Badlands: Next Generation Collection, page 34
In one minuscule second, a small lapse of time between submitting or going on the offense, I chose the latter. Anger and hatred burned like acid in my aching gut, disintegrating every rational thought my brain tried to present. A rageful scream poured from my lungs, rendering Hendrix motionless for the briefest moment.
The pain riddling my body was wiped away by an onslaught of adrenaline. I lunged at him. Unprepared for my attack, he stumbled to the side. I clung to his form, tangling bruised fingers in fistfuls of hair. I fully intended to tear it from his scalp.
This would never be enough. I couldn’t implement the kind of pain he did when he delivered a set of lashes to my back. But it felt good.
Claire and Marcy followed my lead, feebly attempting to save Dasia.
Cries came from the other side of the room as Emily was dragged away by another solider, who must have been lingering in the hall.
A stray palm collided with my nose, and I found myself flying, landing with a soft “humph,” near the end of another bunk. Blood spurted from my nostrils, siphoning to my lips. It didn’t immediately faze me. The taste of it was one I had become accustomed to.
“What are you doing?” Hendrix yelled at the man who had struck me. “No hits to her face!” He shoved his hands through his hair to smooth it back down, huffing and puffing like an enraged bull. His eyes bored down on me and I couldn’t help but sneer up at him.
“Take them to the angel, these ones to the pens, and her,” he jabbed a finger furiously in my direction, “put that psychotic bitch back in her cage!”
His orders were followed with no rebuttal. Rough hands grabbed at me before I could fully rise, two guerrillas on each side. Not given a chance to get my bearings, I was dragged from the room with my legs kicking out to find a foothold.
There was no doubt about it now, I would surely be punished again. They’d make me hurt so much more than I already did—physically—but they’d never dare kill me. I was too important to the Cardinal’s cause.
His Exarchs preached that I was divine purity, the answer to all the covenants’ prayers. They needed me. Their key to happiness rested at my unwilling feet. Fucking cowards.
Dasia and Emily were paraded through the asylum in front of me.
We went past all the open doors where more than a few terrified and broken-hearted girls remained.
Some had known what tonight would bring while others were left in a state of confusion, any illusions they had about A.R.C from when they first arrived had just gotten shattered by the ugly truth of their new reality. I’d been in their shoes once.
Behind me, Claire and Marcy were forced down the same barren, depleted hall. Large double doors were thrown open, and out into the night we went. The instant we crossed over the threshold it was as if the air skimmed directly over my pain receptors.
I became acutely aware of the throbbing in my nose. And the blood. There was so much blood. I tasted it on my tongue and felt it racing in parallels down my back.
My arms ached, stiff from being tied in the shape of a T just hours ago. My feet too, now skidding over asphalt.
No one paid our envoy much attention, but that wasn’t anything out of the norm. The majority of the guerrillas didn’t give a damn about our wellbeing. They were only here to protect the Exarchs and keep us obediently in line.
Occasionally they put their cocks in places they didn’t belong, tainting what was meant to remain ‘pure.’ Their careless actions had led to many girls being buried alive for committing such a vile act.
Off in the far distance, the lights of Cathedral A.R.C glowed like a beacon for anyone who might happen upon it if lost or wandering in the middle of the night. It was a symbol of false hope if there ever was one.
Those seeking shelter would come for safety and find themselves sacrificed or coerced for the covenant’s greater good.
My cage, which was nothing more than an old gazebo affixed with bars and a gate to keep me locked inside, began to take shape. Once we reached it, I was tossed in without a backward glance. My knees and palms smacked against straw covered wood with a loud thwack.
The rounded pens behind the gazebo rattled as Marcy and Claire were shoved inside in the same fashion. Their discipline would be decided by the Cardinal when he learned of their offenses. After it was doled out, they would be allowed to return to our room.
My punishment would always lead back to this. This damned unholy cage.
I spent so much time locked away that there was now a bucket for me to defecate in and a burlap blanket to cover up with when the Badlands’ temperature dropped.
I used my wrist to rid my face of blood and then tentatively touched my nose. I was relieved to find it wasn’t broken, just hurt like hell. Pushing to my feet, I turned and walked slowly to the gate. I knew the automatic lock was already in place; my intention was solely to see the procession being led to the weeping angel a few yards away.
Her weathered wings were stretched skyward and both hands covered her face. A charred cross was at her back, serving as a torch for every consecrated cleansing and ceremony that took place. Much like the one just seconds away from happensing.
It’d been burned so many times I couldn’t believe it was still standing.
“Kneel!” Hendrix’s brash voice carried across the yard. At his command, four women, two of them being Emily and Dasia, and two men knelt on the ground, shoulder to shoulder and heads bowed just as they’d been taught to do in our lessons.
Then, as if he’d received a silent cue, from behind the angel came a disciple.
I knew within his hands would be a bible written in the Cardinal’s self-fulfilling dialect. When he began to speak, his voice was loud enough for me to hear every absurd accusation bestowed upon each of those chosen for cleansing.
