12
THAIS
His blue eyes were set amid a strong face with hard cheekbones and an even harder gaze that seemed effortless and natural. He was incredibly tall, much taller than the green-eyed soldier who stood against the wall with his chest puffed out.
Atticus turned to the soldier. “Until Rafe returns from Cincinnati,” he said, “your new position is to guard this room in the overnight hours while I’m sleeping.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Return here four hours after nightfall,” Atticus went on, “and be well-rested when you do.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You may leave.”
The soldier nodded to Atticus, and just before he turned on his heels and left, I noticed him steal a quick glimpse of Petra sitting next to me on the mattress.
The door closed behind him without a sound.
Wasting no time, I moved from the mattress and went to my knees before the Overseer.
“Please listen to me,” I said. “My sister, the blind girl you sent away, she’s sick. All I’m asking—”
“Sick in what way?” Atticus interrupted, his tone laced with suspicion. “It looked to me like she survived the worst of it. What are her symptoms?” Although The Fever had burned itself out three years ago, people feared it would come back.
Shaking my head, I pushed myself to my feet, wobbling a little without my hands free to steady myself on the way up.
“No, no,” I said, my bound hands out in front of me, “she doesn’t have The Fever anymore, sir, she is…mentally sick. Please, you have to understand, she”—I paused, not wanting to say it, not wanting to admit it to myself—“my sister is…a danger to herself.” I lowered my eyes.
Atticus turned his back and paced halfway toward the open window. His hands were folded on his backside, making him look refined. He stood motionlessly for a moment, and then turned again.
“What is your name?” he asked.
“My name is Thais Fenwick,” I answered right away, wanting to be cooperative. For Sosie’s sake.
“And where were you living before you were brought here?” he prompted.
“In the forest,” I said, my voice soft and shaky. “With my father and my sister.”
“Were there others?”
“Y-Y-Yes, sir,” I stuttered, looking at him looking at me. “We lived in a small town. But we were attacked and…everything was burned, a-and”—my trembling lips snapped shut, and my eyes strayed toward the floor again—“and my father was killed.” I couldn’t hide the heartbreak from my voice, although I tried.
“And what did you eat in this town in the forest where you lived with your father and your sister?”
“What do you mean?” I asked, confused, trying to recall what the last thing I ate was as my stomach rumbled. “We caught fish, and my father hunted. We grew vegetables, and sometimes we traded things with another town.”
“He’s asking if you’ve ever eaten human flesh,” Petra spoke up from the mattress.
“No-no-no-never!” I answered, my face twisted with horror.
Petra got up and came over to stand next to me.
“And you?” Atticus asked, looking at her.
“The same as her, sir,” Petra said in a steadier, more confident voice.
Petra walked seductively toward Atticus, just like she had the green-eyed soldier.
“My family and I moved from place to place, mostly abandoned houses and factories. We could never get comfortable in one place for too long because there was always some group of people who’d come.” She stepped up to Atticus, friendly and demure—she and I had very different ways of dealing with fear, I noted. Petra moved closer, attempting to close the space between them, but Atticus placed his hand on her shoulder, stopping her.
I took in his detached and uninterested personality, but I had no idea what to make of it. He seemed only interested in our backgrounds, and showed not the slightest attraction to Petra like the green-eyed soldier had.
But Petra would not give up easily, despite his rejection. She sat submissively at his feet, like she did at the feet of the soldier moments ago.
Atticus walked away from her without so much as a glance, and he went toward the door.
“Someone will be in shortly to help you get cleaned up.” He turned the knob, but then he stopped with his back to us. “There are two ways out of this room: this door and that window”—he didn’t look at either of us as he spoke—“I can assure you that you won’t escape through the door. But if you’re tired of this life, as I’m sure you must be now more than ever, then you’re welcome to use the window.” He closed the door behind him; a clicking sound, and then a bolt sliding through metal, followed.
I started to call out: “What about my sister?” but I was too late.
Absently, I walked backwards toward the dusty mattress on the floor and sat down heavily against it, my eyes fixed on the empty space in front of me; tiny particles of dust danced in the sun’s rays beaming in through the window. I had never felt as alone as I did then, even with Petra’s company. I gazed across the room at the window eight floors up, and for a moment I pondered the Overseer’s grim words regarding it, which sat heavily in my mind.
~~~
“It’s time for a bath.”
The voice was nearby; I felt a hand touch my hip.
How long had I slept? I didn’t care, and I didn’t want to get up. I lay in half-sleep with my cheek pressed against the mattress that stank like mildew and other awful things I didn’t want to think about; but still, I was in heaven and would not budge. I ignored the distant voice that threatened to upset my much-needed slumber, and rolled onto my other side and faced the wall.
