Charged

by G. P. Ching

  “What do I call you?” he asks.

  “Candace,” I say too quickly.

  He raises his chin and one eyebrow, clearly skeptical of the name.

  “What do I call you?” I ask, trying to turn the interview around on him.

  “Pit Bull.”

  “Like the dog?”

  He rolls his eyes at me. “Yes, Candace,” he drawls. “You can call me Pit. So why are the Greens after you?”

  I roll the question around in my mind. Lying doesn’t come easily to me, especially not when I’m face to face with someone who has been kind. “Misunderstanding,” I say, settling for a half-truth.

  Pit chuckles. “There’s always a misunderstanding when it comes to the Greens.”

  We’ve come to the end of the passageway. He pokes his head out into the alley and then pulls it back in like a scared turtle. “Place is crawling with Greens. Your misunderstanding must have been more complicated than most.”

  “Why are you helping me?” I blurt. “This could end badly for both of us.”

  He looks at me and narrows his eyes. “We’ve got to make it across the alley to the slaughterhouse. You can’t miss it. The door has a big X painted on it. You go first. I’ll be right behind you. If you get caught, you’re on your own.”

  Maybe his intentions aren’t so altruistic after all. I poke my head out. The emblem of the Green Republic passes by at the end of the alley and I tuck myself inside once more.

  “Now,” Pit says. “Before the Green gets too curious.”

  I dart across and deeper into the alley, looking for the door with the X. When I find it, I hesitate. The X is drawn in blood and the smell coming from behind the door makes me gag. I stretch the sleeve of my hoodie over my thumb and cover my nose and mouth with it. Uncertain, I glance back in the direction of Pit. He waves me on. The swirl of red lights on the pavement at the end of the alley spurs me on, and I push the door open.

  Death. Everywhere. At first the muscle and sinew dangling from hooks in the ceiling look almost human, and I spark in response, filling the space with a bright blue glow. But in the increased light I can see the pointed snout and elongated jaw of a sewer rat. The stench is suffocating. The cleanliness, deplorable. Dried blood lines the drain in the floor.

  The door behind me opens. I tuck my power back inside, hopefully fast enough to hide it from Pit, who presses his red bandana to his nose and mouth.

  “You might have warned me what I was walking into,” I say from behind my sleeve.

  “Needed to know you could follow directions. You do as I say, you’ll be fine.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  The leathery brown skin of his cheek tightens with his scowl. “The deadzone is a dangerous world. Bad things happen to little girls without protection. You might wish the Greens had found you.”

  His words are chilling. Even though I trust God to protect me, and Pit is my best chance of escaping the Greens, the feel of Red Dog hands on my body is something I won’t soon forget. These men have no rules and I shouldn’t confuse his help for kindness.

  I nod. Pit leads the way along the wall, our shoes sticking to the blood and grit. When we reach a stairwell, we descend into pitch-black. I’m tempted to spark so I can see but don’t. I can’t give myself away.

  Pit’s hand grabs my shoulder to stop me. “Wait a minute.” I hear a metal-on-metal sound like beads in a tin can.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “Would you rather walk in the dark?”

  I’m confused until a minute later the front of a metal cylinder glows to life in his hand. “Runs on kinetic energy. Takes a minute to charge it.”

  “Handy,” I say.

  He points the light ahead of us. If possible, the corridor is filthier than the slaughterhouse, lined with garbage and peppered with what looks like animal feces. He leads the way, picking through the waste. I’m careful to stay close behind and within the ring of light.

  “Don’t touch anything,” he says with a wry grin. “The meat upstairs starts out down here.”

  “Is it safe?”

  “Safer than facing the Greens.”

  Our footsteps echo and the silence reminds me how hungry and tired I am. It must be after noon, and I have had nothing to eat or drink today. I remember the provisions in my backpack, but now is not the time to partake in them. My stomach growls conspicuously.

  “Can you cook?” Pit asks.

  “Of course,” I say, and then remember that not all English women can.

  “Not just NGA kibble, but meat, fresh meat?”

  NGA? New Generation Ag. He’s asking if I know how to prepare non-synthetic food. This must be an even rarer skill, one I’m hesitant to admit to. “Yes,” I murmur. “Why do you want to know?”

