Chapter 3 #2
“Oh, sweet girl, you already make me so proud. You take such good care of me and your brother.”
Nix grunts behind us at that. My eyes roll, and Mam coughs out a laugh. I dab her sunken cheeks with my sleeve.
“So, when’s the next Market Day?” I ask, incoming candy on my horizon.
“Tomorrow.” Nix doesn’t even try to stifle his groan.
Facing him, I show off my snicker. “Come on, brother, you love Market Day.”
“No one here loves market days. Especially when I have to pick up the pieces.” His finger taps his nose, and I wince. It’s not my problem the hollow are cheats and liars. Though I do regret that my brother took a broken nose for my quick-witted remarks.
“I promise I won’t cause any trouble this time,” I say, crossing my heart.
Mam and Nix both let loose, cackling and wheezing, the latter mostly from our mother.
“Who’s going to tell your little entourage?”
“It’s not my fault people like me.”
At that comment, we all lose it. The people who like me are a bunch of gangly teenage boys.
Their leader, Noah, took a shine to my naked body three years ago when I was taking a sponge bath behind our tent.
It was the same place our mam had bathed us our whole life, backing onto the outer fences where no one resided, and Noah just so happened to be bringing over his mam’s old coveralls to trade for some dried meat.
He got a solid eyeful of ass and side boob, and he claimed he had tried to get someone’s attention from the inside of the tent and heard noises from where I was using a cloth to wash the dirt from my body.
I wasn’t particularly filled out or anything, thanks to constantly being on rations, but I suspect that’s the closest Noah has ever been to a naked woman’s body, excluding his mam.
Since that fateful day, Noah and his two brothers, Isaac and Luke, have always managed to find me, especially on Market Day.
Noah has tried to trade with Nix a dozen more times after he caught me naked. My brother has refused, suspecting he’s using it as a way to win me into a coupling.
I swear, they wait at their tent window for Nix and me to walk past each month.
“When are you going to let the poor kid out of his misery, Storm?” Nix jokes.
“I already told him I’m not looking for a boyfriend when he cornered me on the Market Day before last.” I don’t mention that the eager eighteen-year-old, who is a foot taller than my mere five-foot-four, pinned me to a wall and took a handful of my ass.
If my brother knew that part, he would’ve beaten the little shithead into a pulp.
For now, Noah and his brothers are harmless.
A hand graze here or a slight touch there.
Sometimes some jarring words. Nothing for me to go fully postal over yet.
They have been getting more brazen as the years go on and their testosterone skyrockets.
I’ve heard whispers from neighbouring fields that they have become a lot cockier with some of the younger girls.
The thought is enough to send shivers running up my spine.
When Noah hit his growth spurt a year ago, things started to ramp up on the touching and dirty talk.
It’s like he thinks I owe him something.
The only thing I owe Noah and his brothers is a knee to the dick for all the girls they’ve taken advantage of.
I can handle myself, thanks to Nix. My brother may have been fed on rations, but he grew like a tree, all sinew and muscle. Mam and I sometimes quip that all he needs is heat and water to grow since those are our main food groups.
My brother has been teaching me how to throw a mean right hook since I was six. Technically, it is breaking Halo rules—again. Fighting is illegal. Surprise, surprise. Nix said he needed to know that I could defend myself if he wasn’t around, and in my field, my brother’s rule was lore.
Nix has one fighting style, and that is dirty. He used to make me repeat to him during our tussles in the tent, “Me or them. I’m their worst nightmare.” Never the other way around. So, I feel confident that I can hit Noah where it counts if he wants to move past ass grabbing.
The Next Day
As we walk down the long, worn path to the factory, rows upon rows of rods passing us, I bounce on air, a resolve lacing my bones with excitement.
I’ve decided to share my treat with Mam.
I don’t have much to give. What I do have is this one opportunity to bring her taste buds back to life.
And if she is going to insist I have a small luxury for my birthday, I’m resolved to my lot in life.
Joy; that’s something I haven’t experienced in a long time.
However, there’s nothing like sharing memories I know will last a lifetime with the woman who gave me everything.
Each of my birthdays has been a treat to the senses.
