To my dismay, the next day I find myself under Lyra’s supervision.
“Your vacation is over, petit fille,” she yells, yanking the cover off me.
I look up, my head pounding from lack of sleep. It’s only 5:30 A.M., but she’s fully dressed and acting like a drill sergeant—nothing like the gentle kitten she appears to be.
Moaning, I roll over and refuse to get up. But she isn’t taking no for an answer and gets me out of bed by putting a boot on my back and pushing me off.
I land on the other side with a thud. “Hey, what’s the matter with you?”
“You need to start earning your keep. Get up unless you want to deal with someone higher up than me.”
I jump to my feet and give her a nasty glare. Mumbling foul curses, I get ready and follow her out the barracks. Everyone is up already. I guess I was lucky to be left to my own devices for a short while. Getting roped into their schemes was only a matter of time.
After a quick breakfast of eggs for me and ten links of sausage for Lyra, she drags me to the service level and into a large room full of crates. Several people mill about moving boxes.
“Unload those,” she orders, pointing at three large, wooden crates. “Crowbars are over there. Contents go against that wall.”
She moves on to bark orders at some of the others. I look around trying to figure a way out of this, but several Eklyptors are watching me closely and Lyra throws mean glances in my direction every few seconds.
Resigned, I get a crowbar and set to work on one of the crates. I wedge the metal tip under the wooden lid and put my weight on it. The top pops with a crack and a crunch. I peer inside. The crate is full of army green metal boxes. I pull one out. It’s much heavier than I expected. Yellow letters on the side spell the contents: 1000 CRTG 9MM.
Fury clenches my stomach. My jaw grinds. This is the level of control they have over our armed forces. I turn and look at all the unopened crates behind me. There are hundreds of them—more than enough for an army.
A wolfish man reaches inside a crate and pulls out a machine gun. Grinning from ear to ear, he admires the weapon, petting its side. As I seethe, imagining the muzzle inside his mouth, I sense Lyra watching me from the side. It takes all I’ve got to mold my expression of disgust to one of yearning. I stare at the machine gun longingly, full of envy. Flicking my gaze down to the box of ammunition in my hands, I try to convey a feeling of “and this is all I get?”
Acid fills my throat, burning like hot coals. I feel vile, unsure whether all these traitorous performances will pay off. Who knew I had such thespian talents? I guess only time will tell if they’re worth a Tony.
I begin lining the ammo boxes against the wall, while vomit keeps crawling up my esophagus. After only ten of them, I can’t take it anymore. I won’t sit here organizing the bullets they will use to exterminate us. I pull another box from the crate. The last one I intend to handle. I undo the latch on the side and take a bullet out. I stick it in my pocket and imagine I’ve saved one life.
As I ponder what to do, three marching figures enter the room. A wet, hissing voice resounds through the storage area, issuing orders. I recognize it immediately. My mouth curls. If I vomit, I’ll be sure to aim for Tusks’s boots.
I turn, the open box of ammo in my hands. One thousand cartridges, one thousand lives.
More innocent blood.
Spilled.
With my help.
My hands go limp as self-hate renders me useless. The box crashes to the floor with a loud clank, followed by the scattering of bullets as they skitter away like metallic bugs.
Heads snap in my direction. I stare at the mess with a crazed smile on my face. “Pretty,” I mumble.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Tusks stomps in my direction, boots kicking bullets left and right.
I don’t respond, just continue to gaze at the mess, mesmerized.
“Hey! I asked you a question.” He takes me by the arm and shakes me. “What the hell are you doing here?” Saliva flies from his mouth and barely misses me.
His tusks look bigger than the last time I saw him. I lean back, afraid he’ll poke my eye out. Still, I don’t respond, wanting only to spit on his grotesque face.
“Look at the mess you made, you little shit.” He squeezes my arm so hard I feel my pulse beating in my bicep.
“I brought her to help,” Lyra says from the back.
Tusks doesn’t take his eyes off me to acknowledge her. “I don’t want you here. Get down and pick those up, then get the hell out of my face.” He pushes me down, trying to force me to my knees.
I resist him and manage to stay on my feet.
“Get down, I said!” he rumbles deep in his chest, a beast that somehow has gained the ability to speak. He slaps his massive hands on my shoulders and pushes me down until my legs give way and I fall.
Pain shoots up my knees all the way to my groin. I clamp my lips together to stifle a cry.
Tusks watches me, expectant. I clench my fists, refusing to follow his command.
“Pick. Them. Up!” he repeats.
“No,” I say, a resolute word, spoken with all the weight of hours, days, weeks of anger and impotence.
“What?”
“I said no,” I repeat. “You pick them up, fork face!”
A few onlookers snicker. Tusks’s face goes red. Spit flies out of his horrid mouth as he bellows. “I’ll teach you to obey me, you worthless rat.”
Fast for such a large creature, he pulls one foot back and unleashes a vicious kick to my side. The steel toe of his military boot drives into my ribs, making pain blossom like a giant flower. I fall to my side, limp, and barely manage to cover my face as he unleashes kick after kick and paints my world with bright red pain. As I curl into a ball, he batters my shins and forearms until he decides stomping me like a cockroach is a better option.
The heel of his boots digs into my kidney. I bend backward in pain, the protection of my hands involuntarily falling away from my face. I reel from the pain on my back, then wince as I realize my mistake.
A hammer-like blow lands on my temple. The room spins. Scattered bullets shine in my vision, slowly going black. Muffled jeers from the onlookers ring in my ears.
“Take this piece of garbage out of here,” Tusks orders.
Someone grabs my arms and hauls me to my feet. The world feels like a spinning top even as they dump me on my bed.