This Broken Land

by H M Sealey

  Baraq listened to his brother’s outburst. He understood the sentiment.

  “This might be the opportunity I’ve been waiting for Eshan. We know Wolves take girls from Old Britain, but we know nothing about the men who organise this. If I go with Tariq and ask the right questions, I might be able to do more than just help Daichi’s sister.”

  Eshan shook his head. “And is my daughter to be the price of this?”

  “Allah willing, no.”

  Eshan’s dark, intelligent eyes took on a new light as he regarded his brother with something close to contempt. “Allah willing? Do you think I believe that any more?” His voice was flat and sad. Asim and Alaiai looked at their father in horror. There were few sins so serious as to revile Allah.

  “Eshan…?” There was a warning in Baraq’s deep voice.

  “What? You left the faith.”

  “And I was granted mercy and time to repent.”

  “You mean you were a coward. You saw the rope waiting for you and you were scared.”

  Baraq did not become angry at the insult. “I was scared, yes.”

  “Well, I’m scared. I’m terrified. I’m terrified of what you’re doing.”

  “I’m helping people. That’s all.”

  “You’re smuggling people out of the country.”

  “What I do hurts nobody.”

  “Only your own family.”

  “Then what am I meant to do? You’ve never seen how bad it is over the border. The oppression over in that tolerant, liberal country is as bad as anything over here. They take parents away from children for being Christians, or for having a different political opinion. So many ideas over there are haraam and people are suffering. If I can reunite families and get them off this godforsaken rock then that’s what I’ll do, and both governments can take a running jump!”

  The two men stared at each other for some minutes.

  “I won’t have you use Alaia.” Eshan said, still in that same, flat voice. “This family took a risk in taking you in. Everyone knows you were apostate. Remember that.”

  “I do remember that.”

  “Then promise me something.”

  “What?” Again that silence. The tension in the room was tangible, Asim could feel it like dust in the sunshine, swirling around their heads.

  “If this goes wrong. If Tariq insists on marrying Alaia. You’ll do for us what you do for other families. You’ll smuggle us all out. Get us out of this stifling life, find us passage to America. Promise you’ll do that for me.”

  It was a long few minutes before Baraq made that promise. But when he did, he meant it.

  ~

  ~ Eleven ~

  Missy

  “Well Zeb, what’s this? Are we keeping the best for yourself? Just like you used to with the cake when you were a boy?”

  Missy backed away, but there was only a closed door behind her. These were men, old men perhaps, but still men. Missy was five foot four and weighted slightly over eight stone. Physical confrontation was out of the question.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” Zeb snarled only to be silenced by the older man.

  “Do you have to swear Zebedee?”

  Missy surprised herself by snatching up the walking stick from the hatstand and brandishing it like a club.

  “Let me go!” Her voice was shrill.

  Zeb reached for the stick. “Give that here!” Missy slammed it into his hand and he gave a yelp of pain, pulling away with a curse.

  “Stupid bitch!”

  “Just let me go. I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

  “You won’t. Don’t worry about that.” Zeb’s big hand grabbed the walking stick and wrenched it from her fingers. He hurled it to one side and advanced on Missy who jumped backwards and pressed her back against the door.

  “Did you just expect me to sit still and let you kill me?”

  To that, the second man, who was watching events in open amusement, smiled at her. He was a small, well dressed man with a near pair of glasses perched on a slightly-too-big nose above a grey moustache.

  “Zeb? Surely you’re not stupid enough to get rid of such a beautiful girl are you?” He sounded quite indignant, as if Zeb had been threatening to remove a painting he rather liked from the wall.

  “Ethnic minority.” Zeb shook his head. “You know me Dad, I don’t take risks. They bought her by mistake.”

  “Oh, I don’t think there’s any mistake. Clearly your men know quality when they see it.” The old man passed his eyes over Missy. Ever since she had woken up everybody had looked at her that way, as if she was an object, a thing, like the Chinese vase.

