Matronly Duties

by Melissa Kendall

  Street after street, lane after lane, I watch citizens happily going about their lives. Some of them look up as the cart goes by—one lady even waves—but most of them ignore us. I can’t help but be a little jealous of the kids playing kickball in the street while a woman I assume is their mother hangs laundry on the clothesline strung up between their domicile and the one next door. They appear carefree, laughing and running amok.

  I’m going to be their Matron. I’m not sure I’m ready for that responsibility.

  As the residential dwellings give way to more industrial-looking buildings, and then the maintenance sector, the sloping grey-brown cement walls of the dome become visible in front of us. George makes another turn and, within a few moments, we roll to a stop outside the catacombs, the maintenance tunnels that run around the perimeter of our underground city. As a rule, they are only accessed by the workers who keep our city functioning. For me, however, they’re an escape.

  I wait patiently in the cart while George hops out to check everything is okay.

  “All clear, Ma’am,” George says, gesturing towards the large industrial doors that lead into the tunnels.

  Grinning, I take a deep breath. “Thank you.”

  After a quick stretch, I take off at a brisk pace. Looking over my shoulder, I realise George is a few steps behind.

  “Come on, old man, can’t you keep up? What would your colleagues say if they knew you couldn’t even keep up with little ol’ me?” I wink and George chuckles. Then he picks up his pace and falls in step beside me.

  We run a familiar path through the timber-lined stone tunnels. We aren’t allowed to make any unplanned twists or turns, but I don’t mind. It’s invigorating to be moving. We fall into a good rhythm and in no time at all a light sheen of sweat covers my skin. Loving the feeling, I push myself—and George—harder as I round one of the sharper corners.

  “Whoa!”

  “What the—”

  I nearly trip over my own feet trying to stop before I collide with a group of four burly men blocking the tunnel. They’re carrying weapons of some kind, their clothes are threadbare, and their faces unshaven. Instinctively I back up, an uneasy sensation settles in the pit of my stomach. These men have the look of the extremely desperate.

  “We’ve been waiting for you,” one says.

  Every hair on the back of my neck stands up, but I try to keep my voice calm. “I think you have the wrong person.”

  “We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Ms Greene.”

  The moment he says my name, my stomach plummets and my heart beats a million miles an hour.

  George steps in front of me and pulls his Taser out of his holster. “You’re going to have to go through me to get to her.”

  “We can do that,” the leader snarls.

  “Run!” George yells as they advance on us.

  I don’t hesitate. I take off in the direction we came. A quick glance over my shoulder reveals George has managed to stop two of them from following me. However, the other two are hot on my tail.

  I push myself faster, running harder than I ever have before. Footfalls thud on the pavement behind me, sounding incredibly close, but no matter how fast I go they have no problem keeping up with me.

  It seems to take twice as long as I expect to reach the door where we entered the catacombs. Salvation is almost within reach, but a quick glance over my shoulder reveals my pursuers have gained ground. Before I can turn to face them, though, something hits my back and a shock of fire courses through me. My muscles spasm and my knees give way, bringing me to a heap on the ground.

  “Help!” The pain wrenches a scream from my lungs. “Please! Stop! I’ll give you whatever you want.”

  “You are what we want,” one of them says. His deep gravelly voice makes the words menacing.

  Kicking and screaming, I fight with all my might to escape. The men pick me up, one holding my legs, the other with his hands under my armpits. I continue to wriggle, trying to get free.

  “Let me go! Where are you taking me?” I force my eyes to stay open. As frightened as I am, I need to keep my head and not give in to the panic threatening to overwhelm me. If I don’t pay attention to where they’re taking me, I might never find a way to escape.

  “Somewhere nice and private where we can open your eyes to a few things you need to know.”

  I shiver at the thought and, in a last-ditch attempt, scream at the top of my lungs.

  Any hope that someone might hear me is crushed when a cloth is placed over my mouth. Then everything goes black.

