I don’t know why relief washes through me. Should I believe him? I’ll test his honesty. I can’t hold up his intense gaze. “Have you ever been with her?” I ask casually, knowing the answer already.
“Once, my second night here. Never since.”
The only acceptable option now is to believe both statements. I know he’s truthful on the former so I’ll buy the latter. But I think he might believe that my words are rooted in jealousy, and I want to say something that will erase that impression. Perhaps a joke?
I smile broadly at him. “It seemed to me you were playing tug-of-whore with your man and you were winning.”
Aleksey shakes his head and walks me to my room. Only the slightest twitch of his mouth indicates he found my stupid attempt to sound nonchalant funnier than my joke itself. No doubt, an older man like himself must find my sense of humor too juvenile and lame. My cheeks get very red, but then I remember that I have no reason to try to impress this guy.
At the entrance of my room, I turn to look at him. “So, we have a deal now. Your first proposal. You’ll get Olmo, Azzy, and Dad out of here.”
“I’ll make time for the necessary paperwork during my commission. They’ll need a temporary visa to stay in New Norfolk. It’ll take a while.”
I purse my lips nervously. “You said that in return you want my company during nights in a non-sexual way.”
He exhales deeply. “I’ve changed my mind.”
My stomach does a somersault, and my voice turns desperate. “Don’t please. Olmo needs help!”
“I meant that you don’t have to offer anything in return. I started arrangements, not knowing whether you would accept my offer or not.”
“But if you’re putting your own money into this, I want to pay you back. My dad suggested thinking about this as a nurse job.”
He frowns. “When did you discuss this with him?”
“The day after you proposed this. Dad’s an optimist so he thinks we won’t sleep in the same bed. He thinks you’re a gentleman.”
He runs his hand through his long hair. “Before proposing anything to you, I discussed the plan with him and he said he wouldn’t make any decision without you. I thought that an exchange of services would appeal to you better than if I offered you charity but …” He pauses and looks sincerely kind. “I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to.”
“I want to. I need a bit of … company. It might be a good memory to take with me when the troops recruit me.”
“They won’t recruit you.”
I won’t argue with him. It’s always better to expect the worst. If the worst happens, you are prepared for it; if it doesn’t, you get surprised and become grateful. Isn’t that what’s happening right now? I’m greatly surprised. The man I considered a soldier, a rapist, has become an ally.
“I’ll give you the key. You’ll start tonight.”
“Aren’t you going to be absent? What difference does it make if I start when you come back?”
He gives me a coy half-smile along with the key. “Roads are dangerous. Any danger I face will be easier to overcome if I know you’ll be waiting for me.”
My hand burns where his fingers touched it. “I … don’t know … what I should wear.”
“Whatever you wear to sleep. Remember, we’ll be just sleeping. Our arrangement is not about sexual contact, but the human touch.”
The human touch again. That concept that he refuses to explain. I steer the conversation toward more practical issues.
“I wonder how a soldier sleeps.”
He smiles coyly. “I prefer to sleep half-covered by my cape.” Military capes have special properties against the temperature changes but it seems he’s hinting something else.
We remain quietly looking at each other’s eyes. A pang of nervousness hits me. I drop my eyes and force myself to speak. “Don’t you have a vehicle waiting for you?”
“Yes, at the canteen.” His hands reach to touch my face, but he retrieves it before touching me. His face is an adorable mix of manly confidence with just the right hint of vulnerability. “It’s better if you go to bed. Sleep tight, Lila.”
Lila. How intimate and melodic my name sounds in his raspy voice. I want to tell him to have a good trip, to be careful, to not get killed. I want to convey to him that I need him to return, not a cliché “see you” expression.
He reluctantly steps back and crosses the helipad toward the staircase. Is this the last I’ll see of him? Bandits, genetically manipulated beasts, and other dangers lurk on the roads.
Impulsively, I run to him and with a jump I put my arms around his neck. He catches me by the waist, looking utterly taken aback.