  “Get her out of that shapeless garment and you’ll get a hundred thousand for her.”

  “I told you, I don’t take risks.”

  “If someone’s looking for her, then they’ll be looking for her whatever happens.”

  “Which is why I’ll fix it so they find her a long way from here.”

  The old man looked disappointed. He stepped forward and reached out to Missy.

  “What’s your name my dear?”

  “Missy. That is, Misaki Hisakawa.” The old man frowned a little and cocked his head to one side.

  “What a pretty name.” He turned to Zeb. “And distinctive too. Would you like me to look and see if anyone’s put out a call for her?”

  Zeb seemed pleased, he rubbed his nose. “Could you?”

  “I most certainly could. You see, I have my uses. If her family are on the front page of the Daily Mail with sad faces hunting for her then I suppose you can get rid of her. But you may as well find out first.” He smiled paternally at Missy. “You might lose out on a lot of money otherwise.”

  Zeb nodded, grabbed Missy by the arm and pushed her through the nearest door. This room was a lounge, a large, airy sitting room dominated by a cream leather sofa and a soft, caramel coloured rug. The pale walls flecked with tiny, gold patterns reflected the sunshine blazing through the large, bay window, the floor-length curtains half drawn against the light.

  Zeb pushed her down onto the sofa. “Stay there you.” Then he nodded to his father. “Go on then.”

  The older man settled himself on a plush armchair beside a bookcase and drew out his phone. Missy stared towards the window, the view outside was greenish, probably a garden, but it looked more lush than any garden Missy had seen for a long time. Lush gardens were a relic of the rainy past.

  “My job makes this sort of thing very easy.” He glanced at Missy. “Where are you from?”

  “They picked her up in a place called Kingsheath apparently. A backwater a few miles south of Birmingham.” Zeb answered.

  “Very near the Border then.” The old man tutted. “Now then, let me see. Police reports for the last few days. Ah ha, yes, there was a Wolf raid. It’s been marked as inconsequential. Nobody officially missing.” His eyes swept down the page. “There was a little fuss though. Howard Steele, age twenty-eight. Arrested for trafficking and Hate Speech. My, that sounds serious.”

  “Howie?” Missy stared at the old man in horror.

  “You know him?”

  “He – he’s my fiancé.”

  “Bad luck there then. Seems they sent him to a Rainbow Centre. He won’t be out for a long time.”

  Tears prickled Missy’s eyes. Howie, the man she hoped would already be out hunting for her. The pain in her stomach ached as though she’d been punched. She wanted to scream, to howl, to demand to see him. To say there was a mistake.

  The old man closed the page. “Well, you can rest easy Zeb, there’ll be no howling mob with pitchforks coming for you.”

  Zeb visibly relaxed. “You sure?”

  “As I can be.”

  Zeb rested his hip against the sofa and gazed down at the girl.

  “Might as well clean her up then. I’ve got an auction over the border on Thursday.”

  “Big one is it?”

  “It’s all the same over there, savages. It’s banned in name only. Still,
as long as it is I can charge a fair bit more.” He reached out and took a strand of Missy’s hair thoughtfully. “They usually go for blondes though.”

  “Be daring, give them some diversity.” The amusement in the old man’s voice was blatant.

  “They don’t care about diversity over there.”

  “They don’t care about diversity our side of the Border either. They never did. Not diversity of thought and ideas anyway, which is the only sort that really counts.”

  Zeb’s look became one of impatience. “Will you stop snivelling? I’ve just said I’m going to keep hold of you.”

  Missy rubbed her eyes. “Howie.” She whispered. She was here, enslaved, at the mercy of men who intended to sell her. But Howie? Howie’s predicament was much worse. He was in the hands of people who would enslave him out of their twisted idea of kindness.

  Zeb clipped her ear. “Forget him.”