  ***

  My eyelids are heavy and it takes me a couple of tries to get them open. My vision is blurry and something doesn’t feel right. I try to rub my eyes but when I move my hands, I can only move them a little way. I tug again and a biting sensation stings my wrists.

  Oh man, ow! Not a dream.

  I blink a couple of times and my vision clears some. A small sliver of light from under a door lights up my surroundings. I appear to be in some sort of cell. It’s dark and dirty, and I can’t even tell the time of day. My hands are cuffed and chained to the wall above my head, and a hard yank confirms I won’t be able to free myself.

  I consider yelling for help but common sense kicks in—anyone within hearing range is likely one of my captors.

  How am I going to get out of this mess?

  A key jingles in the door and then it swings open. A tall blond man enters. “Well, look who’s finally awake. Have a nice sleep?” He strides over and stands beside the bunk.

  “Not that it matters, I’m sure, but no.” With him inches away, I catch a whiff of the most disgusting body odour. I have to fight the bile rising in my throat. “What are you going to do with me?”

  He sits next to me and runs his hand up my leg. Goose bumps cover my skin. Every molecule in my body screams for me to run away. Chained to the wall, however, that isn’t going to happen. I settle for pulling my legs towards me, curling up into a ball.

  “Now, don’t be frightened. I just want to have a little fun.” The sinister tone of the man’s voice has me shaking. I suspect my idea of fun and his are completely different. “We don’t get pretty ladies like you down here.”

  He places a hand around my one of my ankles and pulls my leg out straight. When I try to shake him off, his grip tightens, his fingers digging painfully into my skin.

  “Let go!”

  He ignores my plea, laughing as he pulls at my other leg. “Nah . . . we’re going to have fun, and we can either do it the easy way or the hard way.”

  “No! Please!” I kick my legs, trying to break free, but he holds tight.

  “Hard way it is.” The gleeful expression on his face as he pulls me towards him sends a shiver down my spine. He rolls on top of me, his weight pinning me and making it almost impossible to keep kicking.

  “No! Stop it!”

  Unfazed, he grabs at my clothes and spreads my legs with his knees.

  “Stop, you’re hurting me!”

  He growls and uses more force. Tears fill my eyes, blurring my vision, but I fight against him, unwilling to give in. Terror washes through me at the thought of being unable to stop him. I scream in horror and frustration. Not one ounce of the training I’ve been through at MITI has prepared me for this.

  “Help! Please someone help me!”

  His hand collides with my face, and the force of his attack makes my head radiate with pain. “Shut your mouth. No one is coming to your rescue.”

  I’m stunned, feeling as though my skull might split in two. My attacker uses my stillness to crawl between my legs. His hands claw at the clothing covering my private areas.

  Oh no, please don’t let this happen.

  With every ounce of energy I possess, I buck and kick. If I can get one good blow in it might slow him down, but it’s no use. He grips the waistband of my pants with his rough hands and yanks them down. My mind screams in protest, but my body freezes. Fear clenches like a fist around my heart.
I scrunch my eyes shut and sob, tears streaming down my face.

  “Please. Please, stop. I don’t want this.” My voice is a pathetic whimper.

  He slides my pants and underwear to my knees and then proceeds to undo his fly. I make one final effort to pull my legs closed and get away, but he’s kneeling on my clothes and using his legs to keep mine spread.

  I send a prayer to whatever deity may be listening, but within moments, his hand is between my legs and roughly pawing at the flesh there.

  “Stop, please don’t.”

  All of a sudden, another voice echoes in the room. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

  My attacker’s weight disappears, and when I open my eyes, a tall man with dark hair and broad shoulders has flung him across the room.

  The man turns to me, a horrified expression on his face. “Are you okay?”

  I pull my legs together and curl myself into a ball as much as possible. I’m not okay, not in the least. But I’m better than I was a moment ago, so I nod.