I plant a quick kiss on his lips before pulling away with a little hop. The surprised look on his face gives me a feeling of satisfaction. “I’ll be waiting for you. Under your cape. Naked.”
I turn toward the scaffold without looking back. I feel his burning eyes piercing me the whole way ‘til I close his room’s door behind me.
We shall repulse the oppressors
Of all ardent ideas.
The rapists and the plunderers,
The torturers of people.
The Sacred War
Vasily Lebedev-Kumach.
Chapter 19
Dad’s room smells of medicine. A rickety table and the beds are the only furniture. Courtesy of Tristan, there’s a humidifier and a thermostat. On the table, there are at least twenty different medicines and several inhalers.
“Come on, Olmo! Just a little bit more,” I say quietly.
Olmo looks exhausted. His olive skin has patches of red all over his face. The way he looks at me, with wide eyes, his mouth half open and the tip of his tongue touching his lower lip reminds me of when he was a toothless, drooling baby.
“I can’t; it hurts.”
I insist gently. I’ve been massaging Olmo’s chest and back since six a.m. to help him release the mucus that doesn’t let him breathe normally.
He thrashes in his bed. “I don’t want to.”
“Please, Olmo. You’ll feel better.”
He finally complies and coughs up mucus in a vase. I compliment him and cradle him. What’s happening to him lately? I miss his laughter, his smiles.
I try to distract him with a question that’s been bothering me for days. “Olmo, what’s the human touch?”
Olmo’s face lights up. “The human touch is that little snippet of physical affection that brings a bit of comfort, support, and kindness. It doesn’t take much from the one who gives it, but can make a huge difference in the one who receives it. Like when you brush Azzy’s hair, or kiss my forehead, or remove my or Poncho’s eye boogers. ”
I smile. “I get it. Did Aleksey explain all this to you?
He swells with pride “No, he wrote a small piece about human touch in his journal, and I figured out the meaning. He told me I got it right.”
I stroke his hair. That must be another display of human touch. “Well done, bro! I was wondering how boogers would sound with his accent.”
Olmo giggles. “He calls them rheum. More like rrrr-rheum.”
Poncho’s howl startles us. His loud barks are deafening. In the distance, Starville churches start to ring their bells harmonically. It’s a code we haven’t heard in a while.
A public execution!
I hurry Olmo to put on his cloak, boots, and a mask.
Azzy joins us at the top of the staircase. We have to reach the university gym. I wouldn’t ever miss one of their public events. The consequences for my family after my parents refused to attend a recruitment ceremony were catastrophic.
“Go ahead!” shouts Dad from the top of the hill.
He’ll help Rey and the Diaz cousins prepare Duque for the journey to the university gymnasium.
We take an unpaved road surrounded by trees on a steep slope toward the university ruins. From the top of the hill, we see the crowd hurrying toward the gym doors.
Of all days, I
had to choose this one to wear a button up dress. Olmo can barely run so he has to climb on my back. It’s the anguish and not his weight that suffocates me. Is the prisoner a Comanche? What if they’ve discovered us?
I shiver when we get to the gym, knowing I’ll have nightmares tonight. They’ll hold the recruitment ceremony here. The only illumination comes from the open doors. The wooden stage they used for the last recruitment is still in place in the center of the court. The basketball posts still show blood stains from the people they’ve raped there.
Some soldiers are already on stage, guarding two prisoners. I recognize Sara Jenkins, the teenage bride for whom I was sewing trousseau gifts. Incredibly, a young soldier is the other prisoner.
Public executions are rare and reserved for acts of treason. The tonics make soldiers extremely loyal to their country. What could have made them turn against him? And Sara? She’s no longer part of the Comanches. Were we discovered?
War, starvation, and recruitment have caused Starville’s population to dwindle. The gym can accommodate almost the entire town, and the rows of seats fill quickly. Soldiers make us line up. They’re wearing j-devices in forms of rings and medals and use them to call roll. Starvillers put their fingers on the devices, and an electronic sound indicates that their attendance has been registered.