  “It’s a requirement for being a Red Dog woman.”

  I bite my lip to keep from declaring that I will not be a Red Dog woman. I plan to escape as soon as I am sure the Greens can’t track me. Hopefully, Pit is bringing me closer to the sewer access point to Stuart Manor. All I need to do is bide my time and stay quiet. For now, I need Pit to get me out of here.

  He leads me up a steep staircase and opens a door for me. “Welcome to the kennel.”

  I remember this place. We are in an enormous warehouse, bigger than a barn, all concrete and steel. We’re on the main floor in an atrium-style room, the ceiling three floors above us. Pit makes a whooping sound and one by one dark silhouettes come to the railings of the floors above and stare down at us. All the men are dressed like Pit, in worn but mended clothing in various shades of gray, the same red band around their left biceps. The women are something else entirely. They are dressed the modern way, some with new dresses, high heels, designer shirts. They wear heavy makeup and have brushed hair and fair skin. But every one of them wears a shiny red collar around her neck, two inches thick with a big silver buckle.

  A man walks toward us, stopping inside the line of shadows from the floor above. “What do you have there, Pit?” he asks in a raspy, low voice. He steps into the light. He’s big. Huge. On appearance alone, he is formidable. At least six feet tall with bulky muscles I’ve never seen the likes of. I suspect some sort of chemical augmentation. No one gets that big naturally. A ponytail of long black hair falls down his back and piercings in his lip and eyebrow glint in the light. At first I think he’s wearing a long-sleeved shirt, but as he comes closer, I stand corrected. His arms are covered in tattoos. I tremble under his intense scrutiny.

  “A woman, Alpha. I found her near the slaughterhouse, running from the Greens,” Pit says.

  “Do you give this woman a name?” Alpha asks Pit.

  “My name is Candace,” I say.

  Both men ignore me. Others form a circle around us. I grow increasingly uncomfortable. What if one of them remembers me? I’d zapped a man named Hambone and another called Patchwork last year. If one of them recognizes me, they’ll know my secret. Eyes rake me from head to toe. One man comes close enough to touch my hair and I have flashbacks to my first time here, when my body reacted and fried everyone who touched me. This time, I hope to make it out without hurting anyone. But just the brush of the man’s fingers makes a cold sweat break out over my upper lip.

  Pit clears his throat. “Stella,” he says. “I claim her.”

  What? My eyes dart from Pit to Alpha and I stare in horror as a woman runs forward with a bright red collar. “What are you doing?” I whisper to Pit.

  “Keeping you safe. Women don’t survive in the kennel without a keeper.” Pit takes the red collar and moves to place it around my neck. I back away. The men behind me grab my arms and pull my hair to restrain me. Panic lights the spark within and a plan of escape plays out in my brain. I ready myself to do what I have to.

  “I challenge.”

  Everyone’s head snaps around, and I cannot believe my eyes. Korwin hovers, arms folded, next to Alpha. His eyes bore into me.

  “This woman’s name is Lydia, and she’s mine.”<
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  My lips part to say his name, but with a curt shake of his head, Korwin shuts me down. He disguises the movement by cracking his neck and backs into the open space at the center of the concrete. “She’s mine,” he says again, beckoning Pit forward.

  “So be it.” Alpha gives a genuine laugh. “She is a pretty one, isn’t she?” Pit looks distraught as the big man removes the collar from his grip and steps toward Korwin.

  A dozen hands reach for me, and I am swept away, up a set of stairs to the second floor. The Red Dog women force me to the front of the railing. From here I have a clear view of the kennel below. But everyone in the kennel also has a clear view of me. Long, manicured nails are in my hair, removing my braids and fluffing the wavy tresses.

  “Let’s see what’s under the jacket,” a woman with black bobbed hair says. She forcibly removes my backpack.

  “Hey,” I protest, reaching for the leather strap as she shifts it to a platinum blonde behind her.

  “Relax,” she says. “You’ll get it back in a minute. We’re just going to show the boys what they’re fighting for. She unzips my hoodie and strips it from my shoulders. I am thrust against the railing again in nothing but a snug black T-shirt, the waves of my hair thrown over one shoulder. I feel naked like this, and totally vulnerable.

