Captive

by Donna K. Ford

  “Hey, new girl.”

  Greyson looked up to see a tall black woman with close cut hair and eyes as black as coal.

  “Get a move on, we don’t have all day.”

  Greyson heard the command in the woman’s voice. She looked like she had the right to tell anyone what to do. In another life, Greyson imagined this woman as an African queen. She was beautiful, strong, elegant, graceful, and in command.

  Greyson picked up the pace and got in line. She watched as one by one the women took a tray from the man she had nicknamed Uncle Dan. No one spoke as he handed them their food.

  Greyson watched the African queen reach for her tray. She froze. There was something in the woman’s hand. She was certain she saw the queen slip a small piece of paper to the man. In return, he placed a package of Grandma’s vanilla cookies on her tray. No words were exchanged. Not even a smile.

  When it was her turn, Greyson stepped up. The man met her gaze as if assessing something about her. She watched his eyes flicker over the array of bruises decorating her face. She thought she saw a flicker of pain or maybe disappointment in his eyes before he looked away.

  “How’s it going, Uncle Dan? Anything good on your cart today?” Greyson asked casually as if they were friends.

  He grumbled something she couldn’t hear as he handed her a tray.

  She hesitated before taking it. “Got any cookies in there?” She nodded toward his cart.

  “Got any fight in there?” he replied.

  Greyson was surprised by the comment and wasn’t sure how to respond. She shook her head.

  He grumbled again. “That’s too bad.” He pushed the tray into her hands, turned his back on her, and walked away.

  Greyson was perplexed by the whole ordeal. She was certain he was sending her a message, but what?

  She turned back to the room to find the women staring at her. She had the feeling she had just done something wrong. Well, hell. How was she supposed to know the freaking rules if no one was going to share?

  Greyson sat down across from the African queen. She seemed to be the one in charge, and Greyson was determined to get some answers.

  She looked into the darkest eyes she had ever seen, so dark she couldn’t tell where the pupil ended and the iris began.

  “What?” Greyson challenged.

  “Why were you talking to him?” The queen nodded toward the door.

  Greyson shrugged. “How else am I supposed to learn anything around here? You guys all walk around like I’m the enemy. He was the first person I saw in here. He has answers I need.”

  The woman studied her. No one spoke a word as if waiting for a verdict.

  Greyson decided to push her luck. “What’s your name, anyway? I can’t keep referring to you as the African queen in my head.”

  A faint smiled grew at the corner of the woman’s mouth. “My name is Yoruba. But they just call me Ruby here.”

  “Okay, Ruby, will you please tell me what’s going on and what I have to do to survive this until I can find a way out?”

  Ruby’s eyes narrowed. “What makes you think there is a way out? Do you think we haven’t tried everything to be free of this place?”

  Greyson shrugged. “Hell if I know. Every time I ask, people just tell me to follow the rules and do as I’m told.”

  “We make many sacrifices for what little we have here. Many have died trying to escape this place. Many more have suffered a fate worse than death. Be careful what you do. Everything you do in here comes back on us. If you get punished, we get punished.” Ruby shook her head. “We can’t help you if you won’t fight.”

  Greyson stopped chewing the piece of roll she had stuffed into her mouth.

  Ruby leaned forward and grasped Greyson’s forearm in a viselike grip. “Listen to me, stubborn woman. If you really want to know how to survive, you have to do exactly what I say.” She let go of Greyson’s arm. “Look around you. There is no malice in the faces of these women. We harbor no ill will toward each other. Think about it. The first to come to your aid was the very woman who delivered your wounds. No one here wants to fight. We do not inflict pain upon one another because we want to hurt each other.”

  Ruby nodded to Amala. “My girl Amala has been here a long time and she’s very good at surviving. She could have killed you if she wished. The Recruiter was trying to send you a message. Amala had no choice but to deliver it.”

  Greyson flinched at the memory of the beating.

  “She did only as much damage as was necessary to keep you both safe.” Ruby took a bite of her mashed potatoes. Ruby studied her as if she was waiting for the message to sink in.

