by Joe Nobody
Today, Castro finished quickly, waving her through the door leading to the cells after only a brief pat down. Obviously, he wanted to return to his newest plaything, the black parts of the rifle still lying disassembled on his desk.
Another guard was inside, marching up and down the short hall lined with heavy cell doors. It was a dark, evil place, fouled by the stench of human body odor, aged urine, and pungent feces. April often thought she could feel pain emanating from the walls as if the rough planks had absorbed the agony of the prisoners.
The inner sentry recognized her and knew exactly which cell she intended to visit. Reaching for a key that would open the heavy padlock securing the door, he said, “For the past few days, I thought you were wasting all of that food on this prisoner. I guess it pays to have the inside scoop.”
April didn’t understand, her brow wrinkling in question.
“I hope she ends up a breeder,” he grinned. “I’ll have to visit her and see if Castro’s claims about gringo lovers are true.”
Ignoring the man’s sneer and the fact that Castro had been bragging again, April asked, “What are you talking about? Isn’t this woman going to be executed with the giant man?”
The guard shook his head, “Not any more. And the boss told me today that Lady Bella Dona no longer desires to sell her at auction tomorrow either. She is young and firm. She’ll be a pleasure bitch or a breeder. Whatever her classification, I’m going to be the first in line.”
Stunned, April just stood there, trying to comprehend what it all meant. If what the enforcer said was true, May wasn’t going to hang. That, however, wasn’t exactly good news.
Being assigned to the Pleasure House meant being a whore, a sexual plaything for any man on the plantation who was being rewarded. From what April had garnered, it was mostly Castro’s security forces who were allowed to frequent the den of debauchery.
Officially dubbed the “Nursery” or “Vivero,” the Breeder House was a recent addition to the rapidly expanding plantation infrastructure.
Originally, the Breeder House was supposed to be a facility for young women who were pregnant out of wedlock. With a workforce well over 100,000 strong, such occurrences were inevitable. From April’s point of view, its creation had been one of the few uplifting developments and a sure sign that Lady Bella Dona did indeed care about her workers.
Within a few months, however, the schoolteacher’s perspective changed.
In reality, the Nursery was nothing more than a higher quality bordello, a step up from the common man’s Pleasure House. Women of childbearing age and exceptional beauty were assigned there. Their “contribution” to the community was to satisfy the plantation’s upper management while supplying a future labor force. The concept disgusted April, reminding her of the NAZI Lebensborn program during WWII.
While the guard fumbled for the right key, April considered her sister’s new fate. May was from a different world, and because of that, she wouldn’t last long at either facility.
Before the collapse, in an environment that fostered such progressive concepts as social justice, wealth redistribution, and equal rights, facilities like the Nursery and the Pleasure House would have generated outrage and protest.
How many nights had the two siblings debated into the wee hours, the younger sister staunch and unmoving in her conservative beliefs? May believed everyone should carry a gun, hated government social agendas, and thought those who utilized safety-net programs were nothing but a bunch of lazy freeloaders who wanted to live off the hard labor and achievement of others.
April supported strict controls on firearms, a free college education for all, government-provided healthcare, and tolerance.
The guard managed the door just then, a small corridor of light flooding the otherwise dark confines. Her sister was exactly where April expected her to be, lying on the soiled mattress with eyes closed.
“Hello, April,” the younger girl whispered.
“Hi, May. How are you feeling?”
May ignored the question, unmoving on the filthy bed.
“I brought you food,” April offered, holding out the basket as the sentry closed and locked the door. “Why don’t you sit up and eat a little? It will make you feel better.”
“They’re not going to hang me, April,” May’s monotone, robotic voice responded from the darkness.
“I know. I just heard. My prayers have been answered, sis. And I was praying hard.”
May moved then, managing to lift herself and lean on one arm. Her eyes were hollow and empty, “Why, April? Why did you ask God to torture me even further? I wanted to die tomorrow. Now I’m going to be stuck in a living hell, day after day of some sweaty, fat bastard violating me hour after hour. Why do you hate me so? Will you enjoy my suffering?”
April was shocked, her sister’s words stabbing like a knife, “I don’t understand, sis. You want to die? Why would I pray for you to be killed? Things will get better. Each day that you’re alive is another chance that your life will improve!”
Rolling back to her prone position, May stared blankly at the ceiling. “Give me liberty or give me death. I would rather die than live in slavery like you.”
April studied her sister, taking in the bruising, lacerations, and filth that covered May. For a moment, she attributed the younger woman’s attitude to the treatment she had suffered after capture. No doubt, Castro and his goons had roughed her up pretty badly.
Yet, May wasn’t one for theatrics. There had been no malice or emotion in her voice, the words coming from her sister’s throat almost mechanical.
“I’m so sorry, May. You have to believe me, I didn’t ask anyone but God to intercede or show you mercy. I had no part in this last minute change of plans,” April pleaded.
“I believe you,” the weak sister answered from the dark. “I don’t hate you. I’m sorry that I said those mean things.”
“Why don’t you eat something? You’ll feel better with something in your stomach; I promise.”