My favourite has been a piece of chocolate on my eighth birthday.
It is the only year I’ve seen the hard, dark cube, no bigger than my thumb, and to think I almost passed on it.
The lady said it was a delicacy amongst the hollows, so I used my birthday credit and gobbled it down, wishing I had savoured the sweetness afterwards.
That was my first and last sighting of the rare and elusive find. Please let there be chocolate at the markets today. Mam would adore the rich taste.
We headed out with empty rucksacks before daybreak this morning. Our allotment of credit will be waiting for us at check-in, held within a band we will wear around our wrists throughout the market, and relinquish before leaving.
Mam is having a good day. We left her tucked up in bed with dried foods and water on hand. So I’m feeling okay about our trip. As long as we’re back in the early afternoon, when the sun is waning, to check on her.
The walk to the factory is long and arduous. My bare feet scrape against the occasionally pointed rock that makes me want to curse at our lack of footwear. We decided long ago that shoes weren’t worth the credit. Climbing is easier with bare feet anyway.
What makes our journey worse is the steel factory in the distance. Each step brings the ominous structure clearer into view, through the thicket of billowing mist that blankets everything in these lands. It also makes me realise how far away we live on the outskirts of the lightning farms.
The bustling wind tunnel that streams through the open corridor and kicks up the dirt below our bare feet needles me. I stamp my feet harder, deciding it can’t destroy my mood. Today, I’m determined to celebrate with Mam, finding joy together, even if it’s only for a minute.
I need to reclaim something for myself. For my family. One thing that doesn’t belong to Halo.
With my head down, against the onslaught of pinpricks hitting my shins, I ask, “How much further, Nix?” The rising sun begins to heat my back, drops of sweat already forming along my brow.
Happy. Today, I’m doing something that makes me excited.
His forehead isn’t fairing much better as he glowers at me from in front. “Not much longer now. The gates are in view.”
Phew. I swipe the salty liquid and peek around Nix to see the once-small factory, now a towering monstrosity of harsh lines, three triangular peaks sprouting from the roof. If you told me it had teeth, I would believe you.
“Tell me of the”—looking around, I make sure no one is near—“Fairy Lands.” I sidle up next to him, nudging his ribs.
“Now is not the time, Storm. We’re nearly there.” He’s right. I shouldn’t be demanding such things of him out in the open, so close to the factory, but there’s nothing like a dream to fill in the edges of my sorrow. The one last avenue we still have for pleasure.
A stern, brown-eyed glare morphs into surrender.
“Fine,” he mumbles. I reward him with my toothiest grin.
“Beyond the line of the tallest and greenest trees you’ve ever seen lies a land of magic and abundance.
One where no one wants for naught. Colourful fruit grows freely, and people share their daily gatherings…
A place so magical, the air tickles your throat as you swallow it down.
The Fairy Lands, a mystical realm where the colours are brighter and life is valued.
The last known salvation…” Dry lips crack as he continues on for a few minutes and indulges me before the great fence barricading the factory is upon us.
Two guard towers with men dressed in all black, including masks covering their lower faces and long rifles, stalk us as we get closer. I ignore them. Hollow scum. Nix’s imaginings boost me.
Once we make it through the solid, gleaming gates separating the fields from the factory, we head to the checkpoint to sign in. A hole-in-the-wall window, thick glass separating us from the hollow keeper. Little circular fissures in the middle.
“Name?” the obnoxious older man barks at my brother from the other side.
He wouldn’t dare address a woman. As Nix tells the man our names and scans in our identifications, I observe him for any flaws.
His dark linen top is expertly pressed. His facial hair sits skilfully trimmed.
He has a gold watch ticking on his left hand and black-rimmed square glasses, which he pushes up, making me notice the slight trickle of perspiration.
There. He is the same as us. Not quite as infallible as they would all like us to think.
Unforeboding sets in as his hollow, grey eyes meet mine. Watching me with intent, he addresses my brother.
“Has she been tested?”
Nix’s shoulders tense at the comment. This is a familiar song and dance we’ve partaken in before on Market Day, but it hasn’t come up in a while.
“She was tested when she was six, and it came back less than 1 percent. It should be on her ID.”