Carry the Flame (22 page)

“You'll like it,” Sam added. “It's fun. You can play in the water, and you'll meet some nice kids.”

“Really?” Tired as Cassie was, the prospect of meeting other children roused her. But playing in water? She'd never heard of such a thing. “What about
my
friends?” She watched Sam and Yurgen exchange a worried look.

“We'll see what we can find out,” he said.

Cassie lay on the blanket, her bones nesting comfortably in the sand. Sam tucked the soft fabric around her shoulders.

“You'll need this,” the woman said. “It does get a little chilly down here.”

“Sounds good to me,” Cassie replied. Sam laughed.

She closed her eyes, and the two adults hurried off. When their footfalls faded, Cassie heard voices. Mostly men. She could make out little of what they said, and she was scared of the words they spoke most loudly: “attack,” “kill,” and “gun them down.”

But then a woman talked. Maybe Sam. She sounded even more urgent than the men, and Cassie heard her clearly. “I'm telling you, we have to move fast. Come tomorrow, somebody might see our tracks and wonder why those land mines didn't go off near the dune. We ran right over where we took them from.”

“Wait a second!” another woman said. “What about all the people they just took prisoner? They got about twenty of them, we saw them, and a lot of them were girls. Just like the kid you brought down here. They'll all get crushed, too. We can't go blowing that place up now.”

The talk grew heated, but Cassie had drifted off after the first mention of land mines. She'd heard the word so rarely, it hardly frightened her at all.

Chapter Twelve

A
lone torch burned in the Mayor's chamber. The sparse light faltered by his bed, leaving him in shadows dark as his skin.

“I want you to come here,” he said to Ananda in his mellifluous Caribbean accent. “Lay yourself down next to a fine man such as me.” He patted the quilt of the black knight in shining armor, reclining like royalty himself on two fat pillows. Then he smiled, and she saw his bright teeth in the gloom.

They had just eaten. True to his word—and his queer pronouncement that it was a time “only for joy”—the Mayor ordered slaves to bring them jugs of water and platters of food, more than Ananda had ever known in a single serving. It included smoked chicken that she figured might have been plundered from the van. But the one-eyed slaves—their empty red sockets more frightfully prominent than their other beaten features—also brought bowls brimming with greens in a peppery sauce, and a runty, tough-skinned, almost tasteless vegetable he called a potato.

“Not like the fine spuds in the days of old,” the Mayor said with gusto, “but they will keep you regular.”

Ananda had no idea what he was talking about, but the provisions slaked her deep hunger and thirst—if not her fear, sharpened by his command to join him on the bed.

“Don't do it,” M-girl hissed in her ear.

“I hear you,” the Mayor said to M-girl. “You are the ‘don't' girl. Always you say ‘don't' to your little friend. Do not say that. You lay yourself down next to her. I want you both close to me.”

A bony African guard, with a pistol and unsheathed knife in his belt, pressed his steely fingertips into Ananda's and M-girl's backs.

“But first,” the Mayor raised his own index finger, “tie all their hands. No monkeyshines from girls.” He laughed. “And take this beautiful quilt away.” He eyed their dishevelment. “I do not want our knight to get dirty.”

A squat Latino guard summoned a slave, who rushed to fold up the bedding and place it in a handsome, carved wooden chest. Other guards entered to bind all the girls' hands behind their backs.

“You two,” the Mayor pointed to Ananda and M-girl, “come settle your pretty selves down.” He patted the bed again. “The rest of you,” he appraised them openly, “go lay your bodies down next to them. Except you old ones,” he shook his head at Teresa and Bessie. “You get on the floor.”

Ananda struggled on her knees to the Mayor's side, trying to keep her balance on the soft mattress. Dizziness and dread made work of every step. As she settled on a patched sheet, gray as shale, she turned toward M-girl.

“No-no-no,” the Mayor said. “That will never do.” He rolled her over. With her hands behind her back, she was forced to lie on her side facing him.

Imagi took the opportunity to try to burrow between Ananda and M-girl. The Mayor sat up, shaking his head.

“You are a pest, a big pest, and you try the patience of a fine man.” He reached over Ananda and hauled Imagi to the edge of the bed. “You stay there.” When Imagi wailed, he clamped his hand over her mouth. “You do not make a sound or I will scare you,” he said bluntly to her.

“She has Down syndrome,” Ananda said.

“Do not make excuses for such a girl. How can she learn?”

