoulders and back. I hear surprise from a crowd behind us and he yanks me up by my arm, which is still tied behind my back. The shine of a blade in his other hand catches my eye and I jerk away on impulse.
“Hold still.” His grip squeezes painfully.
He slices my shirt right down the middle and I shiver as cold air invades my flesh. My bra preserves what little dignity I have left, but it’s not much. I have a small chest, but it’s enough because he calls someone over and hands me off to them.
“Get the doc. And take her to my cabin.”
Voices are buzzing. Eyes bore into me from every direction as they push me along to the far end of the camp where a resort-style cabin sits with a large wooden porch and sliding glass doors. Inside, I’m taken to a sofa covered in furs. I feel dizzy and can’t stop shivering even when they add wood to the fireplace. My thigh is unbearable now and I feel like I might retch.
“Where is she?”
A new voice comes from a clean-shaven man who appears somewhere to my left. He crouches down beside me, peering behind round spectacles, and presses a hand to my forehead. After some poking and prodding, he shines a light in each eye and makes note of my bruised ribs and other various cuts I don’t remember getting. But when he touches my leg, I jerk back, fresh tears springing to my eyes.
The man grumbles and then asks, “Who’s the idiot who shot her with buckshot?”
He follows it up with a slew of mumbled profanities before stopping to glance up at me. “Sorry.”
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Sorry for what? I can barely think past the fire consuming my leg. All I want is to be left alone. Why can’t they leave me alone? What did I ever do to them anyways? Why must this world be so cruel?
“—need to get it out, okay?” The man with glasses is talking to me again, but I missed what he said. I shake my head at whatever it is and cram my eyes shut.
He grabs at the buttons on my pants and panic rockets through me. With my arms still tied behind, I do what I can, using my one good leg to kick him square in the chest. He falls back, but then more hands show up to hold me down.
I shout in frustration and fear. Glasses successfully yank my pants off and they flip me over onto my stomach. I scream, but it is muffled by the furs on the sofa I am pinned against.
“Get off me!” I struggle, but it only succeeds in more and more weight showing up to hold me down until I can barely breathe, let alone move.
Dizzy, out of breath, and exhausted I stop for a moment. I feel Glasses digging around in the back of my thigh where the worst of the pain is. I hear the solid ting of metal on metal. More digging. Another ting. More digging. A ting. This goes on for some time before cold liquid pours over my leg. It stings so bad I gasp and shudder but the burning subsides and I catch my mind beginning to drift. Everything still hurts but the pain grows distant. Despite the cold, darkness welcomes me warmly with arms spread wide.
~~~
Pine sap crackles and pops somewhere to my right. I try to sit up but a splitting headache stabs through my temple.
“Take it easy. You lost a lot of blood.”
I frown at the familiar voice and see Glasses sitting in a chair nearby. I lay in an enormous bed piled high with furs. The large room holds mounted deer, moose, and even a bear head on the wall. An antique, iron styled dresser and mirror sit along the back wall and a fireplace warms from the other end.
“How do you feel?”
He leans forward in his chair, hands wringing as he watches me.
My mind strains to remember what happened and then I feel my face grow hot. This man undressed me. I check under the sheets and then snatch them closer, my face growing hotter. The walls seem to close in around me.
“Where are my clothes? What did you do to me?” My voice cracks and I swallow. My sandpaper-dry tongue is glued to the top of my mouth.
“I had to remove them to treat your injury.”
“Even my underwear?” I hiss.
“Yes,” he snips back with a scowl. “I tried to warn you but I don’t think you heard me. I didn’t know what other injuries you were hiding. The chief requires me to be thorough. The last thing any of us want is you dying.” He mumbles the last part.
Me dying? Was it really that bad? I shove my rising panic aside, letting my fingers run over the soft wrapping around my thigh. It does feel much better—it hurts, but the fire is gone. My body aches, but it always aches. Even still, I glower at him darkly.
“Well, I don’t die so easily.”
“I beg to differ. You nearly went septic back there. Even now, your injuries are extremely serious. Besides”—he gives me a pointed, hard look— “if they weren’t serious, then there’d be no reason for the chief to wait until you recovered.”
What? Wait until I recovered? Wait for what?
My fingers turn to icicles as my breath loses all depth. The answer looms overhead like a monster stepping out from the shadows. Its lips spread thin as long, glistening needle-like teeth of terror hover over my throat. But I refuse to look directly at it. Because if I do, I might lose what little sanity I have right now and I cannot afford that. I need to keep it together. For Ivan. For my brother.