“Get up,” the voice urged, soft and not at all threatening. “Come on, wake up so you can get a bath and something to eat. I know you must be starving.”
The hand on my hip shook me a little harder until finally I was back in hell again.
My eyes opened a sliver at first, and then gradually the rest of the way as the reality of the moment became apparent.
It took a long time to realize that the rope had been cut from my wrists, and when I noticed, it woke me up the rest of the way. I looked down at my reddened wrists in a sort of awe, forgetting about the three women standing in the room with me.
“Come on,” the same woman insisted.
Still mesmerized by my small bit of freedom, my head rose slowly to look up at the woman.
“Are you hungry?” she asked.
The woman wore a long, flowing dress the color of cream that hung loosely over her hips. Her strawberry-blonde hair fell neatly over her shoulders, a barrette on each side kept her bangs out of her face.
“No one here will hurt you.” She smiled down at me with kind eyes set in an inviting face, and reached out a slender hand.
I glanced over to see that Petra was no longer in the room.
With hesitation, I reached out my hand and placed it within the woman’s.
“Where is Petra?”
“She went to get a hot bath,” the woman answered. “It was harder to wake you, so we thought we’d let you sleep longer—you seemed to need it.”
I noticed the brunette woman to my right was pregnant.
“You said a hot bath?” I asked, realizing.
I could hardly believe such a thing. Back at home I learned to clean up quickly using what little water we could spare for bathing and washing dishes. There was never enough water for full baths—it would take many hours to carry enough back from the lake to fill just half a tub.
“Yes,” the woman answered with a gentle smile; she led me out into the hallway, and then told the other two women: “I’ll take it from here.”
The women left down the wide hallway, the fabric of their long dresses swishing about their legs.
The woman took me to a room with a cast iron tub on four clawed feet. Wisps of steam rose above the water, and I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw it. A bath full of hot, clean water just for me. My heart warmed, and a smile almost split my face, until I thought of Sosie and felt only guilt.
“Can you tell me anything about my sister?” I turned to the woman gathering a few things from a supply shelf.
“I’m sorry, honey,” she said, “but I don’t know who your sister is. Is she the girl you were asleep with? Petra?”
“No…no, my sister’s name is Sosie. She’s blind. That man, the Overseer, said she had to go to…the brothel.” For a second, I was uncertain if it was the word he had used.
I assumed by the woman’s silence she didn’t have the heart to comment; she placed two tiny bottles of shampoo and conditioner on the floor beside the tub.
“Here, let me help you.” She reached out and took the bottom of my blouse into her fingers.
I raised my arms with reluctance and let her slip the fabric over my head.
“You’re not as skinny as most girls brought here,” the woman said as I stepped out of my pants. “But you’re malnourished.”
Cuts and bruises covered my body; the woman’s face went from kind to apologetic the longer she looked at it. I stood naked next to the tub, my scrawny arms crossed firmly over my breasts; my bony legs were pressed together tightly; my ribs protruded beneath the skin, and from the mirror I saw my spine defined down the center of my back like an alien out of a science fiction movie.
“Oh, sweetheart,” the woman said, placing a hand at my lower back. “We need to get some antiseptic on those feet; I’m surprised you’re able to stand on them at all.”
So was I. All I’d ever wanted to do since I’d traded my sandals for Satan’s boots, was sit down.
With the woman’s help, I got into the tub, bracing my hands along the cast iron side. I practically melted when the hot water touched my skin, and I sank deeper into its depths. I braced the back of my neck against the edge of the tub; I didn’t care one bit that my feet were burning to where tears were filling up the corners of my eyes—I would take any measure of pain in exchange for this godsend.
“Thais?” the woman said. “That is your name, isn’t it?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The woman smiled gently, more with her eyes than with her lips, and then pulled my left foot from the water and cleaned around the open wounds with a wash cloth.
“My name is Naomi. I’m Rafe’s second wife.”
“Who is Rafe?”
I winced as the cloth grazed one cut.
“He’s the real Overseer,” Naomi said. “And the Overlord’s right-hand man. I imagine he won’t be back for several weeks at least.”
The “real” Overseer?
I vaguely remembered hearing the name ‘Rafe’, but couldn’t recall the conversation. All I knew was that I never wanted to see him face to face, especially now since it seemed I might end up as one of his wives, too.
“Is he a cruel man?” I asked, already knowing he was no matter what the woman chose to tell me.
The gentle smile in Naomi’s eyes faded; she looked only at my foot. “Not to his wives, usually,” she answered. “But he can be to others.”
“I want to go home,” I said, a knot twisting in my stomach. “I just want to take my sister and leave this place. We didn’t ask to come here. We were taken against our will and forced to come here.”
