| |
I watch Claudia and her grandmother rush further down the street to get away from me. I scan the area around them to make sure there are no other gangs around to threaten them before turning back to what my brother and his men are doing. I have to turn my eyes away when I see him push a woman to the ground as he wrenches the ration box from her grasping hands. There’s nothing I can do to stop him or help the people he’s targeted. I learned a long time ago that I have to be very careful about what battles I pick with Boyd. He might be my only family but that doesn’t stop him from having his men give me a beating when he feels I’ve stepped out of line.
I swear the only thing that keeps me fighting for life in this world is my hatred for him. He’s been a bully my whole life but after my father went north to work in the labor camps when I was ten, he really stepped up his game. My mom was too weak with illness to reign him in but she tried to protect me from him as best she could. When she died three years after Dad left, I was completely at his mercy. The only kind thing I can say about Boyd is that he kept me fed on a semi-regular basis, even if it was only the scraps from our ration boxes or ones he’d stolen from others.
He’s also the reason I’ve never been able to have friends. Anyone I’ve ever shown interest in became a natural target for my brother to harass and bully. I glance over my shoulder to check but the last person I had a real friendship with has disappeared.
“So, you’re still sweet on that girl? You let her and the old woman go.”
I clench my jaw and turn to face Boyd. I look behind him and see the last of the poor people he’s attacked running back the way they’d come empty handed. I take in all the ration boxes and jugs his men are piling on the front stoop of the flower shop and give him a shrug.
“Small fish. We were occupied with a bigger score so I didn’t think it was worth the fight.” I keep my tone even and hope he buys my explanation. His laugh tells me I failed.
“Sure, little brother. Whatever you say.” His eyes dance with malicious amusement. “Your little girlfriend’s grown up into a fine-looking woman. She’s feisty, too. You man enough to handle that much woman?”
I shake my head in indifference. I know if I show any interest he’ll pounce on it and go after her just to torture me. His next words let me know that my tactic no longer works.
“Well good! I fancy a go around with her myself. I’ll be keeping my eye out for her in the future.” I keep my expression as blank as possible and just raise one shoulder in another shrug. His eyes harden in annoyance that he can’t get a rise out of me so he jabs at me a different way.
“Get your ass moving! Haul these boxes into the shop and start inventorying all that we got. You’re useless out here anyway.”
I don’t reply just move to go past him but he grabs my arm in a grip so tight I know I’ll be able to count his fingers in bruises later. His voice comes out in a hiss of warning.
“You better start carrying your weight around here, Beck. Me and the boys are getting sick and tired of carrying you around on our backs. You feel me?”
He’s talking about how I don’t participate in taking down the targets. When forced to go at a group, I’ll often pick a woman and then act like a clumsy fool so she can get away or at worst only take a few things from her box so she’ll have something to get through the week with.
I give him a sharp nod of understanding and wrench my arm from his grip. There’s nothing I’d rather do than carry my own weight right on out of this town and far away from him. The problem is there’s nowhere to go. A couple of years ago I had thought about heading north to find my dad or find work in one of the labor camps but word started to get out about the conditions the workers were forced to endure in the camps. I figure one master and a few inches of freedom was better than being controlled twenty-four hours a day by many masters.
By the time I get done sorting the stolen rations and water jugs into the wagons we brought to get it all back to the house, Boyd’s ready to call it a day.
He pulls the door open and yells in at me. “Beck, get those wagons out here!”
His men all stand around watching me struggle with getting the overloaded wagons out the door and down the steps to the street. Of course, none of them offer to help, but they enjoy making taunting comments on my every move. By the time I get the last wagon out to the street, Boyd’s lost interest in the game and is fuming with impatience. He sends me a look of contempt and then points to Marco.
“Go do a last sweep of the square for any stragglers and then catch up. The rest of you, grab a wagon and let’s go. I’m ready to eat!”
I look down at the last two wagons left for me to pull on my own and am not even remotely surprised to see that they’re the heaviest ones filled with the water jugs. I let out a deep sigh and bend down to get the handles. There’s got to be a better life out there for me, somewhere.