Incarnate- Essence Page 10

  “Fuck ‘em,” the gunman said, “git these others on in there now.”

  By now the cigarette smoking man was already approaching us with a furrowed brow. He studied us for some time before his eyes went wide, the cigarette almost falling from his lips.

  “Jesus Christ!” he said, “you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?”

  “What now?” the gunman asked.

  “These’re goddamn forty-eights,” he said, eyeing Akira closely, “the Jap girl is spose’ta speak English, ain’t she?”

  “She doesn’t,” I said in English, “none of them can understand you except me.”

  “Who’re you?” he asked, walking over to look me in the eye.

  “I’m the one that offered us up as slaves,” I explained, my eyes darting to Katia’s body lying still on the ground, “we’re injured and hungry,” I signaled to Masaru, “we have nothing. Anything seemed better than this.”

  “And you reckoned we’re just gonna invite a buncha mutated fuckin’ terrorists over?” the gunman asked, drawing his pistol again as he came toward us, “I oughta shoot all a ya’ll down right now like the dogs you are.”

  “You could do that,” I said, “but I bet you could get a decent score for us. What’s a coyote like you make, anyway? A billion a head? Two billion?”

  “You ain’t soundin’ real convincing,” the cigarette smoking man said.

  “Like you said, we’re mutants,” I said, “We’re engineered to be strong and work well in the hot sun. Sounds like a selling point to me. I bet you could get five billion for each of us.”

  “Fer a buncha uppity fuckin’ mutants?” the gunman let out a single laugh, “ya know they’re up to somethin’, Warren.”

  “Shut up,” the cigarette smoking man said, letting the smoke come out his mouth as he spoke, “I could give a fuck what folks up’n that wall want with ya’ll. S’long as I get paid.”

  I shrugged, “I’ve made my best sales pitch. Ball’s in your court now.”

  “Yer so fulla shit,” the gunman said, “I hope yer not listenin’ ta this shit.”

  The smoking man stood quiet for some time, finishing off his cigarette as he considered us. I eyed the corpse again, already smelling something like rancid fat wafting over. When the man finally threw the butt to the ground and stepped on it, he spoke.

  “I think we can find special accommodations for these folks.”

  Laura sat to my left in the cramped truck with her knees pulled up, Yukiko lying limply between them. Laura’s crimson tipped hair draped down in matted strands as she stared listlessly at the child. Yukiko had something like a baffled look on her small face, staring back up at Laura as if the two of them were sharing a silent communication. Laura’s bony fingers kneaded at Yukiko’s blanket in a nervous twitch, but otherwise both remained motionless.

  The other children crammed into the back of the truck gave us strange looks. As bad as Laura appeared, they were even worse. Faces pocked with scratches, bruises, and sores, hair thinning on their heads from malnourishment, brown teeth crooked in their sullen skulls as they breathed strenuously, leaning against the side of the truck. And yet they rode along in solemn quiet as we rumbled over terrain, moving north away from the wall.

  I scratched at my own head, feeling my wiry hair sticking out in all directions. There was a faint, yet constant taste of blood in my mouth coming from my phlegmy gums. My skin had dried, turning ashy at my joints and sore hands. All the injuries from the escape seemed to be healing, albeit at a glacial pace.

  Yet there was something oddly comforting about knowing we were moving forward.

  That’s all there is, isn’t there? Evita said, the little hunk of wood in the pocket of my stained jeans. As long as you move forward, it doesn’t matter how many people are left behind…

  Akira and Masaru had been separated from us, just as I anticipated. The look of pain on Akira’s face had been heartbreaking, something even deeper than despair as Yukiko was ripped from her arms and shoved into mine. There had still seemed to be some confusion amongst the ill-informed coyotes, thinking that Akira was the leader. Thinking she was Sachi. The difference between the two didn’t matter to them.