  A yell echoes from the other side of the room. My attacker is on his feet and moving to tackle my helper from behind.

  “Watch out!”

  My rescuer turns just in time to duck away from the incoming fist. They wrestle and punch, and for a second it looks as though my attacker has gotten the upper hand. Then my rescuer lands a fist square on the jaw, snapping the other guy’s head back and knocking him out. His body collapses to the floor, limbs sprawled.

  My rescuer stands, hovering over the unconscious kidnapper. He slaps him firmly across the cheek. “Out cold. Good.”

  He rifles through the man’s pockets and pulls out a set of keys, then moves to my bunk and leans over to unlock my cuffs.

  “There you go, you’re free. I’ll give you a minute to get yourself sorted.”

  He turns away and moves closer to the door.

  I am thankful for the small amount of discretion and quickly right as much of my clothing as possible. I can’t stop the whimper that slips from my lips when I pull my underwear into place. Pain radiates up my legs.

  “You sure you’re all right?”

  “Yes,” I try to say, but the word barely comes out. My throat is sore like I’ve been gargling razor blades. I try to gather as much saliva as I can and swallow a few times before I try speaking again. “Yes.” This time the word is at least understandable.

  “That’s good. Are you done?”

  “I think so.” I move to the edge of the bunk and try to stand, but my legs give way. I catch myself before I fall to the floor. “Okay, maybe not. I don’t think I’m going to be able to walk.”

  He turns and looks me over, head to toe. “Will it be all right if I carry you? We need to leave before any of his friends turn up.”

  I don’t want to spend another second longer in this hell, so I nod.

  He approaches me with caution. Bending down, he very gently hooks one arm under my knees and the other around my back before lifting me like I weigh nothing. A shiver courses through me, and it takes me a second to adjust to his touch. In all of my twenty-five years, no man, other than my father, has touched me in any way. In the course of one afternoon, that has all been blown to hell. I hate that the first time I’ve experienced any man’s touch has been in such an awful, violent way.

  “You’re going to be fine,” my rescuer says as if he can read my mind. “Rest your head on my shoulder and I’ll get you out of here. I promise.”

  Chapter 2

  Pain, the likes of which I can’t ever remember, echoes around my skull. I open my eyes and look around.

  This isn’t my room.

  Bright colours and juvenile décor surround me. A well-used ragdoll sits in a tiny chair that appears to be made from the woven hemp our clothes are made with. A book with a picture of a little girl on it lies nearby. Baskets with more books and building blocks lead me to conclude I’m in a child’s bedroom.

  I sit bolt upright on the small single pallet but immediately wish I hadn’t. The pounding escalates to the point where I feel I might be sick. I try hard to recall where I am and how I got here, but I keep coming up empty. Collapsing back on the bed, a glimpse of a figure sitting beside it startles me. Panic courses through me, making my hands shake and my heart thunder in my chest. Lifting my hands to my head, tears well in my eyes as the pounding gets worse, if that’s possible.

  “Ow.”

  “Shh, you’re gonna be fine,” a woman’s voice says from my left.

  “Where am I?”

  “Safe and sound.”

  Moving slowly, trying not to make the pain any worse, I turn my head in the direction the voice came from. A plump middle-aged woman with long, sandy blond hair and a smile on her face is perched on a stool.

  “Do you remember what happened yesterday?”

  Closing my eyes, I think back to the last thing I can remember. Images of running with George flash in my mind.

  “I was out for a run in the catacombs.” Memories of being attacked by a group of men hit me. I turn onto my side and curl up in the foetal position. “I was attacked. Then I woke up in a cell somewhere.” I cover my face with my hands, not wanting to relive the memories of what happened. “How did I end up here?”

  “My son, Howard, heard you scream and came to your aid. You passed out on him and he didn’t know what else to do, so he brought you here to our home.”

  “And where might that be exactly?” I sit up again, this time much slower.