  “Quite a prize, boys!” Black Bob calls, pushing my upper body over the railing. I consider fighting her but Korwin’s eyes fix me to the spot. His expression couldn’t be clearer if he followed it up with stay put.

  The men have formed a circle around Korwin and Pit, Alpha between them with the collar. Korwin is taller, but Pit is older, more experienced. He carries himself like a battle-worn veteran of the ring.

  “Does anyone else challenge for this woman?” Alpha booms.

  Korwin clenches his fists and turns a circle. The other men seem intimidated by his presence, even Pit who stands with his hands on his hips. No one says a word.

  “You’d better pray Pit wins,” the redheaded woman behind me says. “Ace is cruel. I’d never want him as a keeper.”

  “Sophie!” snaps the platinum blonde holding my backpack.

  The kennel grows quiet.

  “Very well,” Alpha says. “Win the collar, win the bitch. Go!”

  He drops the red leather ring between the two men and shuffles out of the way. At first the men circle, sizing each other up. Korwin hangs back, fists raised and eyes narrowed. Pit lunges first, striking at Korwin’s jaw. Korwin slaps the fist away and lands a sidekick into Pit’s ribs. Pit curls but doesn’t quit. He ducks under Korwin’s next punch and rams his shoulder into Korwin’s gut. The blow rocks him off balance and Korwin stumbles back a few steps. But before Pit can regain his footing, Korwin grips his hips and lifts the older man’s feet off the floor, sending Pit tumbling. The stocky man tucks into a ball, somersaulting into Korwin’s knees. Korwin leaps out of the way, straight up, pivots in the air, and delivers a front kick to Pit’s left kidney before the man can scramble out of the way.

  An audible groan rises from the crowd. Pit crumples but Korwin doesn’t quit. He kicks Pit repeatedly in the ribs, head and back. I’ve never seen Korwin like this. Pit is effectively helpless but Korwin continues, feet and fists flying. Blood spills on the concrete next to Pit’s head. Even from the second floor, I can tell his nose is smashed and the skin of his shoulder is split.

  “Match!” Alpha says, grabbing Korwin by the waist and pulling him from the fight. “Korwin take your prize.”

  To my horror, as soon as Alpha releases him, Korwin attacks Pit’s prone body again. Lips peeled back from his teeth, he pounds Pit in the head and lands a boot in his ribs. It takes three men to drag him off and by that time Pit is a bloody, bruised mess. Only when Alpha forces the red collar into Korwin’s hands does he seem to remember himself. He scans the rail until he finds me, then takes the stairs two at a time, shouldering through the crowd to me. I turn around, gripping the rail as he approaches. I do not know this Korwin. His expression is feral, and he has blood sprayed across his face. Sweat stains his gray muscle shirt and the red band around his arm.

  He unbuckles the red collar and steps in close to place it around my neck. “I am Ace,” he says, locking eyes with me. “I’m your keeper.” He hooks a finger into the silver loop at my throat and yanks me forward. I gag a little and grab his wrist with both my hands, but he doesn’t let up.

  “Where are her things?”

  The platinum blonde tosses my backpack and hoodie at him like they’re hot and backs away. Korwin snatches them from the floor before half-dragging me up another flight of stairs to a room on the third floor. He pushes me in by the neck and slides the door closed behind us.

  I stumble into the space, gasping for breath and rubbing my neck. “Korwin, I—”

  He body slams me against the wall, the length of him pressing me into the concrete. “My name is Ace,” he says into my ear. “Things are different here. Women don’t speak unless spoken to.” One arm slips around my back, making me arch off the wall. His hand lands under my breast while his other one grips my jaw. There is no space between our bodies and his hot breath hits my face. Despite his nearness, something is missing. The usual connection I feel to him, the warmth behind my breastbone, is gone. I have the fleeting thought that this is not Korwin at all.

  “You should be used to taking orders from a man, given where you come from,” he hisses, remedying that suspicion. He threads his fingers into my hair and tips my face so we are eye to eye. I part my lips to speak but the look he gives me makes the words halt in my throat. His eyes are hard and violent. In his tight grip, I am suddenly afraid.