Imagi quieted, though Ananda wondered for how long. But mostly she worried whom the Mayor would put his hands on next. If he didn't touch girls for sex, like he'd claimed, why were they squeezed together all the way to Leisha and Kaisha on the far side? Bella and Gilly, and the two redheaded Gibbs girls, curled at their feet like frightened kittens. Plenty of choices for the Mayor.
Maybe he wants all of us.

But he wants
me
right here.
She watched his chest rise and fall from an inch away. To gain even this sliver of leeway, she had to press tightly into M-girl. The two shared a pillow.

The African and Latino guards kept a close vigil. The torch looked ready to die; a single tongue of flame lapped lazily at the dark. The Mayor, still on his back, turned his head toward Ananda.

“I like you girls in bed with me,” he said softly, an intimate tone that unnerved her more than his actual words. She thought the others also might have heard him, certainly M-girl, who stiffened noticeably. “It is a great comfort,” he went on, “but I must have my men here in case you get any dangerous ideas. I am a man of great fairness, so I should tell you,” he tapped the tip of Ananda's nose with his pointer, sending her into a near panic, “that dangerous ideas can be most painful at night, especially to a girl so young and small as you.”

What do you mean?
But her stomach lurched as she realized exactly what he meant, no matter what he'd said about being a “fine man.”

His big brown eyes opened wide, alarming her even more. “I know you understand the meaning of such things because you are not a stupid girl.” He pulled her close, forcing her belly to his hip and engulfing her face with his hot breath. It didn't stink, but the raw heat of his innards scared her senseless. “You may keep your girlfriend with you. I do not mind the ‘don't' girl. Not really. I think it is
sweet,
the two of you. Like candy. Do you like candy? All girls like candy.”

She shook her head, neck so stiff it felt like a twig snapping. She worried that the worst kind of touching would now begin, but feared even more that M-girl would try to stop him—and get them both killed. M-girl had saved her life once before, and she knew her girlfriend would do anything for her.

Ananda reached back, pressing her bound hands against M-girl's stomach, thinking,
Don't. Don't. No matter what.

Imagi started up again, no longer wailing but whimpering loudly. The Mayor groaned and rolled toward her, releasing Ananda.

“I want you to be
quiet,
” he said angrily to her. “Or I will show you what I do with pests.”

“May I hold her hand?” Ananda asked without thinking, afraid he'd do something grievous to the girl. “Just till she goes to sleep. It's what I do to help her feel safe.”

The Mayor rumbled, and she thought he might explode in anger before realizing he was chuckling. “Safe?” he said. After containing himself, he added, “Tell her to behave or I will have to get rid of her.”

“Telling her won't help.” Ananda took a breath. “I have to hold her hand.”

“Is this a plan, little one? Do you think, ‘I will get my hands free and be brave like my big sister and mother?' Because you do not want to end up like them. Remember—”

“What do you mean?” Ananda's voice broke.
What did you do to them?

He stared at her and shook his head.
Don't ask.
An unspoken command had never been clearer to her—or harder to obey.

“Remember what I said about dangerous ideas in the night and such a small girl?” She nodded. He untied her. “But she does not get free.” He poked Imagi, which made her cry out. “You may hold her arm but that is all.”

Ananda dared to prop herself on her elbow to reach over the Mayor. But she was tired and weak, and her arm shook visibly.

“May I sit up?” she asked.

“Yes, you may sit up, little one. I like to look at you, but first, I want to do this.” He seized her arm—making the whole of her tighten—and drew it up alongside his body, farther from his pubis. Then he rested it on his chest. With his other hand, he pulled Imagi higher on the bed, too, so Ananda could still reach her. The girl cried.

“The game, Imagi. The game,” Ananda said anxiously, using their peculiar code for “quiet.” After a moment, Imagi settled.

“I know you do not want to touch me down there,” the Mayor said, “and I do not want you to. We do not want to punish you in the night, do we?” He stared at her. She shook her head—
No, we don't—
and felt so grateful she almost forgot that he planned to sell them to the Alliance, where men had no such scruples. “But sometimes girls have the wrong idea about a man,” the Mayor went on, “or the wrong idea about the wrong man. They think he cannot control himself, that every man is a beast, like my dragons. Or they look for special favors. They think, ‘Maybe he will let me touch him down there, and then I can hurt him.' But this is never so with me. I am a fair man, I tell you this is true, so there are no favors, even for one so fine as you.”

After Imagi fell asleep, he turned Ananda away so he could retie her hands. She smiled at M-girl, who quickly mouthed
I love you
.

Then he rolled Ananda back toward him and waved over the African guard, pointing to the foot of the bed. “The one with dark hair.”