  “On the outskirts.”

  Every sound, including my own voice, sounds loud and painful. “Why does my head hurt so much?”

  “From what we can tell, you’ve been Tasered and had a hit to the head of some kind.”

  Well, that explains a lot. “Why didn’t your son take me to a med facility?”

  She glances at the door, anxiety etched across her features. When she sees me staring, she quickly schools them to a smile. “It’s complicated.”

  I wait, expecting her to explain. Instead, she hands me a pill I recognise as a painkiller and a glass of water.

  “This will make you feel better.”

  I decide not to push things in fear of angering her. She has been kind so far, but I have no idea where I am or who she is, let alone what she is capable of.

  “Is your son around?” I enquire before swallowing the tablet and the entire glass of water. “I would like to say thank you to my rescuer.”

  “No, he is not yet home from work.” She looks at her watch. “He should be home within the hour, though.”

  “Thank you, Mis . . .”

  “It’s Mrs James. But please, call me Rhonda.”

  “I’m sorry, did you say Mrs?” I’m not sure my headache isn’t affecting my hearing.

  “Yes.”

  “You are married, then?”

  “Twenty years now.”

  I open and close my mouth, unsure what to say. Ever since the Genetic Diversity Act went into effect, it’s been frowned upon to enter into long-term monogamous relationships. Though not banned outright, the government stopped issuing marriage licences, and over time, the practice died out. At least, that is what I’d been taught.

  My confusion must be written on my face because Rhonda laughs softly. I frown, and she covers it with a cough.

  “I take it you’ve never met a married woman before.”

  “No. But why . . .” I don’t even know what to ask.

  This time she doesn’t hide her laugh. “We loved each other. Simple as that.”

  Her answer only confuses me more. I open my mouth to question her further when there’s a knock at the door.

  “Come in,” Rhonda says.

  When the door opens, I immediately recognise the man who came to my rescue. In this brighter lighting, I can tell he’s younger than I thought, maybe about my age, with deep brown hair that is begging for a haircut. His gaze meets mine and his piercing blue eyes hold me captive.

  “Ah, Howard, you’re home early,” Rhond
a says.

  Howard is the first to look away, and from the way he is wringing his hand against the edge of the door, I’d guess he is nervous.

  “Yeah, just checking in,” he says. He glances at me. His left cheek is streaked with dirt. “How are you feeling?”

  I stare at his face, feeling an insane need to wipe it clean for him. I’ve never seen a man looking the way he does now. The hint of sweat in his hair shows me he’s been hard at work, while his expression tells me he’s waiting for something.

  I blink as I realise he asked me a question. “Oh, uh . . . I have one doozy of a headache, but other than that I’m fine.”

  “Did Mum give you something for the pain?” he asks, his eyebrows cinched together in concern.

  “Yes, she did.” Though the pounding hasn’t abated much. I rub my temples, trying to relieve some of the pressure. When the pain seems to have eased a little, I look up to see two concerned gazes staring intently my way. “Thank you so much for coming to my aid. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t—”

  I close my eyes against the memories that suddenly return.

  “Hey, are you okay?”

  I jump as Howard touches my arm. I wasn’t expecting him so close, but his strong hands are tender, which is incongruent with my memories. Opening my eyes, my gaze meets his. The fear recedes and goose bumps cover my skin.

  “You’re safe,” he says, his voice deep but agonised. “You’re going to be fine.” The authority with which he says the words almost has me believing him.

  I pull my knees tight against my chest. “Sorry.”

  “You have nothing to be sorry about. It’s the bastard who laid his hands on you that should be sorry.” The concerned expression disappears from his face, and he now looks like he wants to kill something instead.

  “Well, thanks to you, he can’t do that again.”

  Howard nods, his expression softening a little.

  Burying my head in my knees, I try to will away the flashes of events that keep popping into my mind—running in the catacombs, being set upon by that group of men, George stepping in to protect me.