  His hand grips my neck harder through my hair, and his lips crash against mine. The kiss is brutal, invasive. I struggle against him. Not my best effort. I want the kiss, and before long both of us have softened into each other and the spark within me comes alive again.

  I’m glowing blue by the time he pulls away, panting.

  He gives his head a hard shake, then grabs the hem of his shirt and lifts it over his head. My eyes widen at the sight of his bare chest, and I shake my head, not willing or ready for more than the kiss we just shared.

  “Don’t flatter yourself,” he says. He throws the blood-and-sweat-stained T-shirt into a basket in the corner. “I’ll send Sophie to show you where to do laundry.” He digs another shirt from the dresser against the wall and pulls it over his head.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To find you something acceptable to wear.” The door to his room is wide and slides like a barn door. He opens it and moves into the hall. With a sideways glance he says, “Stay away from the men. I don’t want to have to hurt anyone when I return. And don’t try to leave. We have unfinished business.”

  I stare at him blankly as he walks out. The big door rumbles shut behind him. My knees give out and I crumple, tripping backward. My bottom lands on a hard mattress. With face in hands, I lower my head between my knees and weep.

  “Hey,” the redheaded girl called Sophie says, pressing a tissue into my hands. I didn’t even hear her come in over my own weeping.

  “Hello,” I mumble.

  “Ace gave you a rough initiation, huh?”

  “Yeah.” I wipe my swollen eyes. I hate that she calls Korwin Ace and that she expects my welcome to this world to be violent.

  “What did he name you? Lydia, right?”

  I nod.

  “Do you need a painkiller? My keeper got me some.”

  “No. Thank you.” Medication won’t help the type of pain I’m feeling.

  “It’s hard in the beginning, but you’ll get used to this life after a while. Ace is the beta, so you’re like a princess here. Plus, the Red Dogs keep their women safe and well fed.”

  “The beta?”

  “Second-in-command.” She smiles. “I’m sorry about that crack I made about not wanting him as your keeper. He’s a catch. Honestly.” Her face gives her away. She’s lying.

 
; “Violent though,” I say, cupping my cheek.

  She sighs. “Yeah.”

  “So, I’m a prisoner here?” I ask.

  “Some girls have left,” Sophie says. She tangles her fingers over her stomach. “I’m not sure why. There’s nowhere worth going anymore.”

  Korwin must know I could leave whenever I want, but he trusted me to stay. What Sophie says is true. I have no place else to go. I came here to find him. If I leave, what then? Return to the reactor? Join the Liberty Party? Not the worst idea, considering the circumstances. What has happened to him? Deep down, the real Korwin must be in there, buried under this violent-and-aggressive version of himself.

  My eyes dart around the room, looking for any clue that the man I once loved lives here. The place is a pigsty—clothes everywhere, dirty dishes on the floor, a pile of books scattered next to the bed, garbage strewn on the dresser. Behind a folding screen in the corner, there’s a sink and a toilet that look as if they’ve never been cleaned.

  “He wanted me to do his laundry,” I murmur.

  “Okay,” she says, following my gaze around the room. “I’ll get you started on that and then, maybe, you can help Ace clean this place up. I can see why he wanted you. This place needs a woman’s touch.”

  “I’ve never seen a room like this,” I say, staring at the sliding door.

  She laughs. “That’s a good thing. This used to be a prison. The old-fashioned kind where the bars are on the outside of your body.” She walks to the wide door and bangs her fist on the bars on the back of the wood paneling. “These were cages for criminals.”

  The thought makes me feel claustrophobic. “Would you mind opening the door?”

  She does. I take a deep breath of stale air, missing Hemlock Hollow so badly I think I might cry again. But I’m here for a reason, to bring Korwin home. I need to stay long enough to save him, to retrieve him from this life of violence.

  “An idle hand does the devil’s work,” I say. I pick up the basket and begin to gather the dirty clothing strewn around the room.

  “You talk funny,” she says. When I move to strip the linens from the bed, she helps with the wool blanket and pillowcases. “Who’s the devil?”