He said they were tainted with ill fortune. Proclaimed they were forsaken by God.
These same words were used to describe me behind closed doors. It was pure bullshit.
All. Of. It.
None of the people kneeling respectfully at his feet had done anything that would warrant them being accused of these unjust infractions. Dasia’s only fault wasn’t a fault at all. She had turned twenty-one the day after her selection.
That made her a full year older than most of the others still at the asylum. Emily’s was simply not being desirable enough in the four-month period in which men had come to look the available girls over.
As for few the boys, they would have failed in their training to level up, making them obsolete and useless for whatever the Cardinal had planned.
I often searched for my older brother amongst them. It had been years since I last saw him, and there was little way of knowing if he were still alive or if he even looked the same, but that didn’t stop me from hoping.
The Exarch finished reading his scripture and then made the sign of a cross before giving the all-too-familiar signal to commence with the cleansing. Hendrix stepped forward, withdrawing a handgun from his waistband.
One of the guerrillas under his command did the same while another readied a canister of flammable liquid. As horrific as this was, I always found small comfort in the fact that these deaths were quick and merciful. Robbed of our lives or not, we were all going to die somehow.
Six people.
Six gunshots.
A single bullet was fired into the back of every bowed skull. The gun didn’t jam once. No one fought or pleaded for their lives. And really, what was the point? In the world we existed in, it had to be acknowledged that dead was often better. After all, this was our only way to true freedom.
As body after body silently hit the ground, I gripped the iron bars so tightly the pigmentation in my knuckles turned snow white. I paid no mind to the new trail of blood traveling slowly from my nose to my clamped lips, leaving it to drip down my chin.
“Look away, Star,” Claire pleaded from her pen, her voice cracking with emotion.
I didn’t listen. I couldn’t.
Just before Hendrix reached Dasia, she turned her head and peered at me from over her shoulder.
From so far away it could have been a coincidence, but I felt her stare, and I knew she could feel mine. She knew I was watching, and that’s all that mattered right then, even as my hands shook and my eyes burned.
She needed to die knowing that, no matter the space between us, she wasn’t alone. Her head was still turned when my view was cut off by Hendrix’s form. The final shot rang out and then he took a casual step back. My heartbeat slowed as I watched her body flop to the ground.
I felt the warmth of tears on my cheeks as her lifeless form was rolled into the pit dug specifically for this purpose, landing amongst the others. The canister was emptied, the disciple lit a match, and then it fell from his fingers and set everyone aflame.
Their bodies would burn, and the embers would remain for just a few minutes longer, turning the angel a sooty color as she wept for them.
It was a scene I had seen many times before. The memory was always imprinted on my brain, haunting me long after there was nothing left but ash and the stench of burnt flesh lingering in a smoke-filled sky.
This time was worse than the others because it was one of us, the core four. We had been here since we were taken from our parents. We’d always had one another. As each of us was branded with a permanent code of ownership, I was confident we always would.
From behind me, Marcy and Claire sobbed openly. My tears remained silent.
After shedding so many over the years, they had become more of an annoyance, an involuntary reaction I couldn’t always help. But that didn’t mean I was unempathetic, I’d simply gotten used to this. Winter had invaded my chest long ago and never left, slowly turning everything bitter and cold.
I glanced over my shoulder at the girls, wishing I could pull each into my arms and offer them a semblance of comfort. I had to turn away before their grief could spread to me.
Being somewhat numb to the tragedies we suffered allowed me to keep a clearer head, and at a crossroad between persevering and surrender, it was all-too-tempting to let sorrow and anguish consume me. But giving in would break the promise I made to my father before he was taken away, and I fully intended on keeping it.
The sound of whistling pulled my attention to the pathway that ran adjacent to my cage. Hendrix strolled by, his hands in his pockets, shoulders relaxed.
“Sweet dreams,” he called out, a sickening smile following the taunt.
I tried not to let the action bother me, going for indifference. I got hatred instead, fueling the anger that continued to simmer in my gut.
My rage was a toxin that conjured darkness, diminishing the small traces of light I’d once possessed. Sometimes these negative emotions were all I had, though. Without the hatred I'd have died long ago. When the nights were endless and empty, it was my only companion. It was the root of endless thoughts about escape and revenge.
I had spent many days locked in this cage, but I knew that wouldn’t always be the case.
I just had to wait a little longer and keep my wits about me.
I’d do whatever it took to survive this world, even if it meant burning the whole damned thing down.
Even if it meant making a deal with the devil himself.
CHAPTER TWO
There was a period of time that I believed my life—my body—belonged to the A.R.C. I forgot everything my father told me and let myself become compliant. I turned into the very thing he’d begged me not to be before we were forced to part ways.
I thought that by doing what was asked of me I would be spared hardship. But that was then, when I didn’t understand that there would always be someone seeking to take advantage if given the chance.
It was a hard lesson to learn.
Soft and pliable was a mistake I knew to never make again. Patient and cunning served me better.
