8. Carly
Carly
Two Weeks Earlier
T here are two ways to tell how many days have passed now.
I still have my tally marks, an accurate measure and the process I can control—twenty-seven days; twenty-three since my soccer final.
The other way is out of my control and it’s scary.
My hair has started to drop out. I’m unable to brush it because they haven’t given us anything to use, but as I run my fingers through it, it comes out in clumps.
Plus, there are the strands that snag on brittle, broken fingernails.
‘It’s from not eating,’ Taj said, when he saw me run my fingers through my hair this morning, holding the lost hair out in front of me.
Taj returned about a week ago. I didn’t think this place could be any worse but the six days that he was gone were pure hell. I didn’t know if he was alive. New children came but none were put in his cell. It remained exactly as it was the day he left. As has mine, without a sheet and a spoon.
I glance over at him and nod, fighting back tears. The malnutrition had almost taken him from me. Who knows what it’s doing to the other children, and I don’t know much longer I can last on the small meals they give us.
I’m an athlete and a teenager, is there anyone in the world who eats more than that combination?
‘What’s your prediction today, Carls?’ Taj asks.
I don’t know how he manages to stay upbeat.
He’s been here for so long, come back from near death and he’s only ten, and yet he’s mature and strong beyond his years.
He shouldn’t have to be. He shouldn’t be the one distracting me, keeping me sane with conversation, keeping me calm when I’m on the edge.
I shrug. ‘No idea.’
‘Well,’ he says, straightening his back. ‘Yesterday, it was just the two guys. Eddie and Kyle.’
I hate Kyle so much. I hate them both. But Kyle’s eyes haunt me every night and he is torturing me without a sheet to cover the filthy mattress.
‘The day before that,’ Taj continues, ‘there was that older bald guy. Did you get his name?’
I shake my head. ‘No, but they call him “boss”.’
‘Yeah, but he’s not the big boss. When I was gone, the bald guy was around a bit, and he was always on the phone. Some guy, Gregor. I reckon he’s the real boss.’
I can’t help but smile. Taj almost sounds excited as he tries to investigate the monsters holding us here. I don’t have the heart to tell him that knowing their names and ranks achieves absolutely nothing.
The door to the warehouse opens and as usual, I squint as the sunlight floods into the poorly lit space.
‘There’s three of them,’ Taj whispers and I throw him a look that says shut your mouth unless you want to get us killed.
But he’s right, there are three men today. Eddie, Kyle and the bald guy. Eddie wheels in a trolley with our food on it, likely our only meal for the day.
‘Why are we keeping them here? There’s too many,’ Kyle hisses.
The look the bald man gives Kyle is cold and I’m glad I’m not on the other end of that glare.
‘Where do you suggest we put them?’
It’s not hard to work out the them they’re referring to is us. And there are a few of us now. Some of the younger children are sharing cells.
‘We were moving assets every week six months ago, almost daily two years ago. What, one guy gets caught and the operation is done?’ Kyle says and I’m shocked to hear how brazenly he’s discussing it in front of us.
The bald man clenches his fists at his sides. ‘If I weren’t already a man down, you’d be gone.’
Kyle huffs in response.
‘We can’t move anyone until the boss says so. He says to wait, we wait. Now open the cells and feed this lot.’
Kyle lets us out and we form our usual line and gratefully accept a bowl of whatever slop is on offer.
Eddie is handing out the bowls while Kyle and his boss continue to bicker in the corner.
When I get to the front of the line to take my bowl, Eddie grabs my wrist. I freeze and my heart races.
Have I done something wrong? Maybe they heard Taj and I speaking.
Using my bowl as cover, Eddie slides a spoon into my hand and releases my wrist. He says nothing and I nod.
I eat with my back to the bars to avoid Kyle seeing my spoon and I’m grateful, considering the meal is even more watery and sloppy than usual. When I’m finished, I slide the spoon under my mattress before returning the bowl to the trolley.
When they leave, I whisper to Taj, ‘Whatever the ranks are in this place, I think Eddie’s at the bottom.’