Chapter Nine
Terrence always said to be present in the moment. But at this very moment, I want to die.
I allow Zimri to hold my head under the water. It’s the submissive thing to do. And the more I fight, the longer he might hold me under. But the oxygen is quickly leaving my system and my lungs are begging for air, and after what seems like an eternity, my body begins convulsing against Zimri’s grip.
I can hear my heartbeat, pounding against my eardrums in the suffocating water, and my hands automatically grip the ledges of the bucket to give myself more force, but someone grabs my wrists and yanks them behind my back, and I am helpless. So, so helpless.
Strange designs begin forming behind my eyelids. I’m going to pass out. I’m going to die. Oxygen is suddenly not an option, and my mouth opens involuntarily to gasp for air, but water floods in and droplets slip into my windpipe and I’m choking. I’m drowning and—
My head is pulled from the bucket, and my lungs inflate like balloons. I cough out water. Gulp in air. Exhale. Inhale. Repeat.
Zimri’s still talking, but my head is spinning too much to comprehend what he’s saying. I don’t really care what this son of a stray dog has to say, anyway. But then maybe I should have been listening, because his grip tightens and my head is shoved under the water.
Again.
I know I can’t fight him, but my body convulses against his grip anyway, and I fight, fight, fight to stay conscious, but I’m realizing consciousness is a privilege, a state of mind, and it’s slipping away.
Death. This is what death feels like. I close my eyes. Give in to the pull. Surrender to oblivion—when my head is yanked out of the water again.
Take a deep gulp. Air. Oxygen. Breathe it in. It’s finished.
“One more time.”
My head is shoved beneath the surface of the water again. And I’m drowning. I don’t think I will last this time, because there’s no air down here, and I need air to live and there’s no way I’m going to survive this. Glimpses of home drift through my mind. The August sunrise. The way Rika’s red curls danced in the wind. Mom’s soothing voice when she sang. And then darkness—so thick and confining and yet—peaceful.
My head is pulled out of the water, and I’m shoved onto the ground, cruel reality slapping me in the face. I’m coughing and breathing and coughing and breathing all at the same time and then…only breathing.
Air.
I can’t get enough of it.
My hands are trembling. My whole body is freezing. I push myself to my hands and knees when water pounds down onto my back as Zimri empties the bucket’s contents onto me. The force of it thumps me onto my stomach. I hiss at the shock of the cold, and I inhale more water, then snort it out of my nostrils while my wet hair clings to my face.
Hands grip my upper arms and half carry, half drag me across the concrete. I don’t have the energy to fight. All I can think about is the next breath, and how I’ve always taken oxygen for granted, and how I’ll never do that again.
I’m shoved into my cell, where I crumple to the ground. The cell gate shuts with a loud clang, and the group walks out of the dome. I cough up more water that was lodged in my lungs, then crawl toward the wall. My tunic clings to my body like a second skin. Water drips down my face and into my eyes. I collapse onto the ground, curl up into a ball, and grit my teeth against the pounding pain in my head. The air is freezing, but at least I can breathe.
My heartbeat returns to a normal rhythm, and my heavy eyelids slide shut. When the shock subsides, I fight my despair by thinking of better times. Like home. I think of the sun and the way summer wrapped around me like a warm blanket. I would give my right arm for a warm blanket right now. I think of Mom’s lavender tea. I would give both arms for a hot cup of tea, sweetened with amber honey. Mmm. The sweet flavor of honey dripping on my tongue, filling my mouth, sliding down my throat. I imagine I’m home again, sitting around the kitchen table by the fire while Terrence harvests honeycombs. Rika’s hands getting sticky while she helps. The golden hue of sunlight glowing through the honey, and Josiah’s warm laughter filling the room.
Josiah. The traitor.
For the good of the people, he’d whispered.
My throat closes. I try to clear my mind when another memory comes to me. It was the last night Terrence and I were together. We were walking down the dirt road of the farm, enjoying the cool breeze of autumn. His hair was dark in the moonlight, his eyes shining with the passion that hadn’t gone away since his final decision to leave us.
“Why do you want to go to Colorado?” I asked.
“They’re building an army, Lark. Give me a good reason why I shouldn’t go.”
“Because your family’s here.”
“Yes, but our people are enslaved. I’m a free person. Do you have any idea how many enslaved Humans would give up their lives for the sake of liberty? How many people would risk everything to be a part of an army to bring freedom?”
“But you’re not a slave.”
“All the more reason to fight for our brothers and sisters who are slaves.” He turned to me. “Take care, little sister. I’ll miss you.”