  “Now Zeb, you’re being a little unfair.” The old man slid his phone back into his jacket pocket, crossed the room and sat beside Missy on the sofa. “Why don’t you find us a snack?”

  “I’m not leaving her here. She needs to be downstairs with the others.

  “Half an hour. That’s all.” He took Missy’s hand and patted it. “I might even be persuaded to buy her myself.”

  “You? You don’t need any new girls do you?”

  “I’m always on the look-out for new blood. Misaki here might be quite an investment.”

  The sickness that had been rising in Missy’s stomach finally exploded, she retched and vomited bile and water onto the carpet.

  “Shit! That carpet cost a fortune. Nicky’ll do her nut!”

  Missy heaved again, the contents of her gut dribbling down her chin. Howie was gone, her whole life was gone, swept away in one, terrible swoop leaving her as nothing put a commodity, a piece of meat to be bartered for the highest price.

  Tears joined the snot and bile and she gave a long, anguished sob. She barely noticed when the old man offered her his handkerchief. He seemed so kind and yet he had spoken of buying her as an investment. He wasn’t kind at all, it was all an act.

  She sobbed again, on her knees on the expensive carpet. Was she worth more than the carpet, or less?

  “There we go, you have a little cry. Get it all out of your system.” The old man made little soothing sounds, but there was nothing soothing about him, he was as depraved as his son, he was just a little better at pretending.

  ~

  Josh

  We walk until we’re exhausted although River shows no sign of slowing down. She seems to know where she’s going so we follow, attracting a few curious looks from people but no comments.

  We join the old motorway that rarely sees cars any more so is a safe route to take us into the city. I’ve never been to Birmingham before and I’m surprised by just how dilapidated it is. There are so many boarded-up buildings now and almost every other street has weeds growing through the tarmac.

  “Where are we going?” I ask again.

  “A friend.” I don’t like that answer, but Howard trails along behind us, pale and miserable beneath the vivid blue bruises on his face.

  We pass through the busy town centre where European refugees beg on the streets if they can’t find work. There isn’t a lot of work in the cities these days, there’s more on the farms, even though the drought means harvests are poor. Lack of petrol means tractors are rarely used, so it’s been kind of the industrial revolution in reverse, where everyone goes back to the countryside.

  “Everything’s such a mess.” River pauses by the old statue of a bull surrounded by tall, unused buildings falling into disrepair. “How did it get to this?”

  I shrug. I’m desperately thirsty and my clothes are sticking to my back with the hazy heat of the day.

  Beyond the statue there are steps beside a thing that might have been a fountain. River descends quickly and heads for what looks like a market. There are dozens of stalls selling everything I could ever need or want. It’s full of bustle and bodies haggling loudly over prices.

  River dodges through the stalls until she reaches the very back of the market where there are several odd little shops with dirty windows. The third one has a red door and she doesn’t hesitate to push it open.

  Once inside the dingy little shop I realise it sells weapons. Knives, rifles, handguns and nun-chucks sit inside poorly lit glass cabinets, and behind the counter in a cloud of horrible smelling smoke is a big man in a black tee-shirt with a scruffy beard and tiny gold earrings.

  He stubs his cigarette out on a little brass tray and stares at us with suspicion.

  “Hi Gene.”

  The big man blinks through the grey smoke, then his eyes brighten. His skin is dark, darker than anyone I’ve seen for a long time. The Rainbow centre is ninety percent white people, incarcerating anyone of any other ethnicity other than Jews is viewed with more caution to avoid any accusation of racism.

  “River?”

  “It’s me.”

  “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. Where’s your hair girl?”

  River lifts her hand and touches her head. “I had it cut off.”

  “It looks bloody awful.”

  “I know.” She grimaces. “I need your help Gene.”

  Gene raises a hairy, slightly grey eyebrow. “Anything for my favourite pupil.”

  River turns to me and gives a smile. “Gene was one of my tutors. There was a bit of a fuss and he lost his job.”

