Everything Under The Sun, page 7
Despite my predicament, the rain felt good on my bare feet. I had given up walking in the boots and chucked them into the woods a long time ago. But now the bottom of my feet were getting the same injurious treatment as I stepped on branches and jagged rocks. A part of me wished I could ride on a horse, too, but that would mean riding with that brute behind me, and so I never complained.
Drenched, I shivered incessantly, my teeth clacked together so hard I thought they might break off in my mouth. I prayed I’d get pneumonia and it would kill me before these men had their way with me.
We had been traveling for more than a day with little rest. The leader, named Marion, had been adamant about more travel and less stopping. I had heard him talking to the other men: he wanted to get back to Lexington to collect his pay. One horse pulled a makeshift sled packed with provisions they had “acquired”: bottles of vintage wine, plastic five-gallon buckets of dried beans and dehydrated fruit and salt and sugar and spices, each secured with a lid that kept the rain out. I glimpsed a stockpile of bullets and firearms and knives. But Marion’s most prized find were us—the women. Besides me and Sosie, there were six other women to check in with someone they called “The Overseer”.
“I want to go home,” one girl said; she was small and mousy and fragile. She had been crying: Iwanttogohome Iwanttogohome, for nearly two days now, but always to deaf ears.
The caravan stopped on the trail.
Marion’s voice sounded from the front of the line: “We’ll rest here for thirty minutes!”
I heard the rustle of boots and saddles and shifting wet clothes as the men dismounted their horses.
“After that,” he went on, his voice getting closer, “it’s to Lexington nonstop! So, make damn sure you take care of your business now!”
“Please, sir,” the mousy girl said as Marion approached. “I don’t want to go to Lexington. I want to see my mother.”
Marion studied the girl’s small frame and shrinking face.
“No one’s going to hurt you,” he told her. “You’ll be safe in our city. You’ll have a secure home with guards who patrol the streets day and night.” He glanced at me, and then at another, quieter woman standing nearby with dark hair and narrowed eyes that made her look frightening. “All of you will be cared for and protected—you should be thanking us.”
The dark-haired girl made an awful noise with her throat and spit at Marion, hitting the front of his shirt; the sight of the sticky white mess made my stomach turn.
The soldier holding the other end of the defiant girl’s leash yanked on it, and her bound wrists shot up above her head; she went flying backward and fell on her bottom in the mud with a splat.
Marion cocked his head and clicked his tongue. “Play your cards right,” he taunted, “and you’ll end up with my last name.” He smiled, his teeth stark white against the deeply tanned backdrop of his face.
The defiant girl sneered and gritted her teeth.
“What about my mother?” the mousy girl asked. “Please, just let me go home. She needs me. Just let me go home.”
“You are going home,” he answered. “To Lexington City.” He walked away, and she cried into her hands.
I turned to my sister. “Sosie,” I whispered after Marion walked past, “listen to me—we’re going to be okay. I’m scared too, but they’re not going to hurt us. If they wanted to, they might’ve already.” I didn’t even believe what I was saying; it was ridiculous to think that Sosie would.
“They’re going to sell you,” the defiant girl hissed. “You heard him just now—you’re going to be made someone’s whore. Don’t for a second think they’re not going to hurt you—there are many kinds of hurt.” She eyed me with a look of disgust, as if she couldn’t believe that I could be so stupid.
Marion and a few of the other men set out into the woods. The others stayed back with the horses, the loot, and us. I could feel their eyes on me, especially the brute, and I felt a sinking feeling as I watched Marion disappear into the forest. I didn’t like him, but I felt safer around the other men when he was among them.
Ten minutes of silence passed when a sharp scream filled the air from the end of the caravan. Then another scream before it was muffled, as though a hand had gone over the girl’s mouth to stifle it. I jumped at the sound, my breath catching; my eyes moved to see behind the horses at the end of the line from where the screams came. I glimpsed two figures, one large and masculine, one small and frail, stepping off the path and into the woods. I watched with a heavy heart, knowing what was about to happen and that there was nothing I could do to stop it.
The two disappeared amid the thick bushes. Shortly thereafter, cries and whimpers reached my ears, the rustle of bushes, a man’s grunt, my heart beating in my stomach, my mother’s warning screaming inside my head. I forced myself to look away, down at my bound hands, but the ghost feeling of the brute’s eyes at my back made me look up at him instead. He stood watching me, his back pressed against a tree. He knew what was going on at the end of the caravan—I could see it in his face. A faint smile just barely lifted the corners of his rugged mouth as he slipped a slice of apple from the blade of his knife in-between his lips.
I tore my eyes away, not wanting to instigate the same horrific treatment.
A short time passed when the defiant girl sitting next to me shot to her feet.
“Fucking pig!” she screamed as the soldier who had raped the girl came into view. She lunged, nearly knocking me over to get to him. “I’ll gut you like the fucking pig you are!”
The brute reacted quickly, grabbed the long end of the rope around her wrists, and yanked her backwards. She fought to push herself forward; her dark eyes were wild and feral and full of violence.
The rapist grinned; his eyes were lit with a sort of sickening excitement. He pushed the poor girl down beside the rest of us where she sat without protest.