  “I don’t suppose our ‘special accommodations’ are going to be a luxury suite,” Laura said, keeping her hazy gaze on Yukiko. The other kids all turned their heads to her when she spoke in German. “I’ve grown accustomed to a certain lifestyle.”

  “If I had to guess, I’d say it’ll be better than what Akira and Masaru get,” I said, “we’re young, so if we’re going to get questioned about our involvement, we’ll probably get the good cop treatment.”

  “Funny thing is,” Laura said, looking up to me, “you and I are the oldest ones in our little fellowship.”

  That thought almost made me laugh. But all I could do was look around at the other kids riding with us. Most were girls. So young, yet possessing an agedness born of malnourishment and a life of despair, clinging to them thicker than the grime dulling their skin. One girl picked at an open sore, keeping her eyes on Yukiko, yellow pus seeping from the wound along with the sour smell of infection.

  Most of them will die before they even make it to their owners.

  Everything seemed to be following the worst-case scenarios I’d come up with. I’d expected Akira and Masaru to be taken away, but I’d thought – or at least hoped – that they’d let us get sold into slavery.

  Although it’s strange that they’re transporting us with all these other children.

  “Imagine what they’d do if they really realized how important we are to a lot of people.”

  “I don’t care how important we are,” Laura said, “I’m not staying caught.”

  She’d rather die than get caught. It’s hard to tell with her being drowsy all the time, but she seems more despondent than usual, like she’s pretty much just accepted dying as the outcome of all this. And she might even be right.

  It’s also possible she’s worried about getting separated from me. She was devastated when I tried killing myself...

  It would be so much easier to get out of this if I didn’t have to worry about everyone else. But I can’t leave them to die imprisoned because I’m hurt about Sachi.

  “We are going to get out of this,” I said, “I promise we’ll get out of this.”

  “As long as you’re in a promise making mood,” Laura said, “if we don’t make it out of here, can you do something for me?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Take down Sovereign,” she said, looking up from Yukiko to me, “and make sure they know why you’re doing it.”

  “I’ll do what I can,” I said.

  “Good,” she said, giving me a very weak smile.

  Something caught my eye. I looked down, seeing Laura’s hand in my own, our fingers clasped to each other. But I didn’t feel it there.

  “Laura,” I said, “I’m in split brain right now.”

  “You’re not getting out of your promises with that clichéd excuse.”

  “No, I mean, keep my left hand clasped tight,” I said, “don’t let it like, I don’t know, hurt Yukiko or something.”

  “The left one is the bad one?”

  “Yeah.”

  Laura didn’t have time to respond when the truck came to a stop. Everyone sat in silence for a few moments before someone began banging outside the door. I kept glancing between my hand being held down by Laura and Yukiko, clasped in Laura’s other arm.

  The child’s eyes were glazed with lethargy, but she was startled into wakefulness when the doors flew open, allowing early morning sun to flood in. She gave a slight whimper as two men climbed in. One of them grabbed the child sitting across from us, the second shouting in Spanish for Laura to get up.

  “He wants you to get up,” I said.

  He grabbed Yukiko from Laura’s arm. Yukiko started crying as Laura began pulling herself slowly to her feet.

  But then what’s with all these other fucking brats?

 
; It’s going to be all of them that die if they get put to hard labor. This is much too sorry of a crop for that kind of work. About the only other thing I could see a truck load of little girls being sold for is…

  That must be it.

  These kids are going to be used as sex slaves. Well shit. That means I’m going to be used as a sex slave, too.

  Fuck that!

  There has to be some way of getting out of this.

  Why can’t I say that out loud? Split brain again…no wonder it seemed like I was able to think so clearly.

  This asshole left hemisphere is polluting my thoughts with his fucking moaning all the time about hurting people. If he just stopped with all the bullshit and just started taking what he wanted, I wouldn’t have had to get dragged along into this mess and get raped by a bunch of backwoods American fuckwits.

  Please stop making promises to people you idiot. If I’m stuck with you for much longer, I don’t want to get dragged along. Just kill yourself soon so maybe I can be free.