  Greyson thought she understood. “Are you saying the fights are fake?” she asked. “Because that seemed very real to me.”

  Ruby smiled. “No, not fake, but controlled. It has to be real or the men would know and we would all be in trouble. But we train together. We know each other. And we put on a good show.”

  Greyson looked down the table to the other women watching her. She couldn’t fathom how they could face each other fight after fight and keep going. She had heard Amala and the petite woman at her side this morning. She knew these women cared for one another. But how could they live this way?

  Greyson shook her head. “I don’t think I can do this.”

  Ruby sighed. “Then we can’t help you.”

  Chapter Eight

  Greyson watched the women spar. The whole situation was barbaric. What kind of person found pleasure in watching two people inflict pain upon each other? At least in practice they wore protective pads and face guards.

  She ran her fingers down her side, feeling the tenderness in her bruised ribs. They actually felt better than they looked. The swelling in her eye had gone down, but the bruises were mottled greens and yellows that had seeped into her cheek, making her look sick. She hoped she wouldn’t have to be anyone’s punching bag anytime soon.

  Ruby stepped away from the heavy bag she had been hammering away at for the past ten minutes. “Hey, new girl, let’s go.”

  Greyson groaned. Could her luck get any worse? She walked over to Ruby. “What?”

  “You need to learn to read punches. Watch Vinny over there. Notice how she drops her shoulder a fraction of a second before she swings?”

  Greyson watched Vinny dance around an area of the floor designated by painted lines on the concrete. After a few minutes, she was able to see the slight movement in Vinny’s shoulder before she threw a punch.

  “Whoa, I see it.”

  “Good. Now watch Mandy.” Ruby nodded toward Vinny’s opponent. “What do you see?”

  Greyson watched, trying to see something in the woman’s movements that could offer a clue as to what she would do next. Greyson sighed in resignation. “I don’t know.”

  “You’re overthinking it. Amala said you did a pretty good job of dodging her in the ring. How did you do it? How did you know when she was going to swing?”

  Greyson thought back to that horrific night. “By the look of my face and the pain in my side, I obviously didn’t do a very good job.” She was certain she recalled every detail of the fight as if it was tattooed like a map on her skin. She focused on the look in Amala’s eyes as she came after her. She flinched at the memory of each damaging blow.

  “Think harder,” Ruby said. “Think about her, not you. What did her body tell you?”

  Greyson sighed. “All I remember was the flare of her nostrils an instant before she came at me. She was so fast I couldn’t get away.”

  Ruby slapped Greyson on the back. “There you go. That’s something. I hadn’t even noticed that one. Trust your instincts, Greyson—you’ll live longer.”

  Greyson noted this was the first time Ruby had called her by her name. It wasn’t much, but it gave her hope. “I doubt I can make it here just by dodging punches.”

  Ruby turned to her. “No. You have to fight.”

  “What if I don’t?” Greyson asked.

  Ruby sho
ok her head, but didn’t answer.

  “Ruby, what will happen?”

  Ruby clenched her jaw. “If you don’t fight they will either kill you or find another use for you. I’ve seen women sold as sex slaves. Others were beaten to death in the ring. One thing is certain—they will never let you go.”

  This was pretty much the same story she had heard from the others. Defiance rose up in Greyson. There was no way she would allow these men to destroy her moral fiber. They’d have to kill her. She wouldn’t live this way.

  Greyson looked at Ruby. “Have you ever tried?”

  Ruby nodded. “I was a lot like you when I first came here. My pride wouldn’t let me see what I had to do. I wouldn’t fight the others. I put all my energy into defying the Recruiter.” She paused, her gaze fading as her mind traveled into her memories.

  “What happened?” Greyson asked.

  Ruby sighed. “At first, they beat me, but that didn’t break me. They put me in solitary until I thought I’d lose my mind. Just when I was beginning to believe I was already dead, they brought me to the pit. I was forced to watch three women enter the pit, one by one, where they were beaten to death by one of the men.”