“No. I want to die. I’m not going to eat. I want the end to come as soon as possible.”
It was then that April noticed the bowl of jailhouse gruel lying near the door. It was untouched. “Really, sis, you’re going on a hunger strike? If anyone knows how horrible that is, it should be us. After what we went through.…”
“No, I wanted them to hang me ... I prayed for my suffering to end. It doesn’t matter, though, the end will come – maybe slower, but one way or the other, I will escape. I bet not even these Mexican bastards enjoy fucking skin and bones.”
“May,” her sister began to protest, but the already-dead voice from the mattress interrupted. “Don’t bother bringing any more food, sis. Don’t bother coming back. I love you, and I don’t want you to see me like this. Always remember, mom and I both love you more than anyone. Now go … please.”
Again, April started to speak, but the prisoner stopped her. “Go! Please! Now!”
Sitting in silence, the bastion of April’s soul was slammed by waves of guilt and remorse. She knew her sister better than anyone, was certain she wasn’t playing any sort of head game or putting on an act. Her sister preferred death over life, and that was the saddest thing she had ever felt.
It is all my fault, April thought. This is my doing. I should have left with her the other night. I should have gotten word back to my family so they wouldn’t worry about me. I shouldn’t have been so selfish.
Like a mallet striking the head of the nail, the blows hammered her, driving April’s mind into the depths of anguish. She wanted to grab May and shake some sense into her, slap her across the face until sanity returned.
Harsh words formed in April’s throat, the older girl ready to scream and shout at the stubborn woman with her in the darkness.
But the torrent of awareness bombarding her mind stopped her.
A single, unavoidable truth compelled the older sister to re-examine everything about her existence. While April had chosen to come to th
e plantation … had chosen this lifestyle … May had not. April understood the rules, agreed to them at some level and bought into this social code. But the unfairness of her little sister’s sentence, the reprehensible treatment of her by the guards … these things could not be justified.
April found that as her mind opened, she found herself feeling again – not due to any realization of the gross injustice done to her, but a desire to protect May, a sensation she had denied for so long, an awareness finally strong enough to override the numbness that had enslaved her very soul. Yet, April knew May was right. The realization came slowly, only a dim flicker at first, eventually building into a blinding, white-hot illumination of truth. Her sister was brave and honest. April was a coward and had been lying to herself since arriving at the plantation.
Once acknowledged, those feelings welled up inside the school marm. Castro’s abuse. The floggings and hangings. The horrible working conditions and quarters. No due process. No rights. No liberties. And the worst part … the most egregious act of all – beating the plantation’s plowshares into swords, converting their pruning hooks into spears. Could it be possible that Bella Dona was raising a mighty army to rule all of Mexico?
It took all of April’s self-discipline not to storm out of the cell and go for Castro’s throat. She wanted to help her sister and hurt her abuser in the process, to claw his eyes into bloody holes. She wanted to make him understand the pain he so easily inflicted on others.
With labored breathing and a new resolve, April turned to the door and rapped lightly. It opened a moment later, the same guard tilting his head at her quick exit and still full basket of food.
It was probably fortunate for April that Castro was no longer at his desk when she exited through the front office.
As she plodded back toward building #11, the world around her took on a completely new perspective. Taking special notice of the laborers she passed, she observed a population devoid of joy and laughter, evidence of a crushed, submissive society that no longer seemed alive. Her senses now on high alert, she realized an unusual stench that hung in the air, the sickening odor lodging in the back of her throat. It was the reek of death, the gradual wasting away of human souls.
Her quarters were just as shocking. How had she lived like this? April thought, throwing the basket of food on her cot. May had been right – she had been suffering from Stockholm syndrome. She was truly a slave.
Tears of helplessness rolled down April’s cheeks as she laid on her cot. Eventually sleep came, but not before the hours of torment and regret had changed her forever.
Chapter 12
Grim lowered the binoculars and turned to Kevin, “I told you they would come back.”
“I never had any doubt,” the younger man replied.
After multiple searches, Bishop’s truck was allowed inside the truckers’ compound. Grim didn’t waste any time, “What’s the plan, boss?”
For the next hour, Bishop outlined the trials and tribulations that occurred during the eight days he and Terri had been absent.
“That’s it? That’s all you guys could come up with?” Grim responded, clearly disappointed.
Bishop shrugged, “Every other option played out to a dead end. We’ve got no choice unless you’ve cooked up something since we’ve been gone.”
Grim took his turn, explaining to Bishop what had been accomplished and learned since the Texan had headed north.
Bishop nodded, patting his buddy on the shoulder. “Excellent work, my friend. Better than I expected. I’m glad at least one of us made some progress.”
For another 30 minutes, Terri and the SAINT team huddled, reviewing their options. When every possibility had been hashed and exhausted, Bishop stood and said, “It’s time. Let’s see if we can get as many of these guys home as possible.”
“That same pickup is on the way into camp,” called the lookout. “One driver, the same guy with the ponytail.”
“That would be Castro,” Bishop informed his wife. “Right on time.”
