Chapter 22
My stomach continues to sink lower and lower into my gut as they guide me through the main gate. At the sight of all the guards and the clang of the gate shutting behind us, I’m momentarily afraid I might vomit.
What have I done to myself?
I never should have come here alone. I’ve been so used to acting on my own that I never even questioned that was the best option, but looking back now I can see it was a mistake.
I should have told Micah when he asked. We should have come down to investigate together. Everything would be different if I had made a better decision.
At the very least, I should have suspected they’d have guards patrolling the perimeter and stayed out of sight better.
Poor Micah.
No matter what, I’ll not be home before dark. He’s going to know something happened to me. He’s going to be so scared and upset but have absolutely no way of running to the rescue.
He’ll have no clue where I am.
He’ll be left abandoned with my sweet Molly. The thought of them waiting for me as it gets dark almost makes me cry.
I don’t, of course. Things are far too precarious right now to indulge in tears.
The guards lead me past the chickens and toward the one large building I couldn’t identify.
Well, shit.
That must be the Training House.
A plump, middle-aged woman greets me. She has a tight bun and a stern expression. Her name is Mary, and she’ll have charge of me while I’m being trained.
I manage to thank the men profusely and smile hopefully up at Mary.
She eyes me up and down. “We need to get you cleaned up and into better clothes. What you’ve got on will need to be burned.”
I’m wearing jeans and a loose long-sleeved T-shirt. And it really pisses me off that I’ll have to lose these good clothes because of these people’s ridiculous, irrational beliefs about women’s modesty.
“Of course! Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”
It’s tricky to keep my knife hidden. I’m taken to a large communal washroom and told to strip and shower in one of the stalls.
There is a curtain, so that’s my only saving grace. I take my clothes off, blocking my ankle with the pile of my clothes as I unstrap my knife holster and then tucking it under my towel as I hand my clothes out to Mary, who’s standing right outside.
She gives me one of those shapeless sack dresses to put on.
I shower and clean myself thoroughly since those were my instructions. I would have enjoyed the shower—the water comes out in a satisfying spray and is actually lukewarm—had I not been in such crisis mode.
After drying off with a towel, I make my knife holster strap wider so I can secure it above one of my calves and then pull on the baggy dress.
It falls to my ankles. There’s no way anyone is going to see that knife.
I braid my hair the way I saw some of the other women before I come out to rejoin Mary.
She eyes me up and down. “Very good. They said you’re a virgin?”
“I am. I was saving myself for marriage. Then, after Impact, Daddy kept me safe, but he died a couple of days ago. So I came here.”
“You did right. You’ll be safe here. And, if you behave yourself, you can make a good marriage. You’re pretty and healthy. You’ll do just fine.”
“Thank you.”
It’s really, really hard not to convey my disgust, but I must manage it because Mary doesn’t appear suspicious.
Just stern.
But evidently that’s her normal expression.
“Come on then, young lady. I’ll show you around and tell you the rules.”
The rules are basically we’re not allowed to do anything we’re not told to do and we’re to keep quiet unless someone asks us a question.
The Training House is made up of a large bunk room and a large kitchen and designated spaces for learning a range of domestic work.
Far more domestic work than would be required for maintaining a single household.
It’s quickly apparent that women are responsible for manufacturing most of the products used in the compound. Not just clothes and bedding. But also all the pottery, leatherwork, carpentry, and most of the agriculture.
The men only work construction and with the larger farm animals—plus keeping guard.
And all the preaching, of course.
I suspected it before, but now I know it for sure.
This entire community is built on the backs of women, many of them captured or trapped.
I go through the motions, not saying a word as I take the tour and obediently chop mountains of onions and peppers for dinner prep.
I keep my eye out for Burgundy but don’t see her for a few hours.
There are clearly levels of women in the Training House. New or rebellious ones are at the bottom. Then those who have progressed in their chores and attitudes move up. Then those who are good at everything and fully submissive are at the top. Those are the ones who will soon become wives.
Not only to elders, like the stories I heard said. Only the cream of the crop gets to marry elders. The rest are chosen by other men in the community.
Only after they’re wives can women move around with any freedom.
And even wives don’t ever seem to leave these walls.
The more I learn, the more I’m worried there’s absolutely no way out of this hellish place.
I’m on the bottom level, of course, and I don’t get a chance to identify the other women like me until the hour before dinner, when they tell me to find a bunk in the back section and read my Bible until it’s time to eat.
The back section is with the other women at my level. That much is clear. The others have all claimed their bunks, so I walk around slowly, looking to see if anyone appears friendly or welcoming.
No one does.
None of these women appear any happier to be here than I am.
My heart jumps when I get to the bunk bed in the farthest corner.
Burgundy is on the bottom bunk. She glances up as I approach.
“Hi,” I tell her, putting my Bible and blanket on the mattress above her. “Is it okay if I sleep here?”
“Sure.” She eyes me soberly. She has Micah’s dark blue eyes.
They make me gulp.
Glancing behind me to make sure no one is watching us, I crouch down and whisper, “Are you Burgundy?”
Her eyes widen and lips part. “Yes.”
“I’m Kat.” I swallow and just say it. “Micah is still looking for you.”
Her features twist dramatically as she stifles a small sob. “You know Micah?”
“Yes. I came to check things out here and maybe see if you’re here, but I wasn’t as smart as I should have been and got taken.” I’m speaking as softly as I can while still being heard.
Burgundy is close to tears. “I was trying to catch back up with Micah and my people, but I was alone. I got found by some men from here and they took me. I’m still at the bottom level because I refuse to fully submit, but I’d rather be stuck here than married off to some asshole.”
“That’s for sure. Are you… are you okay?”
She meets my eyes bluntly. I like her straightforward manner. “I wouldn’t say I’m great, but I haven’t been raped or abused, so I’m calling it okay. How did you know it was me?”
“The pink in your hair.” I gesture toward the faded streaks. “It’s a miracle the color lasted so long and they didn’t insist on chopping it off.”
Her lips twitch just slightly. “Apparently, a woman cutting her hair is a worse offense to these people than dying it pink. I guess there’s a hierarchy of oppressive rules for female appearance, and haircuts are worse than color.”
I snort. “I’m not surprised. Okay, since you know the ropes around here, and I’ve got a knife, we’re going to make a plan and get out of here.”
Her eyes go wide. She doesn’t only have Micah’s eyes. She has his warm nature. I like her already. “I’ve thought of every possible way out of here for all these months, but I could never do it alone.”
“Well, you’re not alone anymore,” I tell her. “And neither am I. So I’m telling you—we’re going to get out of here.”