It’s what led me to make a fateful decision the same day I found myself being herded like a broodmare down a dirt trail. One Exarch preached the sacred word of his bullshit Cardinal, saying the same lines repeatedly.
Three more followed behind him along with various other Exarchs. They each held a tiny wooden cross that had never aligned with their ideologies. Guerrillas were there as well, each in possession of a gun on their waistbands.
The poppy fields were in full bloom, serving as a reminder that for all the beauty in the world, it was inherently cruel. Side by side twelve of us went; dressed in thin gowns of white with matching flowers woven into our hair.
It was meant to represent purity for our future husbands—whoever they may have been. I’d been engaged since I was thirteen and had never once laid eyes on the man I was meant to marry. All I knew of him was that he was a Stag.
The whole thing came off like some terrible comedy skit. Marrying someone who had the complete opposite mindset to what the Cardinal stood for… It was a joke, a twisted method for control. I didn’t know what he got out of the deal.
That all mattered little now, though. I wouldn’t be meeting whoever this man was. I glanced discreetly at Marcy, catching her eye. She gave a slight shake of her head and then quickly set her sights back forward.
What was that?
Had she gotten cold feet?
She couldn’t possibly mean to get on the truck waiting somewhere up ahead. I knew our plan was risky. It was shortly devised, considering we began coming up with it in the early morning hours after Dasia’s death, but the alternative was being chauffeured off to a fate worse than that.
We escaped physical punishment for this reason alone. Instead of being disciplined, we’d been bathed, plucked, and shackled together like prisoners.
Focusing on the dirt path, I recounted where I knew each guerilla to be. Six were following along with strict orders from the prophet to shoot without hesitation if trouble should arise. The order would exclude only the brides, meaning us. At least, we assumed as much. In front of me, Claire turned her head and pretended to look at the sky.
It was our private Morse code, letting me know she was still on board with the plan. I gave another subtle tug on the thin chain that bound Marcy and me together, successfully recapturing her attention. I pointed two fingers to the right, signaling that the break in the trail was coming up.
When her hands began to shake, I wanted to reach out and reassure her, but our immunity only extended to being shot. After doing a trial run the day before, we’d been forbidden to touch one another.
I wished I could tell her that I understood her fears. I had them too. If we were caught… Well, I couldn’t go there, and I couldn’t allow myself to get in any of the vehicles idling a few yards ahead. Marcy released a soft sigh and her head slightly moved again, agreeing to what we’d discussed.
In the process of planning we’d had to include who Claire was paired with and hope she kept her mouth shut. It was a huge gamble, putting trust in a stranger, but thus far everything seemed to be fine. The dark-haired girl—Hayley, I think her name was—seemed just as apprehensive and eager to escape as we were.
I began counting down from fifteen, making sure I kept my breathing even as my heartbeat skipped forward. I got to number four and my palms began to sweat. At one, I summoned all the strength I could muster and used my unrestricted arm to shove the A.R.C member walking alongside me.
His face was a mask of surprise as he stumbled into the poppies, trying and failing to keep his balance. With him out of the way, we were able to easily veer off the trail.
We ran towards a tree line that seemed further away than it really was. Shouts and threats came from behind us, but no one dared look back. The chain shackling my wrist to Marcy’s jingled as we worked to keep the other moving.
“We aren’t going to make it,” she gasped, a sob catching in her throat.
“We will!” I poured on speed, forcing her to do the same, ignoring the stitch in my side.
Just ahead of us, Claire cleared the tree line with her companion. Right as my toes touched the end of the uneven path, two shots rang out. I was propelled forward, tripping over my own two feet. I went down fast and hard, Marcy’s scream assaulting my eardrum.
A stinging sensation spread across my skin as twigs and roughened terrain nipped at exposed flesh.
Marcy rolled with me, a painful yelp blasting from her mouth. The shackle strained from the tension but refused to break. Behind us, the shouting grew louder, sounding angrier and panicked.
“We have to keep going!”
Marcy hauled me back to my feet, giving me no choice but to run or risk being dragged. Claire had vanished somewhere in the thick foliage ahead, racing for her own freedom. I didn’t blame her. Stopping could have potentially gotten her caught. We’d agreed not to slow for any reason.
The surrounding woodland grew quieter the deeper we went, zigzagging to throw anyone off who may have been behind us.
Getting away was our main goal, figuring out what to do after was supposed to come next, meaning we had no idea where we were going.
Both of our chests heaving and covered in sweat, it wasn’t until Marcy’s movements grew sluggish that I realized something was wrong. I slowed, coming to a complete stop.
With a pained, breathy groan, she placed her back against a tree and sank down, nearly taking me with her. The red stain on the far side of her gown drew my immediate attention.
“Marcy!” Kneeling in front of her, I examined the stain, touching the thin material with as much caution as I could manage.
The gunshot…her scream…
I watched helplessly as the white satin was further saturated before my eyes. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“You had to get away,” she rasped, giving me a small smile.
“We had to get away.” I searched our surroundings for anything that could help her. There was nothing around but trees, dirt, and greenery. “I don’t know what to do.”