The couple chose to ride in the back, and after Castro had frisked Bishop and scanned Terri, they were again on their way to Bella Dona’s lair.
The planation’s matriarch met them on the porch as before, this time dressed completely in black. Terri wondered if it was an omen.
After being escorted into the sitting room, the lady of the house got right down to business. “Our people in Del Rio tell us that the Quakers have been detained but are still alive. The deadline is midnight. Why are you here?”
“We are not going to execute the Quakers, Bella Dona,” Terri replied. “You weren’t honest with us, and now we know the other side of the story.”
“And what would that be? What lies have those terrorists been spouting now?” the estate’s queen hissed.
“You led us to believe that all of your workforce came to you begging for food. We now know that isn’t true. In fact, there are dozens and dozens of Alliance citizens that were abducted from their homes and businesses, and we believe they are here.”
“That is preposterous!” Bella Dona snapped. “We have never forced anyone to come to the plantation. Lies! Nothing but lies from the mouths of those who want nothing more than to see us fail.”
Bishop swiveled in his chair and faced Castro. “Do you deny that your men have been raiding along the Rio Grande and rounding up people to work here?”
The henchman just stared at Bishop. “It is none of your business, Gringo. I don’t answer to you.”
Slowly and deliberately, Bishop reached into his jacket, removing a thin stack of papers and offering them to Bella Dona. “This is photographic evidence we have that proves otherwise.”
Snatching the pictures from the Texan’s hand, Bella Dona peered at the first image with a scowl. It showed Castro in his pickup, along with three armed men. In the bed of the truck was a large cage. Between the bars was clearly visible the bloodied face of a very frightened, young man. “His name isn’t important,” Bishop began. “That picture was taken two miles north of Del Rio just seven months ago. A group of hunters had found a supply of batteries and were using them to power a game camera. The boy in the bed of the pickup was out checking the machines when he disappeared. The family initially blamed raiders or vagabonds until they found this image was captured.”
“This proves nothing!” Bella countered. “For all I know, Castro was helping that young man find his way home. I should’ve known you would side with the terrorists. Besides, we have no need to kidnap anyone. We have thousands and thousands of desperados arriving on our doorstep each month.”
“The next photo,” Terri continued, “was taken from an Alliance surveillance drone.”
Clearly angry now, Bella Dona flipped to the second image and found herself staring at a cluster of people working in a field. All of them were staring skyward, as if they had just seen a UFO or other strange aircraft.
“The third man from the right was identified by his wife. He has been missing and presumed dead for several months. She stated that kidnappers broke into the home and pulled her husband out at gunpoint. That picture was taken here, less than 1 kilometer from where we sit,” Bishop said coldly. “You can keep flipping through the photos if you want, but the story remains the same. You have been abducting Alliance citizens, dragging them from their homes in the middle of the night.”
Bella Dona tossed the papers back at Bishop, “This proves nothing. I would never endorse such criminal acts. These are nothing more than wild, unfounded accusations. That man could have been unhappy with his wife and left home intentionally for all I know.”
Terri shook her head, “Either you’re deceiving yourself, or someone is doing it for you. The Quakers merely want their loved ones back and want the abductions to stop. The Alliance government is in agreement with their cause. We can end this peacefully.”
“They murdered your own truck drivers!” Bella growled with fury. “You would harbor homicidal maniacs? Grant protection to confessed
killers? Castro was right. I should have eliminated you all when I had the chance the first time.”
“Can you hear yourself? Don’t you see how your words sound like just like a murdering megalomaniac?” Bishop snorted.
Coming in to support the cause, Castro finally spoke. “We do have Alliance citizens here,” he chuckled. “They were exiled by your own law enforcement, kicked out of their homes for minor offenses or unproven accusations. We have rescued dozens of them, dying of thirst or hunger in the desert. Yet, you accuse us of being barbarians. You gringos haven’t learned anything from the downfall. You’re still a bunch of racist bastards, convinced that you hold the moral high ground. It is sickening.”
Ignoring Castro’s words, Terri was clearly done with the debate. “Release Butter and May … and any Alliance citizen that wishes to go home. In exchange, we will guarantee that the Quakers will no longer cross the Rio Grande and that the Alliance will not invade Mexico.”
Bella Dona grew ice cold in less than a second, her voice like a winter wind, “This conversation is over. Your people will be executed immediately. Castro will order his men to seize the trucks and all the personnel accompanying them. Both of you are under arrest.”
Terri laughed, “If you do that, Bella Dona, the Alliance will invade your lands with armor, helicopter gunships, and thousands of crack troops. Jet fighter-bombers will fill the skies over your beloved plantation, and this house will be nothing more than a smoldering pile of rubble. Your security forces will be crushed in less than 48 hours and thousands of people will die.”
“I don’t think so,” the lady smugly replied. “I don’t think the people in Alpha will do that if we have both of you and dozens of truckers here as our guests. I also don’t believe the President of the United States will be too happy if his food supply is suddenly destroyed by the Alliance’s military. No, that was a worthy bluff, but it is not going to work.”