  Something grabbed my hand. When I looked down, I saw Laura wrapping her cold fingers around my own in an attempt to seek comfort.

  Shit, it’s like she could read my mind. Don’t worry, I’m not going to try killing myself here. But I definitely will take it into my own hand if the time comes.

  It’s about time this retard caught on to this. God, he is fucking insufferable. How is it possible that we ever become the same person? How is he the dominant hemisphere?

  We’re in a truck with a bunch of girls, we’re going to be sold into prostitution and get our own little cornhole plugged, and yet he’s worried about what I’m going to do? Get your priorities straight.

  Yeah, I’m the bad one. I’m the one that has the balls to stop whining about what a bunch of little mortals are doing and take action, but I’m the bad one. This preening cunt has been killing his way through all of human history and acting like a bitch to everyone he’s ever known, and yet I’m the bad one?

  It’s time to toss that dead baby out and run for it. Spiking its ugly face at the feet of our captors might be enough distraction to get away.

  Or get shot and killed. Either one works for me.

  Prepare asshole for peckerwood, here they are. Problem is, with only these sick runts to wet their dicks on, my narrow ass probably looks pretty fucking appealing.

  But that’s not gonna be me.

  I reached my hand over to the holster on the coyote’s side while he was preoccupied. The strap was down and the pistol wouldn’t come out as I tugged on it and-

  “What the fuck?” the man said, smacking me away.

  “Ah shit!” I grabbed my head as the man knocked me down.

  The world spun in pain and confusion as my thoughts remerged, unified brain struggling to make a coherent narrative out of the dizzying array of feelings. People shouted. Kids screamed. Feet stamped. Yukiko’s pitiful cries sounded above the din.

  Just as the world started making sense again, a gunshot went off, followed by children screaming. The man with the pistol bent down and grabbed my arm, pulling me to a sitting position before cocking back and hitting me with the pistol, jolting my head to the side. He brought it up again and hit the other side. The children’s cries were drowned out by sharp pain cutting through my consciousness.

  Laura made a grab for the man’s arm as he brought it back up. Her captor smashed the handle of his own pistol against her skull. A third blow hit me just outside my right eye, darkening my vision as blood sprayed to the ground from my face.

  “You gonna try that again you little shit?” he asked.

  A moan was all I managed as he hauled me to my feet.

  The world looked blurry out of my right eye as the trafficker led me out the back of the truck where several more men stood. They corralled all the children, going down the line inspecting at us. Laura stood to my right, her expression reverted back to drowsiness. It was difficult to see what she was doing with my right peripheral vision diminished. Endorphins masked the pain with warm numbness, but the feeling was dizzying. The young girl standing to my left was stick thin and frail, trembling legs covered in bleeding sores. She almost fell over before I grabbed her and let her lean on me for support.

  “They just keep getting’ worse,” one of the American’s said, “ain’t nobody gonna buy this shit.”

  The one inspecting us got up to where I was standing and glared at the little girl leaning on me. Without saying a word, he lifted his pistol and shot her in the head, blood and brain matter spraying out the back as she collapsed to the ground next to me, my arms instinctively trying to hold her up. The other children screamed. He raised his pistol to another small child.

  “Shut up or I’ll kill another one,” he growled in poor Spanish.

  The children whimpered. I was on my knees next to the dead girl, looking up at her killer. He motioned with the barrel of the pistol for me to stand back up. I slowly rose, keeping my eyes on him.

  “I take it you two’re the forty-eights they said was comin’?” he asked in English, “Got-damn fuckin’ mutants. But yer’n better shape than the resta this shit.” He looked to his compatriots, “fuck it, get ‘em on in the house. People’ll either buy ‘em or they won’t.”

  As they started leading us up a shallow incline, the man leaned close to me and whispered, “don’t think for a minute people come here just for the girls,” he stepped back, grinning.