“Give me back my clothes.”
“You should drink some water.”
He nods to a cup sitting on the end table by the bed and a plate of food rests beside it. As if on cue sharp talons of hunger claw my stomach open and the smell of roasted boar sends my saliva glands into overdrive.
I eye it suspiciously. “Is it drugged?”
“And what would be the point in that?”
I can think of several reasons, but keep my mouth shut, deciding against giving the man ideas. A sedated person is easier to control. I always considered being drugged into submission the luckiest scenario should I be captured. Then again, drugs are hard to come by in this world, and I imagine most find brute force works just as well.
I clutch the sheets close as I reach over and take the cup, lifting it to my lips and sipping. Tastes like nothing. Smells like nothing. Well, I have to drink some time. I empty the cup and then move on to the boar. My stomach rumbles in satisfaction and I stuff my face faster than I can swallow. Without the masked man leaving me presents, I had returned to my previous diet of water and air.
I scrutinize the small scrawny man before me. He shares nothing but a frown with the guard by the door who resembles a bull more than a man. If the guard is a bull, then Glasses is an irritated, mangled housecat. Even still, his eyes are keen and quick.
Another voice sounds from the doorway. “Glad to see you’re feeling better. If you had died, I would’ve had to kill that boy.”
I swallow as the chief comes into view. He waves Glasses away and takes a seat beside me on the bed. I stiffen at his proximity and clutch the sheets to my chest. At least Glasses had the decency to sit in the chair.
“Nat, you said? Would that be short for something else?” His eyes gleam like a predator upon discovering a small animal to play with.
I push the empty plate away, wiping the grease from my face with the back of my hand, and give him a good glare.
“Natalie?” he guesses, watching me. “No… Natalia?”
His hand lifts to touch a lock of my blond hair and his gaze roams across my eyes and nose, pausing at my lips before meeting my eyes again. “Russian, I think. Perhaps Natasha?” He grins. “Ah, that’s it. Natasha.”
I fight a squirming, wriggling mass of discomfort in my middle and resist the urge to swipe his hand away.
I meet his gaze evenly. “What do you want?”
He leans back, placing an arm on the headrest behind us, and crosses an ankle over his knee comfortably. His arm radiates heat across the back of my neck, sending my hair on end.
“You are a mystery to me Natasha. One I would like to solve if you’ll help me.”
“Sorry, I’m not in the habit of helping strangers.”
Not unless they wear a mask and get trapped in a raider pit, apparently.
A smirk tugs the corner of his lip. “That is something I can remedy if you like. We don’t have to be strangers. In fact, I am confident that we will become very good friends.”
I sneer at the prediction. “Or enemies.”
Something touches my shoulder and I jump at the contact. He laughs and I realize it’s his fingers, reaching from the headboard to graze the skin over my naked shoulder blade.
“You don’t want to know what I do with my enemies.” He grins wide despite the thinly veiled threat. “But let’s be friends. Ask me whatever you want.”
“Fine.” I give him a shallow smile. “When can I leave?”
“Leave? Leave to go do what?” His brows raise and he gestures with his hand. “To go die out there in the wilds?”
“I’ve made it this far; I’ll be fine.”
“A woman all alone out there is bound to have horrible things happen to her or end up dead. Probably both.”
My eyes narrow. “It seems horrible things can happen to you wherever you are.”
A slow smile curls his lips. “You’re quite right. So why leave? Stay here where I can protect you.”
I grip the sheet tighter. Protection? What a joke. He presents the idea of me staying as a question, but I see the truth in his eyes.
“I don’t want your protection. I’m not scared and I want to leave.”
“I don’t think you know what you want. How long have you been awake? One month? Two?”
I see. Besides the sprinkling of gaslighting, all this talk is simply him fishing for information. But what’s he looking for? I need to make him show his hand.
“Three.” I lie.
I woke up over eight months ago. But if he wants me to be naive, then naive I shall be.
In the beginning, I spied scavengers like myself in the distance passing through cities, but we shared equal measures of fear for each other. I avoided the occasional raider gang by simply staying quiet and out of sight. The swimming hole marked the first time another human saw me.
“Three whole months.” He whistles long and low, grinning. “You’re basically an expert.”