“I’ll kill you!” the defiant girl shrieked.
Voices carried on the air as Marion and the other men emerged from the trees.
“Sit down and shut up,” the brute told the defiant girl; she tried to lunge again, but the brute was too strong and easily held her back.
“Bastard!” She spit at the rapist.
Marion walked up.
“What the hell’s going on?” His gaze skimmed the defiant girl first, and then landed on the brute.
“I’m not sure, sir,” the brute lied, “but this one’s more trouble than she’s worth.”
Marion turned to the defiant girl, waiting for an explanation.
With a firm finger, she pointed at the rapist. “You said none of us would be hurt! Does rape not constitute as hurting someone? You said we would be safe with you!” She tried to lunge again, but the brute pushed her down this time where she fell on the ground next to me; I felt her elbow jab me in the ribs.
Marion turned to the accused.
“Is what she said true?”
The man looked down at the girl he had violated. “She’s gonna end up in the brothel anyway,” he said. “What does it matter?”
“Last time I checked,” Marion said with reprimand, “you weren’t the Overseer, Private Bell. The only decisions you’re free to make are when you need to shit, take a piss, or blow your fucking nose.”
The rapist, named Private Bell, lowered his eyes and nodded his acknowledgement to Marion.
“You’ll lose your cigarette privileges for a week,” Marion added.
“That’s it?!” the defiant girl shouted from her spot on the ground. “He rapes someone and his punishment is he doesn’t get to smoke for a week? What kind of punishment is that?!”
Marion held his hand out to help her up. She refused to take it, but stood up on her own, unafraid of him.
“When we get to Lexington,” Marion told her, “Private Bell’s crime will be made known to the Overseer. The Overseer will deal with him from there.” He walked away from her, raised a hand in the air and shouted, “Now let’s move out!”
And that was the end of the discussion.
By the next morning, the city of Lexington, Kentucky, finally came into view under a bright and cloudless sky.
I thought that nothing could frighten me more than being with these men, but I had been wrong. As we approached, and the buildings grew larger on the horizon, I fought the panic brewing inside; I tried to stop my hands from shaking, my knees from weakening under the heavy weight of my mind. What will happen to me and my sister? Will we be treated kindly? Will we be violated like that girl at the end of the caravan? So many questions. But I already knew the answers. As much as I tried to deny them, I already knew.
And so I tried to think of my father instead. I wished we were still sitting at the kitchen table talking with him about why it was better to clean the fish inside the house. I wished that Sosie and I were still little girls, sneaking out to play in the woods. I wished that Fernando and his mother were next door and I could skip across the street and ask them over for a game of cards. But none of my wishes came true, and I couldn’t think much about my father, or my sister, or my friends, because my mother’s voice wouldn’t stop screaming in my head.
I wept. I cried so hard that my stomach ached and my throat swelled and my nose got so stuffy that I couldn’t breathe. I cried until my eyes burned and I threw up.
I wasn’t the strong one; I was as weak as my sister.
And I couldn’t hide it anymore.
9
ATTICUS
Lexington, Kentucky | Capital East-Central Territory
I met with Rafe yesterday morning for the particulars of my temporary position as Overseer. It was a short meeting before Rafe set out with a small army on the road to Cincinnati.
“How long do you expect them to be gone?” my friend, Peter Whitman, asked, standing in the doorway of my apartment.
I pushed the buttons of my military uniform shirt into the holes, to the last button, then tucked the tail of the shirt in behind my pants and tightened my belt. I needed to look the part my first day as Overseer—everything I could do to gain the respect of the other men, needed to be done. And if I couldn’t get the respect the easy way, I was prepared to get it the hard way.
“I don’t know,” I answered. “They might not come back at all.” I sat on the edge of my bed and tightened the strings on my boots.
Peter leaned against the doorframe, crossed his arms over his chest.
“I think he’ll be made General,” Peter said about Rafe. “And you’ll become Overseer.”
The last General was killed two weeks ago, and Wolf still had not named a replacement.
I looked up from my boots at Peter. “I’m beginning to think the same thing.”
Cautiously, Peter looked out into the hallway, and then said in a low voice, “The shit you can do with that kind of power.” His boyish face was alight with the exciting possibilities. “All the liquor, tobacco, and women you can handle.”
Peter was not like the other men in Wolf’s army, but he loved the ladies, and was one of the brothel’s best customers. He was the only man in Lexington who I felt I could almost trust—I trusted no one fully.
I shook my head at Peter’s comment, pulled the boot strings tight and tied them. I moved to stand in front of the tall mirror mounted on the wall, and inspected my uniform; I glimpsed Peter behind me in the reflection of the glass.
“I’m not trying to get ahead of myself,” I said, “but if that does happen, if I end up with the Overseer position, every soldier in Lexington will be my enemy by default—I hope you don’t become one of them.”
Peter’s eyebrows drew together; a smile of disbelief slowly crept over his features.
“You’re kidding, right?” he said. “You’re the only man in Lexington I trust, the only one I like.” He pressed his boot against the doorframe, pushed his back away from it and uncrossed his arms. “If anything, I’ll pretend to have it out for you like everybody else, but have your back from the inside.”