  The basement of the house wasn’t as bad as I had anticipated based on its outside appearance, but it was no luxury suite. Three sides of the room were lined with bunk beds, the fourth with a TV screen tuned to some Spanish channel running children’s shows. The floor had carpeting, but it was full of sand from the desert outside and stained with cigarette ashes and what looked like blood. When they brought us down, I spotted a large lock on the door to the upstairs, a camera fixed on it. In our two days in the basement, with little contact from our captors, it became obvious that there was a cockroach infestation.

  Laura did little but lay awake on her bottom bunk, staring upwards. I’d assumed she was worried for herself, but soon realized she also felt bad about losing Yukiko.

  “She’s probably already been sold,” Laura had said when I asked.

  “She might be a little young, even for a pedophile,” I said as if that was supposed to be comforting.

  “She’s got a longer shelf life than the rest of us,” Laura said, “even if we do make it out of here and somehow get to Akira…”

  It was strange to see her so dejected about other people, but not surprising. In my many lives, I’d seen even the toughest men and women break for reasons much less than this.

  Our first night a man came down with paltry food – bread and some kind of meat substitute with a jug of water we all had to share. While we ate, he made rounds about the cramped dungeon. He had a look on his face of forced stoicism, but I could tell that the condition of the children horrified him as he struggled to keep his composure.

  Must be breaking in the new guy, Evita said. I bet they all had this reaction the first time they had to make the rounds.

  After he’d gone back up the stairs there was an argument, muffled shouts coming through the ceiling. Most was unintelligible, the only sentence that came through clear being ‘…try anything and I’ll fuckin’ kill you!’

  After that they started sending a woman down each morning and evening. She brought us food as well as tended to the girls’ wounds, wishing them a merry Christmas with a weak smile as she got to them. She was another Mexican immigrant, clothed in the mien of time spent in the shanty town, so I assumed this wasn’t a paying gig for her. She looked at least twenty years old. Her face was marked with healed scars from what might have been beatings when she was first housebroken. When she finally got around the triage to tend my injuries – the one near my eye still messing with my vision – she seemed hesitant.

  “I take it we’re not the usual clientele, are we?” I asked.

  “Y-yo
u’re forty-eights?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Will it-will it infect me if I touch you?”

  “Will the extra chromosomes infect you?” I said, “no, you won’t catch anything like that from us.”

  “But then how do you get it?”

  “It’s a long and difficult process,” I assured her, “it’s not contagious.”

  “One of the men said I could catch it from the baby.”

  “The baby? Is she still here?” I asked, standing up to look her in the eyes.

  “Yes,” she said, looking down to avoid my gaze, “but they don’t want me to touch her.”

  Laura stood up next to me now, “does she know something about Yukiko?” Her voice was uncharacteristically concerned.

  “Yukiko is still here,” I said in German, “but this woman says they won’t let her touch her.”

  Laura seemed disappointed by this, lying back down on her bottom bunk. I continued to assure the woman that she wasn’t going to catch anything from cleaning my wounds as she went about dressing them. After mine she looked at where Laura had been hit, sifting through the red dye and blonde roots, but said it wasn’t anything that needed tending.

  “You’ve become quite attached to Akira’s child,” I said once the woman left.

  “Must be my nurturing character.”

  She reverted to her detached self. But the more I thought about it, the more I wondered if she was the one acting strange or if it was me. The thoughts that came back together after every split-brain episode were becoming more and more hateful. The idea that those thoughts were turning me cold in my unified mind wasn’t too farfetched. I felt bad for Akira and her child, but it didn’t seem to affect me as much as it was even Laura, who I had taken to be quite aloof when we first got to know each other.

  It’s convenient for you to blame the split brain, Evita said.

  It was possible that my own relative coldness was bordering on psychopathy now. I had gotten all of them into this for my own selfish reasons – because I’m angry at Sachi. There had been little concern for how dire everyone’s situation was when we started toward the border.