I grind my jaw at the fury I feel building in my chest. “What do you want from me?”
“Natasha, what kind of man do you think I am not?”
I give him a simple glare in reply. Where is this going?
He continues, “I am not weak. I am not dumb. And I am not wasteful.” His eyes turn dark with the last word.
Like a whiff of smoke, his tone warns of a blazing forest fire right out of sight. Aware of just how alone we are, I pull the sheet up closer and shift away. Nothing but glowing embers remain in the fireplace across the room, and gooseflesh shivers down my arms.
“Men’s lives are a dime a dozen out here, Natasha. But a woman—” He leans forward and speaks quietly. “I’ve never seen one. So tell me why I, a man who is not wasteful, would ever throw something so valuable away?”
My heart hammers in my chest, clawing up into my throat, cutting off my breath. He is close. Too close. With nothing but a paper-thin sheet between us, his eyes gleam with desire and something else.
Something dangerous.
I see a lion held back by nothing more than mere hairs of self-control. And with every passing second, a few more strands snap free. My mind scrambles for something, anything I can say to keep him talking.
“You’ve never seen a woman before?”
His focus breaks and he pulls back. “Women do not wake from the stone.” His eyes narrow. “You should know this, so what are you asking? Unless…”
Unless what? What am I asking? I don’t even know, myself. He misreads my panic for something else and I haven’t decided if it is a good thing or not.
He reaches over and grabs my chin, forcing my eyes to him. “Have you seen more women, living women?”
If he thinks there are more women, will he be more inclined to let me go? I swallow a ball of anxiety but remain quiet. Quiet enough to look guilty. To answer without answering.
“Where?” He demands, the grip on my face grows tighter. “Tell me now, girl.”
I flinch in pain and he shoves me away. Anger radiates from him like a burning furnace and I am trapped in it. My eyes lock on the door. I can’t stay here.
His gaze follows mine. “Don’t get any smart ideas.”
Like a gator snapping from the water, his hand clamps around my jaw and he shoves me backward, slamming my body against the headboard. A yelp of surprise and pain escapes my throat. I claw at his arm as the sheet slips little by little, but his grip tightens in response. The pressure feels like a constrictor, and I wonder if my jawbone might actually snap. Cramming my eyes shut, I try to think.
He wants more women? Fine. I’ll give him more women.
I grit my teeth and look up to meet his eyes, my anger joining his own. “I will never tell you where they are. I don’t care what you do to me. You can break every bone in my body. You will never find them. Unless…”
The grip loosens. “Unless?”
“...you must let me go east to look for my family.”
He releases and I pull away, snatching the bedsheet back up to my collarbone. I touch the tender skin on my throat with shaky fingers. Silence stands between us before he breaks it with a question.
“How many girls?”
I hesitate before looking down and saying quietly. “Four.”
Enough to get him excited, but not so many I raise suspicions, I hope.
“You will tell me where they are. After I have them and have returned, I will send some men with you to go search for your family.”
“What about after I’ve found my family?”
“If you find them, they are welcome to come and live here with you.”
“So, what you’re saying is… there is no scenario in which I can actually leave.”
He grins and leans in close. “Don’t worry. I’ll make you comfortable here. After a little while, you'll learn to love it.”
Yeah, right. What a despicable man.
“Fine. But on one condition. I have to come with you to get the others. They’ll never trust you otherwise and I don’t want anyone getting hurt.”
I can’t stay here. My best bet is to travel with them. At least then I’ll be out those giant doors.
He brushes a finger along my jaw where he grabbed me and I hate that it makes me flinch. He chuckles and trails down my neck towards my chest. I slap him away, but his hand clamps onto mine, slowly turning it around to lift my fingertips to his lips. I want to hurl. He grins and lets go, getting up to leave before pausing in the doorway.
“Get some rest.” He smiles thinly. “The sooner you recover from that injury the better. We have quite the trip ahead of us in the morning.”
As he leaves, a big, burly looking man steps up, standing watch by the open door. I sink deeper into the bed, fury, fear, and sickness swirling like a cyclone in my gut. I must escape. For Ivan, but also for myself. The chief is a monster and I just made a deal with that monster—a mistake to be sure, but also my only shot at freedom. I have to get away before he discovers I’ve lied to him. My stomach twists at the thought and I feel nauseous. I’ll find a way to escape; this is not where my journey ends. I swear it.