“That’ll be hard to pull off,” I said.
“How so?”
I laughed lightly. “Look where you are right now, Peter.” I shook my head at him in the reflection of the mirror. “We’ve been friends since you came here—you’re the last person any of them would trust with information they don’t want me to have.”
Peter shrugged, having to agree.
“I’m just hoping you won’t force me to do something I don’t want to do,” I added.
Peter chuckled, his shoulders bouncing slightly.
“What, are you gonna kill me if I fuck up?”
“Yes,” I said, and I meant it.
Peter’s smile fled in an instant—he knew I wasn’t joking. Jokes usually weren’t in my repertoire. Not anymore.
“Well, I’m always going to be on your side no matter what happens,” Peter said, and then he stepped farther into the room. “And you can repay that loyalty with a little on-the-side treatment, if y’know what I mean.” He grinned.
I raised a brow, standing near the window now with my arms crossed. “Repay you?” I said. “Are you blackmailing me, Private Whitman?”
“Hell no,” Peter said with laughter. “I’m jus’ sayin’, it would be nice to, y’know, be appreciated.”
A flurry of voices came in through the open window from the street below. I stepped up closer to get a better look, pressed my hands against the windowsill.
“A few extra cigarettes, a bottle of Scotch, maybe a red-headed wife,” Peter said, as if he were dreaming about these things as he named them off. “You know how much I looove redheads.”
“Yeah, I do,” I said absently, watching the scouting party come down West Main Street. “But I never took you for the wife type.”
Peter made a noise under his breath that sounded like a laugh. “You know me better than I know myself sometimes—well, just keep me in mind, and don’t forget the little people.”
“Like I said, I don’t want to get ahead of myself, so let’s just leave it at that for now.”
A small caravan of horses moved up the center of the street across from my building. I straightened my back, inhaled a deep breath, and prepared mentally for my first public appearance as Overseer.
“Is that who I think it is?” Peter said, peering over my shoulder.
“Yeah.” I stepped away from the window. “Marion’s party. They’ve been gone for over a week; I was starting to think Marion finally got himself killed.”
Peter laughed. “Nah, we couldn’t be that lucky.”
I grabbed my 9mm from the desk and holstered it at my chest, and we left the room together to meet the scouting party on the street.
Lexington’s residents, always anticipating the arrival of scouting parties, gathered in crowds outside the old History Museum. Hooves trotted against the asphalt, and a flurry of eager voices rose as the party got closer. I pushed my way through the crowd and went down the sidewalk that cut through the grass, and then stopped at the steps. Peter gave me the slip and disappeared into a crowd of soldiers.
Voices rose and fell, talked over one another, some shouted and argued.
“I’ve been on the list for wine for three months!” one man said to another. “One of those bottles is mine! I’ll see to it!”
“I hope there’s more food!”
“Sugar! We need sugar and cornmeal for the moonshine!”
“Where’s the Overseer?!” another shouted over the crowd.
I felt a twinge of insecurity in my stomach, but got over it quickly. I moved up to stand on the top step, just as Rafe always did, and then I turned to face the crowd, my hands folded loosely down in front of me. I wore no expression and made no sound. I just stood there, giving the crowd time to quiet down on its own so I wouldn’t be forced to shout over it.
“Where’s the Overseer?” another voice called out.
Still, I said nothing.
Dozens of heads moved in search of Rafe, until the only thing left for any of them to do was turn their attention back to the man now standing in Rafe’s usual spot. Many watched me with confused faces. Shouts eventually dwindled to whispers.
Marion, leader of the scouting party, jumped down from his horse; some of his men followed. He cut a path through the crowd and approached me.
“Marion,” I greeted with a nod.
“Atticus,” Marion greeted in return, also with a nod.
Marion looked around me with question, but it didn’t take him long to figure out what was going on.
“Rafe set out last night to take Cincinnati,” I said, and glanced into the crowd. “I’ll be Overseer until he returns.”
A wave of whispers carried over the crowd as the announcement made its way from the front to the back in under four seconds.
“All right then,” Marion said with an indifferent shrug; he looked back at his men. “Then let’s get this underway—you’ve got your work cut out for you, my friend.” He eyed me with a private look of warning, and luck-wishing.
“Wine, sugar, beans, spices, and I’m sure over five thousand rounds of .22 caliber ammunition.” Marion made a gesture with his hand, and three men walked up toting supplies.
I descended the steps, back straight and refined, chin raised level and strong. I had to look like I wouldn’t think twice about shooting any of the soldiers dead in the street for testing my patience—it was a good thing I wasn’t faking it.
“I can think of a few men better suited for the Overseer position,” someone said from the crowd, but I ignored it and kept my attention on Marion and the stock being set on the concrete in front of me.
After the soldiers popped the lids from the buckets, they stepped away from the supplies. I inspected everything, counting the most valuable items in my head, and when I was satisfied that I’d made a firm mental note of the goods, I waved to an old man who stood nearby waiting to take orders. He stepped up with a spiral notebook in one hand and a pen in the other.
“Make note of the food inventory,” I instructed, “and then have it carried to the warehouse.”