This is where my memory turns into a dream.
Terrence steps into the forest, and I follow. But he’s not going to Colorado. He’s headed toward the slave plantation. I follow him across the river, through the woods until we arrive at the green-glowing gates. The guards don’t seem to notice us as we slip through the gate and into the slave village. Thousands of slaves are standing there, all gathered around a giant bonfire. My heart trembles at the aching hope in their eyes.
“They’re waiting, Lark.” Terrence’s brown eyes are shining brighter than the fire burning before us.
“Waiting for what?” I breathe.
“For us to deliver them.”
…
The next morning passes by slowly. My clothes are still damp and cold. And I’m still thinking about that strange dream last night. I never imagined myself as a leader. I like to remain unnoticed. Invisible. And if anything, I’m far from what some might consider a deliverer. I’ve never had grandiose dreams of leading my people to freedom like Terrence did.
So why did that dream choose me?
Mom would say it was Elohim calling out to me, and while I commend her for being able to find hope in something so elusive, I could never settle for the invisible to have a plan for me. We were a lonely community searching for something higher to give us purpose. While Mom sought out Elohim, others in our community served the Tavdorian gods, seeking out anything from the spiritual realm to tell them what to do, how to act, what offerings to provide.
The sun journeys across the sky, the light slanting through the hole in the ceiling onto the stone floor, slowly traveling from one end of the dome to the other. Just when I think I’ll have to spend another night in this hellhole, the doors slide open and blinding light floods the dome.
The first Tavdorian to step in is the boy I saw by the river. Kalen. An odd measure of relief consumes me at the sight of him. His violet cloak waves behind him, like a flag announcing his high status. His face is flawless, with full, masculine lips, a clean-shaven chin, and lavender eyes that seem brighter than the Tavdorian Sea at sunset. Even while doing the job of a slaver, he’s attractive. He reaches up and drags his hand through feathery curls.
A Human walks behind him. Thick muscle ripples beneath skin the color of tree bark. He wears one gold earring and has no hair. He seems to be anticipating Kalen’s every move and command. Six Tavdorian guards walk in next, tall and muscular, like giants. And behind them, Zimri.
Of course.
Any relief I felt vanishes. My heart plummets into my stomach at the sight of that narrow face. The memory of Rika’s death flashes before my mind’s eye. I see her—I see her falling to the ground. Helpless. Bleeding. Dead.
Because of me.
She would tell me it’s not my fault. She would probably go so far as to say it’s not Zimri’s fault, either, but I know that’s not true.
The wiry fingers of guilt wrap around my neck, choking me, and with it comes a blinding rage. How can I sit here after Rika died by the hands of this dog? How can I not do anything about the death of my friend—the most innocent person who ever lived? My veins ignite. I glare at Zimri and think of the way he nearly drowned me last night. My heartbeat throbs in my neck, up my jugular, into my head, pounding until I’m not really afraid anymore, because all I want—all I need—is revenge.
“Open the gates,” Zimri orders. A guard presses a button by the door, and the gates slide open. The slaves begin piling into the aisle like a herd of brainless cattle. The guards poke and prod with sticks that zap every time they touch the slaves, and Zimri watches with cool indifference, his hands planted on his narrow hips. Kalen shouts at the guard who has turned the prodding into his own twisted game, and the guard immediately stops laughing and obeys.
The others in my cell file out, but not me. My breaths come fast and short because Zimri is standing so close, and he tried to drown me, and he killed Rika, and I want to kill him.
He moves to the side of the aisle—closer to me—to make room for the slaves. And he’s so close. So close that I can smell the pungent cologne coming off his robe.
“Send some of the strongest men to the Port,” he says to Kalen, who’s standing beside him. “We need more hands on the engines.”
Others crowd behind me, and I’m ushered forward, out of the cell. I’m going to walk right past him. I glance at my wristband, the one that will shock me if I make one wrong move. But what is life on this planet, anyway?
“Do you have a preference which I pick?” Kalen asks.
“Preferably the hardworking Ve’occs over the lazy Humans.” Zimri glances at the Humans I walk among, and his gaze locks with mine. The sudden resentment in his eyes carves a hole in my stomach and I. Can’t. Breathe.
It’s like I’m drowning all over again. I hate him. Hate him. Rika’s spirit calls out to me, begging to be avenged. Mom’s last words scream for me to be heard. This is my last chance—my only chance. And as if controlled by some other force, I step out of line and bolt toward him, focused on one plan, one goal, one purpose that will bring me infinite peace before the knife of death stabs me in the back.