The guard rousted Teresa and brought her to the Mayor. Ananda had hoped he would tire, but he sounded ready to hold court. Only Imagi, snoring, separated the Mayor from the older girl.

“You and the one with red hair, what is your age?”

“Seventeen,” Teresa answered with a tremor in her voice.

“But you do not have Wicca. How do you do that?”

“We worked in the bath house . . . at the Army of God. The men were afraid . . .” Teresa paused, pursed her lips so hard they whitened and looked painful, before opening her mouth for a big breath. Then her words spilled out in a rush: “They were afraid because we touched all the girls when they were—” She stopped as suddenly, and Ananda sensed that Teresa was too terrified to say “naked,” as if the word possessed a hidden incendiary power in a shadowy room with a bed, a man, and armed guards to work his will—as if the assurance he'd just given her, the “little one,” could never apply to a mature young woman. “The men stayed away,” Teresa managed. “From us, I mean. Not the young ones.” Her eyes fell to the other girls.

He reached out and took Teresa's hand, separating her fingers. He studied them and looked at her palm. “And now you are too old for sex, even with a fine man such as me.” He flipped her hand aside. “We are not sure what we will do with you. You do not have so much value. We could make you sick with Wicca. Then we could use you. Then we could have fun. We will see. So will you,” he added to Ananda with inexplicable cheer. “Take her back,” he said to the African, who jerked Teresa to the foot of the bed and forced her to the floor.

“You do not need to be so hard with her,” the Mayor admonished the younger man. “She is a sad one in this world.”

The Mayor turned his big eyes back on Ananda. She wished he'd go to sleep. How long would this go on?
All night?

“Do you want more water?”

She nodded, wondering if she wore her thirst like some people wore their anger.

He sat up and the white guard handed him a jug the color of sand. It looked marred from use, like it might have been made by native people hundreds of years ago. She wondered how it survived, when they hadn't.

He placed the smooth opening by her lips, letting Ananda drink her fill again.

“Tell me, little one, do you get dizzy?” The Mayor handed the jug back to the guard.

“Sometimes.”

“Sometimes? What does this mean, ‘sometimes'? I saw you almost fall over when you got on the bed.”

“It doesn't happen much.” She didn't like his questions or attention. She just wished he'd go to sleep so she could, too.

“For how long do you get this dizzy feeling? And I do not mean when you look at a fine man such as me.” He pointed to himself and chuckled again.

“Not long. Seconds. Maybe a minute. That's all.”

“No, I mean how long do you feel this way? Do you feel this for two months? Two years?”

Ananda felt girls stirring on the bed, as if they were listening in. Imagi, thankfully, was still snoring. “A few weeks. I think it's from traveling, moving around all the time. That's all.”

“I do not think this is so. Are you always hungry?”

“Everybody is.”

“Yes, this must be true for you. Your parents, they do not do such a good job keeping you fed.” Ananda could have screamed. “But how long do you have this thirst?”

She wanted to say,
None of your business.
But now he seemed to know something about her that she also wanted to know. Or thought she did. “I'm pretty sure I've always been thirsty,” she answered carefully.

“I do not think this is so,” he repeated. “How are your eyes? Do you see like always?”

That was the first question that actually scared Ananda. Her eyesight was getting worse, sometimes by the day. She hadn't told anyone, not even M-girl; but she understood, with the most awful feeling, that he might know a terrible secret about her. She didn't want to hear it anymore.
But he keeps asking me stuff.

“I see fine,” she said.

He called over the African. “Stand by the torch and put up some fingers. Do not say how many.” The guard did as he was ordered.

“What do you see?” the Mayor asked Ananda.

“It's too dark.”

“It is not too dark. I think you have—”

“Three! Three fingers,” she interrupted. She did not want to hear him say what he thought she had. Ever.

“Two fingers. And this is new? Not seeing so well?”

Ananda shook her head no. Then he did the same, and she knew he didn't believe her.

“Do not lie to me again, and I will not lie to you. What about the burns on your legs? Do they heal as fast as your friend's?” He peered past her at M-girl, who whispered “No,” like she was worried. Ananda threw her a furious look.

“Do not be angry at her. She is your friend,” the Mayor said. “This is why she says this to me. I think you have diabetes. This is such a sad thing. The worst kind. The kind that will kill you soon. I have seen it before. My own mother, she had diabetes and took insulin. But then the insulin,” he looked away briefly, “it disappeared and no one could find it anymore, not even me. She died. So many died from sicknesses that did not kill, but now they do. Diabetes, Ebola, polio. Even the flu. Your life will be short. I am so sorry to tell you this, but people who are dying, they need to know such things.”