  Greyson’s stomach flipped. “Jesus,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “That isn’t all,” Ruby continued. “They watch our families on the outside. They know where they live, where our children go to school or church. They show us what they will do to them if we disobey. There was a woman here once. A woman from the streets. The drugs had done something to her brain. They had her daughter. She wouldn’t fight. She shut down and was of no use to them, so they brought her daughter here. That was the worst thing they could possibly do to any one of us. The woman hanged herself. The child simply took her place. Never underestimate them.”

  Greyson stared at her in disbelief.

  Ruby clapped her hands together once. “Samone,” Ruby called to a tall woman across the room. Without hesitation, the woman turned and walked toward them. She was beautiful with skin like honey. Her eyes were almost yellow, and her hair was a mane of wild red curls. She was softer than Ruby but matched her in height.

  Samone. When had she heard that name?

  Samone smiled at Greyson as she approached, stopping only feet in front of Ruby.

  “Take Greyson and show her some blocks. Watch her ribs.”

  Samone nodded.

  Ruby looked at Greyson, her gaze boring into her. “Remember one thing, Greyson—you aren’t the only one they can hurt.”

  Ruby walked away leaving Greyson staring after her.

  “Glad to see you’re feeling better,” Samone said, pulling Greyson’s attention back to the present.

  Samone’s voice awakened a memory in the back of Greyson’s mind. “You were there that first night. I remember your voice.”

  Samone nodded. “Yeah, me and Raquel. We were in solitary when they brought you in.”

  “Why?” Greyson asked.

  Samone shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. Come on, let’s get to work.”

  Greyson followed Samone to a locker. Samone handed her a pair of gloves and a face guard.

  “Put these on.”

  Greyson was reluctant. She wasn’t looking forward to what was coming, but she complied.

  “You should trust Ruby. I know all of this is crazy, but you can’t do anything if you don’t get with the program. These guys aren’t playing around.”

  “Jeez, you sound just like her. Doesn’t anyone want to get out of here?”

  Samone frowned. “Of course we do. We all do. We just haven’t figured that part out yet.”

  “Is anyone even trying?”

  “Look, princess. The way I see it, we’re the ones trying to keep your ass alive. Where do you get off riding up in here acting like everyone’s savior? You need to get your head out of your ass and get with the program. Everyone wants out. We just want out alive.”

  Greyson’s thoughts vanished as the first blow flew past her face like a lightning bolt, narrowly missing her chin as she snapped her head back.

  * * *

  Greyson rolled over in her sleeping bag. Her hip hurt and her back was stiff. She pulled the edge of her sleeping bag up around her face and tucked her hands under her chin. Why was she so cold? Coffee. Coffee would be good. That would warm her up. It was a good idea, but she didn’t want to get up. She wanted to stay tucked in her little cocoon. The day could wait.

  She drifted in and out of sleep, chasing dreams that faded like smoke in the wind. A new thought gathered at the edges of her mind, following a new scent riding on the forest breeze. The smell grew stronger and worked its way into her consciousness, pulling her from her stupor. Coffee? Greyson frowned. Hadn’t she just been thinking of coffee?

  She opened her eyes, trying to separate the dream from her waking mind. She sat up. She shouldn’t be able to smell coffee in the wilderness alone, unless this meant she was no longer alone. She pulled the puffy jacket she had been using as a pillow out of her bag and slipped it on. She slid her feet into her boots, not bothering with the laces. She paused before reaching for the zipper to the door flap. Faint sounds drifted among the chatter of birds and squirrels. There was the distinct sound of something metal scraping across a hard surface, the scruff of a boot across the ground. She wasn’t imagining things. Someone was outside.

  Greyson unzipped the tent fly and stepped outside into dense fog that attached itself to her skin and clothing, forming a layer of moisture that deepened her chill. She zipped her jacket to hold in what little warmth she still held between the layers. She peered into the thick mist at a thin figure huddled over a small camp stove. Steam rose from a tin mug as hot liquid poured from an ancient coffeepot.