Naomi’s gaze softened on me.
“I understand,” she said. “And I’m sorry that you were treated the way you were, but you’ll see in time that this is the best place for you to be.” She dipped the cloth in the water to rinse it, and then wrung it out before going back to work on the same foot. “Overlord Wolf is only trying to put this country back together, and sometimes things must be done that would’ve been considered unethical in Old America. Times have changed, and we must all learn to change with them.”
I winced and made a hissing sound through my teeth.
“I’m sorry,” Naomi said, trying to be gentler. “Your feet will need time to heal, but they can’t start the healing process until they’ve been cleaned.”
“But why are women treated the way they are here?” I cared little about my feet; I wanted to know everything I could about this place.
“Treated the way they are?” Naomi inquired.
“Yes—forced to marry men they don’t love.”
Naomi smiled, released my left foot into the water and took the right one into her hands.
“The population has to survive somehow,” Naomi said. “And while I admit that it’s risky, and quite dangerous to bear children these days, it’s something that must be done and will always be done. It’s human nature to breed, especially in times of turmoil and crisis.” She worked the cloth around my ankle where a blister that had not yet burst, sat like a little balloon. “Even before society fell, Thais, when American women were too busy with their careers, and went to drastic measures to avoid pregnancy—or to end them—babies were born and died by the thousands in third-world countries to women who had no business having children. Why do you think that was?”
“Because they were raped,” I said with bitterness. “And because life in many third-world countries was chaotic and brutal and frightening. And because we are all animals, and animals are by nature, breeders and killers.”
Naomi seemed surprised by my answer, and then she added to it: “And because in times of crisis and turmoil, humans inherently find comfort in other humans. And because sex is and always has been a universal commandment of survival.”
“Maybe so,” I said, “but I don’t want to be anyone’s wife. I don’t want to bear anyone’s children. I don’t want to be forced to do anything I don’t want to do—I just want to find my sister and leave.”
“Where would you go?”
“Back into the forest. We survived all this time on our own and without the help of any soldiers or cities or hot baths. So, as much as I appreciate your kindness, I have to disagree with you and every other person who has told me that I’m better off here.”
Naomi said nothing in response, but her eyes remained kind, and her gentle hands remained careful.
After the dirt and blood had been cleaned away, and my hair had been washed, and the water in the tub had cooled, Naomi helped shave my legs. I had only ever shaved my legs a few times in my life, and each time was before The Fall when I was a young girl. I had been experimenting and wanted to be like my mother and sister. But after The Fever swept through, and society fell, things like leg-shaving and makeup-wearing and hair-styling were replaced by more important things, like alive-staying.
My face flushed beet-red and my legs snapped closed tightly around Naomi’s hand when I felt it moving to touch my pubic hairs.
Naomi moved her hand away, and smiled softly to show she meant no harm. “If you’re to be Rafe’s wife,” she explained, “that hair will have to go—I won’t hurt you.”
I shook my head with protest.
Naomi held out the razor then. “You can do it yourself if you want.”
“No,” I said, refusing to take it. “I don’t want to do it at all. I—.” I wanted to say that I’d never shaved in that place before, but I stopped myself. “I uh, well, we don’t even know if Rafe will want me. I quite like my hair the way it is and would rather not shave it unless I have to.” I could only hope.
“Trust me when I say that Rafe will want you, my dear.” Naomi set the razor aside, respecting my wishes. “But there will be time for that later.”
With Naomi’s assistance, I stood from the water. Already I was feeling better; my muscles had hungrily soaked up the heat from the bath. Wrapping a towel around my shoulders, Naomi helped me out of the tub and dried me off. Afterwards, she tended to all of my wounds with a little jar of some stout-smelling green liquid that burned my nose.
She gave me panties, and a soft dress to wear, cut low in the back, and so long it touched the floor when I walked.
“Do you like it?”
“Yes, it’s very pretty.” I smoothed the delicate ivory fabric between my fingertips.
Lastly, Naomi helped my feet into a pair of thin white socks, cut so low I thought they might slide right off.
“You need to keep your feet clean,” Naomi said as she adjusted the second sock around my foot.
After the bath, she took me to another room on the eighth floor where I was fed, and without a doubt, I ate like I’d been starving to death. Three hard-boiled eggs. Two pieces of bread covered in blackberry jam. A large helping of mashed potatoes with pieces of the skin mixed inside, sprinkled with garlic salt and parsley flakes. And a chicken breast the size of my whole fist. I scarfed the food down and didn’t care who was staring at me.
I thought of Sosie, if she was being treated with the same kindness, and in my heart, I knew that she probably was not.