The soldiers ask families with young children to occupy the front seats. They say this is educational for them. Olmo looks like a seven-year-old so our family will sit in one of the front rows, but I try to find seats as far as possible from the stage.
Dad, Rey, and his cousins arrive just in the nick of time, pushing a famished-looking Duque in a wheelchair. His IV line is held by a cousin and his colostomy bag by another. Duque’s appearance attracts impertinent looks and tons of murmurs. Azzy and I clench our fists, but my fury merges with fear when Rocco arrives, followed by dozens of soldiers. Only old soldiers have custody of the town. When did the younger soldiers arrive? Usually we have fewer soldiers in town.
Dad, dragging his cart painfully, joins us, and the Diaz family sits in the front row opposite of us. Rey’s eyes find mine, and we stare at each other for a long time, sharing our worries. If Sara’s here because she was involved with TCR, we’ll be dead soon.
At that moment, a disturbed looking Tristan and other Accord cops arrive. It’s their duty to try to stop the girl’s execution, but they can do nothing against Patriot law if the charges against her include treason.
Today, Rocco isn’t eager for the Accord Unit’s cameras. As much as the old soldier tries to hide it, it’s evident that he and Tristan are arguing heatedly.
With a hand gesture, Rocco calls two soldiers to take hold of Tristan. The cop thrashes and struggles, but Rocco ignores him. Megaphone in hand, he tells the crowd that Private Frolov, the young soldier who stands stoically on the stage, has committed treason by fraternizing with Sara. I’m so sorry for her that I don’t have time to feel relief that they didn’t discover TCR. She was the only Starviller who didn’t laugh at us they day we moved to the clinic. She was a quiet person during her time with the Comanches, and I wish I had known her better.
When they forcibly bare the accused’s torsos, their engagement tattoos and her turgid breasts become visible. The couple resolutely looks at each other holding their heads high in spite of everything.
A “trial” takes place. They use a polygraph on both prisoners to interrogate them. The accused look at each other each time and answer in a defiant tone. Rocco asks them dozens of questions, even intimate ones.
“Are you a V-girl?” asks Rocco.
She answers securely, defiantly. “No.”
The polygraph attached to her arm confirms the answer with an electronic sound. A wave of murmurs and hissing comes from the crowd. Sara’s family, parents, siblings, and countless relatives are openly crying.
“Was Private Frolov your first?”
“Yes. I love him.”
Frolov declares his love for her too. Every time he answers a question they kick him. Hard. I never thought soldiers were capable of love but here he is, completely devoted to Sara and about to die for and with her. And judging by the pain in his face, drugs don’t make soldiers as immune to pain as everyone thinks. They’re still human.
The soldiers announce their verdict. Except for two young-looking guys, who get threatening looks from the others, most of them agree the accused are guilty.
When they take a few moments to deliberate the penalty, terror courses through my body making me shiver. Death, of course, but what before that? I know they’ll hurt the person he loves the most.
They might recruit her. It wouldn’t be the first time they use recruitment as punishment. And the Patriot law protects them even though Tristan is screaming against his restraints that they’re breaking the recruitment protocol.
Not recruitment. Please don’t recruit her.
Long moments pass before the soldiers reach a consensus. The tallest soldier whispers it in Rocco’s ear.
No! Please don’t recruit her.
I’m shivering violently. I grab my siblings’ hands. They’re trembling, too. Olmo! Azalea! I don’t want them to see this.
Rocco’s facial tattoos make him look sinister. He takes his time before announcing the sentence.
Not recruitment. Please, anything but rape.
"Godless, cruel, infamous tyrant, are you not ashamed to despoil a woman of that by which your own mother nursed you?"
Saint Agatha
Chapter 20
I can’t hear anymore. The foot-shuffling, the murmurs, the soldier’s voices have been replaced in my brain by an incomprehensible murmur.