  “Hello,” Greyson said, stepping closer.

  “Good morning, did I wake you?”

  “Yes, or rather the coffee did,” Greyson said, nodding to the small pot over the fire.

  “Hmm, that’ll do it. Would you like a cup?”

  Greyson stared at the old woman sitting in front of her. She was lean to the point of being too thin. Her hair was white and was pulled back in a loose ponytail. She wore sneakers and a pair of old blue jeans, and a rain poncho was draped across her shoulders. Her skin had more wrinkles than an old tortoise. Her nose was too big for her face and crooked downward like a bird’s beak. Everything about her was out of place. But her eyes were kind and twinkled when she smiled.

  “Sure, I’d love some coffee,” Greyson answered, remembering the old children’s stories about witches living in the woods. “What are you doing here?”

  “Well, that’s a silly question. Try again.” The old woman smirked as if enjoying toying with Greyson.

  “Who are you?”

  The woman looked up and grinned. “That’s a little better. I’m Lucile. I’ve been hiking this trail or at least parts of it for almost forty years. You never know who you’ll meet out here, but I find a hot cup of coffee is a good place to start something new.”

  Greyson whistled. “Forty years is a long time. How many times have you done the AT?”

  Lucile ticked off trips on her fingers. “I’d reckon I’ve been from one end to the other around four times. The rest of it was weekend trips, summer vacations, things like that. I can’t count all those.” She held up her hand. “Not enough fingers.”

  Greyson laughed.

  Lucile handed Greyson a cup. The coffee smelled amazing.

  “I didn’t hear you come into camp last night.”

  “Nope. You wouldn’t have.”

  Greyson frowned.

  Lucile pulled a small bag from a worn green backpack that looked like something Greyson had seen in old war movies. Lucile dumped a handful of oats into a cup of hot water and stirred.

  “It’s no matter,” Lucile continued as she prepared her breakfast, humming a tune Greyson didn’t recognize. Lucile pointed a crooked old finger at Greyson. “That’s a nasty bruise you’ve got there.”

  Greyson
lifted her hand to her face and prodded her cheek with her finger. The area around her eye and cheek were tender and puffy.

  “You need to watch yourself. You never know what can happen out here. You need to be smart and watch what you’re doing, especially if you are going it alone.”

  Greyson was trying to remember what happened to her face. “Well, I am alone, come to think of it.”

  “Maybe.” Lucile nodded. “If a bear wanders into your camp looking for food, is he the enemy?” She shook her head. “No, he too is on a journey along the trail. If a person you meet along the trail offers you coffee, is she a friend?”

  Greyson frowned and looked down into the now empty mug in her hand.

  Lucile reached for the cup, pulling it from Greyson’s fingers. She wiped it out with a dingy old cloth before stowing it back in her pack. She scraped out her breakfast mug, rinsed it, gave it a swipe with the rag, and it too went into the bag. She stood, stretching her old bones before lifting her pack onto her back.

  “You have a long way to go, kid. Just remember, things aren’t always what they seem.” Lucile waved over her shoulder as she walked away, disappearing into the mist.

  Greyson opened her eyes, startled by the sound of the metal food cart trundling down the stone corridor. The smell of coffee filled the air as murmured voices began to resonate through the room. Greyson rubbed her eyes. She was in her cot in her prison. Her blanket was tucked tightly under her chin. Had she just been dreaming, or was this the dream?

  Greyson tossed aside her blanket and got in line. If she had a chance to get a real cup of coffee in this hellhole, she wasn’t going to miss it, even if it wasn’t real.

  * * *

  Greyson jumped when a deep male voice called out her name. She looked to the door to see Uncle Dan waiting for her. She looked to Ruby for some hint of what this could mean, but Ruby just stared at her as if Greyson had just kissed her girlfriend. The women all stopped what they were doing and stared at her too. They seemed as confused as she was.