  “A bit of a fuss?”

  “It doesn’t matter. It was just my mother being a total bitch. Anyway, then his brother died and he inherited this shop.”

  Gene nods. “Got one of his own knives through his gut. It was a bad business. For him anyway.”

  “Gene taught me everything about shooting.”

  “You had a tutor for that?”

  River grins. “No, Gene taught me physics and chemistry. Learning to shoot was just a bit of fun.”

  Gene lights a second cigarette. “Your mother didn’t think it was a bit of fun.”

  “No, well, if you hadn’t taught me so well the bullet might have done worse than just graze her shoulder. Honestly, she made such a stupid fuss.”

  I look from one of them to the other. “You …..shot your mother?”

  “I was just playing around. She went nuts.”

  “You shot her.” I still can’t believe this.

  “She wasn’t bothered about being shot, it was the whole gun thing. She’s really anti-violence. Well, most of the time. She was kind of okay when the Same-sibling protesters beat the hell out of anyone who opposed them.”

  Gene nods. “Always a nice lady, your mother.”

  “Anyway, I really need your help Gene.”

  Another cloud of smoke fills the little room and I cough.

  “Fire away.”

  “How do we get a GPS tracker out from under the skin?”

  I shudder. “How the hell did you get one under the skin in the first place?”

  “Not me.” River points in my direction. “Him. They stuck it in his arm through a syringe, so its pretty small.”

  Gene heaves himself up from his stool and pulls open a door that leads into a grubby kitchen. He nods to Howard.

  “Put the closed sign up will you?”

  Howard does, and we all troop into the back room.

  “First, does anyone want a drink?” He turns on the tap and water sloshes into his glass. Real water. We all nod gratefully and gulp down the slightly metallic tasting liquid. When I finish, I realise Gene is gazing at me with thoughtful eyes.

  He rubs his chin. “I can’t see there’s another way but cutting it out.” He announces. “That’s assuming it hasn’t migrated.”

  I don’t like the idea of anyone cutting anything out of my arm, I shrink back a little, against the wall.

  “Cut it out then.” River says, just like she’s talking about slicing up a cake.

  Gene gazes at me with not uns
ympathetic eyes.

  “That’s gonna hurt.”

  I shake my head. “You’re not cutting anything.”

  River places her cup in the little sink. “Come on Josh, you can’t walk around with a built-in tracking device. We have to get it out.”

  I swallow. “Isn’t there a painless way?”

  Gene crosses the room and grabs my arm, pulling back my sleeve to examine my arm. There’s a slight swelling and a tender, red lump at the site of the injection. He pokes this and I yelp.

  “Reckon it’s near the surface.” Then he looks into my face. “Are you gonna hold still or do I have to tie you down?”

  ~

  Elsie

  There’s a doctor in my room when the sedative wears off, but I don’t want to talk to him. I don’t want to do anything but cry.

  “Come on now Elsie, talk to me.”

  I shake my head. “Go away.”

  “I’m not your enemy.”

  I blink up at him through red eyes. “It was someone like you who took my family away. I didn’t even remember them until today. Now I remember and it hurts!” It hurts like nothing has ever hurt before, all these memories, all these longings I never even knew I had. And the sense of loss, it’s crippling, like a huge, shadowy monster eating away at every happy thought I ever had.

  Did I ever even have any happy thoughts? I wasn’t unhappy, but I just lived day-to-day. Surviving, but never really, truly happy.

  “Elsie.” The doctor gives a sigh. “I checked your notes. Your parents were judged unfit to take care of you. The state had a responsibility to see you brought up properly. You were too little to understand, but you were removed from your family for your own good.”

  “What about my brother?”

  “I can make some enquiries if you like.”

  “Gran said he was put in a Rainbow Centre.”

  “Then he was being well looked after. Society takes caring for people seriously Elsie. Society is family isn’t it?”