Rocco announces at least dozen penalties using legal terminology that my brain barely registers. There’s only one word from his discourse that sticks with me as that term represents the worst of my fears. “... The consequence is recruitment …” Rocco’s tone is the one you’d use to talk to a mentally challenged person to make him understand a complicated principle. “However, it’s the recommendation of our leader Maximillian Kei never to recruit or kill a betrothed woman during full moons. It brings bad luck to our troops.”
I sigh momentarily relieved.
“We have decided we won’t kill Sara Elizabeth Jenkins.” The Jenkins family looks hopeful for a second before Rocco announces “Instead, Private Frolov will kill her before his own execution.”
The audience breaks into hushed conversations. Some men say Frolov is a fool. Frolov would be safe now if he had raped her and dismissed her. How do they call it? Copulation without conversation. He was going to marry her, so now both are criminals and fools. What a sick moral code. They’re punishing him for not raping her. For loving her.
At that moment, we turn to the gym doors on the left and a collective gasp echoes all over the gym. Three soldiers are carrying a rack machine and place it next to the stage.
I put my head between my hands before remembering soldiers are watching the crowd, and every gesture of horror or disapproval can warrant punishment.
Dad discreetly gives Azzy and Olmo two pairs of plastic objects. Earplugs. I try to get strength from the fact that at least they won’t hear. Everyone else seems to be paralyzed; the silence is acute, overwhelming.
Before Frolov can do anything, she’s placed spread eagle on the torture device. It takes three soldiers and several failed attempts before they force Frolov to push the button that operates the rack. Sara’s shrieks mix with her family’s wails.
Have mercy. Please! Somebody kill her.
Then, Rocco jumps on the stage and when I realize the objects he has in his hand, I start to sweat even though the rest of my body is cold and shivering.
A pair of tongs and a metallic dish.
“Saint Agatha,” whispers someone beside me.
The crowd murmurs Saint Agatha repeatedly and the buzz becomes so persistent that soldiers call for order by firing guns toward the ceiling.
Nobody moves. The crowd has become utterl
y still. The only sounds now are muffled guttural sounds from some babies.
I know the legend of Saint Agatha, a V-martyr. I know how she was mutilated. They are going to do the same to Sara. I can’t bring myself to watch what’s about to happen. Soldiers can’t punish all of the people who are averting their eyes but even if they can, I’ll take my chances.
I don’t have a way to cover my ears. The crowd’s silence becomes a terrifying sound on its own.
A sizzling sound breaks the silence, mixing with Sara’s loud shrieks of pain. The quietness that precedes her piercing screeches only accentuates their volume. I don’t need to see to guess that Frolov is tossing against his restraints. His shrieks blend with hers as though he were the one suffering the cruelty of the pincers that torture Sara’s body.
A clinking sound tells me the dish is no longer empty. I venture a look. Rocco holds the blood-dripping dish up for everyone to see it. The sight of the bloody plate forces me to turn my eyes to Frolov.
Frolov is an incredibly sturdy soldier. He uses his strength to escape his captors and the restraints and get closer to Sara. In a swift movement, he grabs her head in his gigantic hands and breaks her neck.
Sara’s death is the cue the soldiers were waiting for to attack Frolov with all the force of their modified genes. All I can see is a mess of bodies in which I don’t know which limb belongs to whom. It reminds me of the time when during a TCR mission we got to see how a wild dog pack—genetically modified, judging by their size and fierceness—fall upon a horse. But the horse wasn’t on drugs and died in minutes. Frolov’s drugs are prolonging his death.
To avoid the horror of what’s in front of us, Olmo’s been whispering the litany of his favorite self-created fantasy tale. Azzy’s been stoically staring at her hands, and somehow I suspect she’s coping with this better than Olmo. I feel grateful for the blessing of her inexplicable self-sufficiency. I wish I were as strong as Azalea.
Anything but rape, I think gloomily. Was this less cruel for her? Rape has to be as painful and tortuous as the pincers. They just use a different kind of torture device. If she’d had the option, what would’ve been her choice? I don’t want to think about this, but my mind refuses to let these disturbing thoughts go as I watch how Frolov refuses to scream. To die.